My brother-in-law’s grandfather Master Song Tao, a local recipient of a government stipend for bachelors of letters, was lying sick in bed one day when an officer bearing a summons and leading a white-blazed horse came to him and said, ”You are requested to be present at the examination.”
”It is not the year of the national examination; how can an examination be held out of the blue?” asked Master Song.
The officer fended the question off by insistently urging him to go. Master Song climbed weakly onto the horse and followed him along an unfamiliar road till they came to a walled city that looked like the seat of a king’s authority.
Before long they entered a magnificently built official residence. A group of ten or so officials sat at the head of a hall, none of whom he recognized except the God of War, Guan Yu. Two low desks with floor cushions had been set up in front of the hall. A bachelor of letters was already seated at the place farther from the head of the room. Master Song sat down shoulder-to-shoulder with him. On each desk were a pen and a writing pad.
Suddenly a slip of paper bearing the composition topic glided down before his eyes. The eight words on it were “One man, two men: with intent, without intent.”
The two scholars completed their essays and presented them to the group at the head of the hall. One part of Master Song’s essay read:
“When a good deed is done with the intent of getting a reward, goodness is not to be rewarded; when an evil deed is done without intent, then evil is not to be punished.”
The deities passed the essay around, and there was no end to their praise of it. They called Master Song forward and announced their decision: ”There is an opening for a city god in Henan Province that you are qualified to fill.” Only then did Master Song realize what was happening. He bumped his head pleadingly on the floor and sobbed:
“Since you deign to grant me your most partial appointment, how dare I stubbornly decline? But my old mother is in her seventies and has no one to look after her. Please let me be with her until she lives out her appointed span of years, then I will be at your service.”
An emperor-like deity commanded that his mother’s longevity entry be checked. A clerk with a long beard brought out a record book and, after leafing quickly through it, reported, “She has nine years left on earth.”
Guan Yu resolved the general indecision by saying: “No trouble. Have Scholar Zhang hold the seal of appointment in his stead until the nine years are up. That will be fine.” Then he turned to Master Song and said, “Even though you should assume your duties right away, in order to promote benevolence and filial obedience, we will grant you a nine-year extension this time. When that period is over we will summon you again.”
He then spoke a few words of consolation and encouragement to the unsuccessful candidate. The two scholars kowtowed and left the hall together. The unsuccessful candidate shook Master Song’s hand and accompanied him to the environs of the city. He volunteered the information that his name was Zhang, coming from Changshan. His parting gift was a poem which escaped Song’s memory except two of the lines: “With flowers and wine, spring is always here; without candle or lamp the night itself is bright.”
Master Song mounted his horse, said goodbye and left. As he entered his own neighborhood he felt himself waking up as if from a dream.
At that time he had been dead for three days. His mother heard moaning in the coffin and helped him out. Half a day passed before he could speak. Song asked about Changshan and learned that, sure enough, a scholar named Zhang had died there on the same day that he had.
Nine years later his mother died as expected. As soon as Song had finished making her funeral arrangements, he bathed and then entered his bedroom and died. That day his in-laws, who lived just inside the west gate of the city, saw him riding a horse with engraved harness and crimson trappings, followed by a large number of coaches and horses. Song walked into their hall, bowed once and left. In their astonishment they failed to realize that he was a ghost. They ran to his neighborhood to ask about him, only to find that he was already dead.
Master Song left a short autobiography but, unfortunatdy, nothing remained of it after the disorder that swept our land. Here I give only a bare outline.
Allegorical Meaning
The story presents a celestial examination system mirroring the earthly imperial exams. Song Tao, a scholar, is tested after death for a divine bureaucratic position (City God). This suggests:
- True worth is judged beyond worldly constraints: Earthly failures (like Song Tao’s implied lack of success in life) don’t reflect true merit; ultimate judgment lies in a higher, impartial realm.
- Meritocracy Transcends Mortality: The cosmic order operates on principles of merit and virtue, where qualifications (literary skill, moral insight) are valued eternally.
- Critique of Earthly Exams: By showing a fair and spiritually significant exam in the afterlife, Pu Songling subtly critiques the corruption, nepotism, and arbitrary nature of the Qing Dynasty’s imperial examination system he personally struggled with.
The Moral Conflict: Filial Piety vs. Divine Duty
Song Tao passes the exam but faces a dilemma: immediately assume his post as City God (requiring him to leave the mortal realm) or care for his elderly mother.
- Song Tao’s plea to defer his divine duty to care for his mother resonates deeply with Confucian ethics. His success in the exam is validated, but his moral character is truly tested by this choice.
- The underworld officials grant his request, valuing his filial devotion above immediate bureaucratic need. This signifies the highest spiritual authorities also recognize and prioritize Filial Piety.
Broader Significance within Liaozhai:
- Foundational Allegory: As the first story in the collection, it sets a thematic tone. It establishes Pu Songling’s core concerns: the search for true merit and justice often missing in the human world, the importance of fundamental Confucian virtues, and the existence of a supernatural realm that operates on (or sometimes exposes the lack of) these principles.
- Scholar’s Wish Fulfillment: It embodies the frustrated scholar’s dream: a truly fair examination where genuine talent and virtue are recognized and rewarded with significant position and honor.
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