Beneath the Lamp

In the marketplace there was an old oil-lamp, its bronze crusted with rust, of what age none could say. A pedlar named Wang the Second came by it and set it upon his table. Each night when he lit it, whoever sat beneath its glow would gradually forget the things they regretted. Wang's wife had died early, and oft he would think of her by the lamp, too grieved to sleep. Yet once the lamp was lit, the old matter grew dim, and his tears dried of themselves. At first he felt lightened; in time he grew afraid—for though the regret was forgotten, the love faded with it. Old Li next door had lost his son three years past, and sat daily before the lamp, longing to forget his sorrow. Ere long, the son's face and the son's voice grew faint beyond recall. Old Li stroked the lamp and sighed: 'I wished to forget the pain, and lo, I have forgotten my son with it—this lamp devours my memory.' Wang, hearing this, was awakened; he cast the lamp into the river. The waters rippled; where its light sank, a faint sobbing rose, as of one complaining, as of one grieving. The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: Men are afflicted by many regrets, and so they seek to forget. Yet they know not that regret is the trace of feeling; when the trace is gone, feeling dies, and when feeling dies, the man is no longer his former self. The lamp can dissolve regret, and can dissolve the man—should one not beware?