41—
Chang Tai (ca. 1597–ca. 1679)

Chang Tai was the scion of a prominent family of Shan-yin (modern Shao-hsing, Che-chiang). Like a number of wealthy literati during the late Ming, he did not pursue an official career; instead, during the first half of his life he led a charmed existence as an aesthete and socialite. During the final four decades of the Ming, he was able to travel extensively in comfort and observe many of the fashionable scenes of the time. At some point he took the artistic name T'ao-an (Studio of Contentment). After the collapse of the dynasty in 1644, his fortunes declined as the world he knew vanished. During the remaining fortyor-so years of his life, he lived in much-reduced circumstances as a recluse and wrote his memoirs in the form of miscellanies. Dreamlike Memories from the Studio of Contentment is his best-known collection, containing short, epigraphic narratives of the travels of his youth as well as vignettes of personalities, customs, and various cultural pursuits. His style continued the individualism and miniaturism of the Kung-an school of the late Ming. It conveys his own sensuality, humor, and delight in the unusual, in addition to his melancholy, irony, and nostalgia. The details he provides recapture the manifold pleasures of a lost world from the vantage point of a once-privileged tourist now left with few illusions.

From Dreamlike Memories from the Studio of Contentment

The Juniper in the Temple of Confucius

With the establishment of Confucianism as the official ideology during the Western Han dynasty, the city of Ch'ü-fu in Shan-tung, the home

Fig. 51.
The Confucian Shrine at Ch'ü-fu . From San-ts'ai t'u-hui  (1609). Richard C. Rudolph East Asian Library, University of California,
Los Angeles. The juniper of Confucius is located within the city walls to the right of the center of the illustration, beside the
Confucian Temple. Above behind the circular wall is the Confucian Grove, where Confucius, his disciples, and his descendants
are buried. In the far distance in the upper right is the Supreme Mountain.

of Confucius, became a shrine. Embellished over the centuries by imperial largess, the ancient town grew into a complex of temples, monuments, and sacred objects celebrating the Confucian cult, presided over by his descendants in the aristocratic K'ung family. Located not far from the Supreme Mountain, Ch'ü-fu attracted emperors and commoners alike, who made pilgrimages to sacrifice in the grand Confucian Temple and view the many sights associated with historical events and personalities. By Chang Tai's time, it had also become a tourist spot visited by sightseers interested in the curiosities displayed at the shrine. Many of these, the juniper of Confucius among them, were of dubious historical origin, though such objects as the Han dynasty steles were undoubtedly genuine. After several decades of neglect, Ch'ü-fu has been undergoing restoration in recent years and once again attracts visitors.

In the year chi-szu [1629], I arrived in Ch'ü-fu and visited the Temple of Confucius. One must pay admission before entering through the gate. Towers thrust up above the palacelike walls. A placard read, "The Place Where Liang Shan-po and Chu Ying-t'ai Studied."^[1] I was startled by its inappropriateness. I entered through the Gate of Ritual Ceremony and saw the juniper that Confucius himself had planted.^[2] This juniper has endured for several thousand years, through the Chou, Ch'in, Han, and Chin dynasties. In the third year of the Yung-chia era [309], during the reign of Emperor Huai of the Western Chin, it withered. It remained withered for 309 years. However, the descendants of Confucius continued to tend it, so it was not destroyed. In the first year of the I-ning era [617], during the reign of Emperor Kung of the Sui dynasty, it revived. Fifty-one years later, in the third year of the Ch'ien-feng era [668], during the reign of Emperor Kao-tsung of the T'ang, it withered again and remained withered for 374 years until the first year of the K'ang-ting era [1040], during the reign of Emperor Jen-tsung of the Sung, when it flourished again. In the third year of the Chen-yu era [1215], during the reign of Emperor Hsüan-tsung of the Chin, it was scorched in a fire set by soldiers. Its branches and leaves were all burned; only its trunk survived, a little more than twenty feet high. Eighty-one years later, in the thirty-first year of the reign of Emperor Shih-tsu of the Yüan [1294], it sprouted forth again. In the year chi-szu [1389], the twenty-second year in the reign of the Hung-wu Emperor, it sprouted numerous branches of lush foliage, which fell off ten years later.^[3]

