Tales of the strange by a Korean Confucian monk = Kŭmo sinhwa by Kim Sisŭp 9780824882594, 0824882598

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Conventions
I. Translators’ Introduction
Translators’ Introduction
II. Translation
New Tales of the Golden Turtle (Kŭmo sinhwa)
Chapter 1
Biography of Master Maewŏltang (Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn)
Chapter 2
Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple (Manboksa chŏp’o ki)
Chapter 3
Biography of Scholar Yi Who Peered over the Wall (Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn)
Chapter 4
Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion (Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki)
Chapter 5
Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu (Namyŏmbuju chi)
Chapter 6
Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace (Yonggung puyŏn rok)
Chapter 7
Written at the End of the First Collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa] (Sŏ kapchip-hu)
Glossary of Names and Terms
Abbreviations
Notes
Bibliography
Index
About the Translator
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Citation preview

Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk

KOREAN CLASSICS LIBRARY: HISTORICAL MATERIALS

Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk Kŭmo sinhwa by Kim Sisŭp

translated, annotated, and with an introduction by

Dennis Wuerthner

University of Hawai‘i Press/Honolulu Korean Classics Library

© 2020 The Regents of the University of California All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 25 24 23 22 21 20    6 5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Kim, Si-sŭp, 1435-1493, author. | Würthner, Dennis,   translator, writer of added commentary, writer of introduction. Title: Tales of the strange by a Korean Confucian monk = Kŭmo sinhwa by   Kim Sisŭp / translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Dennis   Wuerthner. Other titles: Kŭmŏ sinhwa. English | Kŭmo sinhwa by Kim Sisŭp |   Korean classics library. Historical materials. Description: Honolulu : University of Hawai‘i Press, 2020. | Series: Korean   classics library: historical materials | Includes bibliographical   references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019030169 | ISBN 9780824882594 (hardcover) Classification: LCC PL988.K54 K8513 2020 | DDC 895.73/2--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019030169 Korean Classics Library: Historical Materials Series Editors: John B. Duncan, University of California, Los Angeles Namhee Lee, University of California, Los Angeles Robert E. Buswell, Jr., University of California, Los Angeles Series Editorial Board: Donald Baker, University of British Columbia Sun Joo Kim, Harvard University James B. Lewis, University of Oxford A. Charles Muller, Tokyo University Young-chan Ro, George Mason University Kenneth R. Robinson, International Christian University, Tokyo Edward Shultz, University of Hawai‘i, Mānoa Senior Editor: Jennifer Jung-Kim, University of California, Los Angeles This work was supported by the English Translation of 100 Korean Classics program through the Min­ istry of Education of the Republic of Korea and the Korean Studies Promotion Service of the Academy of Korean Studies (AKS-2010-AAA-2102). University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Design and composition by Wanda China

Contents



Acknowledgments



Conventions

vii ix

Part I Translator’s Introduction

3

Part II Translation: New Tales of the Golden Turtle (Kŭmo sinhwa)

1. Biography of Master Maewŏltang (Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn), by Yun Ch’unnyŏn 2. Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple (Manboksa chŏp’o ki) 3. Biography of Scholar Yi Who Peered over the Wall (Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn) 4. Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion (Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki) 5. Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu (Namyŏmbuju chi) 6. Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace (Yonggung puyŏn rok) 7. Written at the End of the First Collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa] (Sŏ kapchip-hu)

71 74 88 103 115 128 145



Glossary of Names and Terms

147



Abbreviations

171



Notes

173



Bibliography

359



Index

371

Acknowledgments

I am indebted to the many people who taught and helped me over the years. I would first like to express my sincerest gratitude to Marion Eggert of Ruhr University Bochum, without whom the present translation and study would never have been possible. I also wish to thank Jörg Plassen of Ruhr University Bochum. I am fortunate to have had these two extraordinary scholars as teachers. I am grateful to the Academy of Korean Studies for providing support for this project. I want also to express my gratitude to the researchers at the University of California at Los Angeles for their continuous assistance and encouragement. For their patience and help, I thank Robert Buswell, John Duncan, and Jennifer Jung-Kim. I am grateful as well for the pointed and stimulating comments made by the external reviewers. I owe a great debt to my copy editor, Patricia Crosby, who offered invaluable help and whose comments and suggestions were both encouraging and instructive. Thank you, too, to Stephanie Chun of the University of Hawai‘i Press for shepherding this project to its completion. Special thanks go to my senior colleagues at Ruhr University Bochum: Myoungin Yu, Thorsten Traulsen, Andreas Müller-Lee, Florian Pölking, Dorothea Hoppmann, and Hanju Yang. I am particularly grateful for the invaluable help and marvelous material provided by Vladimir Glomb, a truly magnificent scholar. Thanks go as well to Christian Mularzyk and Felix Siegmund for their valuable critiques and to Elsa Küppers and my friend Robert Duncan McColl for meticulous assistance in finishing up the manuscript. My deep gratitude goes to my parents and sisters for all they have done for me. Finally, I wish to thank my wife, Jiwon, and our children, Joan, Lian, and Taean, for, simply, everything. This translation is offered not only in the hope that it will contribute to the study of premodern Korean and East Asian literature and thought but also with the wish that it be of value to academic and nonspecialist readers alike.

vii

Conventions

Korean and Literary Chinese (K. hanmun) used in Korean sources are romanized according to the McCune-Reischauer system. When citing secondary sources, I follow the romanization style used by the sources’ authors or editors. For Chinese and Japanese proper nouns and terms, I have used the Pinyin and Hepburn systems, respectively. Birth, death, and reign dates are given for historical figures; at times, the sobriquets are named as well. In translated passages and quotes from other sources, my interpolations are within square brackets. A glossary of names and terms, including Chinese characters, appears in the back matter of the book followed by a list of abbreviations for some of the primary sources cited in the notes. All translations are my own, unless otherwise indicated.

ix

I. Translator’s Introduction

Translator’s Introduction

Kŭmo sinhwa (New tales of the Golden Turtle)1 is among the most important and celebrated works of premodern Korean prose fiction. It is thought to have been composed in the mid-1460s by Kim Sisŭp (1435–1493),2 a major philosopher and poet of the early Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1897) and arguably one of the most prolific and multifaceted intellectuals of his time. It is a collection of five chuanqi (K. chŏn’gi, “transmissions of the strange”), tales of the anomalous and marvelous artfully narrated in Literary Chinese (K. hanmun, C. wenyan).3 The extant complete editions of Kŭmo sinhwa feature the five tales in the following order: “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” (Account of a chŏp’o game at Manbok Temple; henceforth “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple”); “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn” (Biography of Scholar Yi who peered over the wall; henceforth “Biography of Scholar Yi”); “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki” (Travel record of a drunken excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion; henceforth “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion”); “Namyŏmbuju chi” (Gazetteer of the southern continent Yŏmbu; henceforth “Southern Continent Yŏmbu”); and “Yonggung puyŏn rok” (Report of [Scholar Han] attending a banquet in the Dragon Palace; henceforth “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace”). “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” and “Biography of Scholar Yi” are ghost-wife tales dealing with intimate romances between men and female ghosts.4 “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is the story of a scholar’s encounter and poetic exchange with a Daoist immortal. “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” and “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” are tales about dream journeys to nether- or otherworldly realms during which the literati protagonists meet divine beings and demonstrate their own brilliance in learning and literary writing. Widely considered today in both North and South Korea as the work that marked the beginning of classical fiction in Korea,5 Kŭmo sinhwa is deeply rooted in Chinese literature and thought. It is quite openly modeled on early Ming-dynasty (1368–1644) works of chuanqi fiction such as Jiandeng xinhua (K. Chŏndŭng sinhwa, “New tales for the trimmed lampwick”; extant edition from 1421) by Qu You (1347–1428)6 and Jiandeng yuhua (K. Chŏndŭng 3

4

Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk

yŏhwa, “Additional tales for the trimmed lampwick”) by Li Changqi (also known as Li Zhen, 1376–1452). It features abundant references to the Confucian Classics as well as a multitude of quotations from and allusions to a large variety of works of Chinese poetry and prose.7 By quoting, imitating, and transforming earlier Chinese texts, Kim Sisŭp added richness, depth, and complexity to his tales. His references to and borrowings from authoritative Chinese texts gave the collection authority and substance, thus marking it as a piece of writing that—albeit a work of fiction dealing with anomalous matters, seductive ghosts, erudite immortals, and majestic but eerie otherworldly beings—was worth the serious consideration of a literati readership, which was well known to have generally devalued narrative literature. Yet despite its indebtedness to Chinese precursors, it was because of the work’s so-called local color (K. hyangt’o saek)8 that Kŭmo sinhwa attained an exceptionally high status within the canon of national literature (K. kungmunhak) in the Koreas.9 It is in some respects a very “Korean” piece of Chosŏn-dynasty narrative literature, for Kim Sisŭp appears to have been inspired by earlier Korean works. Among his sources of inspiration were entries in the Koryŏ-dynasty (918–1392) sihwa (talks on poetry) collections P’ahan chip (Collection to break idleness)10 by Yi Illo (1152–1220) and Pohan chip (Collection of supplementary writings to break idleness) by Ch’oe Cha (1188–1260)11 and tales contained in the Korean chuanqi collection Sui chŏn (C. Shuyi zhuan, “Transmissions of the bizarre”).12 In addition, works by the Koryŏ poet Yi Saek (1328–1396) can be rediscovered in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” and several passages in “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” reflect the influence of lyrical works by the thirteenth-­century Korean scholar-poet Yi Kyubo (1168–1241). “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” is also loosely tied to a Korean folktale about the literary licentiate Pak (K. Pak chinsa), who marries the daughter of the dragon king of Pagyŏn, a pond located in the vicinity of the city of Kaesŏng. It is also the case that, while a number of major Chosŏn-dynasty works of fiction are set in China,13 the tales of Kŭmo sinhwa are all set in historically significant places on the Korean Peninsula. To be sure, prominent works of Korean folk literature such as Ch’unhyang chŏn (Biography of Ch’unhyang), Sim Ch’ŏng chŏn (Biography of Sim Ch’ŏng), and Hong Kildong chŏn (Biography of Hong Kildong) are also written against a Korean backdrop, but Kŭmo sinhwa can be called the first and major work of Chosŏn classical fiction with a Korean setting.14 “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” takes place in the region of Namwŏn; Songdo (Kaesŏng), the capital of the Koryŏ dynasty, is the setting for “Biography of Scholar Yi”; “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk



Translator’s Introduction

5

Pavilion” is set in P’yŏngyang, the capital of Old Chosŏn (K. Ko Chosŏn) and the dynasty Koguryŏ (37 BCE–668 CE); the beginning of “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” is set in Kyŏngju, the capital of the Silla dynasty; and the initial setting of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” is Mount Ch’ŏnma in the vicinity of Songdo. Kim Sisŭp moreover made use of actual Korean figures and placed his stories within the context of Korean historical and mythological narratives. The raids of the seaborne Japanese marauders and the invasion of the Han Chinese Red Turbans, both of which plunged Korea into chaos during the late Koryŏ dynasty, have direct bearing on the lives and deaths of the leading characters in “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” and “Biography of Scholar Yi”; the female protagonist in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is saved from the battles leading to the fall of the second Korean state, Kija Chosŏn, by the mythical founding father of the Korean people; “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” essentially encompasses the area of the conflict between Confucianism and Buddhism that marked the decades before and after the establishment of the Chosŏn dynasty; “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” builds on the foundation of popular beliefs surrounding the existence of divine beings in the lakes and rivers of the Korean Peninsula’s north. Although extant sources suggest that Kŭmo sinhwa did circulate in Chosŏn after the all-out battles with Japan during the Imjin War (1592–1598, also referred to as the Great East Asian War or the Hideyoshi Invasions), it in effect vanished from Korea sometime during the latter half of the seventeenth century. Although it was reprinted on several occasions in Japan, it was reintroduced into Korea only as late as the early twentieth century. Since then, Kim Sisŭp’s collection of marvelous tales has become one of the most intensively studied works of premodern Korean literature, and interpretive approaches (as well as academic articles) are legion. Scholars have read Kŭmo sinhwa against the background of the biography of its author and have focused on the depiction of the main characters’ struggles in a deficient world that they eventually decide to leave behind. Other researchers have recognized it as a work of fiction meant to criticize contemporary political, bureaucratic, and social issues as well as certain political leaders and policies. Yet others have interpreted Kŭmo sinhwa from religious and philosophical perspectives, while the ties between the mundane world and the netherworld have also been regarded as the work’s underlying theme. The depth and multifariousness of Kŭmo sinhwa leave room for diverse interpretations.15 Yet almost all readings of Kŭmo sinhwa ultimately revolve around Kim Sisŭp and his extraordinary journey through life during the upheavals of mid-fifteenth-century Chosŏn Korea.

