Supplementary Scene 40: Lingering Echoes
Sequel, Scene 40: Lingering Echoes
[To the Tune "Moon over West River"]
(Comic role, dressed as a woodcutter, carrying a load of firewood, enters)
Gazing far, the green cliffs rise ten thousand fathoms high; brushing the crown, a thousand red leaves drift. In the deep clouds, a fierce tiger comes and goes without fixed time, yet it too must flee the bows and arrows of the human world. In Jianye city, ghosts wail by night; in Yangzhou wells, autumn corpses lie stored. I, the woodcutter, am fortunate to have survived, my life as thin as a silk thread; my belly is stuffed full of unofficial histories and strange tales of the Southern Dynasties.
I, Su Kunsheng, since the year Yiyou came up the mountain with Fragrant Princess, have lived here three years without once returning home. I have wandered back and forth between Mount Niushou and Mount Qixia, making my living by cutting firewood. Who would have thought that Liu Jingting, sharing my aspirations, bought a small boat and also took up fishing here. The joy is that the mountains are deep and the trees ancient, the river wide and the people few. Every day we meet, and then, tapping my axe against his boat’s prow, vast and free, we sing our hearts out—how pleasant it is! Today I have set down my firewood load early, specially waiting for him to come for a heart-to-heart chat. Why has he not yet arrived? (Sets down the firewood load and dozes off.)
(Comic role, dressed as an old fisherman, enters rowing a boat.)
Year after year fishing, my temples white as silver; I love this river and mountain more than the Fuchun River. Amidst song and dance, and amidst warfare, this old fisherman has been through it all. I, Liu Jingting, after seeing Hou Chaozong off to pursue the Way, have been fishing here by the Longtan River for three years, letting all the old tales of rise and fall drift away with the wind and moon. Now, just after an autumn rain has cleared, the river’s light is like white silk—a perfect time to find Su Kunsheng and drink and talk. (Pointing) Look, he is already lying drunk on the ground. Let me go ashore and wake him. (Mimes going ashore) (Calling out) Su Kunsheng! (Comic role awakens) Elder brother, you have come after all! (Comic role, clasping hands) Worthy younger brother, you have been drinking alone! (Comic role) The firewood is not yet sold; where would I get wine? (Comic role) I, your elder brother, have not sold any fish either; we are both empty-handed. What shall we do? (Comic role) I have it, I have it! You provide the clear water, I provide the firewood, and we shall boil tea and chat idly. (Secondary male role, dressed as an old Ceremonial Master, enters carrying a lute and a wine jug.)
The river and mountain! One is busy, one is idle; who wins, who loses? Both temples are already streaked with grey. (Seeing them) Ah, it is brothers Liu and Su! (Comic roles, clasping hands) Old Master, how did you come to be here? (Secondary male role) I live by Swallow’s Beak Rock. Today is the seventeenth day of the ninth month in the year Wuzi, the birthday of the Lucky Star Deity. I and some mountain society friends went to the Lucky Deity’s shrine to offer sacrifices. On my way back, I passed by here. (Comic role) Why are you carrying a lute and a wine jug? (Secondary male role) A laughing stock, a laughing stock! I have composed a few lines of sacred music, titled Asking the Blue Sky. Today I will pluck and sing to entertain the deity. After the village sacrifice broke up, I received this bottle of blessed wine. Meeting you two by chance, let us share three cups together! (Comic role) How could we impose on you? (Secondary male role) This is called “sharing good fortune together.” (Comic roles) Good, good! (They all sit down and drink together.) (Comic role) Why not let us hear the sacred music? (Secondary male role) Gladly! I have some thoughts in my heart that I was just about to consult you two about. (Plucks the lute and sings in the shaman’s tone.) (Comic roles clap their hands and sing along.)
