李通判

Prefect Li, a man of enormous wealth, was suddenly struck by a grave illness. All remedies and physicians proved futile. A mysterious adept quietly revealed that his allotted lifespan had been foreordained and was about to expire. Unwilling to accept death, Li searched far and wide for sorcerers and eccentrics who might extend his years. At last he found a reclusive sorcerer who claimed to possess the art of "borrowing lifespan" (借寿借寿 — jiè shòu. A Daoist folk belief that a person's remaining years could be transferred to another through ritual magic. The "borrowed" years were taken from the living or the recently dead.) — using other people's allotted years to fill Li's fated shortfall.

The sorcerer performed an arcane ritual, using the eight characters八字 — The "Eight Characters" (ba zi) of a person's birth — year, month, day, and hour — encoded in the Chinese sexagenary cycle. In traditional belief, these eight characters determined one's entire fate: lifespan, fortune, and destiny. Sorcerers claimed to be able to read and even manipulate them. of five dead men as conduits, diverting their remaining years into Li's account. The ritual appeared to succeed: Li was miraculously cured, rising from the brink of death. Yet the story's ending takes a chilling turn — revealing corruption in the netherworld's bureaucracy and the true cost of tampering with fate.

Prefect Li was a man of fabulous wealth in a certain region — vast estates stretching a thousand qing顷 qing — A traditional Chinese land unit equivalent to approximately 6.67 hectares or 16.5 acres. "千顷" (a thousand qing) is a literary exaggeration meaning "enormous estates.", hordes of servants, and mansions reaching to the clouds. Past fifty, he had always enjoyed good health. Then one day, without warning, he was struck by a sudden illness暴病 — A sudden, violent onset of disease. In supernatural literature, "sudden illness" was often interpreted not as natural sickness but as a sign that one's allotted lifespan had run out and the emissaries of the underworld were coming to collect. and confined to his bed. The finest physicians were summoned, countless medicines prescribed, yet his condition worsened day by day. His family was terrified, believing the end was near.

One day, a ragged wandering Daoist priest appeared at the gate, claiming he could discern a person's allotted span寿夭 — Literally "longevity and early death," meaning one's fated lifespan. To "know a person's span" implied access to the registers of the underworld, where every mortal's allotted years were recorded.. The family invited him into the inner chamber. The Daoist studied Li's face, shook his head, and sighed: "Sir, your fated years are exhausted. No medicine can save you — unless—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes shifting.

Li pressed him urgently for the answer. The Daoist whispered: "Unless one can borrow lifespan from the underworld. But this is no trifling matter — it disturbs the harmony of Heaven and violates the laws of the netherworld. If you are willing, I can point you toward a path, but whether it succeeds depends entirely on the will of Heaven." With that, the Daoist wrote a letter, handed it to Li, and departed as mysteriously as he had come.

Following the Daoist's directions, Li made his way deep into the mountains to a dilapidated Daoist temple. There dwelt a white-haired elder surnamed Zhang张 — In supernatural literature, Daoist priests surnamed Zhang are extremely common, owing to the legacy of Zhang Daoling (Celestial Master Zhang), the legendary founder of the Celestial Master sect of Daoism. "Zhang the Celestial Master" became synonymous with Daoist sorcery., known as "Zhang the Celestial Master." This man was versed in the arts of yin and yang阴阳 — yīn yáng. The fundamental dualistic principle of Chinese cosmology: dark and light, female and male, passive and active. In Daoist sorcery, mastery of yin-yang meant understanding the hidden mechanics of the universe, including the boundary between life and death., could commune with spirits and gods, and was especially adept at the art of borrowing lifespan. Li presented the letter and begged repeatedly.

Zhang the Celestial Master pondered for a long while before speaking: "The art of borrowing lifespan has existed since ancient times, but it requires a life for a life — one cannot simply conjure years from thin air. How many years does Your Honor wish to extend?" Li answered: "Ten years would suffice." Zhang shook his head: "Ten years is too many; it would alarm King Yama阎罗 — Yánluó, or King Yama (Yanluo Wang), the supreme ruler of the Chinese underworld. He presides over the Register of Life and Death (生死簿) and judges the souls of the deceased. Borrowing too many years risks drawing his attention, as he would notice the tampered entries in the register.. Three years might be worth a try."