6

Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk

Kim Sisŭp, a Buddhist-Confucian Life in Mid-Fifteenth-Century Chosŏn Korea The life of Kim Sisŭp is well documented in extant sources, a number of which he in fact penned himself. Kim’s self-documentation is comprised of the following: a letter entitled “Sang Yu Yangyang chinjŏng sŏ (Chahan)” (Letter explaining my situation to Yu [Chahan],16 [magistrate of] Yangyang),17 which he wrote toward the end of his life to his benefactor Yu Chahan (dates unknown); the T’angyu Kwansŏ rok huji (Supplement to records of extensive travels in Kwansŏ),18 a lyrical supplement to his poetry collection T’angyu Kwansŏ rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwansŏ, 1458); and the autobiographical poem Tongbong yukka (Six songs on Tongbong).19 There exist as well contemporary biographies of Kim Sisŭp by two of his close acquaintances and followers. One, by his friend Nam Hyo’on (1454–1492, pen names Ch’ugang and Haengu, courtesy name Paekkong),20 features in “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” (Sayings and conduct of teachers and friends);21 a second one, Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun (Sacrificial elegy for Kim Yŏlgyŏng [Sisŭp], contained in section “Mun” of Soch’ong yugo [Posthumous manuscripts of Soch’ong]), is by Hong Yuson (1452–1529, courtesy name Yŏgyŏng). In addition, a collection of “unofficial stories” (K. yadam), the Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki (Records of Mr. Dragon Spring’s talks in solitude, 1525; contained in volume 8 of Hŭiraktanggo), which was penned by Kim Allo (1481–1537, pen name Hŭiraktang) only a few decades after Kim Sisŭp’s death, likewise features an interesting, almost gossipy biographical sketch.22 Apart from these, Kim Sisŭp’s complex personality and the meandering, unusual course of his life are treated in an abundance of biographies and biographical sketches and anecdotes from later times. These comprise biographies written by Yi Cha (1480–1533) and Yi Sanhae (1538–1609), both works entitled Maewŏltang chip sŏ (Preface to the collected writings of Maewŏltang),23 which were composed in 1521 and 1583, respectively, and which constitute prefaces to the Maewŏltang chip, the collected writings of Kim Sisŭp. A biography of Kim Sisŭp penned by the sixteenthcentury ­scholar-official Yun Ch’unnyŏn (1514–1567) entitled Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn (Biography of Master Maewŏltang, ca. 1551), is partly contained in the Chosŏn mokp’an pon (hereafter abbreviated CMPP, a Chosŏndynasty woodblock-print edition, also known as Yun Ch’unnyŏn pon [Yun Ch’unnyŏn edition]) of Kŭmo sinhwa (the edition that served as the primary source for the translation at hand),24 but it is contained in its entirety in the Maewŏltang chip25 as well as in the manuscript of Yun Ch’unnyŏn’s collected writings, Hagŭmgo, in which it is titled Maewŏltang sŏ. The biography



Translator’s Introduction

7

Kim Sisŭp chŏn (Biography of Kim Sisŭp)26 was written by the acclaimed Confucian thinker Yulgok Yi I (1538–1584) in 1582 at the order of King Sŏnjo (r. 1567–1608).27 In addition, Maewŏltang sojŏn (Short biography of Maewŏltang) is contained in a Japanese edition of Kŭmo sinhwa from 1884.28 Though not explicitly stated in this biography, the Maewŏltang sojŏn was by all indications penned by the Korean Yi Sujŏng (1842–1886), who lived in Japan at the time.29 Although several parts of his life unfortunately remain vague due to a lack of sources, the aforementioned writings illuminate various stages and aspects of Kim Sisŭp’s biography. Sindong, “divine child” Kim Sisŭp’s courtesy name (K. cha, C. zi) was Yŏlgyŏng. In his role as a Confucian scholar, his most widely known pen name (K. ho, C. hao) was Maewŏltang (Plum Moon Hall),30 and his collected writings (munjip) are accordingly entitled Maewŏltang chip (Collected writings of Maewŏltang).31 Reflecting his complex personality and life, Kim Sisŭp had a number of other pen names that he used in different contexts. For instance, in Daoist contexts he wrote under the name Ch’ŏnghanja (Pure and Poor One). Other self-selected pen names comprise Tongbong (Eastern Summit, a pen name that also appears as Tongbongja, or Man of the Eastern Summit, in reference to Mount Surak, which lies east of the capital),32 Pyŏksan ch’ŏngŭn (Pure Recluse of Mount Pyŏk),33 and Ch’weseong (Old Man Superfluous to the World).34 As a Buddhist monk he lived under the Dharma name Sŏlcham (Snowy Peak).35 Kim Sisŭp was of the Kangnŭng Kim lineage. His great-grandfather served as magistrate of Anju (K. Anju moksa), his grandfather was battalion commander in the Five Military Commands (K. Owi Pujang), and his father, Kim Ilsŏng (dates unknown), served as a loyal and obedient guard (K. ch’ungsunwi, meaning that he was a military officer in a special guard unit reserved for members of the upper class) for a short time before retiring due to an illness. Three generations thus served in the military.36 His mother was from the Chang family of Sŏnsa (present-day Uljin).37 He grew up in the vicinity of the National Confucian Academy (K. Sŏnggyun’gwan) in the capital in a predominantly Confucian environment, early on receiving an education in the Doctrine of the Mean and the Great Learning through teachers such as Yi Kyejŏn (1404–1459), who was a grandson of Yi Saek, and Cho Su (dates unknown), who at the time functioned as second assistant master (K. saye) of the National Academy and who composed Kim Sisŭp’s courtesy name. During this time Kim Sisŭp studied alongside the son of Yi Kyejŏn, Yi U (?–1466), elder brother of Yi

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk

P’a (1434–1486) and Yi Pong (1441–1493). Later in his youth Kim Sisŭp was taught the Confucian Classics by Kim Pan (dates unknown), who had served as headmaster (K. taesasŏng) of the National Academy and who was a pupil of the prominent Confucian thinker Kwŏn Kŭn (1352–1409), as well as Yun Sang (1373–1455), who himself had learned under a protégé of the influential late Koryŏ Confucian statesman Chŏng Mongju (1338–1392).38 Hence, Kim Sisŭp secured a thorough Confucian education under a number of distinguished teachers. Much like the portrayals of other prominent Chosŏn scholars and officials, most of the above-mentioned biographies depict the young Kim Sisŭp as a prodigy, a “divine child” (K. sindong), so awe inspiring that people dared not call him by his given name. Yi I writes in Kim Sisŭp chŏn, From birth he possessed unusual endowments, and eight months after leaving his mother’s womb he came to know the script all by himself. Ch’oe Ch’iun [1390–1440] saw this, thought him strange, and ordered the boy to be named Sisŭp [He Who Puts What He Has Learned into Practice at the Proper Time].39 He was slow to speak, but his spirit was astounding. When he caught a glimpse of a piece of writing, he might not have been able to read it aloud but he understood its meaning completely. At the age of three he was able to put together poems and at the age of five he comprehended the Doctrine of the Mean as well as the Great Learning. People called him sindong, “divine child.”40

Although a description such as this might appear exaggerated, it is in fact based on what Kim Sisŭp wrote in a letter to Yu Chahan about the reaction of others to his unusual gifts. I was born in the year ŭlmyo [1435] north of the pan’gung41 in the capital. Eight months after I was born, I independently knew the script. . . . My maternal grandfather did not teach me the vernacular at first but instead instructed me by means of the Ch’ŏnjamun [Thousand-character classic] of the Liang dynasty. Though my mouth only emitted chirping noises, I completely comprehended its meaning. Hence, growing up I stammered and was not able to really speak, but with brush and ink I could write down all my intentions. For this reason I was already able to compose texts at the age of three. They called me the “five-year-old” [K. ose, C. wusui] when I was said to have largely comprehended the structure of writing. In the spring of the year pyŏngjin [1436], even though I was at the time not yet able to speak, my maternal grandfather instructed me with selected verses, saying, “Flowers laugh in front of a fence, but the sound cannot be



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heard.” I pointed at a painting of flowers on a folding screen and uttered “A, a.” Again he taught me, saying, “Birds cry in the forest, but tears are hard to see.” I pointed at a painting of birds on a folding screen and uttered “A, a.” My maternal grandfather then knew I was able to comprehend.42 Thus, that year [my grandfather] selected about a hundred verses as well as poetry collections by masters of the Tang and Song dynasties and had me read them all.43

That Kim Sisŭp was a strangely gifted child is evidenced by the fact that his precocity was recognized by high officials such as Hŏ Cho (1369–1439), who had served as minister of rites.44 King Sejong (r. 1418–1450) himself, upon hearing about the child, summoned him to the Sŭngjŏngwŏn (Royal Secretariat). Kim Sisŭp described the event as follows: Yŏngmyo [posthumous title of King Sejong] heard [about me] and called me to the Royal Secretariat. . . . The first royal secretary [K. chisinsa] [Pak Ich’ang, ?–1451] took me in his arms, sat me down on his lap, called my name, and said, “Can you create a verse with that [name of yours]?” I replied, “When I arrived, I was the babe in swaddling clothes, Kim Sisŭp.” Again, he pointed at a landscape painting on a wall, saying, “Can you create one with that as well?” Straightaway I replied, “A small pavilion, a boathouse, who might be living there?” I created quite a number of writings and poems in this manner. [Pak Ich’ang] then went inside and reported [to the king]. The royal decision [K. chŏnji] [transmitted from the king to Pak Ich’ang] was as follows: “I wanted to see him myself, but now I fear it might bewilder the people if they heard about [me having personally received a child]. It would be appropriate to let him return [home] and to hand him over to his family, to hide his capacities and have his education be very diligent. If we wait for him to be more advanced in years and for his learning to be accomplished, there will be great use for him in the future.” He gifted me with things and had me return back home.45 Those other mixed [sources claiming I wrote] a poem on [the subject of] Mount Samgak [when at the Royal Secretariat], that’s all baseless, unrestrained talk transmitted by some scoundrels.46 It is incorrect.”47

Though he did not get to meet King Sejong in person, the authoritative, exceptional recognition he received from the ruler and high officials bears witness to the boy’s extraordinary abilities.48 As a result of such evaluations of Kim Sisŭp’s talents and capacities, many people would have had high expectations regarding his future career at court. Yet there appears to have been a discrepancy between public expectations and Kim Sisŭp’s own feel-

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ings, for in the letter to Yu Chahan he states, “From youth I did not enjoy glory and fame. Moreover, the unrestrained praise given by my family and my neighbors made me feel ashamed!”49 In the wake of his mother’s death in 1449 and the subsequent passing of his grandmother, who had brought him to the countryside to live with her but died before the mourning period for his mother was over, Kim Sisŭp lived alone in the capital.50 During this time, he studied alongside An Sin (dates unknown), Chi Talha (dates unknown), Chŏng Yuŭi (grandfather of Chŏng Hŭidŭng, 1506–1545), Chang Kang (dates unknown), and Chŏng Saju (dates unknown).51 Before the age of twenty, Kim Sisŭp appears to have married the daughter of Nam Hyorye (dates unknown), a senior commander in the Hullyŏnwŏn (Military Training Administration), but it seems that the marriage was brief. There are no extant writings of Kim Sisŭp that mention his first wife, and the marriage is referred to only in a single biography, the Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn. In 1453 Kim Sisŭp suffered a setback in his Confucian life when he failed the civil service examinations. Two years later he packed up his books and went up to Chunghŭng Temple on Mount Samgak.52 Studying at a mountain temple was a vogue of the Koryŏ period that continued into the early part of the Chosŏn dynasty, and Kim Sisŭp might have meant to study for a new run at the state examinations in the calm surroundings of a Buddhist monastery. (The protagonist of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” is likewise a Confucian scholar dwelling in a Buddhist monastery.) It was at Chunghŭng Temple, in the year 1455, that the twenty-year-old Kim Sisŭp learned about an incident that would have far-reaching consequences for the country, and for himself: the forced abdication of the king of Chosŏn and a usurper’s accession to the throne. Confucian Monk, Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp In 1453 a coup d’état, which would become known as kyeyu chŏngnan (plight stabilization in the year kyeyu), was carried out by Prince Suyang (K. Suyang taegun), who would become King Sejo (r. 1455–1468), and his followers. Upon the early death of King Munjong (King Sejong’s firstborn son), who had succeeded his father but ruled only briefly (r. 1451–1452), his son was put on the throne at the age of eleven, becoming the sixth king of Chosŏn under the name Tanjong (r. 1452–1455). While Prince Suyang, Sejong’s second son, had been a likely candidate to succeed his older brother, the boy Tanjong came to the throne through the overwhelming support of the meritorious subjects of Sejong’s era, meritorious subjects being the



