The Grave Neighbor

A poor scholar named Shen, fallen on hard times in the capital, rented a room in a run-down court upon the city's west side. In the court stood a lone neglected grave, its stele broken and buried in grass, its owner unknown. Shen, being lonely, would recite his books each night and speak toward the grave: 'I am your neighbor, sir—will you not desert me?' After a month, one night a voice answered from the grave: 'My surname is Liu; I was a man of Jin, and have lain here long. Your reading is clear and ringing, and much relieves my loneliness—therefore I answer.' Thenceforth they spoke each night. Liu told of his life, elegant in its way; Shen spoke of his trials, and Liu consoled him. Shen asked: 'Being a ghost, why not pass on to rebirth?' Liu laughed: 'I am fond of these clear nights and your reading. And below the earth there is pleasure enough of its own—why should I leave?' One evening, as Shen was about to sit for the spring examination, the grave was silent. The next day he opened it and found the stele split, and a letter laid bare, its characters fresh as new ink: 'I am gone. I congratulate you on your emergence. Henceforth hold yourself worthy, and do not trade your integrity for your poverty.' Shen wept, and burned the letter in sacrifice. Later Shen passed the examination. Whenever he thought of Liu, he would pour wine upon the grave. The grass grew long and the stele lay down; whither Liu went, none knew. The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: Birds of a feather flock together, and ghosts are no different. Shen, though poor, kept his purpose, and therefore the ghost befriended him; but one who changes his heart for gain—even the living would shun him, let alone a ghost. A single conversation at the grave outweighs ten thousand dealings in the dusty world.