Li was overjoyed and kowtowed in gratitude. Zhang explained that the ritual required the eight characters of five people who had died by unnatural death横死 — Death by violence, accident, drowning, or sudden calamity rather than natural causes. In folk belief, those who died "before their time" still had unused years recorded in the underworld's registers. These residual years could theoretically be "transferred" to someone else — providing the raw material for lifespan-borrowing rituals. — people whose allotted years had not been fully spent when they perished. Their "remaining" years, still recorded in the netherworld's ledgers, could be "borrowed" and redirected. Li spared no expense, searching high and low, until at last he had gathered the five sets of eight characters.

On a dark and windy night, Zhang the Celestial Master erected a ritual altar法坛 — A Daoist ceremonial altar, typically set up in a sealed chamber or open ground, adorned with incense, candles, paper talismans, and ritual implements. The altar served as a "passageway" between the mortal world and the netherworld, where the officiating priest chanted spells, drew talismans, and burned petitions. in the rear courtyard of the temple. Black curtains hung on all sides; yellow paper talismans covered the ground. The five sets of eight characters were each inscribed on a separate talisman and placed at the altar's center. Zhang loosened his hair, raised his sword, and began chanting in a low, unintelligible murmur. Then, with a sudden sharp cry, he ignited all five talismans simultaneously.

In an instant, a ghostly wind erupted, and the candle flames flickered as if about to die. Li felt a chill pervade his entire body. In a daze, he seemed to glimpse five shadowy figures materializing in the darkness — their faces blurred, their forms drifting, neither fully ghost nor fully human. They all turned to look at Li, their eyes holding both resentment and resignation. Zhang shouted: "Begone!" The five figures transformed into five streams of green smoke and burrowed into Li's chest.

Li collapsed unconscious on the spot. When he awoke, daylight was streaming in. He found himself lying in the temple, drenched in cold sweat — yet the grave illness that had tormented him for months had miraculously vanished. Ecstatic, he rewarded Zhang handsomely and returned home laden with gifts. In the years that followed, his health indeed flourished, as if he were in the prime of youth.

But the good times did not last. Three years later, one night, Li dreamed that he was dragged into the underworld. Seated high upon the throne was a black-robed official, clutching the Register of Life and Death, who sneered: "Prefect Li — did you think borrowed years need not be repaid? The families of those five men who died untimely deaths have filed grievances in the underworld. King Yama is furious. He orders all the borrowed years reclaimed, and sentences you to an additional twenty years of underworld punishment阴刑 — Punishment in the netherworld. Chinese folk belief held that the underworld maintained a complete judicial system with officials, prisons, and tortures. Underworld punishments were considered far more terrible than those in the mortal world, and from them there was no escape.!" Li cried out in alarm and tried to protest, but everything went black, and he knew nothing more. The next morning, his family found Li dead in his bed, his face purple-black, his expression ghastly.

When Zhang the Celestial Master heard the news, he heaved a long sigh and said to those around him: "Borrowing lifespan was always an act against Heaven. I was reluctant from the start, but he begged so desperately and tempted me with such riches. Now the underworld has investigated — the families of those five wronged souls appealed to King Yama, and even I cannot protect myself." After this, Zhang vanished without a trace. Some said he too had been seized by the ghostly bailiffs of the netherworld.

Philosophical reflection on "fate" and "fortune." Through the story of Prefect Li, Yuan Mei probes a central question in Chinese philosophy: is fate命 — Destiny or mandate. Confucianism held that "death and life are matters of fate; wealth and honor rest with Heaven." Daoism and folk belief suggested that while fate has its appointed course, it could be altered through cultivation or sorcery. Yuan Mei takes an intermediate position: fate does have its fixed measure, but those who defy Heaven's design will suffer devastating backlash. immutable? Li tried to alter his destiny through human artifice and succeeded temporarily, but ultimately suffered a far more severe retribution. This is not a simple tale of "karmic retribution," but a profound meditation on whether mortals can override Heaven's decree.