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members of the established Confucian aristocracy who had earned their merit under the long-reigning king. Having vowed to protect and rear the young Tanjong, they meant to serve the legitimate ruler while simultaneously aiming at influencing and eventually taking over government affairs (as they did in later centuries) while weakening the court. This plan was thwarted, however, as they met the rigorous opposition of a powerful and ambitious member of the royal family, the aforementioned Prince Suyang. In early October of 1453, on a day when Tanjong had left the palace for a visit to his sister, Princess Kyŏnghye, Prince Suyang’s men attacked a number of high-ranking Confucians, among them the second state councilor, Kim Chongsŏ (1383–1453). Kim Chongsŏ, who along with the chief state councilor, Hwangbo In (?–1453), had been installed as guardian of Tanjong by King Munjong, was killed. Hwangbo In and other influential officials such as the minister of the Board of Personnel, Min Sin (?–1453), and the head of the Ministry of War, Cho Kŭkkwan (?–1453), were thereafter dragged outside the palace gates and executed. Prince Suyang then seized power by proclaiming himself head of the State Council, minister of the Board of Personnel, head of the Ministry of War, and military commander of the Cavalry Forces.53 In 1455 Prince Suyang forced Tanjong to abdicate, after which Suyang took the throne as King Sejo. In 1457 Tanjong was finally demoted in rank, given the title of Prince Nosan (K. Nosan’gun), and sent into exile at Yŏngwŏl. Here, on the periphery, the deposed king was eventually assassinated and buried.54 Pursuant to Sejo’s rise to power, many high-ranking Confucians in the capital were banished from the political scene and sent back to their home regions. Sejo moreover disbanded core Confucian institutions such as the Chiphyŏnjŏn (Hall of Worthies), a Confucian institute, and the Kyŏngyŏn (Lectorium of the Classics), the royal lectures in which the ruler listened to eminent Confucians expound on the Classics (and which Sejo viewed as a means of Confucian indoctrination). The manner in which Prince Suyang had forceably seized power, usurped the throne, and ousted the established Confucian elite made many literati and officials oppose him and his government. In 1456, a number of those who had plotted to reinstate Tanjong as king were executed; these men would later became known as the sa yuksin, or “six martyred subjects.”55 Some scholars who, as a sign of personal protest against the illegitimate (in their minds) king, either abandoned their official careers or refused to enter the service of the new government, subsequently became known as the saeng yuksin, the “six surviving subjects.”56 Kim Sisŭp was later included in the saeng yuksin of Tanjong loyalists who openly opposed Sejo and refused to participate in the civil service examinations or to take public office after the

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deposition of Tanjong. The majority of scholars and ministers, however, chose to join the new regime.57 The usurpation of the throne by Prince Suyang thus marked a turning point in Kim Sisŭp’s life. His immediate reaction to the political upheaval and Tanjong’s abdication in 1455 is described in Kim Sisŭp chŏn as follows: During the reign of Emperor Jingtai [of Ming] [1428–1457], Yŏngnŭng [King Sejong] and Hyŏnnŭng [King Munjong] passed away in succession, and Nosan had to yield the throne within three years. Sisŭp was twenty-one years of age at the time. He was reading his books on Mount Samgak when someone passed by on his way back from the capital. [After he heard that Tanjong had abdicated the throne,] Sisŭp closed his door and did not come out again for three days. Then he wailed, burned all his books, and feigned madness, plunging into the latrine and then fleeing from it. From this time forward he put on a monk’s robe, his Dharma name being Sŏlcham.58

To Kim Sisŭp, Prince Suyang’s usurpation was an illegitimate act. By using violent means to eliminate numerous high-ranking officials and eventually forcing the rightful king of Chosŏn, King Munjong’s son, to abdicate, Prince Suyang had fundamentally violated the ideal of the virtuous ruler, a core element of Confucianism. According to an anecdote contained in Haedong chamnok (Miscellaneous records from [the country] east of the sea; completed in 1670), Kim Sisŭp believed that no usurper should ever be treated as king: When [Kim Suon, 1410–1481, pen name Koeae] served as administrative director of the Office of Royal Decrees and State Records [K. Chigwansa], he took the topic “Mengzi Meets King Hui of Liang” [a reference to Mengzi 1A:1] with which to examine the Confucian students of the National Academy. One of the students [thereupon went to] meet Kim Tongbong on Mount Samgak, saying, “Koeae likes to have himself a joke. How could this ever be an agreeable topic of discussion?” Tongbong replied, “If not for the old man, this topic would not have been set at all.” Then [Kim Sisŭp] let his brush run free and, giving him [the paper], said, “Act as if you wrote this yourself, and in the examination, you deceive this old man.” The student did as he was told, but Koeae had not even read [the text] to the end when he suddenly [raised his head and] asked, “Yŏlgyŏng, which monastery is he currently staying at?” The student was not able to hide [the ruse] any longer. A general summary of the discussion [by Kim



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Sisŭp] reads, “Hui of Liang was a usurper king [K. ch’amwang, C. jianwang]. Mengzi ought not to have met him [in the first place].”59

Although later in life Kim Sisŭp (somewhat inconsistently) did occasionally cooperate with and perhaps even benefit from Sejo’s government, in the direct aftermath of Prince Suyang’s usurpation, he refused to serve the new king or his government and decided to withdraw from the society. Social participation and public service are foundational ideas of Confucianism, yet if a thorough Confucian is compelled to serve under what is perceived to be humiliating, unjust, or evil conditions, there exists a theoretical basis for dissent and dissidence.60 This can take the form of Confucian eremitism, which allows a Confucian scholar to maintain personal ethical standards while retreating from society. He might refuse service on moral grounds and based on his innate “sense of what is right and what is wrong”61: he might display a justified lack of interest in the social status attached to entering officialdom and instead withdraw from the world. In ancient and medieval China such voluntary Confucian eremitism, in which a Confucian recluse would devote his life to private self-cultivation, scholarship, and artistic pursuits, was a legitimate means to express protest against rulers and governments or to display loyalty toward one’s dynasty after the rise of a new regime.62 Consequently, Kim Sisŭp could have made the decision to simply renounce public office and become a Confucian recluse. In doing so, he would have not only followed in the footsteps of some of his role models from Chinese history63 but also acted in line with other, elder members of the saeng yuksin such as Wŏn Ho (dates unknown),64 Yi Maengjŏn (1392–1480),65 and Cho Ryŏ (1420–1489).66 Yet he chose a different path, for he made the decision to completely break with Confucianism,67 shaving his head and becoming a wayfaring Buddhist monk under the Dharma name of Sŏlcham.68 In 1457 he performed a ritual service for the sa yuksin and built an altar for King Tanjong at Tonghak Monastery.69 He wandered the periphery and roamed the Korean Peninsula for several years thereafter, passing through the northern regions of Kwansŏ70 and Kwandong,71 Honam in the southwest,72 and the vicinity of the ancient Silla capital Kyŏngju in the southeast. Yulgok writes, “With regard to the mountains and rivers within the realm [of the Korean Peninsula], he left his footprints almost everywhere, and when he encountered a scenic spot he would simply reside there. He ascended to look down upon the ancient capitals, whereupon he would pace up and down and always sing in a sad way. This would go on for several days without end.”73 Kim Sisŭp compiled the poetry he wrote during his

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extensive travels in lyrical travelogues he named after the respective regions where they had been created, namely, T’angyu Kwansŏ rok from 1458, T’angyu Kwandong rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwandong) from 1460, T’angyu Honam rok (Records of extensive travels in Honam) from 1461, and Yu Kŭmo rok (Records of sojourning in Kŭmo74) from the mid-1460s.75 Together, these poetry collections are known as Sa yurok, the Four Records of Sojourning. In the T’angyu Kwansŏ rok huji Kim Sisŭp addressed his decision to shave his head and become a monk: “One day, suddenly, I encountered some deplorable matters . . . I wanted to float outside of worldly matters, and I admired the manners of [the Daoist masters] Tunan [Chen Tuan, Northern Song dynasty (960–1127)] and [Sun] Simiao [Tang dynasty (618–907)]. In the customs of our country, however, there had never been such a thing, and thus I hesitated and could not make up my mind. One evening I suddenly realized that if I perhaps put on a monk’s robe and became a man of the mountains, [a wayfaring monk,] it would be possible to prevent aspirations.”76 Kim Sisŭp, who also had a deep understanding of Daoism,77 here employs images of Daoist masters to substantiate his decision to leave the world behind and become a Buddhist monk while at the same time evoking the figure of the loyal Confucian subject who refuses to serve an illegitimate ruler. He suggests that he chose to lead the life of a wayfaring monk because it offered him the opportunity to react to and take a stand against so-called deplorable matters (K. kamgae-ji sa), an expression that might be understood as a reference to the usurpation of the throne by Prince Suyang. His motivations for taking on the Dharma name of Sŏlcham and becoming a monk were certainly complex. Family problems that might have arisen due to the early death of his mother, his health, or his failure in the civil service examinations might have played a role in this context.78 But on the basis of his own autobiographical writings as well as various biographies, it seems that it was primarily the abdication of Tanjong and Sejo’s usurpation of power that were at the root of his decision to become a monk and leave the capital. In Koryŏ history one can certainly find examples of Confucian ministers who chose to become wayfaring Buddhist monks in reaction to a change of government but who later passed on their Confucian knowledge.79 There are similar cases in later Chinese history as well, such as the sixteenth-century philosopher Li Zhi (1527–1602), who also created a scandal by appearing as a “Confucian monk.”80 Kim Sisŭp’s particular way of dissenting can nevertheless be deemed rather exceptional within the framework of Chosŏn history. Reflecting the duality that characterized his life and works, Kim Sisŭp displayed a hybrid appearance: he is known to have shaved off his hair but not his venerable beard, the mark of the Confucian scholar.81 According to an entry entitled “Myŏng Ch’ŏnwŏn Kim Sisŭp ch’ebal i yusu”



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(Tianyuan of Ming and Kim Sisŭp cut off their hair but left their beards) in the Kyegok chip (section “Manp’il,” or “Casual Jottings”), the personal collection of Chang Yu (1587–1638, pen name Kyegok), in this Kim Sisŭp might have imitated a Chinese model figure. Tianyuan of Ming, a person [originally] from the Yuan dynasty, had served as a Hanlin academician at the end of the Yuan dynasty. When the Yuan dynasty fell, [refusing to serve the Ming,] he cut off his hair and became a monk. He called himself Laifu [Thus-Come One] and made Jianxin [He Who Is Cognizant of His Heart-Mind] his courtesy name, but he left his beard the way it had been before [when he had still been a Confucian]. Emperor Gaozu [the Hongwu Emperor of Ming] summoned him, thinking it odd, and questioned him [about the beard]. Thus he answered, “By cutting off my hair I eliminate afflictions; by leaving my beard I express [my nature of] being a great [Confucian] man [K. changbu, C. zhangfu].”82 . . . In our Korean dynasty, Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp likewise became a monk who did not shave off his beard, saying, “By cutting off my hair I escaped from the present age; by leaving my beard I express [my nature of] being a great [Confucian] man.” I do not know whether he modeled his words after Tianyuan and imitated them or whether they were of one mind coincidentally. Then again, both masters’ integrity and moral principle were similar to one another. It would be appropriate to say that it was a strange matter.83

Kim Sisŭp’s hybrid, perhaps fractured nature is also reflected in his own writings. Looking back at this period, he wrote the following in his letter to Yu Chahan: At the beginning of the reign of Kwangmyo [King Sejo], old friends and lofty trees84 altogether turned into [entries in] the Register of Ghosts,85 and moreover the deviant teaching [K. igyo, C. yijiao, here referring to Buddhism] greatly prospered, while “this culture of ours” [K. samun, C. siwen]86 was in decline. My aspiration was already laid waste. Eventually I became friends with monks and roamed through mountains and along rivers. For this reason the people believed that I enjoyed Buddhism. But I did not want to become famous in the world by means of the deviant Way. Thus, although Kwangmyo issued royal decisions and often summoned me to court, I did not always obey. I appeared wasted away and my conduct became degraded; people, I despised. For this reason some thought me an imbecile, some a madman; they called me an ox or they called me a horse;87 and to all I responded.88

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These words, written in the late 1480s, following a period in which Kim Sisŭp had briefly returned to the laity after having struggled with Buddhism. The reversal was captured in a poem by Nam Hyo’on entitled “Chŭng Tongbong” (A gift to Tongbong) that referred to him as a “Chan master who does not rejoice in the Buddha” (K. sŏnsa purhŭi pul),89 vividly conveying the impression of a man who was critical and skeptical of Buddhism.90 In “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” Nam Hyo’on portrayed him in the following way: “When Kwangmyo took charge of administration, [Kim Sisŭp] became a Buddhist monk, calling himself Sŏlcham. He entered and lived in a secluded study hall [K. chŏngsa, C. jingshe] on Mount Surak, where he cultivated the Way and refined the form. Whenever he saw a Confucian scholar he would talk about and necessarily praise Confucius and Mencius, yet, shutting his mouth, he did not speak about the Buddha’s teachings. If there was someone enquiring about matters of the [Buddhist] cultivation of the self [K. suryŏn, C. xiulian], he would, yet again, be unwilling to explain any of it.”91 In Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun, Kim Sisŭp’s disciple Hong Yuson claims that his master hid his true thoughts behind a Buddhist disguise and only revealed himself to his closest followers, who were for that matter rebellious Confucians like him.92 He leaned on the Western Teachings [Buddhism] for his outer appearance, but he knew well the bright [Confucian] Way of [those from] Zou and Lu.93 . . . He gave himself over to exquisite wine [C. wucheng] and lessened his abilities to intermingle with the dust. Those who did not know him thus claimed that he was mad, but in fact he only submitted to his own inner integrity. Royals and dignitaries dressed in blue and purple all wanted to be his friends and walk shoulder to shoulder with him. . . . Thinking about the master’s usual words, he did not perform miraculous acts or study the occult.94 Though he did not discuss what he harbored inside, who did not know [which thoughts] he always nourished? Although the master lived in hiding, his heart-mind was excellent. Those who [truly] knew the master, it was us and no one else. Alas! The master’s journeys afar, did they not come about because he detested the deceitfulness of people?