[Asking the Blue Sky]
The new calendar, the Shunzhi reign, the year is Wuzi; the ninth month, autumn, the seventeenth day, a fine gathering of good times. Beating the sacred drums, waving the spirit banners, the villagers hold the sacrifice; I, this old recluse, with my shaven white hair, also come to this shrine. Pepperwood rafters, cassia doors, built in Tang and enlarged in Jin; green and gold, red mixed with white, the frescoes exquisite and strange. A majestic countenance, a spirited bearing, the name and station of the Lucky Star Deity; the treasures of the mountains, the treasures of the sea, he oversees all without omission. Surpassing ancestors, excelling kings and teachers, a thousand people come to wish him long life; burning frankincense, pouring clear libations, they jostle and crowd the doorway. Beneath a straw hat, there is a man, stroking his beard and sighing long: The poor are poor, the rich are rich—why has the Creator arranged it so? I and you, comparing our birth, share the same month and day; but my purse has no money, my stove has no fire, and I am no different from a beggar. At sixty years, one cycle of sixty years completed, I have already reached the twilight years; a man scattered in troubled times, a dog in times of peace—neither has a time of ease. Holding a jade cup, sitting at a splendid feast, you eat while I watch; who is the spirit, who is the fool—high and low are misplaced. Your subject knocks his head, calls to the ninefold gates of heaven, to open ears deaf and eyes blind; issue a decree to the official in charge of fate, to examine the register of emoluments, and see why there is such error. The golden gate is distant, the purple palace lofty, the blue sky is dark and dim; welcoming the spirits, sending off the spirits, chariots and horses rush like the wind. The song and dance end, the chickens and pigs are put away, and soon the village sacrifice has broken up; leaning against a withered locust tree, facing the setting sun, I ponder alone in thought. The muddy enjoy wealth and rank, the pure enjoy fame; perhaps there are two different kinds. Those with much inner talent, those with little outer wealth—there should be different rules. Hot as fire is the Lucky Lord, the father of common folk; cold as ice is the God of Literature, the master of excellent scholars. The gods too have shortcomings, the sages too have flaws—who can satisfy everything? The earth is hard to fill, the sky hard to mend—such is the way of creation. Dissolve the sorrow in my breast, I smile joyfully; the river flows freely, the white clouds roll freely—what else do I doubt?
(Finishing the song, sets down the lute) Utterly shameful! (Comic role) Marvellous! Truly like the Li Sao and the Nine Songs. (Comic role) My respects, my respects! I never knew the Old Master was actually the God of Wealth incarnate! (Secondary male role, modestly declining) Please, finish this cup of wine. (Comic role, smacking lips) This wine with no food to go with it is truly hard to swallow. (Comic role) Your elder brother here does have something to go with the wine. (Comic role) What is it? (Comic role) Please guess. (Comic role) Your things are nothing but fish, turtles, shrimp, and crabs. (Comic role, shaking head) You won’t guess, you won’t guess. (Comic role) What other special flavour could there be? (Comic role, pointing to his mouth) It is my tongue. (Secondary male role) Your tongue, you can use it to go with your own wine, but how can you offer it to a guest? (Comic role, laughing) You don’t know—the ancients used the History of the Han to go with wine. This tongue can speak the History of the Han; is that not something to go with wine? (Comic role, taking the wine jug and pouring) Let me pour for you, elder brother. You, elder brother, just tell us the History of the Han. (Secondary male role) Wonderful, wonderful! But I fear the stories will be many and the wine too few. (Comic role) Since the History of the Han is too long, I have a new ballad, called The Autumn of Moling, which I shall sing to go with the wine. (Secondary male role) Is it about our recent affairs in Nanjing? (Comic role) Exactly! (Comic role) These are things we have seen and heard with our own eyes and ears. If you make a mistake, I shall fine you. (Comic role) I guarantee I shall not make a mistake. (Comic role, plucking the lute) The rise and fall of the Six Dynasties, a few clear notes bring forth a thousand ages of feeling; half a lifetime drifting on lakes and rivers, a single cry startles the ten thousand mountains. (Sings in the manner of a blind female storyteller’s ballad.)
