The Carp Maiden

In the Yishan Mountains, there is a huge waterfall. From a distance, it seems as if the water is falling straight from the blue sky. The rushing stream sparkles like silver, cascading into the valley. From the valley, it flows into a large bay. The water in the bay is like old ink, dark green and black, so deep that the bottom is impossible to see. Beyond the bay lies a deep gorge, stretching for dozens of miles, winding like a snake. In a wider part of the gorge, there is a small village. In that village, long ago, lived a poor young man nicknamed Wanshou.

His parents had died long ago, and he had only one uncle, his mother's brother, who lived in another village. The young man rarely visited him, only on holidays. Wanshou hired himself out as a cowherd in a neighboring village. When he took the herd into the mountains, he stayed there, only coming down for food. He didn't mind being alone.

At noon, after the cows had eaten their fill, Wanshou would run to a steep mountain slope. He would hide behind a rhododendron bush and wait. Soon, a stage would emerge from the dark green water. Gongs would sound, drums would thunder, competing with the roar of the waterfall. From behind the bush, the young man could see everything clearly. He saw an old man shuffling across the stage with tiny steps and a warrior hero somersaulting onto the stage. But then, finally, a young woman appeared. Her gait was like the swift flow of a river. Her voice was like the ringing of golden goblets, the chime of silver bells. It resonated in Wanshou's heart. When she sang of sorrow, the young man felt like crying; when she sang of joy, he wanted to laugh.

One day, the woman sang especially beautifully. Her voice grew clearer and clearer, and suddenly it soared like a lark into the sky. Wanshou couldn't contain himself. He peeked out from behind the bush, clapped his hands, and shouted:

"Ah-yah!"

Instantly, the gongs and drums fell silent, the girl disappeared, and the stage sank beneath the water. Waves surged across the bay, as if a storm had erupted at sea. The young man was drenched from head to toe, nearly swept away. He clung to the bush, grabbed a tree, and climbed to the very top of the mountain. When he turned around, the waves were gone. The bay was calm and peaceful. But from that day on, the young man never saw that wondrous spectacle again.

Winter came. The lush grasses on the meadows withered, and white snowflakes swirled in the sky. The owners drove their livestock home. Then came the third day of the New Year. Wanshou went to visit his old uncle. The uncle saw that his nephew had grown, and he felt both joy and sorrow.

"It's time," the uncle said, "to think about a bride. But who would give their daughter to a poor man like you?"

The uncle spoke these words and shed a tear. Wanshou felt a heavy weight in his heart. He thought: "I mustn't upset my uncle; he's old." But how could he comfort him? Suddenly, an idea came to him. Pretending to be overjoyed, he said:

"Don't be sad, Uncle. I've found myself a wife. I brought her home yesterday, and I hurried here to share the good news."

Hearing this, the old man didn't ask if it was true or not. He patted his nephew on the shoulder and said:

"So, you're clever and resourceful after all. I had faith in you. What joy! How happy your mother would have been if she had lived!"

As the young man prepared to leave, the uncle walked him to the gate and said:

"You're all I have in this world. I have no other relatives. So, whether you like it or not, I'll soon come to visit and see your wife."

Wanshou was frightened and replied:

"Better not come! You're old, and the mountain road is difficult!"

But the old man wouldn't be persuaded. He insisted:

"Was it easy for you to find a wife? Even if my steps are only three fingers long, I'll still come!"

The young man returned home, his heart heavy. His old uncle would soon arrive. What would he say? What would he show him? His house was empty, with only the wind howling through it. If his uncle found out he had lied, he would be angry and sad. What could he do? He thought and thought, and finally came up with an idea. He took a carrying pole, hung two baskets on it, and went to the river. He filled the baskets with clay and said sadly to himself:

"You don't know, Uncle, that your nephew deceived you. You don't know that your joy is empty."

As he spoke, tears fell from his eyes. He brought the clay home, fashioned a doll, dusted its face with flour to make it white, drew long, sweeping eyebrows, and a slightly open mouth that seemed ready to speak. He drilled two eyes—they looked alive. Wanshou gazed at the doll and sighed deeply. It was neat and beautiful, but still just a doll, not a person.

