Taiwan / Week 10: Footnote Romances (Unusual Chinese Love Stories)

For the past two weeks, I’ve been working with a new translator of Journey to the West. Vance, a Chinese literature major, a senior at at the University, is always bouncing. At first, I wanted to grab her and tell her to settle down and stop giggling and shaking. But her enthusiasm is contagious and her translating excellent. Last year she studied the ancient Chinese texts, so she often pauses to take time to explain to me small subtleties such as eight tones also means eight different kinds of ancient Chinese instruments: gold, stone, soil (clay), leather, silk wood, bamboo, gourd. Or the effect of the yin negative energy in the fiery plantain fan. (The original cold yin watery energy overpowers the fiery yang energy of The Flaming Mountains.) Unlike the strict, “forward, march” Chinese lessons, our translating sessions meander. At our last session, we came to the line in The Plantain Fan: “The slender young woman with delicate eyebrows, green eyes, and red lips was as beautiful as Wang Zhao Jun as alluring as Xue Tao.” “Wang Jhao Jun? Xue Tao? Who are they?” I asked Vance. She told me their stories:

 
Wang Zhao Jun, a beautiful young woman of great integrity, was sent by her family, who lived in the south, to be a servant in the court of the Han Emperor Yuen. Every three years the emperor would choose another concubine. Since there were so many applications, he had them send their portraits. The women and painters worked out a deal so that the painter painted the young woman to be more beautiful than she was. But Zhao Jun refused both make–up and bribery. Annoyed with her arrogance, the painter painted her as uglier than she was. So the years passed and she was never chosen to be a concubine.
 
After some years, a war was brewing between the Mongolians in the north and Han dynasty. To ease the tensions, a marriage alliance was discussed between the Xiongxu and the Han. Since the years were passing and Zhao Jun had never met the Emperor she asked one of the court officials to suggest that she might be chosen to marry the Mongolian King. At least she would be married and have children and freedom. The Emperor looked at her portrait and agreed. She was then made a Princess.
 
The day the Mongolian carriage arrived for the bride, Zhao Jun, dressed in exquisite palace finery, was sent to the Emperor so he might sign the papers for her to be released from the Han Empire. She bowed to the Emperor, when she looked up, their eyes locked. In all his palace he had never seen a beauty such as Zhao Jun. None of his wives, none of his concubines. She was radiant, glowing. They spoke together. Her voice pleased him as well. How could it be that no one had informed him of this beauty? This extraordinary beauty. And, she was leaving him. The relations between his empire and the Xiongxu tribe were so fragile that he could not go back on his word. The Mongolian tribal leader was waiting. Her portrait had pleased him. The great Yuen Emperor was suddenly losing what he wanted the most. He was powerless. He watched her ride away.
 

Zhuo Wenjun was an accomplished poet and musician. She was also a widow. She fell in love with the prime minister. Such an alliance was not permitted for court members, so the two ran away. For many years they were happily married. But after fifteen years, when Wenjun had no children, her husband took another wife.
 
Wenjun did not protest. She simply left. She lived by herself and wrote poems of the happiness that they had shared. Her poems became famous. Wenjun lived on the sale of her poems. One day her husband read one of the poems and recognized himself; he recognized his life with his beloved wife. All his memories of their happiness returned. The poems woke him up. He left his second wife. He returned to Wenjun and they remained together until they died. He never took another wife.