Yet the image of Kim Sisŭp as a true Confucian at heart who was more or less forced to take on the guise of an itinerant monk was primarily fostered by Yi I in his biography of Kim Sisŭp. In his Kim Sisŭp chŏn Yi I writes, By and large [Kim Sisŭp] did not lose the essential foundation of Confucianism, but getting to such things as the two schools of Chan and Dao,95



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he likewise saw the basic meaning and deeply investigated the sources of the diseases [of beings].96 He happily wrote Chan words and made visible the mysterious tenuity. . . . Although old monks and famous bare-heads were deeper in learning than he was, in no way did they dare to counter his vigorous attacks. . . . [Kim Sisŭp] himself took it that his reputation had flourished at an early stage but that one morning he had to flee from the [regular Confucian] world. His heart was Confucian but his traces were Buddhist.97 This was taken as strange at the time. For this reason he acted in a mad, fickle manner in order to conceal his true self.98

Although Yulgok concedes that Kim Sisŭp grasped and mastered both Buddhism and Daoism, he nevertheless essentially paints the picture of a thorough Confucian at heart who was pressured into shaving his head, a Confucian scholar forced to put on a monk’s robe due to external factors.99 As a Confucian, Kim Sisŭp had received an education from several renowned teachers, and he was famed as a child well versed in the Confucian teachings. Later in life he was respected and praised by many of the leading officials and Confucian scholars of his age for his sophisticated knowledge of Confucianism. For instance, Kim Suon, with whom he was well acquainted, as well as early Chosŏn intellectual giant Sŏ Kŏjŏng (1420–1488)100 are said to have called Kim Sisŭp a “great scholar of the country” (K. kuksa).101 What is more, many of his extant writings were composed from a Confucian perspective, and a good number of his works are quite critical of Buddhism, actual Buddhist rules and practices,102 as well as Daoism. Nevertheless, the image of Kim Sisŭp merely as a Confucian in Buddhist disguise, promoted decades after his death by high-ranking Confucian officials partly on royal orders103 in an age marked by the state-­driven marginalization and eventual suppression of Buddhism, is too narrow and simple for this complex figure.104 This is because in his time Kim Sisŭp, or Sŏlcham, actually was a widely respected Buddhist monk whose writings reveal his deep understanding of Buddhism.105 Like other intellectual figures in mid-fifteenth-century Chosŏn Korea, a period that marked the last time Buddhism flourished on a state level, Kim Sisŭp had not only obtained a Confucian education but a Buddhist one as well. He is said to have been trained in Buddhist teachings during the early 1450s by a certain Master Chun (Chun sangin) at Songgwang Temple.106 And although there is no definitive record attesting to Sŏlcham’s receiving a full ordination in accordance with the standardized Buddhist rites and procedures,107 it is possible that he received from Sejo the toch’ŏp (C. dudie, “ordination licensing”), the certification of ordination that was issued by the government and

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a necessity for itinerant monks, in the mid-1460s in the capital when he was working on prestigious sūtra translation projects initiated by the government.108 Whether or not he obtained full ordination, Sŏlcham is said to have been a Hwaŏm (Huayan) master who, despite his occasionally erratic behavior, was revered by many.109 He was also known in higher social circles for his refined understanding of Buddhism. For instance, in 1463 he got acquainted with Prince Hyoryŏng (1396–1486), second son of King T’aejong and elder brother to King Sejong, who was also a devout Buddhist and a powerful supporter of the openly pro-Buddhist King Sejo.110 When Sejo ordered the production of a vernacular edition (K. ŏnhae) of the Lotus Sūtra, Prince Hyoryŏng recommended Kim Sisŭp as one of the experts to assist with the translation of the text into vernacular Korean.111 In 1464, he was once more summoned by Prince Hyoryŏng to participate in the ceremonies held in honor of the completion of Wŏn’gak Temple after many monks had demanded his presence at the festivities. This demonstrates that, despite his Confucian background and apparently rather eccentric behavior, Kim Sisŭp was officially recognized as a monk by the government of Sejo and was held in high esteem as a Buddhist master by members of the royal family and eminent monks of the time.112 There are, moreover, sources indicating that he was viewed as an important Buddhist teacher into the middle of the sixteenth century.113 Textbook narratives often characterize early Chosŏn Korea as a time of fierce conflict between Confucianism and Buddhism that from the early sixteenth century on, after a short period of Buddhist restoration especially under Sejo, eventually led to the complete marginalization of Buddhism. More recent research has shown that more hybrid, synchronized views on Confucianism and Buddhism did exist during these first decades after the establishment of the new dynasty. Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp’s life, which so reflects the productive fusion of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, bears witness to this. The synthesis of Confucian and Buddhist thought is reflected in some of his writings, such as the Chodong owi yohae (Essential explanations on the five positions of the Caodong School).114 The complexity of the topic exceeds the scope of this introduction, but in the present context it is important to note that this hybridization of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism shows up in Kŭmo sinhwa itself. An example is the tale “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” in which King Yama, originally a Buddhist ruler of the underground purgatory, is depicted as just such a hybrid character. He is a figure who is critical of certain Buddhist practices and is at times portrayed as a Confucian to his core. Tellingly, King Yama states that the teachings of Confucius and Gautama might have differed in terms of methodology but were very similar in their aim and outcome.



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Boyi of Korea As extant sources show, the treatment of Kim Sisŭp, a Buddho-Confucian figure, became unidimentional in later centuries. As can be seen above, Yulgok painted a picture of Kim Sisŭp as a Confucian disguised as a Buddhist, though it is worth noting that this portrayal in Kim Sisŭp chŏn might be self-referential, since throughout his life Yulgok had to justify having dabbled in Buddhism after the death of his own mother. Yulgok portrays Kim Sisŭp the monk as never truly believing in the deviant Way but on the contrary always remaining a true Confucian. In doing so Yulgok might have aimed to confute the frequent accusation that his own intermezzo with Buddhism might have ruined him for the Confucian Way.115 In later centuries, Kim Sisŭp, a wayfaring monk who had never held office during his lifetime, was reintegrated and relocated into the Confucian sphere. He was reintegrated by being posthumously promoted to office and made the object of sacrifice at official Confucian shrines built in his honor.116 He was, moreover, enshrined next to the other saeng yuksin at Sŏsan Academy (K. Sŏsan Sŏwŏn, established in 1703), which was built in Haman, the place where Cho Ryŏ had spent his life in rebellious (and simultaneously loyal) hiding. Along with Nam Hyo’on (who in fact was only a baby when Sejo usurped the throne), Kim Sisŭp was awarded in 1782 the position of minister of personnel (K. ijo p’ansŏ) by King Chŏngjo (r. 1777– 1800) in recognition of his resistance to Sejo. He was also given the posthumous Confucian temple name (K. siho) Ch’ŏnggan, meaning “[he who is] pure and unrestrained.”117 It was furthermore proclaimed that he was to be venerated at Ch’angjŏl Shrine (K. Ch’angjŏlsa, built in 1705), the shrine for the saeng yuksin, as well as at Ch’ŏngjŏl Shrine (K. Ch’ŏngjŏlsa, built in 1700) on Mount Surak and Maewŏl Shrine (K. Maewŏlsa) in Kyŏng­ju, which were built at places where he had once lived. It can be said he was relocated because objects of his worship were physically moved from a Buddhist to a Confucian location. An example of relocation has to do with the second of a pair of self-portraits, one as a young man and another in old age, that Kim Sisŭp purportedly painted before he passed away. While the latter painting has not survived in its original form, we have a significant source that describes the circumstances of its physical removal from a Buddhist monastery to a Confucian shrine. This source, a letter contained in the twenty-sixth volume of Myŏng­jae yugo (Posthumous manuscripts of Myŏngjae) by Yun Chŭng (1629–1714, pen name Myŏngjae), states,118 Within the area, in Muryang Monastery, there was a portrait of Tongbong Kim Sisŭp. It had remained there from the time when Tongbong passed

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk away in this temple. When in the year sinyu [1621] Master Chuksŏ Sim Chongjik [dates unknown, pen name Chuksŏ] became district magistrate here, he first constructed a pavilion to enshrine this portrait. The official Yun Hyŏnggak [1601–1664] thereafter named it Chŏrŭisa [Shrine of the Principled and Righteous] and put up a plaque reading “ch’ŏngp’ung” [pure wind].119 [By the time] my younger cousin, [Yun] Un’gŏ, came as magistrate, this portrait had become smeared and indecipherable, so he called the renowned painting master Yi Ching [1581–?, pen name Hŏju] and had him repaint it in a similar fashion and renew the ornamentations. Thereafter, on a day in the tenth month of the year musul [1658], the official Kwŏn Hŭn together with village scholars from the group surrounding Yi Pokhyŏng relocated this pavilion to the side of the [Confucian] county school [K. hyanggyo] and brought the portrait along to display it there. Sacrificial offerings [K. sach’ae]120 were presented in spring and autumn, and it was all done in the same manner as in the shrines for the local Confucian worthies [K. hyanghyŏnsa]. . . . Someone said, “In the [original] portrait he had the appearance of [a Buddhist monk who practices] austerity [K. tut’a]. Properly it ought to be put up inside a Buddhist temple. Constructing [a pavilion for his veneration next to] the [Confucian] school is wrong.” I personally do not think so. In the biography by Old Man Yul[gok], with the four characters simyu chŏkpul [“his heart was Confucian, but his traces were Buddhist”] [Yi I] judged his [Kim Sisŭp’s] entire life. He brought [the biography] forth for the king to see, so how could one hold onto his [Buddhist] traces and conceal his [Confucian] heart?121

Thus, not only was Yi Ching122 ordered to paint a new version of the selfportrait in the 1650s, but the painting itself was relocated from a Buddhist realm of worship to a Confucian place of learning and veneration. Although there existed other portraits depicting Kim Sisŭp with a Confucian beard and wearing a monk’s robe as well as portraits showing him in a Confucian robe,123 it was this self-portrait that became a topic of discussion. In reaction to a purported statement by Yulgok on the painting, the seventeenth-­ century scholar Pak T’aebo (1654–1689) concluded, “Concerning the portrait of Tongbong [stored] at Muryang Monastery on Mount Hong, Yulgok said, ‘Tongbong painted it himself. [It shows him wearing] the clothes of a Confucian, [not those of a monk,] and one can see his [true] intention herein.’ [Kim Sisŭp said,] ‘To pass away while sitting in meditation [K. chwahwa] is against the rites; about [Zengzi] having his mat changed124 I do know.’125 How could [words such as] these come from the mouth of a black-robed, bald [Buddhist monk]? A picture left behind for eternity, his [Buddhist] traces were dirty for a time. The master’s heart-mind is obvious and there can be no doubt.”126