The underworld bureaucracy: a mirror of mortal governance. The depiction of the underworld's bureaucracy is deeply revealing: there is a Register of Life and Death, officials who adjudicate cases, wronged spirits who file grievances, and superiors who hold subordinates accountable — a perfect replica of the human bureaucratic system. Yuan Mei implies through this parallel: if corruption exists in the netherworld, how can the mortal world be clean? Conversely, those who escape justice in life may not escape it after death. This is a technique of "yin-yang mirroring" — using the ghost world to reflect the human world.

Deeper metaphor of the lifespan-borrowing narrative. The essence of borrowing lifespan is "trading others' deaths for one's own life." The five men who died untimely deaths — their eight characters were used as a "resource," and their families had to cry out for justice in the underworld. This setup mirrors a brutal social reality: in the face of power and money, the lives of the weak can be "borrowed," consumed, and forgotten. Li's ending serves as a warning to all who attempt to profit at others' expense.

Zhang's ethical dilemma. Notably, Yuan Mei does not paint Zhang the Celestial Master as a simple villain who "aids the tyrant." Zhang was "reluctant from the start," but was ultimately swayed by gold. His fate — possibly seized by the underworld's bailiffs as well — demonstrates that even accomplices cannot escape Heaven's reckoning by claiming "I was only following orders." Yuan Mei uses this to discuss the moral responsibility of those who lend their talents to evil: the capable enabler shares the guilt of the mastermind.

Cultural roots of lifespan-borrowing beliefs. The belief in "borrowing lifespan" has deep roots in Chinese folk religion, traceable to ancient shamanic traditions巫觋 — Female shamans (wu) and male shamans (xi). In ancient China, these religious specialists mediated between humans and spirits, performed divination, and conducted exorcisms. The art of borrowing lifespan can be seen as a continuation of this shamanic tradition into the Daoist magical repertoire.. Records of "stealing years" and "adding years" already appear in Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian. With the rise of Daoism, lifespan-borrowing was incorporated into the Daoist magical system as a forbidden art. Folk belief held firmly that special rituals could siphon off another person's allotted years, but such acts offended the cosmic order, and both sorcerer and client would ultimately face retribution.

Eight-character astrology and the Register of Life and Death. In traditional Chinese belief, the year, month, day, and hour of a person's birth — the Four Pillars and Eight Characters四柱八字 — The "Four Pillars" (year, month, day, hour) and "Eight Characters" (two per pillar, from the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches). This system of fate calculation, attributed to Li Xuzhong of the Tang dynasty and refined by Xu Ziping of the Song dynasty, was believed to encode an entire life's fortune and misfortune. — determined one's entire destiny. This information was recorded in the underworld's "Register of Life and Death," kept by the judgment officials. The principle of lifespan-borrowing was to tamper with this register — transferring a dead person's unused years to a living person. But if this tampering was discovered by higher authority (King Yama), severe punishment would follow.

The underworld judicial system. In Yuan Mei's portrayal, the underworld is not a formless realm of the dead but a tightly organized bureaucracy. There is King Yama阎罗王 — The supreme ruler of the Chinese underworld, derived from Yama of Hindu-Buddhist tradition. After entering China, Yama merged with native beliefs to become the ultimate judge of the dead, presiding over life, death, and the judgment of souls. at the center, judgment officials managing the Register of Life and Death, ghostly bailiffs responsible for seizing souls, and various officials handling daily affairs. This system is actually a satirical projection of the Qing dynasty's bureaucratic apparatus — wherever there is corruption in the underworld, there is corruption in the mortal world; wherever there is injustice below, there is injustice above.

Yuan Mei's view of "Heaven's mandate." Unlike many of his contemporaries, Yuan Mei held a cautious yet open attitude toward the concept of destiny. He neither believed that everything was preordained (which would negate human agency) nor that humans could fully control their fate (which would negate reverence for the cosmos). The story of Prefect Li perfectly embodies this middle way: fate does exist, but the price of defying Heaven's decree may be far graver than accepting one's lot. It is a position of profound wisdom — the middle path between fatalism and hubris.