I felt its trunk. It was smooth, moist, firm, and shiny. The pattern of its bark swirled to the left. When struck, it produced a sound like that of metal or stone. The descendants of Confucius have always regarded its flourishing and withering as a sign of the times. I proceeded further, to a large pavilion with a toppled stele. The two characters "Apricot Terrace"^[4] had been written on it in the calligraphy of Tang Huai-ying.^[5]

At the edge of the pavilion is a bridge where the Chu and Szu rivers meet.^[6] I crossed it and entered the Grand Hall. This hall is magnificent and beautiful. The Expositor-Sage Confucius, his Four Attendant Spirits, and the Ten Philosophers^[7] were all represented by statues wearing crowns with strands of jade beads. On the altar were arranged three bronze tripods in the shape of a bullock, an elephant, and a pi-hsieh .^[8] Their styles closely followed those of antiquity. Their entire bodies were an emerald verdigris; and they were nailed down to the altar table. Below the stairs were arranged in a file the steles of emperors of various dynasties. That of the Yüan dynasty stood out for its enormity. It was made of burnished bronze and had a tortoise base more than ten feet high.

The hall on the left is three bays large, slightly smaller in scale than the Grand Hall. It is the Temple of the K'ung Clan. The east and west walls were lined with encomiums by emperors of various dynasties, written on small wooden tablets. In a corner of the western wall is the Hall of Emperor T'ai-tsu of the Ming. None of the titles bestowed by the Ming dynasty are used in the temple. One can gauge by this the nobility of the K'ung clan. One clan member said, "There are only three great clans in the world—ours, the Changs of Chiang-hsi, and the Chus of Feng-yang.^[9] The Chiang-hsi Changs have the odor of Taoists, while the Feng-yang Chus are upstarts with the airs of a common family."^[10]

An Inn in T'ai-an

The subprefecture of T'ai-an, Shan-tung, is not far from Ch'ü-fu, and Chang Tai must have visited it around the same time, in 1629. The town lies at the foot of the Supreme Mountain, where the Temple to the Sacred Mount of the East is located. The temple is the starting point for pilgrims ascending the mountain. What in ancient times had been an arduous and dangerous climb had been developed over the centuries into a scenic route lined with shrines dedicated to deities of various cults. Long before Chang Tai's visit, the central path up the

Fig. 52.
Ascending the Supreme Mountain to OfFer Sacrifices (Chia-ch'ing era [1796–1820]). From Wang
Shu-ts'un, ed.,  Yang-liu-ch'ing nien-hua tzu-liao chi  (Peking, 1959). This popular woodblock
print shows an affluent Ch'ingdynasty gentleman on his way up to the summit.

mountain had been paved with stone steps, and affluent travelers could be carried up in comfort in open sedan chairs. While emperors and officials continued to make sacrificial pilgrimages, the Supreme Mountain had already become a prime tourist destination catering to a wide range of guests of all classes. These visitors were motivated not only by religious devotion but also by the desire to experience in their leisure time one of the natural wonders of the Chinese world.

Chang appears to have availed himself of a package tour, and his account is a rare glimpse into the circumstances of commercialized travel in later Imperial China. Not only does he describe the impressive establishments that catered to those who could afford them, but he also reveals the pleasurable customs involved in such "sacrificing." Throughout, there is an attitude of irony and amusement at the worldliness of what originally had been a state occasion of the utmost

seriousness. Compared to Ma Ti-po's account, Chang Tai's report is without the slightest intimation of hardship or spiritual awe.

I shall never again regard the inns of T'ai-an as merely inns. I had come to sacrifice at the Supreme Mountain, and less than half a mile or so before reaching the inn I saw twenty or more stables for mules and horses. As I got closer, there were more than twenty dwellings housing actors. And closer still were discreet doorways and concealed houses all belonging to courtesans engaged in their seductive profession. I thought that these must serve the entire subprefecture—I didn't realize they were just for a single inn.