On the sixth day of the first month, at exactly noon, the uncle knocked on the gate. Wanshou broke into a sweat, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. But, as the saying goes, haste makes waste. He grabbed the doll, placed it on the bed, put a pillow under its head, covered it with a blanket, and ran to open the gate. The uncle entered, cheerful, looking around for his nephew's wife. Just as he was about to ask, Wanshou pushed a stool toward him and said:

"After such a long journey, you must rest first."

As soon as the old man sat down, Wanshou bustled about:

"You must be thirsty. I'll go boil some water."

Before the uncle could say a word, Wanshou had already run off to fetch firewood.
He returned, boiled some water, gave his uncle a drink, and then rushed off somewhere again. He really wanted to treat his uncle to something tasty, but he had nothing—not a handful of onions nor any roots. The young man felt ashamed as he stood before his uncle, not knowing what to do. The uncle took a sip of the boiling water and set the cup down. He immediately noticed that his nephew was troubled and said:

"It's been a while since I've been here, and I still haven't seen your wife. Go on, call her over, let her cheer up this old man!"

The young man feared these words more than anything. He replied to his uncle:

"My wife is unwell. She hasn't gotten out of bed for days!"

Hearing this, the uncle grew sad, as if he himself had fallen ill—or perhaps even more so. He stopped drinking the boiling water, jumped up from his seat, and said to his nephew:

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have gone to check on her!" With that, he headed to the room where the doll lay. Wan-shou rushed ahead of his uncle, approached the bed, and said:

"Uncle has come to see you. Get up if you have the strength."

The old man looked: the blanket looked like a stuffed sack, meaning there was someone under it. He believed that his nephew's wife was indeed ill and asked:

"Are you feeling better, my dear?"

Who could have guessed that a miracle would happen after these words? The blanket stirred, and a woman's voice replied:

"I'm feeling better, Uncle. Please, have a seat!"

Wan-shou was frightened and jerked his hand away from the blanket. "How can this be?" he thought. "I myself placed a clay doll under the blanket, and now it speaks!"

Meanwhile, the woman sat up in bed, brushed her hair back from her ears, and scolded the young man:

"What kind of man are you? It's rare for our dear old uncle to visit, and you're afraid to wake me, as if I were truly ill. And tell me, what will you serve our guest?"

The uncle saw that his nephew's wife was sitting on the bed, alive and well. She was graceful and spoke eloquently. The old man's heart bloomed with joy, as if a flower had blossomed within him.

And the uncle said:

"I'm full, dear daughter-in-law. I don't need anything. Lie down and rest."

But the young man's heart was racing, pounding. It was as if he had met this woman somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. The woman spoke to him again:

"Uncle has traveled a long and difficult road to get here. How can we not feed him? You stay here, and I'll cook."

The woman quickly jumped off the bed and went to the next room. The old man was pleased and climbed onto the bed, while the nephew's heart, as they say, leapt up seven times and fell down eight. He carried on a conversation with his uncle, but he was listening intently to what was happening in the next room, not missing a single sound. Soon, the knife began tapping on the board: *tap-tap*. Then the fire in the stove was stoked. It seemed like no time had passed at all when the woman brought in dumplings, steam billowing from them. The young man was even more astonished: what had she made the dumplings from?

The uncle ate and then left happily. Wan-shou saw him off, returned home, and saw the woman sitting there, waiting for him. Now he would finally get to the bottom of this.

The young man asked:

"Tell me, who are you?"

The woman grew sad, raised her hand, pointed under the table, and said:

"Perhaps I imagined that there was a clay doll there?"
The young man looked under the table, and there lay a sack. He peered inside the sack, and indeed, there was a doll!

The woman sighed deeply, so sorrowfully, and said:

"Before, we used to meet almost every day. Could you really not recognize me?"