【Moling Autumn】The misty moonlight of Chen and Sui left endless regret, the well-rail stained with rouge, the earth fragrant with scent; the drifting willow catkins cling to travelers' temples, the chattering orioles vex the heart. The court of restoration continued its bustling markets, the descendants of the fallen grew arrogant in power; they only urged towers to follow the last emperor, never fearing arrows would bring down the remnant Tang. Beauties from Yue were just chosen for the palace, the Wu songs of The Swallow Letter had long held sway; the eunuch sought out musicians by the Flute Steps, Gui Nian tuned the tones to serve the rear palace. The Xikun style of poetry newly followed Wen Tingyun and Li Shangyin, the robes of Black Clothes Lane still bore the old names of Xie and Wang; courtyard after courtyard of palace makeup, mirrors of gold and emerald, morning and evening, clouds and rain on the Chu bed. The five marquises watched empty beacons outside the capital, only pleasure boats by the Two Rivers Isle; pointing at a deer and calling it a horse, who dared attack the prime minister's treachery; entering the bamboo grove, all feared Ruan Ji's wildness. The spring lantern riddles were already mistaken, start over from the clear; the party and faction again formed alliances, no seam to hide; borrowing a knife to kill in revenge was the Lord of Lasting Joy, shrugging shoulders to flatter the powerful was the Hall of Half Leisure. The aged minister wept at Plum Ridge, the arrogant general clamored at Wuchang; the winding Yellow River called for ferries in clear skies, the thousand-span riverbank deployed troops at night. The Qionghua flower was ravaged, the carved railings ruined; the Jade Tree Rear Garden Flower sung to its end, the painted hall desolate; the Cang Sea lost its home, the dragon lonely; the wind and dust lost their companion, the phoenix wandering. Clad in black, holding jade in mouth, what year could return; green blood splattered on sand, here they died; the South Inner Hot Spring pool still overgrown with weeds, the road to the East Tomb faced the setting sun again. All the keys to Huai, Yang, and Si were opened; hard to rectify heaven and earth were Zuo Liangyu, Shi Kefa, and Huang Degong. Emperor Jianwen drifted, Emperor Chongzhen died tragically, Emperor Yingzong was trapped, Emperor Wuzong was debauched; who knew there was still a Prince Fu, who at departure left a few lines of tears in his autumn eyes.
(Comic role) Wonderful! Wonderful! Not a word off. (Vice-end role) Though it's just a few lines of ballad, it sounds like a long song by Wu Meicun. (Comic role) Your learning has greatly advanced, old brother; I should offer you a cup. (Pours wine) (Clown role) This leaves me drinking alone. (Comic role) I, your humble brother, also have something to go with the wine. (Clown role) Your things must be mountain herbs and wild vegetables. (Comic role) No, no. Yesterday I went to Nanjing to sell firewood and specially brought it back. (Clown role) Bring it out, let's share it. (Comic role points to his mouth) It's also a tongue. (Vice-end role) How is it also a tongue? (Comic role) To tell you two the truth, I hadn't been to Nanjing in three years, then suddenly felt a surge of excitement and went into town to sell firewood. Passing by the Xiaoling Mausoleum, I saw that the treasure city and the offering hall had become places for grazing cattle and sheep. (Clown role) Aiya! What about the imperial city? (Comic role) The city walls of the imperial city had collapsed, the palaces fallen, everywhere overgrown with wild grass and weeds. (Vice-end role wipes tears) I never imagined things had come to this. (Comic role) I then walked straight to the Qinhuai River, stood there for a good while, and there wasn't a single human shadow. (Clown role) The Long Bridge and the Old Pleasure Quarter, those were places we often visited; you should have gone to see them too. (Comic role) How could I not? The Long Bridge had not a single plank left, and the Old Pleasure Quarter was nothing but a pile of rubble. (Clown role beats his chest) Ah! It pains me to death. (Comic role) At that time, I hurried back, heartbroken all the way; I composed a set of northern tunes, titled Lament for Jiangnan. Let me sing it now! (Taps the clapper and sings in Yiyang style) I, this woodcutter!
Lament for Jiangnan
Northern New Water Song On the mountain pines and wild grass with flowers I carry, suddenly lifting my head, Jinling appears again. Defeated troops leave abandoned forts, skinny horses lie in empty moats; villages and towns desolate, the city wall faces the road under the setting sun.