When arriving at the inn, one first enters a reception room to register. Someone collects the basic rate of three ch'ien , eight fen in silver; then someone collects the tax for climbing the mountain, of one ch'ien , eight fen . There are three grades of rooms. The lowest provides only a vegetarian meal in the evening and another one the next morning. Lunch is taken on the mountain, where the pilgrim partakes of ordinary rice wine and nuts; this is called "Reaching the Summit." By evening he arrives back at the inn where a feast of congratulations is held. It is said that after burning incense, if he prayed to become an official, then he will become one; if he prayed for sons, then he will receive them; if he prayed for money, he will obtain it. Therefore it is called "congratulations." There are also three grades of "congratulations." The first consists of a table for one with sweet cakes, five kinds of fruit, ten kinds of meat, nuts, and an opera performance. The next grade provides a table for two, also with sweet cakes, meat dishes, nuts, and an opera. The lowest grade is a table for three or four people, also with sweet cakes, meat dishes, nuts, but no opera, though it includes a singer with lute. At the inn I counted more than twenty places for opera performances, while those for singers were beyond counting. There were more than twenty kitchens preparing food and between one and two hundred servants running about serving the guests. After descending from the mountain, one can eat and drink and enjoy the courtesans to one's heart's content—all this in one day.

Guests arrive day after day to ascend and descend the mountain in this way. Yet the rooms of the new and departed guests are never confused, the nonvegetarian and vegetarian meals are never mixed up, and the staff who welcome the guests and the staff who see them off are each different. All this precision is quite incomprehensible. In the single subprefecture of T'ai-an, there are five or six inns just like this one, which is even more amazing.^[1]

West Lake at the Midsummer Festival

Chang Tai was a frequent visitor to West Lake, whose scenic beauty, prosperity, and sophisticated social scene attracted all kinds of travelers. In his later years, he wrote a collection of nostalgic travel pieces, In Search of My Dreams of West Lake (Hsi-hu meng-hsün) , twenty-eight years after he had last visited it. In the following selection from Dreamlike Memories , Chang Tai, like Yüan Hung-tao before him, defined travel as a demonstration of individual taste. How one travels and with whom are essential elements in experiencing a place, as significant as lyrical perceptions of the landscape or recognition of its historical meanings. He defines his own self by means of a typology of aesthetic consciousness. Avoiding exuberant vulgarity as well as conventional forms of sophistication, Chang Tai avows the simpler, understated tastes traditionally extolled in literati culture.

At West Lake at the Midsummer Festival,^[1] there is nothing worth watching except those who come to watch the midsummer moon. One can distinguish five types worth watching:

One type: those on spacious pleasure boats where music is played, wearing formal dress, enjoying magnificent banquets under lantern lights, entertained by actors as sounds and sights dissolve into one another. They call this "watching the moon," though they never really see it. They themselves are worth watching.

Another type: those on pleasure boats as well as those in pavilions along with celebrated beauties, accompanied by pretty boys, laughter and shouting spreading among them, seated in a circle on terraces, gazing this way and that. Their bodies are located under the moon, though they really never look at it. They, too, are worth watching.

Another type: those who are also on pleasure boats who are singing, accompanied by famous courtesans and Buddhist priests, sipping wine and singing softly to subdued flutes and mellow strings, bamboo instruments and voices accompanying each other. They are also under the moon and they watch it, and they want others to watch them watching the moon. They are worth watching.

Another type: those who ride neither boats nor carriages, wear neither gowns nor hats, are drunk with wine and stuffed with food, forming groups of three or five, shoving their way through the crowds by the Temple of Glorious Blessings and Broken Bridge^[2] yelling and screaming, pretending to be drunk, and singing discordant songs. They

Fig. 53.
Viewing the Moon on West Lake  (detail). From Hsi-hu shih-ching  (Shanghai,
1979; rpt. of Wanli era [1573–162O] ed.). The title of this print, "Viewing the
Autumn Moon on Placid Lake," describes one of the ten famous scenes of
West Lake and was later the name of a pavilion on Solitary Hill.

watch the moon, they watch those watching the moon, they watch those not watching the moon, but actually they see nothing. They are worth watching.