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Though Yulgok does not mention a portrait showing Sŏlcham in Confucian garb,127 this statement by Pak T’aebo suggests that such paintings existed. Moreover, a postscript to the aforementioned letter by Yu Chŭng says, “That which in the past was enshrined in Ch’ŏngp’ung Pavilion [on the grounds of Muryang Monastery] was Tongbong’s portrait. [The painting] showed him wearing a Buddhist monk’s broad straw hat on his head and having a string of beads around his neck. This was what he wore during the time when his traces were Buddhist. When we now take this portrait and put it up in the [Confucian] ancestral shrine to present it to later generations, they will be able to understand that this has the same meaning as Taibo cutting his hair short.”128 This passage makes clear that Kim Sisŭp’s Buddhist identity was meant to be understood within a Confucian framework. He is compared to Taibo, founder of the ancient state of Wu, who left his native dynasty, Zhou, lowered himself to join the barbarians, and took on their uncultivated customs (such as cutting his hair short and tattooing his body). In Lunyu 8.1, Taibo is praised by Confucius for his supreme virtue reflected in these actions.129 Future Confucian scholars looking at the painting in the shrine were thus meant to realize that, just like Taibo, Kim Sisŭp had followed the customs of the uncultured (by cutting his hair short and wearing Buddhist attire) to reach a perfect level of Confucian virtue. In the same way, Kim Sisŭp was elevated in the late Chosŏn dynasty to the status of exemplar of core Confucian values such as loyalty, filial piety, virtuousness, steadfastness, and disinterest in corrupt political power. Kim Sisŭp’s turn toward Buddhism was idealized as an act of loyalty and righteous dissidence, essentially manifesting his exemplary nature as a Confucian. On the basis of his perceived loyalty to his king, his legitimate refusal to serve an illegitimate ruler who had overthrown his sovereign lord, Kim Sisŭp was at court compared with Confucian moral role models, especially Boyi, who alongside his brother is said to have starved himself to death in opposition to the overthrow of the Shang by the Zhou in Chinese antiquity. In the Ilsŏngnok (Records of daily reflections) of King Chŏngjo there is a 1797 entry dealing with the issue of upright behavior displayed by Kim Sisŭp’s contemporary Yu Chami (?–1462).130 It states the following: The minister of personnel, Yi Pyŏngjŏng [1742–1804], said, “In what was written [in this petition requesting an official recognition of Yu Chami], there is not the slightest difference with [the official treatment of] Kim Sisŭp. Well now, [as for] Kim Sisŭp, he was the Boyi of Korea. If in China there was Boyi, in Korea there was Kim Sisŭp. If someone from later times praises another person in such an excessive manner, [essentially] stating that next to [Kim] Sisŭp there was yet another [Kim] Sisŭp living here [in

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk Korea during that time], then this would imply that one could not call [the loyalty and purity of] Boyi and [Kim] Sisŭp beyond comparison for all ages. Would that not be presumptuous?” . . . [King Chŏngjo] enquired, “What is your opinion on this?” Yi Pyŏngjŏng replied, “The lone loyalty and the distinguished principles of Yu Chami really appear to be generally quite similar to those of Master Ch’ŏnggan Kim Sisŭp. . . .” [King Chŏngjo furthermore] enquired, “What opinion has the [state] counselor of the right on this?” The right state councilor [K. uŭijŏng], Yi Pyŏngmo [1742–1806], said, “The high loyalty and firm principles of Yu Chami can be called equal to those of Kim Sisŭp.”131

One literatus who in a number of writings likened Kim Sisŭp to Boyi was the seventeenth-century scholar Pak Sedang (1629–1703). Pak took Kim Sisŭp as a role model himself and temporarily followed Maewŏltang’s example by turning his back on society after having suffered in the wake of the factional struggles of the time.132 He built a hall of images (K. yŏngdang), that is, a place of worship, in honor of Kim Sisŭp on Mount Surak in the late seventeenth century. When he did so, he composed the Maewŏltang yŏngdang kwŏnyŏn mun (in volume 8 of Sŏgye chip),133 in which he stated, In the past, Yu Zhong cut off his hair and tattooed his body to live among the barbarians, while Boyi did not eat the grain of Zhou and starved himself to death on [Mount] Shouyang. Zhongni [Confucius] said [about Boyi] that he sought benevolence and obtained benevolence,134 while he praised [Yu Zhong that in his person] he succeeded in preserving his purity and [in his retirement] he acted according to the exigency of the times.135 . . . If one took the heart-mind of Boyi and walked in the traces of Yu Zhong, one would obtain his benevolence and also act according to purity and the circumstances. If one would then combine the two persons’ ultimates, what more could there be to obtain in the world? Someone like Ch’ŏnghanja [Kim Sisŭp] was known as the “divine child” when he was only five years of age. . . . After Sejo had ascended the throne . . . he escaped into the mountains and marshes, hiding his traces in dense forests. He died never having returned [to society]. Now that is what you call taking the heart-mind of Boyi and walking in the traces of Yu Zhong, is it not? . . . Moreover, someone like Ch’ŏnghan[ja] would in times of old truly have been referred to as a person “who stands alone and acts independently, who does not look back even against all heaven and earth or the ten thousand generations.”136

There exist quite a number of writings by scholars and intellectuals in which Kim Sisŭp is likened to Boyi.137 For instance, Hŏ Pong (1551–1588),



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elder brother of the prominent Korean writers Hŏ Kyun (1559–1618) and Hŏ Nansŏrhŏn (born Hŏ Ch’ohŭi, 1563–1589), wrote the following in a letter to the influential philosopher T’oegye Yi Hwang (1501–1570): “The people of this generation think that Kim Maewŏl putting on a monk’s robe really is not worth looking at, but in my opinion—although the single episode of Kim Maewŏl escaping from the world was certainly not in accord with the Doc­ trine of the Mean—still ‘in his person he preserved purity and his abandonment [of official positions] was adjusted according to the circumstances.’ If I regard him like that, what would you say?” Later, Hŏ Mok (1595–1682, pen name Misu) even included a liezhuan (K. yŏlchŏn, “exemplary biography”) of the “pure scholar” Kim Sisŭp in his collection Ch’ŏngsa yŏlchŏn (Exemplary biographies of pure scholars). He compared him there to Yu Zhong and Yi Yi.138 In his Ch’ŏngŭn chŏn (Biographies of pure recluses), the nineteenthcentury scholar Yi Kŏnch’ang (1852–1898) also likened him to the abovementioned exemplary figures of Confucianism,139 even going so far as to state that Kim Sisŭp really did not know the first thing about Buddhism.140 Thus, influential scholars, politicians, and rulers alive during the same dynasty praised the open opposition Kim Sisŭp had shown toward the reigning king of Chosŏn. They at the same time looked down on Kim Sisŭp’s contemporaries in high office who had chosen to lend their learning and knowledge in the service of Sejo’s regime. Among this group was the prominent statesman Sin Sukchu (1417–1475), who had played a major role in the capture, torture, and execution of the six martyred subjects.141 There are a number of possible reasons for this admiration for Kim. King Sejo differed from later rulers of the dynasty in that he was not only a known usurper but also the last king to actively promote Buddhism, the so-called deviant Way that was suppressed during the latter half of the Chosŏn dynasty. Hence, Kim Sisŭp’s insubordination appears to have been viewed as a legitimate response to a king who was following the wrong Way.142 Moreover, his reputation as a person well educated in Confucian doctrine, fostered through his own writings as well as later biographies by renowned scholars, left room for the theory that Kim Sisŭp had never really been a Buddhist believer but rather that his decision to become a monk and live on the periphery was primarily an expression of disobedience that served simultaneously as a manifestation of loyalty. Also, during his lifetime Kim Sisŭp had not been just some random, unknown student of Confucianism. On the contrary, he was a much-discussed prodigy who was acclaimed and admired by highranking officials and even King Sejong; he was also known as a master poet of his time. As such, his opposition to a perceived illegitimate ruler could easily be idealized and exploited. Sources show that there were similar but less well-documented cases of dissidence against Sejo by Kim Sisŭp’s con-

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temporaries, who were apparently not as brilliant as he, whose dissidence was overlooked. One such was Sŏ Hanjŏng (1407–1490), who purportedly led his entire family to Mount Sobaek to live in hiding in direct opposition to the forced abdication of Tanjong,143 an action that was later mostly dismissed.144 In contrast, instead of being ignored or portrayed as a subversive agitator, Kim Sisŭp was treated as a homegrown model of Confucian loyalty, a Korean equivalent of loyal figures described in the Classics. His reputation as a model Confucian notwithstanding, it is crucial to remember that Kim Sisŭp received a thorough education in Buddhism from monks at temples. This education in Buddhist doctrine can be viewed as a major factor vis-à-vis his special form of dissidence. The manner in which Kim Sisŭp expressed his dissent, namely, his conscious decision to lead the life of a wayfaring monk by way of expressing his opposition to the king, the government, and the society, was only possible because he had grown up in a transitional period when Confucianism increasingly replaced Buddhism as the dominant ideology. It was at the same time, however, when the literati in the capital were still taught and exposed to Buddhism. In later decades and centuries, after Buddhism had been pushed back into the mountains, such dissidence by a Confucian intellectual would have been impossible. Viewed in the context of the rich history of dissent, dissidence, and the expression of autonomy during the Chosŏn dynasty, Kim Sisŭp’s specific form of opposition can be considered exceptional. It might be that the time-bound, extraordinary nature of his oppositional action is the reason why late Chosŏn rulers and officials could present his mode of dissidence in a positive light. Sŏlcham could be made to serve as the Korean embodiment of the Confucian ideal of an upright, loyal subject refusing to serve an illegitimate lord for the very reason that there was no danger that anyone opposing the government could follow his example. Golden Turtle Mountain and Years of Sojourning Kim Sisŭp left the capital and went into the mountains. For about a decade after his flight from the center of power he appears to have indulged in travel and enjoyed the newly gained freedom of a life on the periphery. In the afterword to T’angyu Kwansŏ rok he writes that if he had chosen to pursue an official career it would not have been possible for him to experience the joys of traveling and roaming freely.145 Moreover, if he had held an official post, he might not have had the time and leisure to apply himself to the writing of literature to the extent he eventually did while traveling around the peninsula. It was therefore not only the content of Kŭmo sinhwa but also the circumstances of its writing that can be viewed as a direct product of Kim Sisŭp’s life journey.146



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During his travels through the northern regions, Kim Sisŭp spent time both in Kaesŏng, which had served as the capital of Koryŏ, and in P’yŏngyang, the ancient capital of Koguryŏ. In the vicinity of Kaesŏng he marveled at the beauty of Mount Ch’ŏnma and the pond called Pagyŏn;147 in P’yŏngyang he wrote verses on the Taedong River148 and the shrines of Korea’s mythical founding fathers, Tan’gun and Kija.149 While Kaesŏng became the setting for “Biography of Scholar Yi,” Mount Ch’ŏnma and the dragon pond called Pagyŏn came to serve as the setting for “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” Moreover, the sad undertone of the T’angyu Kwansŏ rok’s poems on the ever-flowing Taedong River, the overgrown graves of Korea’s legendary founding fathers, and the ruinous state of the old center of power of P’yŏngyang clearly anticipates the lyrical works recited by the leading characters in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” the tale set in P’yŏngyang.150 When Kim Sisŭp traveled the Honam region in 1461 he also wrote poems in and on Namwŏn, the location of Manbok Temple, the setting of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.”151 In the winter of 1462 he traveled eastward to Kyŏngju, which then served as the setting for “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.” When in Kyŏngju, Kim Sisŭp lived in Yongjang Monastery on Nam­ san,152 a mountain also known as Mount Kŭmo, or Golden Turtle Mountain. After a stay in the capital, Kim Sisŭp returned to Mount Kŭmo in the fall of 1465. Though the date of its creation is not entirely certain, it might have been during this time in the mid-to-late 1460s that Kim Sisŭp penned Kŭmo sinhwa. A poem included in several premodern versions of Kŭmo sinhwa,153 where it appears under the heading “Sŏ kapchip-hu” (written at the end of the first collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa],154 it is also contained in the sixth volume of Maewŏltang sichip [Collected poems of Maewŏltang] under the title “Che Kŭmo sinhwa” [Written on Kŭmo sinhwa]).155 In this poem, Kim Sisŭp writes that in his “low house” he “leisurely brought forth a writing that mankind has never seen.”156 The “writing” he refences is most likely Kŭmo sinhwa, and the “low house” might have been the small hut he built in the vicinity of Yongjang Monastery when he lived on Mount Kŭmo.157 Though sources are scarce for this period of his life, it is generally believed that Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp lived in Kyŏngju during the late 1460s in the vicinity of Ŭijang Monastery at the southern foot of Mount Kŭmo.158 Interestingly, several entries in the Veritable Records of the Chosŏn Dynasty reveal that a monk by the name of Sŏlcham apparently came into conflict with the law on two occasions, in 1468 and 1469, and that twice he was detained in the prisons of the Ŭigŭmbu, Office for the Deliberation of Forbidden Affairs. It has been argued that this Sŏlcham was not Kim Sisŭp but another monk who happened to carry the same Dharma name.159 This is