Halt Horse and Listen Wild fires burn frequently, the tall catalpas guarding the mausoleum are mostly scorched. Mountain goats run in herds, when did the mausoleum-keeping eunuch flee? Pigeon feathers and bat droppings fill the hall, withered branches and fallen leaves cover the steps; who comes to sweep and pay respects? The shepherd boy broke the crown of the dragon stele.
Drunk in the East Wind Lying crosswise, eight white jade pillars, half a red mud wall stands high, broken glazed tiles lie everywhere, the shattered jade-green window lattices are few, swallows and sparrows often come to pay court to the red steps, straight into the palace gate a road overgrown with weeds, inhabited by a few starving beggars.
Breaking Cassia Branch Asking about the old window lattices by the Qinhuai River, torn paper flaps in the wind, broken railings face the tide, gaze broken, soul vanishes. The rouged ladies of those days, where now is the sound of pipes and flutes? The Dragon Boat Festival, no lantern boats, not lively; the Double Ninth Festival, wine banners put away, very dreary. White birds fly past, green waters flow on, tender yellow flowers still have a few butterflies flitting, new red leaves have not one person to see them.
Fine Wine Beauty Do you remember that half-mile bridge crossing the Green Stream? Not a single old red plank remains. Autumn waters, long skies, travelers are few; under the cold, clear setting sun, only one willow tree bends its waist.
Peaceful Order Walking to the old pleasure quarter gate, why bother lightly knocking, nor fear a little dog barking. Nothing but dry wells and broken nests, only moss on bricks and grass on stones. The flower branches and willow twigs I planted with my own hands, all cut down for firewood; this black ash, whose kitchen stove does it belong to?
Parting Pavilion Song with Interlude I have seen the Jinling jade palace where orioles sing at dawn, the Qinhuai waterside pavilion where flowers bloom early; who knew it would melt away like ice? I saw him build his vermilion towers, I saw him feast his guests, I saw his towers fall. In this heap of green moss and blue tiles, I once slept my romantic sleep, and have seen enough of fifty years' rise and fall. The Black Clothes Lane no longer bears the Wang surname, ghosts wail at night at Mochou Lake, on Phoenix Terrace the owl perches. The ruined mountains and old dreams are most real, the former scenes hard to cast off; I do not believe this map has changed its form. Compose a set of tunes lamenting Jiangnan, and sing out loud and mournful until old age.
(Vice-end role wipes tears and says) Marvelous, absolutely marvelous; it has drawn so many tears from me.
(Clown role says) This wine I cannot bear to drink anymore; let's all chat a while.
(Vice-pure role, dressed in contemporary clothes, playing a yamen runner, enters stealthily) In the morning I attend the imperial carriage, in the evening I guard the county magistrate's yamen; a runner has no inherent rank, but how can a prince or marquis have fixed roots? I am Xu Qingjun, the legitimate son of the Duke of Wei, born to wealth and honor, enjoying every luxury. Who would have thought the state would fall and the family be destroyed, leaving me alone and helpless. With no other choice, I became a runner in Shangyuan County, barely scraping by. Now, bearing my superior's warrant, I am to search out and arrest recluses of the mountains and forests, so I must go to the countryside. (Looks around) On the riverbank, there are a few old men sitting idly; I might as well go over and borrow a light, and incidentally ask for news. Indeed: The founding duke leaves a dog's tail behind; the reclusive elder of a changed dynasty shrinks his turtle's head. (Steps forward and greets them) Old brothers, can I borrow a light?
(Clown role says) Please sit.
(Vice-pure role sits down)
(Vice-end role asks) From your dress, you look like a constable, elder brother.
(Vice-pure role says) Exactly.
(Comic role asks) Do you need a light for a smoke? I, your younger brother, have some good tobacco; let me offer you some. (Strikes a light, takes tobacco, and hands it to Vice-pure role)
(Vice-pure role smokes) Good tobacco, good tobacco! (Acts dizzy and collapses)
(Comic role supports him)
(Vice-pure role says) Don't hold me; let me rest a while and I'll be fine. (Closes eyes and lies down)
(Clown role asks Vice-end role) I remember three years ago, you, old sir, held the robe and cap of Minister Shi, intending to bury them at the foot of Plum Blossom Ridge. What happened afterward?