Another type: those on small boats with thin cloth curtains who heat a stove on a clean table, set up a teapot and boil tea, delicately serving it in white porcelain cups to good friends and beautiful women all seated together on an outing to watch the moon, and who may hide in the shadows beneath the trees or flee from the clamor to the Inner Lake.^[3] They watch the moon, but others cannot see how they watch it, and, moreover, they do not watch it self-consciously. They are worth watching.

When Hang-chou people visit West Lake, they usually set out during the hours of szu [9:00–11:00 A.M.] and return at yu [5:00–7:00 P.M.], avoiding the moon as if it were an enemy. But this evening is famous, and they come out m droves. Many tip the guards at the city gate with money for wine. The sedan chair bearers carry torches and line up to wait for them along the banks. Once on board, they urge the boatman to hurry toward Broken Bridge so as to make it to the festivities. Up until the second watch [9:00–11:00 P.M.], the sounds of voices and instruments are like a bubbling over, like a tremor, like crying out from a nightmare, like murmuring in one's sleep, so deafening that it makes one seem mute. The boats, great and small, all mass along the bank. Nothing can be seen except poles striking poles, boats colliding with boats, shoulders rubbing against shoulders, faces looking into other faces.

After a while, the excitement dies down. The parties of officials disperse as the government runners shout to clear the way. The sedan chair bearers alert those on the boats, warning that the city gates will shut. Lanterns and torches, like stars strewn in the sky, one by one gather into clusters and depart. Those onshore also swarm toward the gates. The crowd gradually thins, and soon everyone has dispersed.

This is when our boat approaches the shore, when the stone steps on Broken Bridge have cooled off. The mats are laid out there, and the guests are bid to drink freely. Now the moon is like a newly polished mirror. Again the mountains adjust their finery as, once more, the lake cleanses its face. Those who had been sipping wine and singing softly come out; those who hid in the shadows beneath the trees also come out. We go and make contact with them, urging them to sit down with us. Elegant friends come by, famous courtesans arrive, cups and chopsticks are laid aside as bamboo instruments and voices sound forth. When the moon is pale and cool, and it begins to grow bright in the east, the guests finally depart. We let our boat drift and fall asleep

Fig. 54.
Fan Ch'i (1616-ca. 1695),  The Ch'in,-huai River . From  Five Views of Chin-ling , Shanghai Museum, Shanghai.

among the lotus flowers, which stretch for several miles. Their fragrance caresses us and our dreams are sweet.^[4]

The Riverside Houses Along the Ch'in-Huai

The Ch'in-huai River (Ch'in-huai-ho) originates in modern Li-shui, Chiang-su, and flows along the southern edge of Nanking before entering the Long River. Since the Six Dynasties, many spots along its length have become celebrated in literature and painting for their associations with famous literati and courtesans. In the late Ming, one particular stretch of the Ch'in-huai in the city was lined with elegant residences, inns, and courtesan houses where could be found the leading celebrities of the time. The entire neighborhood seemed dedicated to art and pleasure, and the social scene rivaled that of West Lake.

Along with Chang Tai, a number of other writers at the end of the seventeenth century wrote nostalgic accounts of Ch'in-huai in its heyday. Yü Huai (1616–1696), for example, in Random Notes from the Planked Bridge (Pan-ch'iao tsa-chi , published in 1697), recorded the unique customs and leading personalities of the quarter. In K'ung Shang-jen's (1648–1718) historical drama The Peach-Blossom Fan (T'aohua-shan , 1699), the Ch'in-huai of the 1640s is recreated as the setting for the romance between the courtesan Li Hsiang-chün and the scholar Hou Fang-yü (1618–1655). In painting as well, scenes along the Ch'inhuai River were nostalgically depicted by artists, such as Shih-t'ao (1642-ca. 1710) in his album Reminiscences of Ch'in-huai (Ch'in-huai i-yu , ca. 1685).

