Eastern shame girl

When there is a great peace,

Under the gold cup of the sun

Joy reaches its flowering.

In the twentieth year of the period Wan-li, there came, among the thousands of students who gathered at Peking for the examinations, a certain Li, whose first name was Chia and his surname Ch'ien-hsi, or "Purified-a-thousand times." His family were from Shao-hsing fu in Chekiang; his father was a Judge of the province of Kang-su; and Li himself was the eldest of three brothers. He had studied in the village school from childhood and, not having yet attained to literary rank, had come, according to custom, to present himself for examination at Peking.

While in that city, he consorted, before his spring tide , with the young libertines, the "willow twigs" of his country; and, in order to gain experience, frequented the theatres and music-halls. Thus, he became acquainted with a famous singing girl called Tu, whose first name was Mei, or "Elegance." As she was the tenth of her family, they knew her at the theatre as Shih-niang, "The Tenth daughter."

A delicate seduction diffused from her: her body was all grace and perfume. The twin arches of her brows held the black which is blue of distant mountains, and her eyes were as deep and bright as autumn lakes. Her face had the glory of the lotus, and her lips were the glory of cherries. By what blunder of the gods had this piece of flawless jade fallen in the windy dust among the flowers beneath the willow?

When she was thirteen years old, Shih-niang had already "broken her claws." Now she was nineteen, and it would not be possible to enumerate the young Lords and Princes whose hearts she had besotted, whose thoughts she had set in a turmoil, whose family treasures she had swallowed without compunction. In the theatres, they had composed an epigram about her:

When Tu Shih-niang comes to a banquet,

The guests drink a thousand great cups

Instead of a single small one.

When Tu Mei appears on the stage

The actresses look like devils.

It must be said that never, in the young passions of his life, had Li Chia experienced the pain of beauty; but, when he saw Shih-niang, it awakened emotion in him, and the feelings of a flowering willow filled his breast. He himself was gifted with rare beauty and a sweet and gentle nature. He squandered his money with an unbridled zeal for bestowing gifts. For this reason, he held a double attraction for Shih-niang, who considered that falsehood and avarice were opposed to rectitude, and had also by this time returned to a life of honor.

She appreciated Li Chia's gentleness and generosity and was drawn toward him. But he was afraid of his father and did not dare to marry her at once, as she wished. Their love was not, on that account, any the less tender. In the joys of dawn and the pleasures of twilight they kept together as did husband and wife, and in their vows they compared their love with the Ocean or with the Mountain, recognizing no other vital motive.:

Their tenderness was deeper than the sea

For it was past sounding, their love was as the mountains, but even higher.

Also, since Chia had been admitted to her favor, rich Lords and powerful Ministers could no longer see the girl's beauty. At first Li used to give enormous sums of money, so that the director of nursing to whom Shih-niang belonged shrugged her shoulders and smiled. But the days went quickly, and the months too; and a year had passed. Chia's coffers had gradually become empty; and now his hand could no longer keep pace with his wishes. But the ancient ma-ma remained patient.

Meanwhile, the Judge had learned that his son was frequenting the theatre, and sent him repeated orders to return home. But Chia, who was infatuated, kept on delaying his departure until, hearing that his father was truly furious, he no longer dared to return. The ancients well said it: "As long as harmony endures, there is unity; when harmony ceases, there is separation."

Shih-niang's love was sincere, and her heart only burned the more for him, whose hands were empty. The ma-ma frequently ordered her to send her lover away; then, seeing that the young girl was indifferent to her commands, she tried to exasperate Chia with stinging words, hoping thus to compel him to depart. But her visitor's nature was so gentle that they could not provoke his anger, and the only result was to make him more amiable in his behavior to the old woman, who in her impotence ended in reproaching Shih-niang:

"We who keep open doors must eat our visitors three times a day, and clothe ourselves with them. We lead out the departing guest by one door, but to receive a fresh one by another. When desire is excited under our roof, our silver and silks mount up like hills. But it is more than a year since Li Chia began troubling your curtains, and now old patrons and new guests alike have discontinued their visits. The spirit Chung-k'uci no longer comes to our door; nay, not the littlest devil. Therefore, I am angry and humiliated. What will become of us, now that we have no trace of visitors?"

Shih-niang restrained herself with difficulty under these reproaches and answered calmly:

"Young Lord Li did not come here with empty hands. He has paid us considerable sums of money."

"It was so at one time, but it is now so no longer. Tell him to give me enough to pay for rice for the two of you.... Indeed, I have no luck! Most of the girls I buy claim all the silver, and hardly care whether their clients live or die. But now I have reared a white tiger who refuses riches, opens the door wide, and makes my old body bear the total burden. O miserable child! You wish to keep the poor for nothing. Where will you find clothes and food? Tell your beggar to be wise enough to give me a few ounces of silver. If you will not send him away, I shall sell you and look for another slave. That would be better for both of us."

"Do you mean what you say?" asked the girl.

"But you know that Li Chia has neither money nor clothes, and cannot buy any."

"I am not joking," answered the old woman.

"Then how much must he give to take me away?"