It is said that during the flourishing days of the Song Dynasty the capital city of Kaifeng was a tapestry of walls and moats. These went on for 36 li outside the city proper, with twenty-eight gates, thirty-six alleys full of brothels and seventy-two music halls. And if there were any open spaces in between all the buildings, they would certainly be utilized as flower gardens or football grounds. The powerful and important officials lived within those city walls, needless to say, but there were also a certain number of wealthy, titled citzens, such as Squire Wang the dyeworks baron, Squire Li the pearl king, Squire Zhang the shipping magnate, Squire Jiao the textile mogul and other examples too numerous to mention.

Among this class of men was a citizen whose enormous wealth surpassed that of the Lord of the Polestar, and whose many warehouses were groaning with an excess of rotting grain. In his house were three great vaults, each full of pawned posessions. The one on the left was loaded with varied silks and satins, while that on the right was full of gold, silver, pearls and jade. Between them was a vault full of musical instruments, chess sets, paintings and antiques. Each of these warehouses had three managers. This was the home of Hu Hao, Esquire, known respectfully as Hu Dahong. He had only his wife, the matronly Lady Zhang. In earlier times this gentleman had lived alone with eyes for one purpose only. So intent had he been on making good that he had time only for minding his books and reckoning his profits and interest. As he increased his capital tenfold, then a hundredfold, the thought of children never entered his mind.

Now, Lady Zhang had this one problem: an especially severe case of jealousy and envy. She wouldn't allow the Squire to take a concubine or even to employ a maid. Ten years earlier he had stolen the favors of a slave girl of theirs, and when his wife found out she blew up and beat the poor girl half to death, threw her to a manager and had her sold off. She and her husband still bickered and argued frequently and noisely, and there was never a full month of domestic peace. And so Squire Hu never entertained the hope of having children and merely passed the days rolling in his money. Here's a poem:

The days and years flew by and before he knew it Squire Hu was fifty years old. Now, the staff of his three warehouses got together as one and pitched in with their own money to buy food and drink and prepared a fine ceremony for him, and early in the morning of his birthday they came unto him and offered a toast to his years, first the warehouse managers and then his family and servants, and all kowtowed to him. His fellow captains of commerce and industry from Kaifeng were on hand for the occasion as were his business associates and clients, and many servants arrived bearing goods from various wellwishers. Of course the servants had been ordered to prepare a feast and colorful invitations were sent out to come have noodles and wine on the happy occasion. Dear friends and relations were all there, happily exchanging toasts and speaking of their homes and children. Squire Hu's thoughts suddenly turned to his own childlessness, and an unhappy feeling edged its way slowly into his heart, until finally the feast ended and the guests all departed. Lady Zhang, who had been sitting in the other section all along, then asked her spouse to share some cups of wine with her. Squire Hu gave her a fleeting look and, overwhelmed by his thoughts, burst into tears. Mama, as she was known, drew close to him.

"Squire, you've got plenty to eat and wear and so many things to do and enjoy. And although you don't have the power and glory of a prince or minister of old you are indeed a powerful tycoon, envied and respected by so many thousands of people. And it's your birthday today, a happy time, so what's troubling you?"

"I'm not thinking of food or goods to enjoy," said Squire Hu. "Our home's got its share, but I'm worried about our childlessness. What'll become of us without a son or daughter? Why, at the feast tonight everyone chatted about their families, and all they talked about were their children. I alone was childless. Folks often say to raise children for old age and store grain for famine. Next year I'll be fifty-one, facing my sixties. Childbirth gets rarer and rarer with advancing age, and that's what's eating me up inside!"

"Over in the East Village there's an old woman name Wang who's now nursing her firstborn at forty-eight," answered Mama. "I'm just forty-seven this year, not yet that old, so why can't I give birth and nurse too? It might be that it's in our fate and we just haven't had a chance to find out yet. If I haven't had a child by the time I'm fifty and we have to take a surrogate mother to to bear your offspring that's all right with me. Oh, and another thing: I've heard that the Crown Prince was born in answer to the Emperor's prayers for child, so why can't I, one of his subjects, have my prayers fulfilled as well? Right now in the city at the Shrine of the Precious Charmbook there's a really powerful god, the True Lord Protector of the North Pole. Why don't we pick an auspicious day and time and go there to offer plenty of candles, joss and paper horses in worship to that True Lord, begging him for a child? Not especially for a boy or girl, but just worshipping and purifying ourselves before the joss stove."

She then called on the maids to arrange some hot wine and the Squire's gloom was dispelled on the spot. Husband and wife enjoyed a few cups together, cleaned up and arranged the furniture and took their rest. And a few days later just as an auspicious moment approached they sent some staff to buy incense and paper and had a horse and carriage readied in tip-top condition. With a slave girl in tow they then went to the Shrine of the Treasured Charmbook, dismounting just at the gate. Entering the Main Hall they proceeded to offer incense and then had to repeat the worship at every altar of the two chapels. In the Hall of Martial Truth Squire Hu earnestly proclaimed his date of birth and begged for a child, heavily preferring a boy so as to carry on the family line.

And so the good Squire spent his days and nights storing up and planting his seed. And he continued knocking his forehead and even his teeth on the stone floors before the altars, while Mama went on setting candle and worshipping. On and on they went praying and burning script befopre leaving the shrine; you can imagine what it was like.

