<h2><SPAN name="chapter-26"><abbr title="Twenty-Six">XXVI.</abbr> <br/> THE LOST BROTHER.</SPAN></h2>
<p><span class="smallcaps">In</span> Honan there lived a man named Chang, who
originally belonged to Shantung. His wife had been
seized and carried off by the soldiery during the period
when Ching Nan's troops were overrunning the latter
province; and as he was frequently in Honan on business,
he finally settled there and married a Honan wife,
by whom he had a son named Na. By-and-by this wife
died, and he took another, who bore him a son named
Ch'êng. The last-mentioned lady was from the Niu
family, and a very malicious woman. So jealous was
she of Na, that she treated him like a slave or a beast of
the field, giving him only the coarsest food, and making
him cut a large bundle of wood every day, in default of
which she would beat and abuse him in a most shameful
manner. On the other hand she secretly reserved all
the tit-bits for Ch'êng, and also sent him to school. As
Ch'êng grew up, and began to understand the meaning
of filial piety and fraternal love, he could not bear to
see this treatment of his elder brother, and spoke privately
<span class="pagenum" title="204"><SPAN name="Page_204"></SPAN></span>
to his mother about it; but she would pay no
heed to what he said.</p>
<p>One day, when Na was on the hills performing his
task, a violent storm came on, and he took shelter under
a cliff. However, by the time it was over the sun had
set, and he began to feel very hungry. So, shouldering
his bundle, he wended his way home, where his step-mother,
displeased with the small quantity of wood he
had brought, refused to give him anything to eat. Quite
overcome with hunger, Na went in and lay down; and
when Ch'êng came back from school, and saw the state
he was in, he asked him if he was ill. Na replied that
he was only hungry, and then told his brother the whole
story; whereupon Ch'êng coloured up and went away,
returning shortly with some cakes, which he offered to
Na. “Where did you get them?” asked the latter.
“Oh,” replied Ch'êng, “I stole some flour and got a
neighbour's wife to make them for me. Eat away, and
don't talk.” Na ate them up; but begged his brother
not to do this again, as he might get himself into
trouble. “I shan't die,” added he, “if I only get one
meal a-day.” “You are not strong,” rejoined Ch'êng,
“and shouldn't cut so much wood as you do.”</p>
<p>Next day, after breakfast, Ch'êng slipped away to the
<span class="pagenum" title="205"><SPAN name="Page_205"></SPAN></span>
hills, and arrived at the place where Na was occupied
with his usual task, to the great astonishment of the
latter, who inquired what he was going to do. “To
help you cut wood,” replied Ch'êng. “And who sent
you?” asked his brother. “No one,” said he; “I came
of my own accord.” “Ah,” cried Na, “you can't do
this work; and even if you can you must not. Run
along home again.” Ch'êng, however, remained, aiding
his brother with his hands and feet alone, but declaring
that on the morrow he would bring an axe. Na tried to
stop him, and found that he had already hurt his finger
and worn his shoes into holes; so he began to cry, and
said, “If you don't go home directly, I'll kill myself
with my axe.” Ch'êng then went away, his brother
seeing him half-way home, and going back to finish his
work by himself. He also called in the evening at
Ch'êng's school, and told the master his brother was a
delicate boy, and should not be allowed to go on the
hills, where, he said, there were fierce tigers and wolves.
The master replied that he didn't know where Ch'êng
had been all the morning, but that he had caned him for
playing truant. Na further pointed out to Ch'êng that
by not doing as he had told him, he had let himself in
for a beating. Ch'êng laughed, and said he hadn't been
beaten; and the very next day off he went again, and
this time with a hatchet. “I told you not to come,”
cried Na, much alarmed; “why have you done so?”
Ch'êng made no reply, but set to work chopping wood
with such energy that the perspiration poured down his
face; and when he had cut about a bundle he went
<span class="pagenum" title="206"><SPAN name="Page_206"></SPAN></span>
away without saying a word. The master caned him
again, and then Ch'êng told him how the matter stood,
at which the former became full of admiration for his
pupil's kind behaviour, and no longer prevented him
from going. His brother, however, frequently urged
him not to come, though without the slightest success;
and one day, when they went with a number of others to
cut wood, a tiger rushed down from the hills upon them.