The riverside houses along the Ch'in-huai were convenient for lodging, for social intercourse, and for carousing. The rates were exorbitant, yet not a day went by when they weren't filled with guests. Decorated boats with their sounds of music passed back and forth, winding in circles by the houses. Outside each house were terraces with vermilion balustrades and latticed windows, bamboo shades and gauze curtains. In summer, people relaxed on the terraces after bathing, while from the pavilions along both banks a jasmine breeze would arouse the men and women with its pungent fragrance. The ladies held round fans and wore fine white silk. Their flowing sidelocks and tilted hairbuns attracted the men with their soft allure.

Every year on the day of the Dragon Boat Festival^[1] the place was filled with the ladies and gentlemen of the capital,^[2] who would come to view the lantern boats. Enthusiasts would assemble about a hundred small sailboats, with lanterns shaped like the horns of rams hung from the sails like strings of pearls. The boats were tied stem to stern so that as many as ten or more were joined in a file. They resembled fiery dragons and flaming clam-monsters, coiling, writhing, undulating, meandering. The water became agitated as the lights flashed. On board, cymbals and bells sounded while festive songs sung to strings and flutes rose up like frothy bubbles. The ladies and gentlemen, leaning against the balustrades, would break out in laughter. The sounds and sights were so dazzling that one no longer felt in control of his own eyes and ears. After midnight, they tired of songs and only a few lanterns remained lit. Like the stars, one by one, they disappeared. Chung Po-ching has written a "Rhapsody on the Lantern Boats of Ch'inhuai,"^[3] which is consummate and quite captures the scene.^[4]

Romance at Twenty-Four Bridges

Chang Tai describes one of the principal attractions for many male travelers of such southern cities as Yang-chou. Noted for the charm and beauty of its women, who were also highly desired as actresses and concubines, Yang-chou possessed several courtesan quarters. The origin of the name "Twenty-four Bridges" (Er-shih-szu-ch'iao) is obscure. It may originally have referred to twenty-four bridges throughout the city. In the T'ang, the poet Tu Mu (803–852) celebrated Twenty-four Bridges as a courtesan quarter, whereas by Chang Tai's time the name clearly denoted a specific neighborhood on the street leading to the West Gate of the old city. The writer surveys the scene with a sense of fascination, pity, and realism as he focuses on the courtesans of the lowest rank. While his account is intriguing for its details of the customs of the quarter, it dispels all romantic illusions in its observations of the blemished streetwalkers and its awareness of the sad fate of the unsuccessful ones, only to end on a perversely comic note.

Of the romantic scene at Twenty-four Bridges in Yang-chou, something was still preserved along Han Canal.^[1] One circled around for about three hundred yards past Currency Gate to where there were nine alleys. There were originally nine, but almost a hundred alleys now encircle and zigzag between these to the left and right, front and back. The entrances to these alleys were narrow and winding. Standing neatly alongside each other were exquisite houses with secret doorways where both famous courtesans and ordinary streetwalkers dwelled. The famous courtesans would never appear themselves; one required the services of a guide to gain entry. There were as many as five or six hundred streetwalkers. Every day toward evening they would come out to the entrances to the alleys all bathed, perfumed, and made up, leaning against or sitting around the teahouses and taverns. This was called "standing sentry."

A hundred gauze lanterns lined the fronts of these teahouses and taverns. The girls screened themselves from the glare, half-concealing themselves between the lights. Those scarred masked themselves behind curtains; those crippled did not venture out beyond the threshold. If viewed before the lanterns or under the moonlight, not a single one could be found unblemished. The power of powder proved the saying, "A stroke of white covers a hundred defects."

Roamers and travelers came and went like the movements of a weaving shuttle. They rubbed their eyes and stayed on the lookout. When someone struck their fancy, they rushed forward and led her away. But suddenly the girl would remember her position and humbly allow the customer to go first while she followed behind at a slow pace. When they reached the entrance to the alley, a spotter would call through the doorway, "Miss X has a guest!" From within erupted a response like thunder and torches were instantly brought out. One by one, the girls would disappear; only about twenty or thirty were left remaining.

