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Source: "Taoism, the road to Immortality", by John Blofield, Shambala Publications, Boston, 2000


A Gift from the Moon Goddess #5


        This story is at the level of popular Taoism intermingled with

the folk religion. For all that it contains no moral teaching or

mystical implications, it possesses a certain charm which, especially

as it is typical of a thousand such legends, makes it worth recording.

In the early years of the Ch'ing dynasty (1644-1912) a commotion

once occurred in the city of Kuang Chou on the morning of the

festival in honour of the birthday of the Moon Goddess. A pedlar

came walking down the street pushing a barrow loaded with fine

pears. He was followed closely by two hefty louts from the magis-

trate's yamen (official residence) who presently helped themselves to

a good share of the luscious fruit, meaning to walk off without

payment. Much to their surprise, they had no sooner turned away

grinning over their loot than their heads were knocked sharply

together like a giant pair of wooden clappers! Cheeks red with

shame at receiving such a punishment from an elderly man and one

of low degree, they promptly arrested him and took him off to the

lock-up. Now it happened that one Shen Ch'ing-yao, a youthful

scholar with the degree of hsiu-ts'ai, witnessed the whole affair and,

approaching the magistrate as one scholar to another, was able to

procure the pedlar's immediate release. That night, as he sat reading

by candle-light in his study, the erstwhile pedlar, now dressed in a

seemly Taoist robe, paid him a visit and, greeting him with a

courteous bow, remarked:

        'Young sir, I owe you a debt, but before we speak further of that,

pray answer me this riddle. What place in all the universe would you

choose to visit if a convenient opportunity occurred ?'

        Taking this for a joke, Shen replied: 'The shining banks of the

Milky Way - no, no - the ice palace in the moon to offer birthday

greetings to the Moon Goddess, who is reported to be a divinity of

exceptional beauty.'

        'Very well,' replied the Taoist as though the other had suggested

a jaunt to some nearby beauty-spot such as White Cloud Mountain,

'May I trouble you to brush a circle on a piece of paper to represent

the moon ?'

        Sure now that his visitor was a joker, Shen willingly complied and,

following a further instruction, fastened the drawing to the wall.

Instantly the Taoist blew out the candle whereat the room, instead

of being plunged into darkness, grew bright; for the 'moon' pasted

to a wall-beam now glowed like the real sky orb with a milky white

radiance and began growing bigger and bigger.

        'Be so good as to walk this way,' remarked the Taoist and, a

trifle bemused by the turn things had taken, the young scholar

followed his new friend into a gleaming white landscape where the

ground was so soft and springy that he felt as though his shoes were

        winged. Passing through a 'rockery' of ice pinnacles skilfully

arranged to resemble a chain of mountains, they came to a moated

palace with battlemented walls, turrets and multi-tiered roofs all

constructed of glittering ice. Great gates of beaten silver swung open

at their approach and obsequious footmen arrayed in ceremonial

gowns conducted them through a labyrinth of courtyards to a

spacious chamber wherein a venerable toad of prodigious size, its

body seemingly composed of lustrous white jade, sat working with

the kind of pestle and mortar used by druggists.

        To the Taoist's greeting this animal replied: 'Brother, you know I

cannot stop now' and, taking no further notice of his visitors, it

continued pounding some gleaming crystals from which arose what

looked like the rainbow mist one sometimes sees above a waterfall on

a sunny day. Presently the Taoist signed to Shen and they left the

industrious toad to its labours, the rhythmic sound of the pestle

following them p'ang p'ang p'ang down the corridor leading to a

handsome inner courtyard. Open to the sky, this courtyard was

partly roofed by the contorted branches of huge old cedars with

silvery-white trunks that reflected the radiance of a triple-roofed hall

constructed of glittering ice like the rest of the palace. The great

doors stood open and a throng of splendidly dressed courtiers of

both sexes pressed forward to kneel before its principle occupant and

offer their birthday greetings. Shen and the Taoist were carried

along by the tide of visitors and soon they, too, were kneeling before

a throne of intricately wrought silver whereon was ensconced that

proudly austere and chaste divinity, Chang 0, Goddess of the Moon.

        This most lovely of divine beings wore her hair, which was

blacker and glossier than the coat of one of the imperial 'midnight

steeds', elegantly piled in the phoenix-tail mode. Dripping with

pearls and further ornamented with turquoise pins, it formed an

exquisite contrast with her skin, which resembled white marble

tinged with rose and coral. Her elongated, delicately tilted eyes

shone like moonlight reflected in dark mountain pools. So brilliant

was her gaze that Shen tremblingly lowered his eyes, hardly daring

to contemplate as much as the tiny satin slippers peeping from

beneath a graceful robe of white and silver brocade edged with

pearls.

        'Your Immortality,' she murmured, graciously addressing the

Taoist in accents purer than the music rung upon tablets of fine

        jade, 'We are pleased to reward this young scholar for his timely

aid - though why you should travel about the weary world of

mortals masquerading as a fruitmonger is beyond Our under-

standing. Your companion. We perceive, is dismayed by these

unfamiliar surroundings and will feel more at ease when he finds

himself safely back at home. Therefore, not forgetting to present

him with the trifling token of Our regard which We have set aside

for him, find means to send him back without delay.'

        Nor was that all, for she condescended to honour Shen with a few

happily chosen words of courtesy, bending her radiant gaze upon his

face the while, so that he felt as if his veins were pulsing with liquid

moon-fire. Before dismissing him, she enjoined him not to reveal to

his fellow mortals aught of what had transpired since he had stepped

into the moon, keeping silent until his lifespan drew close to its end

and his disciples - of whom there would be many - came to take

their leave of him.

        Leading him from the throne hall, the Taoist uttered some curious

syllables, whereat the scene changed magically and the young

scholar, as though waking from a dream, found himself back in his

study. Yet it had not been a dream; for, lying upon the table among

his books and writing materials, was an alabaster box of curious

design which the Taoist had handed him at the moment of parting.

Bemusedly he set his tea-kettle upon its tripod above the charcoal

brazier and, having infused a fine quality tea to do honour to the

occasion, ceremoniously drew from the box its contents - two

crystals of a shimmering white substance that emitted rainbow-

coloured rays. These he placed upon his tongue and imbibed them

with a sip of tea. Once again it seemed that liquid moon-fire ran

racing through his veins.

        Thereafter the young scholar abandoned his sterile study of the

Confucian classics, betook himself to the solitude of the mountains

and became wholly immersed in contemplation of the Way. It is

recorded that, even in extreme old age, his brow was smooth and

the ruddiness of youth still tinged his cheeks, so that the grand-

children of his first disciples beheld him as a man still in the full

vigour of his early years. In his 163rd year, he bade his pupils

farewell, ascended the peak that sheltered his rustic dwelling, and

departed thence for celestial regions, discarding his robe upon the

summit as a sign of his final attainment.