The Guttering Lamp

In Qian the mountain roads are narrow and perilous and often foggy. There was a traveler, surname Shen, who traded in cloth; riding late he lost his way, and the mist closed round on every side so he could not tell east from west. Shen was afraid and walked alone through the chaotic hills, his foot often slipping, nearly falling from the cliff.

Suddenly he saw a pinpoint of light ahead, like a star fallen to the ground. Shen hurried toward it; it was a single thatched hut, and within the window a guttering lamp burned dim, with an old woman sitting under it, spinning hemp. Seeing Shen, the woman invited him in, fed him thin porridge, and comforted him with gentle words. Shen was very tired, and leaning against the wall he dozed; he heard the woman's spinning-wheel creak, like a loving mother at his side, and his heart eased somewhat.

The cock had crowed, and the mist slowly cleared. Shen woke, thanked the woman, and made to leave. Stepping out he looked back: the thatched hut was gone, leaving only an old grave, and before it a guttering lamp still burned, its oil nearly spent, the flame wavering as if to die. Grass grew on the grave, and the inscription was worn away, only the two characters of the surname Wang still legible.

Shen was greatly startled, yet mindful of the woman's kindness in feeding him porridge, dared not forget; each year passing there he would pour a libation of clear wine and say: grandmother, brave the cold; the lamp should be kept lit. Several years on, Shen passed again; the lamp before the grave was out, but on the grass was a fresh mound of new earth, as if some descendant had come to sacrifice. Shen sighed: the grandmother has her home at last.

The Chronicler of the Strange says: Shen the traveler was lost in the mist, and the woman's soul was lost in the hills — both were lost wayfarers. With the smallness of one lamp she lit the traveler's path through a realm of goblins; with the thinness of one bowl of porridge she warmed a wandering soul. Though her body had been dead a hundred years, her lamp did not go out — was it that the lamp would not go out? It was that her heart of treating others had not gone out. In this world there are those who dwell in fine houses and burn tall candles, yet when a lost traveler passes, may shut the door and take no notice; while a guttering lamp at an old grave lights a man ten thousand li away. Whether a lamp shines or not depends on whether the heart endures, not on whether the oil remains. Sad, is it not!