The wood-cutters hid themselves, in the greatest consternation;
and the tiger, seizing Ch'êng, ran off with
him in his mouth. Ch'êng's weight caused the tiger to
move slowly; and Na, rushing after them, hacked away
at the tiger's flanks with his axe. The pain only made
the tiger hurry off, and in a few minutes they were out
of sight. Overwhelmed with grief, Na went back to his
comrades, who tried to soothe him; but he said, “My
brother was no ordinary brother, and, besides, he died
for me; why, then, should I live?” Here, seizing his
hatchet, he made a great chop at his own neck, upon
which his companions prevented him from doing himself
any more mischief. The wound, however, was over an
inch deep, and blood was flowing so copiously that Na
became faint, and seemed at the point of death. They
then tore up their clothes, and, after having bandaged
his neck, proceeded to carry him home. His step-mother
cried bitterly, and cursed him, saying, “You
have killed my son, and now you go and cut your neck
in this make-believe kind of way.” “Don't be angry,
mother,” replied Na; “I will not live now that my
brother is dead.” He then threw himself on the bed;
<span class="pagenum" title="207"><SPAN name="Page_207"></SPAN></span>
but the pain of his wound was so great he could not
sleep, and day and night he sat leaning against the wall
in tears. His father, fearing that he too would die, went
every now and then and gave him a little nourishment;
but his wife cursed him so for doing it, that at length Na
refused all food, and in three days he died.</p>
<p>Now in the village where these events took place there
was a magician who was employed in certain devil-work
among mortals, and Na's ghost, happening to fall in
with him, related the story of its previous sorrows,
winding up by asking where his brother's ghost was.
The magician said he didn't know, but turned round
with Na and shewed him the way to a city where they
saw an official servant coming out of the city gates.
The magician stopped him, and inquired if he could
tell them anything about Ch'êng; whereupon the man
drew out a list from a pouch at his side, and, after carefully
examining it, replied that among the male and
female criminals within there was no one of the name of
Chang. The magician here suggested that the name
might be on another list; but the man replied that he
was in charge of that road, and surely ought to know.
Na, however, was not satisfied, and persuaded the
magician to enter the city, where they met many new
<span class="pagenum" title="208"><SPAN name="Page_208"></SPAN></span>
and old devils walking about, among whom were some
Na had formerly known in life. So he asked them if
they could direct him to his brother but none of them
knew where he was; and suddenly there was a great
commotion, the devils on all sides crying out, “P'u-sa
has come!” Then, looking up, Na beheld a most
beautiful man descending from above, encircled by
rays of glory, which shot forth above and below, lighting
up all around him. “You are in luck's way, Sir,”
said the magician to Na; “only once in many thousand
years does P'u-sa descend into hell and banish all
suffering. He has come to-day.” He then made Na
kneel, and all the devils began with clasped hands to
sing songs of praise to P'u-sa for his compassion in
releasing them from their misery, shaking the very earth
with the sound. P'u-sa himself, seizing a willow-branch,
sprinkled them all with holy water; and when this was
done the clouds and glory melted away, and he vanished
from their sight. Na, who had felt the holy water fall
upon his neck, now became conscious that the axe-wound
was no longer painful; and the magician then
proceeded to lead him back, not quitting him until
within sight of the village gate. In fact, Na had been
in a trance for two days, and when he recovered he told
them all that he had seen, asserting positively that
Ch'êng was not dead. His mother, however, looked
<span class="pagenum" title="209"><SPAN name="Page_209"></SPAN></span>
upon the story as a make-up, and never ceased reviling
him; and, as he had no means of proving his innocence,
and his neck was now quite healed, he got up from the
bed and said to his father, “I am going away to seek for
my brother throughout the universe; if I do not find him,
never expect to see me again, but I pray you regard me
as dead.” His father drew him aside and wept bitterly.
However, he would not interfere with his son's design,
and Na accordingly set off. Whenever he came to a
large town or populous place he used to ask for news of
Ch'êng; and by-and-by, when his money was all spent,
he begged his way on foot. A year had passed away
before he reached Nanking, and his clothes were all in
tatters as ragged as a quail's tail, when suddenly he
met some ten or a dozen horsemen, and drew away to
the roadside. Among them was a gentleman of about
forty, who appeared to be a mandarin, with numerous
lusty attendants and fiery steeds accompanying him before
and behind. One young man on a small palfrey,
whom Na took to be the mandarin's son, and at whom,
of course, he did not venture to stare, eyed him closely
for some time, and at length stopped his steed, and,
jumping off, cried out, “Are you not my brother?” Na
then raised his head, and found that Ch'êng stood before
him. Grasping each other's hands, the brothers burst
into tears, and at length Ch'êng said, “My brother, how
is it you have strayed so far as this?” Na told him the
<span class="pagenum" title="210"><SPAN name="Page_210"></SPAN></span>
circumstances, at which he was much affected; and
Ch'êng's companions, jumping off their horses to see
what was the matter, went off and informed the mandarin.