(Vice-end role says) Later, I gathered many loyal and righteous men, assembled at Plum Blossom Ridge, summoned his spirit, and buried him. It can be counted as a grand event for a thousand years, but we did not erect a stele.
(Comic role says) A good deed, a good deed. It's a pity that General Huang, cutting his throat to repay his sovereign, had his body cast by the roadside, with no one to bury him.
(Vice-end role says) Now it's all right. It was I, this old man, together with the village elders, who gathered his bones, encoffined and buried him, and built a great tomb—quite impressive.
(Clown role says) These two meritorious deeds of yours are no small matter.
(Comic role says) You two don't know. When Zuo Ningnan died of rage on the war boat, his relatives and friends all scattered; it was I, Old Su, who encoffined and buried him.
(Vice-end role says) Rare, rare. I heard his son Zuo Menggeng inherited his position and yesterday escorted the coffin back.
(Clown role wipes tears and says) Zuo Ningnan was an old friend of mine, Old Liu. I once asked Lan Tianshu to paint his portrait, and begged Qian Muzhai to write a few lines of praise; on festivals and anniversaries, I open it and pay respects, fulfilling a little of my gratitude.
(Vice-pure role wakes up and says quietly) Listening to their talk, they seem to be some recluses of the mountains and forests. (Rises and asks) Are you three recluses of the mountains and forests?
(All rise and bow with clasped hands) We dare not, we dare not. Why do you ask about recluses of the mountains and forests?
(Fu Jing says) "Don't you three know? The Ministry of Rites has submitted a memorial to search for reclusive scholars in the mountains and forests. The Governor and the Surveillance Commissioner have posted notices, and the Provincial Administration Commissioner has issued orders for over a month now, yet not a single person has registered. The prefectural and county officials are anxious, sending us out everywhere to apprehend them. You three must be the ones—quickly, come back with me to report for duty."
(Fu Mo says) "Brother, you're mistaken. Reclusive scholars are refined literati and famous gentlemen who refuse to leave their seclusion. I am merely a former ritual master who pretends to be learned—how could I possibly qualify?"
(Chou and Jing say) "We two are storytellers and singers by trade, now turned fisherman and woodcutter—even less suitable."
(Fu Jing says) "You don't understand. Those literati and famous gentlemen are all discerning heroes who know the times. They all came out of seclusion three years ago. Now we're specifically searching for people like you."
(Fu Mo says) "Pah! Summoning recluses is a grand ceremony of the imperial court. Local officials should invite them with proper rites—why must you apprehend people? It must be that you yamen runners are carrying out the orders poorly."
(Fu Jing says) "It's none of my concern. Here is the county's official warrant—take a look." (He takes out the warrant and moves to arrest them.)
(Jing says) "So it's true indeed."
(Chou says) "How about we simply make ourselves scarce?"
(Fu Mo says) "Sensible. How late to avoid disaster now, Too shallow my retreat into the hills before." (They each scatter and flee down the stage.)
(Fu Jing, unable to catch up) "Look at them—scaling cliffs and fording streams, each escaping without a trace."
【Qing Jiang Yin】Through vast marshes and deep mountains everywhere I search, Prepared for the officials' demand. I draw out the green-headed warrant, Unroll the red-sealed summons, And scare off a few white-robed mountain men.
(Standing still, listening) "From afar I hear the sound of someone reciting poetry. If not by the water's edge, then surely in the forest. Let me stroll along and search for them." (Exits hurriedly.)
(From offstage, reciting poetry:)
Fisherman and woodcutter speak of old splendor past, A brief dream faintly remembered, not a detail amiss; Once I resented crimson paper slips carried by swallows, But pitied the plain fan stained with peach blossoms. What guest lingered in the western hall amidst song and flute? In misty rain, the Southern Dynasties—how many houses changed? Passing on heartbroken parting words, Year after year on Cold Food Festival, weeping at the world's end.