The Wuchang

There was an old rich man of the village, Master Zhou, fallen gravely ill, and no medicine availed. One night his candle went out and lit again, and he saw two constables stand by his bed: one in black, one in white, tall-crowned with long tongues—the Black and White Wuchang. Zhou trembled, knowing his hour had come. The black-robed one opened a ledger and read: "Zhou, all his life, hard and grasping—his term ends this day." The white-robed one pondered, and turned another leaf: "Not so. In a year of famine Zhou opened his granary and gave gruel for three months, saving countless lives. This good deed is unspent; he shall have twelve years more." The black one disputed it; the white one said, "By the law of the shades, one good cancels a hundred faults. Though he was close, that gruel truly gave life." Long they stood, and at last the red brush amended the book: "Twelve years granted." Zhou woke, drenched in sweat through his quilt, and his sickness eased. Thence he gave away his wealth, built a free school, and gave coffins to the poor, and the village spoke well of him. Twelve years later he died without illness. As they laid him out, a laugh was heard in the air: "Does goodness, then, truly add years?" The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: The Wuchang are not partial; what they disputed was a single good deed. Men say the underworld is strict—yet who knew it leaves a thread by which the living may do good? Master Zhou won years by a bowl of gruel; they who reckon to their last breath may well desist.