Before long half a year had passed and their burning joss and prayers for child had become a common sight on the first and fifteenth of every month. Then one day in the middle of the twelfth lunar month it was time for the annual audit of the warehouses. Another winter was over and it was time to reckon the pawns and redemptions. The warehouse managers and assistants invited their best customers for a few last transactions before settling the books, and there was no great rush at that! Now, among those warehouses the one full of antiques and curios had the thinnest accounts, and its manager was just reckoning the profit on the year's transactions when the curtain in the entrance was brushed aside and a gentleman entered wearing a fishtailed iron Daoist's crown and a black bordered flame gown. In his left hand was a basket of thorns and in his right a tortoise shell fan, while his legs were bound in leggings and fancy hemp shoes. He looked like he'd just blown in on a cosmic wind, so strange and godlike was he. Now, there are four classes of fairies and gods: those swift as the wind, those tall as the pines, those latent just like a relaxed bow and those with the voice of a bell. Just imagine the scene as that gentleman lifted aside the curtain and entered! The manager immediately recognized his extraordinary Daoist's garb and rushed forward to welcome him in, greeting the guest obsequiously and offering him a stool to sit on.

"Well, make yourself at home, your lordship," said the manager; "what can I do for you?"

"Could this be the right place for musical instruments, chess sets, books and paintings?"

"It certainly is."

"I've got a small painting I wish to pawn for a few ounces of silver, to be redeemed sometime soon of course."

"Well, terribly sorry but can I trouble you for a look so I can appraise it?"

Now, the manager had assumed that someone accompanying the visitor would be coming in with the painting, and was very surprised when the man himself reached into that thorn basket, took out out a painting no more than a foot wide and handed it to him. The manager received it saying nothing, thinking only that if the man wasn't joking it had better be pretty long, five feet at least, when scrolled open on the viewing forks. Eying it carefully he saw only a bright little painting of a beautiful woman with three characters meaning "painted by Sengyao" at the top. It was indeed well painted but a bit small and not worth much.

"How much do you want for this, lordship?" he asked, putting the display rack aside.

"This painting is really unique, so I'd like a hundred ouces of silver for it."

"Don't make me laugh, professor. This little painting isn't even worth five or six hundred coppers. How can I give you a hundred ounces of of silver, so many times its value?"

"This is the work of Zhang Sengyao of the old Jin Dynasty, and there are few like it in the world."

"Zhang Sengyao lived over five hundred years ago, yet this picture of a beauty is alive and fresh as if painted yesterday. The world is awash in fakes with all kinds of groundless claims."

"I insist, sir, that it is authentic. But I'll settle for fifty ounces, by gosh!"

"And I can't lend you five hundred against it either!"

And on it went, the customer insisting on pawning the picture at that value, the manager unwilling and the client not about to leave without satisfaction, and before long they were exchanging unpleasantries and accusations. But then what should they hear in mid-argument but the sound of leather shoes stepping smartly, and in a moment Squire Hu himself lifted the curtain and entered.

"Have you offered the noontime incense yet?" he asked the manager.

"Yes, Squire, I have."

"Squire, I beg of you!" said the gentleman.

"Please sit down sir," answered Squire Hu, assuming all along that he was an art forger; "let's have tea."

He then watched as the manager put the painting back on the rack and once more unscrolled it. "The good teacher here insists on pawning this little painting for fifty ounces of silver and won't budge," said the manager, "but I don't dare go along with it."

"Master," laughed Squire Hu, it's a nice little painting but it isn't worth much, and certainly not that kind of money!"

"Squire, you are rushing to judgement; there's more here than meets the eye. It's small all right but there's a marvelous and profound secret in it."

"I'm listening."

"This isn't the time to talk about it. When you lend me the money I'll tell you in detail.

Squire Hu then escorted the gentleman to the study, where they were alone. "Just what sort of deep secret has it got?" asked Squire Hu.

"It can't be compared to paintings as we know them, because it was created by a fairy. Just hang it up in a secret room late some still night without telling anyone. Burn some joss, set out a couple of candles and clear your throat once, then tap on the table three times and then ask the fairy maiden in the painting to come out for tea. There'll be a blast of wind and the goddess in the painting will come down."

Squire Hu listened thoughtfully. "I'd like to believe him that it's a fairy painting," he reasoned, "but I'm afraid it won't turn out to be true."

The gentleman looked pensively at him for awhile before speaking again. "If your lordship doesn't believe it, let me just leave the painting here overnight for you to try out. You'll be able to vouch for its pawn value when I return tomorrow."

"Master, you really are serious about this! Now I'm sure you are telling the truth. May I ask your surname?"

"It's Zhang, and my first name is Ying, for Oriole. I'm also known as Prince Chongxiao, the Skysoarer."

Squire Hu nodded and came out with the customer. "Pawn the painting for Mr Zhang here!" he called out to the manager.

"Don't blame me when he never comes to redeem it!"

"You don't need to be concerned. Just write a memo at the bottom of the slip that it was done on my order." Squire Hu then invited the gentleman caller to join him in some vegetarian food and chat and together they retired to the back hall, the painting stashed away in his gown. Afterward the manager handed over the entire sum of fifty ounces of silver and the Squire saw the gentleman out the door where he bade farewell and left, and that was that.

Now, Squire Hu had submitted to Mama's control at home, so of course he couldn't come forth openly about this latest girl to appear. Moreover she was a tempting sorceress of gracefully refined beauty not often seen in recent times. How could he not throw his soul to the devil and try to bed her? How long it seemed to nightfall, and how he wished he could just knock the bright sun out of the sky with his fist! Up he went to the upstairs drumtower to nervously await the sunset, coaxing it along with his will. It was like this:

Before evening he instructed a servant to tidy up the study and arrange the incense burner and the candleholders, tea server, pot and so forth. Then he thought up a scheme.

"There are a few redemptions on the books that I'm not sure about," he told Mama, "so I'll be in the office tonight going over the accounts. Why don't you tell the servants to prepare us an early dinner?"

Mama suspecting nothing out of the ordinary and had an early dinner served, and together they ate it.

"Mama, why don't you go to bed first?" said Squire Hu; "I'll be along later."

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