By the autumn wind.
“Am I to take it, sir,” said an alluring feminine voice, “that you are pleased?”
Yu Jung turned to see a female crow perched next to him on the branch. He bowed politely to her.
“‘Pleased’ is scarcely the word, miss. Never have I known such lightness, such a sense of being free of the dust and dirt of the world.” After saying this, he reflexively added: “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“I understand,” said the other in a calm and soothing tone. “I’m told you’ve had a very difficult life. I know how you must feel. But you’ll be fine now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Oh? Forgive me, but... May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?”
“Why, I’m to be your companion. Whatever you desire, you have only to ask. I’m here to serve your every need. Or... do I displease you?”
“Displease me? Certainly not, but...” Rattled, Yu Jung cast about for the proper words. “I have a wife of my own, you see. The superior man must abstain from lascivious conduct. I won’t be led into temptation,” he declared, trying to look the part of a crow of the highest morality.
“I beg your pardon, sir! Do you imagine that some base and frivolous passion has inspired me to approach you like this? You do me an injustice. I am here at the bidding of His Majesty, the benevolent Wu. It is he who has commanded me to offer you solace and comfort. Understand that you are no longer a human being, and that the wife you had in your other life is no longer a consideration. She may be a gentle and loving soul, but I assure you that I will prove in no way inferior. I shall devote myself wholeheartedly to serving you, and you will find that avian fidelity is based upon an even higher and purer truth than that of humans. Unworthy though I may seem to you now, I beg you to allow me to stay by your side. My name is Blue Bamboo.”
Yu Jung was deeply moved.
“Thank you. I have suffered much at the hands of human society. Forgive me if I seem overly suspicious. I am unaccustomed to such kindness, you see, and scarcely know how to accept it gracefully. Do forgive me.”
“My! You needn’t speak so formally. It sounds odd. Don’t you see? I’m to be your wife. Would you fancy an after-dinner stroll, my lord?”
Yu Jung nodded in as lordly a manner as he could manage, and said: “Lead the way, Blue Bamboo.”
“Come, then,” she said, and took to the sky.
Calling back and forth, now one in the lead and now the other, with the autumn wind soft beneath their wings, the hazy waters of Lake Tung-t’ing far below them, the tiled roofs of distant Yueh Yang Pagoda glistening in the fiery glow of the setting sun, and the reflection of the surrounding mountains embossed on the shimmering surface of the Hsiang River, the black-robed newlyweds flew wherever their hearts inclined, strangers to anxiety, delusion, or fear, and when they tired they rested their wings atop the mast of a homeward bound ship and looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. When night fell at last they winged leisurely back toward the woods, admiring the sight of Lake Tung-t’ing bathed in the brilliant light of the autumn moon, and when they reached their roost they nestled together and slept. The following morning they splashed about in the waters of the lake, bathing their feathers and rinsing their throats, then darted off toward an approaching ship and breakfasted on the sailors’ morning offering. Blue Bamboo, the demure and innocent bride of our failed examinee, was ever at his side, sticking as close to him as a shadow and gently looking after his every need. Yu Jung felt as if all the misery of his life had been swept away without a trace.
By the afternoon of that day, he was completely at home in his new role and had mastered the art of flitting about above the masts of passing ships, and when a vessel laden with soldiers came along he ignored his companions, who fled, squawking of danger, and paid no heed to Blue Bamboo’s cries of warning, too full of himself and the freedom of flight to resist the temptation to circle proudly in the air above it. He did not notice until too late that one of the soldiers had drawn a bow and was taking aim, and in the next moment an arrow pierced his breast. He fell from the sky like a stone. Blue Bamboo raced to him with lightning speed, caught him under one wing, and carried him back to the balcony of the King Wu Shrine, where she laid him down and clung to him, shedding a flood of tears as she tried to tend to his wound. The damage was too severe, however, and Blue Bamboo, seeing that her husband was beyond hope, let out a keening, mournful cry to summon the rest of the flock. Learning what had just occurred, the flock took to the air with a great flapping of wings to surround the soldiers’ ship and fan the water, roiling the surface with tremendous waves that in no time at all caused the vessel to capsize and sink. Thus avenged, the great flock of crows lifted their voices in a triumphant song that resounded across the entire lake. Blue Bamboo hurried back to Yu Jung’s side and gently pressed her cheek against his.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered plaintively. “Do you hear the victory song of your comrades?”
The pain in Yu Jung’s breast was insufferable. He opened his unseeing eyes and with his dying breath murmured:
“Blue Bamboo...”
And with that he awoke to find that he was once again a man, the same impoverished scholar as before, lying on the balcony of the King Wu Shrine. The setting sun burned brightly on the maple trees in the woods before him, where hundreds of crows were innocently hopping from twig to twig, playing and laughing.
“Finally woke up, did you?”
An old man dressed in peasant clothing smiled down at him.
“Who... Who are you?” said Yu Jung.
“Me? I’m just a farmer from down the road. I passed by here yesterday evening and found you lying there, dead to the world. I called out to you as loud as I could, but you wouldn’t wake up. Shook you by the shoulders and everything—you just snored away, smiling to yourself every now and then. I was worried even after I got home, so I kept coming back to check on you. You’re pale as a ghost, you know that? You sick or something?”
“No. No, I’m not sick.” Nor, oddly enough, was he hungry now. “Sorry,” he said, apologizing as usual, then sat up on his knees and bowed politely to the farmer. “This is very embarrassing,” he began, and proceeded to explain how he’d come to be lying there asleep on the balcony, finishing with a final, “I’m terribly sorry.”
The farmer gazed at Yu Jung with compassionate eyes, then took out his purse and handed him a small sum of money.
“Inscrutable are the ways of heaven,” he said. “Bestir yourself and leap back into the fray. In our seventy years of life, no one knows what might occur. Every ebb has its flow. The heart of man is as changeable as the storm-tossed waves of Lake Tung-t’ing.”
After offering this unexpectedly eloquent advice, the farmer turned and walked off. Yu Jung felt as if he were still dreaming. He stood and gazed vacantly after the old man, then turned to peer up at the crows assembled on the branches of the maple trees.
“Blue Bamboo!” he shouted. Startled, the crows all sprang as one from their roosts with a great cacophony of cries. They briefly circled the sky over Yu Jung’s head, then sped out toward the lake and were gone.
So it was just a dream, Yu Jung thought sadly. He shook his head, breathed a deep sigh, and dejectedly set out for home.