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one possible scenario, but based on certain developments in these specific criminal cases, another theory seems plausible. The sources suggest that the person arrested and tried was not just some random, insignificant monk but rather a monk who had personal connections with powerful officials. This, in turn, suggests that the person in question was not merely a monk who coincidentally happened to carry the same Dharma name, but Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp himself. At first glance it appears unlikely that Kim Sisŭp would be mentioned under his Buddhist name in the Veritable Records (although there is one entry from the sixteenth century in which the name Sŏlcham clearly refers to Kim Sisŭp).160 But given the fact that the entries deal with a culprit whose misconduct almost led to a death sentence, one could hypothesize that the omission of the name Kim Sisŭp was an attempt to obscure the culprit’s identity. According to the Veritable Records of Sejo, in 1468 this same Sŏlcham was found guilty of having given a false statement about the existence or location of a thermal well (K. onjŏng, another term for onch’ŏn, or hot spring). The Records says, “The monk Sŏlcham reported that there is a thermal well in the fields north of Suwŏn. [The king] ordered P’asan’gun Cho Tŭngnim [dates unknown] to take Sŏlcham and go there to inspect it.”161 Three days later, the following is recorded: P’asan’gun Cho Tŭngnim returned and stated the following: “About the thermal well reported by Sŏlcham, it is not true.” Thus it was ordered that Sŏlcham should be detained in the prison of the Ŭigŭmbu and that the chief of the Board of Taxation [K. hojo p’ansŏ], No Sasin [1427–1498], the sixth royal secretary of the Secretariat [K. tongbusŭngji], Han Kyesun [1431–1486], and others should interrogate him. . . . The following was transmitted [from the Ŭigŭmbu]: “Concerning the case of this deceitful, preposterous person [Sŏlcham], by law he should not be pardoned. However, if we now were to find him guilty and penalize him, [we are concerned that] those who would later come to report truthfully [about such a matter] would necessarily be afraid and would not dare [to offer any information at all about the location of hot springs]. Thus, we should admonish him and then send him on his way.”162

This entry in the Sejo sillok shows that after his detainment the monk Sŏlcham was not interrogated by petty officials, as might be expected in the case of an insignificant culprit. Instead, he was questioned by high-­ranking, powerful scholar-officials such as No Sasin, who directly advised the court on a punishment (or the lack thereof with what appears to be a rather flimsy justification). Here it is important to note that No Sasin—who in the 1460s and 1470s was one of the dynasty’s leading officials and a collaborator with



Translator’s Introduction

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Sŏ Kŏjŏng (one of Kim Sisŭp’s close friends163) on several prestigious book projects164—was undoubtedly an old acquaintance of Kim Sisŭp. The two men had known each other since the mid-1450s and had even exchanged poetry.165 Moreover, No Sasin had been active in responsible positions in Buddhist sūtra translation projects, which were signature undertakings of Sejo’s rule.166 This not only shows that No Sasin was respected by the king and powerful officials but also implies that he might have worked directly with Kim Sisŭp, who had likewise participated in such translation projects. Hence, if one takes the person referred to as Sŏlcham in the sillok entry to be Kim Sisŭp, the benign outcome of the affair appears comprehensible. Kim Sisŭp’s network of friends and acquaintances could explain why the Sŏlcham mentioned in the entry was simply admonished and released from jail on this occasion.167 It is not clear, however, what might have prompted Sŏlcham to apparently falsely claim that he had discovered a hot spring, though one possible motive could have been the potential for a reward (quite possibly paid in silk or cotton).168 The second, much graver incident occurred only a few months later, in 1469, when the monk named Sŏlcham was accused of having gained illegal access to the palace as well as of fraud and document forgery. In the Veri­ table Records of King Yejong (r.1468–1469) it says, Chŏng Kunja, a person from Koksan, had obtained white stones. The monk Sŏlcham then took possession of them by means of a scheme, coating them with white wax and deceptively saything they were white jade. He borrowed a common man’s clothes and an ordinary hat, then also borrowed a [false] identification tag [K. hop’ae] and wooden tally [K. sinbu] [which allowed him entry into the palace]. Since [Chŏng] Kunju did not have such a wooden tally, he entered through Yŏngch’u Gate [K. Yŏngch’umun, the western gate of Kyŏngbok Palace through which regular officials usually entered] and presented himself at the Royal Secretariat in order to make the matter [about the fake jade and illegal entry] known. It was ordered that Sŏlcham and Chŏng Kunja be detained at the Ŭigŭmbu, and that the chief gatekeeper [K. sumunjang] as well as the Armored Palace doormen [K. p’amun kapsa] also be interrogated. The Ŭigŭmbu made known the following [proposition of a verdict]: “Sŏlcham’s crime ought to be responded to with the death penalty; Changnyong, who lent out the wooden tally, ought to be given a hundred blows with a bamboo cane and sentenced to three years in prison; [Chŏng] Kunja ought to be given a hundred blows with a bamboo cane; the armored soldiers, Im Chŏng and Kim Oksan, as well as the chief gatekeeper, Ch’oe Ingnyŏng, ought to be given seventy blows with a bamboo cane.” It was

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk ordered [as a final verdict] that Sŏlcham be given a hundred blows with a bamboo cane, that he be sentenced to three years in prison, and that he return to the laity and be sent into forced labor. With respect to the others [involved in the matter], all [sentences] followed [the propositions brought forth by the Ŭigŭmbu].169

Hence, while the monk Sŏlcham was convicted, he escaped the death penalty. If the Sŏlcham mentioned in the above passage was Kim Sisŭp, the mitigation of his punishment again might have been through the intervention of his acquaintances. (All of the other defendants, who were commoners, were punished in accordance with the recommendations of the Ŭigŭmbu.) If so, he nevertheless appears to have spent some time in the prison of the Ŭigŭmbu. Again, one can only speculate regarding the reasons for his actions, but his economic situation might have been quite problematic.170 If the abovementioned monk was indeed Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp, the imposed sentence was obviously not carried out to the full extent, given that Sŏlcham was by all indications still a monk in 1472. It seems, moreover, that he did not serve the full prison sentence. Thus, although he purportedly despised many of the high-ranking scholar-officials of his time,171 on occasion he might have relied on old friends in high positions for quite practical reasons. Additionally, the two entries in the Veritable Records could suggest that Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp had direct and very personal experiences with the institution of the Ŭigŭmbu in the capital.172 Plum Moon Hall, a Brief Return to the Laity, and Death at Muryang Monastery In 1472 Kim Sisŭp built the hermitage Plum Moon Hall on Mount Surak in Yangju County,173 where he yet again devoted himself to the study of Buddhism and Daoism and moreover strived to emulate the Chinese poet Tao Yuanming’s (365–427) simple and modest life in the countryside.174 Perhaps Kim Sisŭp’s decision to live in seclusion in a hermitage was influenced by his negative experiences with the law. Yet in the mid-to-late 1470s Sŏlcham appears to have struggled to adhere to Buddhist principles even more than before,175 and, perhaps in consequence, in 1481 Kim Sisŭp returned to society. And yet his attempts at taking up the lay life were unsuccessful. He, for example, took a wife, a woman from the An family,176 but she died only a few years after they were wed. The marriage was not only short but also seems to have been a disappointment, his wife refusing to quietly submit to a life of miserable poverty. For that and other reasons he communicates to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp seems to have realized that he no



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longer fit into the regular society of his time. He enumerates the obstacles in the following way: That I cannot dwell in the world of [regular] men anymore is due to five impossibilities: People in the [regular] world judge others according to their attire, not according to their heart and will. I have no one to wash the dirt [off my clothes] or trim and mend [my robe]. This is the first impossibility. When you obtain [a woman], be it a wife or a concubine, you must make plans to settle down; but having to make a living is what is confining, for you cannot be unconstrained [by considerations of] poverty or wealth. This is the second impossibility. Also, how could one ever find a woman as [stalwart as] Tao [Yuanming’s wife] Lady Zhai or [a woman] as [prepared to live in poverty] as Liang [Hong’s wife] Meng Guang?177 This is the third impossibility.178 Old friends saw the miserable state I was in and took pity on me, and they recommended me for a certain office. But since the salary grade was low and the remuneration meager, I was unable to quickly get by. Also, by nature I am blunt and tactless, and I just cannot go easy on the mediocre, ordinary lot. This is the fourth impossibility. [For a long time] I had dwelled in deep valleys and only cared for the brilliance of the mountains and the beauty of the rivers. Things such as plowing and weeding didn’t much interest me. Moreover, this year I suffered damage to my crop, and if had I left the valley and sought to prolong my life, people would have said, “He’s as poor as before, and for this reason he establishes himself in this way.” This is the fifth impossibility. Moreover, a scholar [K. sa, C. shi] and the world [generally] stand in opposition to one another. . . . How could [a scholar] be exposed to [ordinary] people’s scorn and slander and still strive to remain in the world of men?179

His sense of his lack of compatibility with regular society notwithstanding, Kim Sisŭp at the same time ventured to gain a position in the government of King Sŏngjong, even resuming his studies of the Confucian Classics in preparation to again sit for the state examinations. He suggests that the reign of a new king had rekindled his sense of duty concerning social participation. As for his renewed ambition for a government post, he links his desire for an official position to the costly obligations of a Confucian man’s life in the capital. He wrote, “Since having ascended the throne, the reigning king [Sŏngjong] had used men of worth and accepted correction. Thus, hoping for my first official post, I again turned my attention to the Six [Confucian] Classics, which I had last read some ten years before, and took mastering them a bit more seriously. It was I who carried the weight of holding ritual services for my [family’s] ancestors. For this reason, I desired

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to take up an official post [to have the necessary financial means] to perform sacrifices for my forefathers.”180 Yet his efforts were of no avail. A lack of certified qualification (via the civil service examinations) may have been at the root of his failure to gain a well-paying post, but it might also have been due to the fact that, despite the reign of the new king Sŏngjong, who had banned Buddhism at the state level, the political situation in the capital had not radically changed and many officials who had supported Sejo remained in office. Kim Sisŭp noted, “Frequently I saw that the world and I contradicted one another, like a square peg in a round hole. My old friends had already passed away, and I was not yet well acquainted with new ones. Who understood what my original intentions had once been? So I let my body roam around in between mountains and rivers once again! . . . Is there anything like spending one’s life free and unfettered? I hope that in a thousand years from now someone will understand my original intentions.”181 Kim Sisŭp, now in his late forties, again became a wayfaring monk.182 He practiced asceticism and went into the mountains in the Kwandong area (present-day Kangwŏn Province), staying at Mount Han’gye, Mount Ch’ŏngp’yŏng, Mount Sŏrak, and other mountains.183 During the late 1480s and early 1490s he also lived in the area of Kangnŭng and Yangyang (where his situation appears to still have been quite wretched)184 and created the poetry collections Kwandong illok (Daily records from Kwandong) and Myŏngju illok (Daily records from Myŏngju [Kangnŭng]). The first poem of Myŏngju illok is the aforementioned autobiographical “Six Songs on Tongbong.” In the spring of 1493, Kim Sisŭp fell ill while at Muryang Monastery on Mount Hong,185 where he then passed away.186 Since he had explicitly stated that he did not want his body to be cremated, he was buried next to this temple. His personal rejection of cremation, a deeply rooted Buddhist funerary custom, perhaps reflects Kim Sisŭp’s wish to be treated not as a Buddhist but as a Confucian in death.187 Nevertheless, since he had died as a monk in a Buddhist monastery, he was eventually laid to rest in accordance with Buddhist funerary rites. According to the Kim Sisŭp chŏn, “Three years after his death, [the monks of Muryang Monastery] meant to give him a proper [Buddhist] burial and thus they opened his coffin. His facial color was so fresh that it appeared as if he was still alive. The monks sighed in surprise, and they all thought him to have been a buddha.188 Finally they performed the deviant teaching’s tabi (name of the Buddhist cremation ceremony), took his bones, and made a stupa (a small pagoda) [in which they placed the bones].”189 In the Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn it says, “On an ordinary day, the master had personally painted two self-portraits, one depicting him in his old age, one depicting him as a young man. Then he had written



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a poem of self-praise [K. chach’an]190 [on one of them], and they were kept at the temple [Muryangsa].”191 The poem (entitled “Chasa chinch’an”) that Kim Sisŭp, looking back on his life, wrote on the self-portrait reads, [They say you] look down at Li He,192 [and call you] the most excellent [poet] in [the country] east of the sea.193 Lofty reputation and blind praise, how could they be suitable for [someone like] you? Your appearance is extremely frail,194 your words are greatly ignorant. Appropriately they should bury you amid hills and valleys.195

On the Reception and Circulation of Kŭmo sinhwa Since the beginning of the twentieth century, Kim Sisŭp’s fame has primarily rested on his work as a writer of narrative fiction, and he is today mainly known as the author of Kŭmo sinhwa.196 During the late Chosŏn dynasty, however, he was predominantly renowned for being a member of the “six surviving subjects,” for the unusual course of his life as a Confucian prodigy turned Buddhist monk, his diverse philosophical writings, and especially his superb poetry. Only a few years after his death, scholars and officials recognized Kim Sisŭp as a major poet of then-recent times, even as some understood that many of his compositions had already been lost. For instance, the participant of the Office of Royal Lectures (K. Ch’amch’an’gwan), Yi Sein (1452–1516), recognizing the urgency to collect and publish Kim Sisŭp’s writings, addressed the issue when facing King Chungjong (r. 1506–1544): “Ch’oe Sukchŏng [1433–1480], Sŏng Hyŏn [1439–1504], Cho Wi [1454– 1503], Yu Hoin [1445–1494], Pak Ŭn [1479–1504], Kim Maengsŏng [1437– 1487], and Ŏ Segyŏm [1430–1500] were all famous intellectuals of that [King Sŏngjong’s] time. Kim Sisŭp and Nam Hyo’on, although they were not among those who passed the state examinations, nevertheless were also literati of that time. [However], the surviving manuscripts of their literary works have all vanished and not been transmitted. People of later times, based on what materials will they know the magnificence of the literary works of that time? . . . One should not let them disappear or allow them not to be transmitted. The children and grandchildren of those few