As the night grew heavy, by the second watch [9:00–11:00 P.M.] lanterns and candles were nearly burned out. The teahouses went dark and silent. "Professor Tea" was embarrassed to make the girls leave; all he could do was yawn. But the girls would gather some money and buy short candles from "Professor Tea" while they waited for late customers. Some would seductively sing tunes like "The Axe Breaks Jade"; some would tease each other and roar with laughter, deliberately making a scene to stir things up a bit. Yet this raucous laughter gradually took on a tinge of desperation. By midnight, they had to leave. Quietly, they groped their way through the darkness like ghosts. When they encountered the old madams, the girls might be starved or beaten—one had no way of knowing.

A younger cousin of mine, Cho-ju, had a handsome set of whiskers, was compulsively romantic, and fond of joking. Whenever he went by Currency Gate, he had to find a courtesan and once chortled to me, "My pleasure today is no less than that of kings and nobles!" "How is that?" I asked. He said, "Kings, nobles, and great men have several hundred concubines waiting on them. When evening comes they all passionately yearn to be chosen, but only one person is favored. When I pass by Currency Gate, there are several hundred beauties who eye me and tempt me and who regard me as a P'an An.^[2] I need only signal with an expression to choose whomever I wish. I can always find someone appealing, call out to her, and she will serve me. How are kings, nobles, and great men better off than I?" Then he guffawed loudly, and I along with him.^[3]

The Yü Garden

It was not only natural landscapes that attracted literary travelers, but also the artificial landscapes of gardens. The cities of the Chiang-nan region were particularly noted for outstanding examples of these, many of which had been developed over centuries. Ingenious rock formations

were the focus of these microcosms of the universe, with rocks from the Great Lake often preferred for their fantastic shapes. The garden was an important part of the art of living, a demonstration of aesthetic taste, a place for contemplation as well as entertainment. It could also confer social distinction.

Kua-chou (modern Chiang-tu, Chiang-su) is located on the north bank of the Long River at the mouth of the, Grand Canal, just below Yang-chou. In the late Ming, Yang-chou and its neighboring cities were among the most prosperous, owing in part to their role in the salt trade. The merchants of this area enjoyed unusual prestige and often cultivated literati tastes to demonstrate their status. The visit by Chang Tai and his uncle the vice-magistrate to the merchant Yü Wu's garden reveals how the garden could serve as a point of informal contact between social classes. It also demonstrates how wealthy merchants, traditionally relegated to a lower order, could win the approval of the official class.

The Yü Garden was located by Five-Li Station in Kua-chou. It was built by a man of wealth, Yü Wu. The gate was never unlocked unless the visitor was a man of distinction. When my uncle Pao-sheng served as vice-magistrate of Kua-chou, he took me there, and the owner treated us hospitably in every way. The marvel of the garden lay exclusively in its constructions of rocks. A rock slope by the front hall was twenty feet high. On top, many fruit and pine trees were planted, while along the side of the slope were peonies. One could not climb it, but it was marvelous because of its realism. The rear hall overlooked a large pond, in the middle of which were fantastic peaks and deep valleys. It was a steep climb up and down them. When one walked below the level of the pond and looked up, one could see lotus flowers that appeared to be in the sky—it was marvelous because of its use of space. Beyond the balustrade of a bedchamber, a valley wound about below like a wasp—it was marvelous because of its remoteness and seclusion. And farther back was a waterside pavilion, long in shape like a punt. It spanned a miniature river that watered groves of entangled trees on all sides where birds warbled. It was just like being deep in the mountains or in a thick forest. Sitting amidst all this was like relaxing in a green, isolated place.