Then Wan-shou remembered. It was the very woman who had sung on stage that time. He felt both wonder and joy. But the woman looked at Wan-shou and said coldly:

"Don't trouble yourself, I'll tell you the whole truth. Do you know who I am? I am a shape-shifting carp! My fate is not enviable. I live all alone, without a single loved one by my side, and my mistress, the black turtle, has forced me to entertain her with my singing since I was young. She doesn't care if I'm healthy or sick, she drives me onto the stage in any weather. A few days ago, the turtle went off somewhere to amuse herself. I thought, why not swim with the current? So I swam and reached your village. I heard you grieving and lamenting, so I decided to help you, and at the same time, comfort your uncle."

Finally, Wan-shou understood what had happened. He felt ashamed, blushed, and asked:

"Will you leave me or stay?"

For the first time, happiness had come to the young man. But morning came, and the woman lowered her head and wept bitterly.

The young man asked so tenderly:

"Does my poverty displease you?"

The woman cried even harder and said:

"I have no power over myself! When the turtle returns home and finds me missing, she might come looking for me here. I don't care about myself—let her beat me, let her scold me. But I fear for you. I don't want you to suffer because of me."

Hearing this, tears streamed from Wan-shou's eyes. The woman was silent for a moment, then said:

"Don't grieve, Wan-shou, don't despair. We will meet again. If you remember me, come to the bay, go behind the big black stone, and gently tap it three times. I will come out at once."

She said this and then repeated it word for word, as if to ensure Wan-shou wouldn't miss anything. Then she quietly walked to the door. She stepped outside the gate, looked back, turned into a wisp of blue smoke, and was carried away by the wind.

A day passed, then another. Wan-shou went to the bay. He descended the steep bank and saw—there indeed stood a black stone as tall as a man. Green moss covered its top, and colorful flowers—like butterflies—bloomed at its base. The young man gently tapped the stone three times, as the woman had taught him. The stone disappeared. In its place appeared something like a door or a window, covered in black lacquer. The window opened, and the young man saw the woman step out, waving her hand, urging Wan-shou to climb quietly through the window. Wan-shou obeyed and climbed in. Inside were tall, spacious halls. The woman led the young man to a small, dark room and whispered:

"This is my dwelling. The turtles live in those halls. The mistress has guests today. Soon they will call me to sing, so wait here. No matter what happens, don't open the windows, don't open the doors, and don't look into the courtyard."

Then the gongs chimed, the drums thundered, and the woman ran off, closing the door behind her. A little later, Wan-shou heard the performance begin. The gongs and drums shook the heavens, then the huqin began to play, accompanied by the brass plates of the gong, and finally, the woman's gentle singing filled the air. Wan-shou couldn't resist; he slightly opened the window and thought, "Nothing will happen if I open it all the way." But as soon as he opened the window, he heard a "Hua-la!" and a voice like thunder asked:

"What stranger has entered my courtyard?"

Wan-shou jumped in fright and rushed to close the window, but it was too late. The gongs fell silent, the drums ceased, and only noise and shouts could be heard. The woman approached, took Wan-shou by the hand, and led him outside. He looked around—there was nothing but water, and behind him, a whole pack of creatures with long spears and clubs was chasing him. Suddenly, the woman pushed Wan-shou. He felt solid ground beneath his feet. The woman shouted:

"Run, Wan-shou, run faster!"

He ran a little and found himself at a large stone on the very top of a mountain. He looked down, and the valley was almost entirely flooded, waves rolling across it. Suddenly, the young man noticed—a black-faced beast had dragged the woman underwater.

The next day, the water in the valley began to recede. The bay turned from black-green to turquoise, lit by the sun's rays. Wan-shou looked and saw a large golden carp swimming in the waves, over five chi in length. Many times after that, Wan-shou went to the cherished black stone, gently tapping it, but no one answered. He never saw that woman again.

People say that Wan-shou avenged the carp-woman, but I don't quite remember that story. One thing I can tell you: the turtles in that bay have disappeared, and now only large golden carps frolic in the clear, transparent water.

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The Carp Maiden

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