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk people mentioned above will necessarily possess their ancestors’ surviving manuscripts. I ask [for the] search for, collection, and compilation of them and will then start having them printed and disseminated. This would be very appropriate.” The king said, “A while ago I ordered the collection and compilation of these people’s [writings] and the printing of them to commence! I shall, however, again order them printed quickly!”197

According to many sources, Kim Sisŭp was not only an exceptionally gifted poet but an unusually productive one as well. Yet he appears to have destroyed large parts of his own writings. In a sketch of Kim Sisŭp’s life, Kim Chŏngguk (1485–1541, pen name Sajae) recalls the following incident: after heavy rainfall, when the mountain streams in the vicinity of Chunghŭng Monastery would overflow, Kim Sisŭp threw hundreds of scraps of paper and his writing utensils into the rushing waters, watching his poetic compositions float downstream into the distance.198 Poetry carried exceptionally high value in the literati society of Chosŏn, and such disregard and willful destruction of lyrical works exhibited by a renowned poet such as Kim Sisŭp must have been appalling to many scholar-officials of the time. Regarding the destruction of Kim Sisŭp’s poetry, Yi I states, “When he went to the mountains he liked [to peel off] the white bark of trees on which to write poems. He would then sing and recite them for quite a while, immediately [after which] he would wail in agony and tear them to shreds. Sometimes he wrote on paper, but again he would not show [the poem] to anyone. Many [of his compositions] he just threw into the water or the fire. . . . The poetry and prose he had brought forth was scattered and lost, and of ten not a single one survived.”199 According Nam Hyo’on’s “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” there existed yet another problem: “He has brought forth several tens of thousands of pieces of poetry and writing, . . . but they were scattered and lost to an extent that practically nothing remains. [Also], there have been some ministers at court and Confucian scholars who have surreptitiously taken possession of them, acting as if they constituted their own creations.”200 Such circumstances seemingly made the collection and compilation of the material that was still extant in sixteenth-century Korea quite an ordeal. In his “Maewŏltang chip sŏ,” penned only a few decades after Kim Sisŭp’s death, Yi Cha states, “Early on I wanted to buy and seek out his remaining works, but almost all of them had scattered and vanished. In ten years I was able to accumulate a mere three volumes. These [were manuscripts that] he had written and recorded by hand . . . It was as if it had been his intention to transmit them to later generations. However, one cannot know how many [of his writings] scattered or fell into ravines and valleys, or how many just disappeared in the world.”201 Such statements could give the impression



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that the extant Maewŏltang chip was short and fragmented when in fact the collection is rather voluminous, at least in comparison to other extant munjip from the fifteenth century. During the latter half of the dynasty, those of Kim Sisŭp’s lyrical writings that had been transmitted were the basis for his recognition as one of the master poets of the early Chosŏn,202 yet extant sources suggest that his work of prose fiction, Kŭmo sinhwa, was also read and that the collection did indeed circulate on a wide scale in Korea at least until the mid-to-late seventeenth century. The existence of the Chosŏn mokp’an pon of Kŭmo sinhwa, collated by Yun Ch’unnyŏn203 and printed with woodblocks before the Imjin War, serves to support this theory, but other sources must be taken into consideration as well. Kŭmo sinhwa in Chosŏn Korea In the early sixteenth century, Kim Allo referred to Kŭmo sinhwa in his Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki, stating, “[Kim Sisŭp] entered Mount Kŭmo and brought forth a writing [Kŭmo sinhwa] that he then hid away in a stone chamber, saying, ‘In later generations there will necessarily be those who will have an understanding of [Sŏl]cham.’ In this text, by and large, he wrote of the strange to fix meaning. He took Jiandeng xinhua and other works as models for this creation.”204 An entry on Yongjang Monastery contained in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, however, shows that Kŭmo sinhwa did not simply disappear into some stone chamber but that it was a readily accessible book in the early sixteenth century, for the Yongjang Monastery entry says, “From what [Sŏlcham] brought forth, the Maewŏltang sijip, the Yŏktae yŏn’gi [Chronicles of dynasties past], and the Kŭmo sinhwa are circulating in the world.”205 In the middle of the sixteenth century, T’oegye Yi Hwang (1501– 1570) spoke of Kim Sisŭp and Kŭmo sinhwa in quite unfavorable terms in the aforementioned letter to Hŏ Pong, stating that on the basis of the literary inferiority of Kim Sisŭp’s letter to Yu Chahan as well as Kŭmo sinhwa, one ought not to consider Kim Sisŭp a man of farsighted views and wideranging knowledge.206 Ŏ Sukkwŏn (fl. 1525–1554) discussed Kŭmo sinhwa in his P’aegwan chapki (A storyteller’s miscellany),207 especially focusing on the tale “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.” This entry on the “Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu” in P’aegwan chapki is particularly interesting because it reveals that Ŏ Sukkwŏn appears to have had detailed knowledge of this one tale.208 Not only that, he must also have read the entire Kŭmo sinhwa, for he clearly states that “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” is the best among the collection’s stories. Ŏ Sukkwŏn writes, “Among the tales of Kim Sisŭp’s Kŭmo sinhwa,

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‘Namyŏmbuju chi’ is truly the very best. Its Discussion on the One Principle [written by Scholar Pak] has similarities with official proclamations from the Outer Court, and the imperial edict [written by King Yama] ceding the throne [to Scholar Pak] by far surpasses those from the hands of [ordinary] scholars. Moreover, its ‘question and answer’ [the dialogue between King Yama and Scholar Pak] about matters of the mundane world rejects the incorrect and returns to the correct.”209 Furthermore, in his diary Hyŏn ŭnsa ilgi (Diary of the Recluse Hyŏn), in an entry on the twenty-sixth day of the seventh month of the year 1585, the scholar Hyŏn Chŏkpok (1521–?) states, “Unable to bear my loneliness I read Kŭmo sinhwa.”210 Also, there exists a poem entitled “Ch’a Kŭmo sinhwa ŏ-Yun Yewŏn” (Borrowing Kŭmo sinhwa from Yun Yewŏn) by Kim Inhu (1510–1560, pen name Hasŏ). Kim Inhu was a disciple of Yi Hwang who himself refused to serve the government in reaction to the literati purge of 1545, choosing instead to dedicate himself to the study of Confucianism in the countryside. His poem reads, The Recluse of Kŭmo [K. Kŭmo Kŏsa] transmitted New Tales; the bright moon and the cold [winter] plum, as if they were right here. Temporarily lent [the book] to me as I rubbed my ailing eyes; my headache, since then I rapidly recovered from it.211 These sources indicate that Kim Sisŭp’s collection of tales was being read in Chosŏn Korea before and around the time of the Imjin War. Kŭmo sinhwa was still in circulation in seventeenth-century Korea, evidenced by the fact that its title is mentioned in Chibong yusŏl (Classified essays of Chibong; completed in 1614) by Yi Sugwang (1563–1628, pen name Chibong).212 In addition, at the beginning of the miscellaneous biographical sketches of Kim Sisŭp contained in the second volume of Haedong chamnok by Kwŏn Pyŏl it says, “In his later years he returned to the laity and then passed away. There are the Maewŏltang Yŏktae yŏn’gi and the Kŭmo sinhwa that circulate in the world.” This information on the availability of Kŭmo sinhwa in Haedong chamnok may have been taken from a source such as the aforementioned Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam entry, but there exists the possibility that Kim Sisŭp’s work was still available as late as the 1670s. Moreover, citing Tongin sihwa (Korean [easterners’] discussions of poetry, 1474) by Sŏ Kŏjŏng, Kwŏn Pyŏl states, “Early on he resided on Mount Kŭmo. Imitating Jiandeng xinhua he brought forth Kŭmo sinhwa in several volumes. He created a poem and wrote it at the end [of the collection].”



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Two tales from Kŭmo sinhwa even found their way into another collection: the complete handwritten transcripts of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” and “Biography of Scholar Yi” are included in the Sindokchae sut’aek pon chŏn’gi chip (Sindokchae’s handwritten collection of chŏn’gi, ca. 1639), a collection of chuanqi tales presumably collated and noted down by the mid-Chosŏn scholar Kim Chip (1574–1656, pen name Sindokchae), which is extant in manuscript form.213 Although the theory that this collection was created by Kim Chip is contested, this chŏn’gi chip shows that the first two tales of Kŭmo sinhwa were extant and popular in mid-seventeenthcentury Korea.214 Kŭmo sinhwa in its entirety is said to have been contained in the handwritten manuscript of the story collection Norŭng chi (Norŭng gazetteer, 1663) by Yun Sun’gŏ (1596–1668). Now lost, it was allegedly diffused on a wider scale; it did not, however, feature in the printed version of Norŭng chi.215 Kŭmo sinhwa also had an influence on later pieces of Korean fiction. For instance, parts of the chuanqi tale “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki” (Account of when Scholar Ch’oe met genuine ones) from Kijae kii (Kijae recording the strange, 1553) by Sin Kwanghan (1484–1555, pen name Kijae), a story about a Confucian scholar who by chance gets to attend a feast in the Dragon Palace, were modeled after certain passages from Kŭmo sinhwa, especially from the tale “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.”216 Interestingly, one of the masterworks of Chosŏn prose fiction, Kuunmong (A dream of nine clouds) by Kim Manjung (1637–1692), also features a scene strongly reminiscent of the opening of the final tale of Kŭmo sinhwa. Yet, even against the backdrop of the previously quoted passage from Haedong chamnok from the early 1670s, it is questionable whether Kim Manjung, who wrote Kuunmong between 1687 and 1688 while living in exile in Sŏnch’ŏn, North P’yŏngan Province, actually could have read “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” for it is generally believed that Kŭmo sinhwa had already been lost in Chosŏn Korea by the time of creation of Kuunmong.217 A letter written by a certain Cho Kwanghyŏng to Song Siyŏl (1607– 1689) hints at a change regarding the collection’s availability from the midto-late seventeenth century onward: “Concerning [your question about] Kŭmo sinhwa, there is no edition [of this book] at my house. That you, elder brother, heard that there was [such a book here] may be a mistake.”218 That the prominent scholar official Song Siyŏl had gained knowledge of Kŭmo sinhwa, wanted to read the book, and had heard that there were editions of the work still stored in private collections does not seem to have been the case. As far as is presently known, Kŭmo sinhwa vanished from Korea in the late seventeenth century and knowledge of the work eventually faded into obscurity.

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Kŭmo sinhwa in Premodern Japan During the all-out wars with Japan in the final decade of the sixteenth century, an abundance of books written or printed in Chŏson were carried across the ocean to Japan. It is known that leading military figures of the Imjin War such as the daimyō Ukita Hideie (ca. 1572–1655),219 Katō Kiyomasa (1562–1611),220 and Mōri Terumoto (1553–1625)221 possessed large (though apparently quite disordered)222 collections of books printed in Korea. Moreover, the physician Manase Seirin (sometimes rendered as Shōrin) was purportedly presented by Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537–1598) with several cartloads of books brought back from Korea by Ukita Hideie. Manase Seirin received these books as a gift in appreciation for his successful medical treatment of Gōhime (Princess Gō, 1574–1634), wife of Ukita Hideie and daughter of the politically influential Maeda Toshiie (1538–1599). According to the family history of the Manase, Manase Seirin in 1597 “received books that had been brought (from Korea) on account of the war of Bunroku 1 (1592); of these he formed the Yōan-in Library [J. Yōan-in bunko].”223 He received the pen name Yōan-in from Emperor Go-Yōzei (r. 1586–1611) in 1600 and was adopted by Manase Seirin and all of his successors. The ex libris seal yōan-in zōsho (K. yanganwŏn changsŏ), meaning “book stored at Yōan-in,” seems to have been used until the mid-eighteenth century.224 The seal was thus first used by Manase Seirin three years after he had received the Korean books from Hideyoshi. The extant book of the Chosŏn mokp’an pon of Kŭmo sinhwa shows five seals altogether: two seals of the Dalian Library (where the book was found in 1999) and a seal of Kurita Manjirō (1833?–1900), who appears to have been a Japanese botanist active in Taiwan in the late nineteenth century,225 as well as the seals yōan-in zōsho and yōan. This collection of seals reveals the probability that Kŭmo sinhwa was among the books brought to Japan during the Imjin War and eventually stored at the library of Manase Seirin.226 Yet a further transmission of the book to Japan might have taken place in the wake of the reestablishment of normal diplomatic relations between Chosŏn Korea and Tokugawa Japan. Beginning in 1607, Chosŏn had sent so-called reply and prisoner repatriation envoys (K. hoedap kyŏm swaehwansa) to Japan on a number of occasions (during 1617 and 1624), and in 1636 the first official “communication envoy” (K. t’ongsinsa) of the postwar era was dispatched.227 It is quite possible that Kŭmo sinhwa was brought to Japan by Korean or Japanese envoys or interpreters (K. yŏkkwan)228 during one of these diplomatic missions. As a matter of fact, according to an entry in the Veritable Records of King Injo (r. 1623–1649), Japanese envoys, who had specifically asked for the book, were presented with copies of Jiandeng xinhua (J. Sentō shinwa) by the Korean court in 1641.229