All the gardens in Kua-chou were noted for their artificial mountains. They were pregnant with rocks, which were delivered with the

assistance of artisans skilled in these constructions. These "boys and girls," when cut and polished and carefully selected by the owner, should have had no regrets over being in the Yü Garden. The Wang Garden in I-chen^[1] had carted-in rocks costing some forty to fifty thousand. The greatest effort was spent on "The Peak That Flew Here."^[2] Overly shaded and slimy, it seemed to elicit only derision. On its vacant lot I found a white rock about ten feet high and twenty feet wide that had a foolish appearance—but it was marvelous because of this foolishness; and I saw a black rock eight feet wide and fifteen feet high that appeared skinny—but it was marvelous because of this skinniness. It would have been enough to use just these two rocks. The owner could have saved twenty or thirty thousand and lived off the interest. Would it not have been better to preserve these two rocks from generation to generation?^[3]

The Relic at King Asoka^[*] Temple

King Asoka^[*] Temple (A-yü-wang-szu) is located in present-day Yin District, Che-chiang, about twelve miles east of the city of Ning-po. According to legend, in 282 Liu Sa-ho discovered a small reliquary here in the shape of a pagoda containing a bone. The reliquary was said to be one of the eighty-four thousand constructed at the order of the Indian king Asoka^[*] (r. 268–232 B.C.), an early patron of Buddhism who, according to tradition, sponsored missionaries to China. The bone was believed to come from the Sakyamuni^[*] Buddha and was widely revered as a powerful relic. A temple was first built in 425 and the name bestowed in 522 during the Liang dynasty. It was designated a Ch'an temple in 1382 during the Ming, and its many buildings have been restored over the years, most recently in 1980. The relic is now housed in an impressive hall inside three pagodas of stone, jewelencrusted wood, and another of wood believed to be the original one discovered by Liu Sa-ho.

The pursuit of the strange and the unusual was a prime motivation for travel among literati. In his reminiscences, Chang Tai records a number of marvelous sights that produced enlightening breakthroughs vis-à-vis more rational modes of perception. The relic, with its apparent ability to predict death, reminds the reader of the magical nature of the traditional Chinese world. The mystical power of such objects was even capable of inspiring faith in a traveler as worldly as Chang Tai.

King Asoka^[*] Temple is a Buddhist monastery remote and tranquil. Before the front steps are eight or nine old pines, all quite majestic with an air of antiquity. The main hall is located at some distance from the outer gate. A misty light among the shady trees shines through the gate so that one can look up at the sky and perceive a brilliance that is icy, cold, crystal clear, and penetrating. To the right, one winds toward the gate to the abbot's quarters, where there are two sala^[*] -trees so high they pierce the empyrean. A hall to the side contains a sandalwood Buddha and, in the middle, a bronze pagoda whose patina is quite old. It is a reliquary donated by the Empress Dowager Tz'u-sheng during the Wan-li era [1573–1620]. The relic often emits a light, dense and multicolored, radiating in all directions through the openings in the pagoda. Every year this is witnessed on three or four occasions. Whenever someone prays to the relic, it produces all kinds of visions according to the person's karma; but if it remains dark as ink and nothing is seen, the person will certainly die. In the past, the monk Chan visited the temple. He did not see any visions from the relic and died later that year. There have been numerous confirmations of this power.

The morning after my arrival, when the sun had just begun to shine, a monk escorted me to it where I offered prayers to the Buddha. He opened the bronze pagoda. A purple sandalwood shrine contained a smaller pagoda shaped like a hexagonal brush holder, though of neither wood, nor mulberry bark, nor leather, nor lacquer. Its top and bottom were covered with hide. It was pierced all around with ornamental designs, and the corners were decorated with Sanskrit letters. The relic was suspended from the top of the pagoda and hung down, swaying back and forth. One stared intently through the openwork, then turned one's eyes upward to look at the relic to discern its shape. At first glance, I saw three pearls strung together like Sakyamuni's^[*] Chain flickering brilliantly.^[1] I bowed down again and sought a vision. When I looked at it once more, I saw a small image of White-robed Kuan-yin^[2] whose eyebrows and eyes were clearly defined and whose sidelocks were clearly visible. Ch'in I-sheng looked at it again and again but in the end saw nothing. He trembled with fright, turned red, and left weeping. Indeed, Ch'in I-sheng died in the eighth month of that year. What an amazing confirmation of its power!^[3]