The latter ordered one of them to give up his
horse to Na, and thus they rode together back to the
mandarin's house. Ch'êng then told his brother how
the tiger had carried him away, and how he had been
thrown down in the road, where he had passed a whole
night; also how the mandarin, Mr. Chang, on his return
from the capital, had seen him there, and, observing that
he was no common-looking youth, had set to work and
brought him round again. Also how he had said to Mr.
Chang that his home was a great way off, and how Mr.
Chang had taken him to his own home, and finally
cured him of his wounds; when, having no son of his
own, he had adopted him. And now, happening to be
out with his father, he had caught sight of his brother.
As he was speaking Mr. Chang walked in, and Na
thanked him very heartily for all his kindness; Ch'êng,
meanwhile, going into the inner apartments to get some
clothes for his brother. Wine and food was placed on
the table; and while they were chatting together the
mandarin asked Na about the number of their family in
Honan. “There is only my father,” replied Na, “and
he is a Shantung man who came to live in Honan.”
“Why, I am a Shantung man too,” rejoined Mr. Chang;
<span class="pagenum" title="211"><SPAN name="Page_211"></SPAN></span>
“what is the name of your father's native place?” “I
have heard that it was in the Tung-ch'ang district,” replied
Na. “Then we are from the same place,” cried
the mandarin. “Why did your father go away to
Honan?” “His first wife,” said Na, “was carried off
by soldiers, and my father lost everything he possessed;
so, being in the habit of trading to Honan, he determined
to settle down there for good.” The mandarin
then asked what his father's other name was, and when
he heard, he sat some time staring at Na, and at length
hurried away within. In a few moments out came an
old lady, and when they had all bowed to her, she asked
Na if he was Chang Ping-chih's grandson. On his replying
in the affirmative, the old lady wept, and, turning to
Mr. Chang, said, “These two are your younger brothers.”
And then she explained to Na and Ch'êng as
follows:—“Three years after my marriage with your
father, I was carried off to the north and made a slave
<span class="pagenum" title="212"><SPAN name="Page_212"></SPAN></span>
in a mandarin's family. Six months afterwards your
elder brother here was born, and in another six months
the mandarin died. Your elder brother being his heir,
he received this appointment, which he is now resigning.
I have often thought of my native place, and have not
unfrequently sent people to inquire about my husband,
giving them the full particulars as to name and clan; but
I could never hear anything of him. How should I
know that he had gone to Honan?” Then, addressing
Mr. Chang, she continued, “That was rather a mistake
of yours, adopting your own brother.” “He never told
me anything about Shantung,” replied Mr. Chang; “I
suppose he was too young to remember the story; and I
only looked at the difference between our ages.” For
he, the elder of the brothers, was forty-one; Ch'êng, the
younger, being only sixteen; and Na, twenty years of
age. Mr. Chang was very glad to get two young
brothers; and when he heard the tale of their separation,
<span class="pagenum" title="213"><SPAN name="Page_213"></SPAN></span>
proposed that they should all go back to their
father. Mrs. Chang was afraid her husband would not
care to receive her back again; but her eldest son said,
“We will cast our lot together; all or none. How can
there be a country where fathers are not valued?” They
then sold their house and packed up, and were soon on
the way to Honan. When they arrived, Ch'êng went in
first to tell his father, whose third wife had died since Na
left, and who now was a desolate old widower, left alone
with only his own shadow. He was overjoyed to see
Ch'êng again, and, looking fondly at his son, burst into
a flood of tears. Ch'êng told him his mother and
brothers were outside, and the old man was then perfectly
transfixed with astonishment, unable either to
laugh or to cry. Mr. Chang next appeared, followed by
his mother; and the two old people wept in each other's
arms, the late solitary widower hardly knowing what to
make of the crowd of men and women-servants that
suddenly filled his house. Here Ch'êng, not seeing his
own mother, asked where she was; and when he heard
she was dead, he fainted away, and did not come round
for a good half-hour. Mr. Chang found the money for
building a fine house, and engaged a tutor for his two
brothers. Horses pranced in the stables, and servants
chattered in the hall—it was quite a large establishment.</p>
<p class="pagenum-h-p"><span class="pagenum" title="214"><SPAN name="Page_214"></SPAN></span></p>
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