Tsu-ch'i

By Freakjoy

Translated by Mimi

Tsu-ch'i was the most expensive of all performers in the southern capital. He was skilled in dance and song, and surpassingly fair. Rarer still was his easy and gracious manner, very different from the haughty and arrogant airs put on by others of his trade.

Tsu-chi'i's specialty was dancing. Without troubling for a change of costume, he would belt his robe up to the knee to reveal his shapely calves, and begin with a simple twist of his body. Be it a stately court dance, or the wild dance of the Tartars, or a sacred dance from the temples of Indus, he imbued each gesture with extraordinary passion and grace.

On one occasion a poet, after seeing Tsu-ch'i dance, composed a very famous sonnet bearing the title "Remembrance of Beauty". Among the lines was the couplet:

Dance ends in the willow pagoda with the rising moon,
Songs fade on the breeze of the peach blossom fan.

The poem was greatly admired for its delicacy and refinement, the words lingering on the palate like a rare bouquet. For a time the couplet was recited everywhere in the city. The proprietress of Tsu-chi's establishment was swelled up with pride. She had the pair of lines carved and gilded by the finest sign-maker in the city, and hung the plaques high over her front gate. Tsu-ch'i only graced it with a light smile.

When the man first came to this busy part of the city, he wore only a plain robe of gray cloth. A long sword swung from his waist. Aside from the hint of pride in his bearing there was nothing remarkable about him. The saying goes, "The madam looks to the purse, the whore looks to the dress." So no-one paid him any attention. Only Tsu-ch'i came to him with a cup of wine. The dancer admired his sword, then drew it from the sheath to test the edge. He said to him, "If you will wield your sword for me in dance, then I'll will perform my best dance for you."

The man laughed, showing very white teeth. He took up his position in the center of the room. Like a fall of quicksilver, the sword and the man moved as one, a sinuous serpent of white light twisting and turning. Some time later the man came to a stop amid deafening applause, and stood still before Tsu-ch'i.

Tsu-ch'i laughed as well. He belted up the skirt of his robe, kicked off his boots, and clapped his hands in command. Two servant boys brought in baskets of flowers to strew on the floor. Tsu-ch'i's slender ankles flashed. His calves were colored like honey; his steps were light and nimble. When he finished, not a single petal was disturbed.

Next day people learned that the stranger came from the north, and was reckoned a leader of high standing in that lawless land. There is little to choose between a soldier and a bandit. No-one cared that he frequently sojourned on the wrong side of the law. From then on there was no shortage of people trying to curry favor with him, but he cared only for Tsu-ch'i's company.

He tied a gold chain with seven-colored gems around Tsu-chi's delicate ankle, and joked that only he knew how to unlock the chain -- from then on Tsu-ch'i belonged only to him. Tsu-ch'i laughed, but said nothing.

For a while the two were inseparable. But then the man acquired some powerful enemies, who joined forces to cut off his support in the North. They planned to do away with him altogether in the capital city. The man did not dare to go about in public. Only on the night before his escape did he meet with Tsu-ch'i in secret to bid him farewell. Tsu-ch'i was thoughtful for a while, and then said, "Wait for me on the dock at dawn. I'll get my things together and come with you."

The man agreed, feeling nonetheless suspicious.

The next day, his men let him know that his whereabouts had been revealed, and that his enemies planned to ambush him at the dock. When he learned this he chuckled a little. It was not completely unexpected. Doubtless he should not have believed that someone like Tsu-ch'i would keep his secret for him. In this world the strong preyed on the weak, and there were only too many who possessed neither heart nor honor. What could he have expected of a dancer forced to whore his own flesh, caught in a situation not of his own choosing? So he did not harbor any great resentment for Tsu-ch'i, but quietly left the city by a different route.

The wind of fortune changed. Five years later, his enemy was destroyed by his enemy's enemy. He was finally able to return to the capital from abroad. By then he had already learned that the secret had been leaked by another, and had nothing to do with Tsu-ch'i. Without intending it, he found himself before Tsu-ch'i's gate again. He was no longer the dancer of the past. The proprietress of Tsu-chi's establishment had died a few years back, and left her entire business to him. Some said that she was actually his birth mother, but by then there was no way to verify the truth. In any case, Tsu-ch'i seldom went about, and for certain his services were no longer for sale.

When he saw Tsu-ch'i again, the dancer was sitting across the table from him, smiling and full of vivacious charm. Tsu-ch'i's bloom had not faded. If anything he was more beautiful than ever. The man did not know whether Tsu-ch'i had kept their rendezvous five years ago. If he had it must have gone hard for him. The man's enemies hated him enough to eat him alive. They would not have let his doxy off easily. Yet dancers and courtesans had their own ways, and Tsu-ch'i probably had relied on his charms to see him through the difficulties. The man did not want to ask, did not dare to ask. Whatever happened five years ago, he could not find a trace of resentment on Tsu-ch'i's face.

He wanted Tsu-ch'i again. But after he said all that could be said, and offered all that could be offered, Tsu-ch'i replied only that he no longer entertained and no longer danced. This was the first time in his life that the man had ever begged anything of another, and he could not avoid the frustration gathering in his heart. When Tsu-ch'i called for the servant to see him out, he pushed his chair back and stood up with a bang. "If so, then return my gold chain", he demanded.

Tsu-ch'i's face turned pale. The man's smile was victorious. Thinking that Tsu-ch'i was toying with his affections, he walked around the table and took hold of his shoulders.

Tsu-ch'i's whole body trembled. He struggled, lost his balance, and fell to the floor.

The man's heart seized with dread. He threw aside the embroidered velvet shawl covering Tsu-chi's legs.

Below Tsu-ch'i's knees was nothing but air.

Translator's Notes:

Mirror of the Heart: A magical mirror that is frequently found as a prop in traditional ghost stories. Like the mirror of truth in fairy tales, it is able to show what resides in the darkest corner of the human heart.

Remembrance of Beauty: By Wu Jidao, 1030 - 1106, Sung dynasty. The Chinese can be read here: http://www.xlxx.net/wfxtyrdi/gudm/thssci1/vegutmy.htm

For more information in English about poems from Sung dynasty, and in particular the unique form known as 'Ci', of which Rememberance of Beauty is considered an outstanding example, visit the Ci section of the Poetry from China page.