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One of the major Japanese book collectors known to have owned and read quite a number of books written and printed in Korea was Dōshun Hayashi Razan (1583–1657). A leading Japanese Confucian scholar of his time and an advisor to the Tokugawa shoguns, Hayashi Razan had connections with Kang Hang (1567–1618), a Chosŏn Korean scholar-official held captive in Japan from 1597 to 1600.230 Razan was present at the 1617 official reception of the Korean envoy, he was heavily involved in the correspondence with and reception of the 1636 t’ongsinsa from Chosŏn, and in the 1640s he exchanged letters and poems with various members of the Korean party.231 Though Razan had a particular interest in Korean works on Confucianism, he appears also to have been quite fond of chuanqi literature, especially of Jiandeng xinhua, which he acquired during a trip to Nagasaki in 1602, to which he added “red and black reading marks.”232 According to his Kikensho-moku (List of books already read) of 1604, he had read Jiandeng xinhua in its annotated Korean version, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae (Annotated edition of Chŏndŭng sinhwa, 1559). Kŭmo sinhwa is not among the Korean books listed in Kikensho-moku, but by the middle of the seventeenth century the book had undoubtedly found its way into the hands of Hayashi Razan. Kŭmo sinhwa was printed in seventeenth-century Japan on several occasions. The first of these Japanese editions, the Jōō edition, was published in 1653 as a woodblock print. According to the cover of a 1673 reprint of this first edition, on which it says that “reading marks were inserted by Dōshun,”233 the initial 1653 Japanese edition of Kŭmo sinhwa was edited by Hayashi Razan. Two extant reprints of the Jōō edition were published in 1660 (Manji edition) and 1673 (Kanbun edition). The fact that Kŭmo sinhwa was printed three times over the relatively short span of twenty years suggests that the collection must have been in demand in mid-seventeenth-century Japan. Unlike other foreign works of chuanqi fiction such as Jiandeng xinhua, however, the popularity of Kŭmo sinhwa waned in Japan over the following decades. The collection appears to have eventually sunk into oblivion until it was rediscovered and reprinted some two hundred years later. In 1884, the final Japanese edition of Kim Sisŭp’s Kŭmo sinhwa234 appeared.235 This two-volume version236—based on one of the seventeenthcentury editions of the work that had purportedly been stored for the preceding two hundred years at the house of the family of a certain Ōtsuka Hikotaro237—includes manifold annotations and comments to the main text (inserted in separate spaces in the upper margin of the pages)238 as well as a preface and several epilogues penned by a number of influential Japanese scholars of the time. Scholars involved include Yoda Gakkai (1834–1909, who penned the foreword),239 Chō Baigai (1810–1885), Ono Kozan (1814– 1910), Gamō Shigeaki (1833–1901), and Mishima Chūshū (1830–1919). Two

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Koreans residing in Japan, Yi Sujŏng240 and a certain Yi Kyŏngp’il,241 also served as commentators. The comments by the various scholars in this socalled Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa from 1884 are manifold and diverse: they include comments evidently written while their authors were emotionally caught up in the stories’ narrative flow,242 comments on the literary quality of the work (especially with respect to the high standard of the featured poetry),243 as well as (mostly critical) comments by the modern Japanese scholars on philosophical and religious aspects of the work (contained primarily in the collection’s fourth tale).244 Earlier, when it was popular in the middle of the seventeenth century in the Edo period (1603–1868), Kŭmo sinhwa had had a definitive influence on Japanese collections of ghost stories. Several tales in Otogibōko (A doll for entertainment, 1666) by Asai Ryōi (?–1691) are adaptations of tales from Kŭmo sinhwa:245 “Ryugu no jōtō” (A beam-raising ceremony at the Dragon Palace), the first tale of Otogibōko, is an almost exact copy of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” though Asai Ryōi left out the many poems contained in the original tale;246 in addition, “Uta o nakadachi to shite chigiru” (Making a pledge through poems), the third tale from chapter 8 of Otogibōko, constitutes an adaptation of “Biography of Scholar Yi.” In “Making a Pledge through Poems,” the author, Asai Ryōi, changed the setting of his love story to Kyoto during the Ōnin War (1467–1477) and replaced the original hansi (poems in Literary Chinese) with waka poems.247 Interestingly, these tales feature saphwa, “inserted illustrations,” that is, woodblock-print illustrations depicting important scenes, which naturally cannot be found in the Korean original.248 Kŭmo sinhwa in Modern Korea The aforementioned 1884 Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa came to play a vital role in the framework of the modern Korean reception of Kim Sisŭp’s collection. During his stay in Japan as a student, Ch’oe Namsŏn, arguably one of the most influential and versatile Korean intellectuals of the colonial era,249 had discovered an exemplar of this edition of Kŭmo sinhwa in the personal library of Yoshida Tōgo (1864–1918), a professor at Waseda University in Tokyo, which Ch’oe had briefly attended from 1906 to 1907.250 The Meiji edition most likely served as the source for Ch’oe Namsŏn’s article “Kŭmo sinhwa haeje” (An explanatory introduction to Kŭmo sinhwa),251 which was published in the journal Kyemyŏng (Dawn, vol. 19) in 1927. “Kŭmo sinhwa haeje” marked a watershed in the history of Korean literary studies as not only the first modern academic discussion of Kŭmo sinhwa but also foundational for both the modern scholarship on and the general modern percep-



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tion of Kŭmo sinhwa. The article’s publication in 1927, more than twenty years after Ch’oe had first gained knowledge of the collection, may have been spurred by the first Japanese translation of the Kŭmo sinhwa’s tales by Wada Tenmin (Wada Ichirō, 1881–?), a translation that appears to have reintroduced Kŭmo sinhwa to an educated Korean readership (i.e., that which could fluently read Japanese at this point in Japan’s colonial rule) from December of 1926 on.252 “Kŭmo sinhwa haeje,” which can consequently be regarded as a direct reaction to the Japanese translation, came at a time when Ch’oe Namsŏn still served as one of the leaders of an intellectual movement that stressed the cultural independence and uniqueness of Korea.253 This movement, in which Ch’oe had been involved since the early 1910s, must be interpreted as a nationalist reaction to Japanese attempts at imperial domination as well as to increasing Western influence.254 Ch’oe Namsŏn’s accentuation of a Korean cultural uniqueness and greatness detached from Japanese influence was reflected especially in his activities in the field of literature, as he stood at the forefront of a group of Korean intellectuals keen on emphasizing the high value of native premodern Korean literature. Alongside Pak Ŭnsik (1859–1925) and Hyŏn Ch’ae (1886–1925), Ch’oe Namsŏn had founded the Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe (Society for Promoting Korean Culture, 1910–1918), an organization that had actively collected, collated, and published works of premodern Korean history, philosophy, and literature in cheap modern print editions. In doing so, the Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe had played a key role in the formation of a canon of premodern Korean literature as well as an awareness of the significance of Korean kojŏn (classical Korean literature) during modern times in the face of colonial aggression. Although Ch’oe had discovered the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa at Waseda University, the work was not among the books published by the Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe, that is, the old Korean books that appeared in a flashy new typeset format as a sort of ttakchibon sosŏl (paperback novel) or yukchŏn sosŏl (six-penny or dime novel), such as, for instance, Tongin sihwa. Kŭmo sinhwa was also not among the books published by the Chōsen Kosho Kankōkai (Society for the Publication of old Korean Books, 1908–1916), an organization that was under the patronage of the Japanese authorities and that had begun reprinting Korean books in 1908. Likewise, it did not belong to the works that were brought out by the publishing company Chōsen Kenkyūkai, which was founded in Keijō (Seoul) in 1908 by Hosoi Hajime (1886–1934) and which primarily published Japanese translations of Korean works such as Kuunmong (first Japanese translation, 1914).255 With regard to classical prose fiction, Ch’oe and other nationalist Korean scholars of literature appear to have aimed at constructing a genuinely Korean tradition of narrative fiction— the supreme discipline of lit-

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erature in Western eyes—which was meant to reach back in time as far as possible. As a work written in the fifteenth century, Kŭmo sinhwa was consequently apt to serve as a representative example of an ancient native tradition of narrative fiction. In addition, it was one of the few Chosŏn-dynasty works of narrative fiction that clearly dealt with Korean matters and that could be attributed unequivocally to a single author, an author not only widely known to have been one of the brightest minds of his age but who, as a member of the “six surviving subjects,” was also famous for having stood in open opposition to the rulers and authorities of his time. Nevertheless, in the eyes of the Korean intellectuals of colonial modernity, Kŭmo sinhwa— not only as a work written in Literary Chinese but also as a work deeply rooted in Chinese literature, religion, and philosophy, and quite explicitly modeled after direct Chinese predecessors—was ultimately not fit to serve as an example of an indigenous Korean tradition of narrative literature to the same extent as was, for instance, Kim Manjung’s Kuunmong, with its many premodern han’gŭl editions.256 With respect to the purportedly unfavorable dependence of Kŭmo sinhwa on a work of Chinese literature as well as its alleged Korean core, Ch’oe Namsŏn stated in “Kŭmo sinhwa haeje,” Merely judging from the extant [five tales] one cannot speak of Kŭmo sinhwa as an outstanding masterpiece. Rather, in line with what preceding Confucian scholars have said, as one single [collection of] “transmissions of the strange” that imitates Jiandeng xinhua by Qu You of Early Ming, one can further state that it not only used Jiandeng xinhua as a model concerning form and diction but even concerning the given titles and assigned meaning as well as the chosen motifs and characters. . . . Yet if one takes a closer look [for example] at the motifs of the old bachelor in “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” who complains in front of the Buddha and encounters a beautiful companion, or of the scholar in “Biography of Scholar Yi Who Peered over the Wall,” who enters into a strange relationship by throwing hidden looks while walking on the road, all are stories frequently found in our peoples’ literary heritage. Beneath the layers of skin of the [ Jian]deng [xin]hua lie the bones and sinews of our national [Korean] narratives . . . In this respect the text at hand strives to grasp the brightest local color.257

Many passages in “Kŭmo sinhwa haeje” illustrate that Ch’oe Namsŏn assessed Kim Sisŭp’s work from a nationalistic perspective, stressing the alleged “Koreanness” of Kŭmo sinhwa. For example, Ch’oe states that “in Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki, ‘P’yŏngyang is the capital of Old Chosŏn’ is the opening line. Likewise, the daughter of the [family] of Kija of Yin is



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rescued by the miraculous being Tongmyŏng and kept safe in the immortal’s palace—in a scene such as this one can catch a glimpse of the author’s [Korean] spirit.”258 In the early 1930s, the scholar of literature Kim T’aejun, who had studied sinology at Keijō Imperial University during a time when leading Japanese scholars such as Takahashi Tōru (1878–1967) taught Korean literature there,259 also dedicated an entire article, entitled “Chŏn’gi munhak-ŭi paengmiin Kŭmo sinhwa” (Kŭmo sinhwa: A highlight of chŏn’gi literature), of his pioneering historiography of Korean narrative literature, Chosŏn sosŏlsa (A history of Korean narrative literature, 1930–1931),260 to Kŭmo sinhwa and Kim Sisŭp, whom he called not a scholar, philosopher, or poet, but specifically the “very best novelist of the early phase of the Yi dynasty” (K. Yijo ch’ogi-ŭi illyu sosolga).261 In the course of this article, which appeared on the fourth page of Tonga ilbo (East Asia daily) on November 29, 1930, and which is divided into three subsections—“Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi chakcha” (The author of Kŭmo sinhwa), “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi chŏsul kkaji” (Up to the writing of Kŭmo sinhwa), and “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi kogŏ” (A text-critical study of Kŭmo sinhwa)—262 Kim Sisŭp’s work is treated in a rather positive and favorable fashion, especially with respect to its role as the first genuine Korean piece of narrative fiction.263 Although Kim T’aejun, obversely in a negative sense, pointed out that the work was composed in Literary Chinese and that it was clearly based on a Ming-dynasty chuanqi predecessor,264 he also praised its “independent Korean spirit,” asking, “if the novel that unfolded the brightest local color and showed the most [Korean] independent spirit was not Kŭmo sinhwa, what else could it have been?”265 The research conducted by Ch’oe Namsŏn, Kim T’aejun, and other scholars of the colonial period laid the groundwork for the numerous studies on Kim Sisŭp and Kŭmo sinhwa that followed. Not only did their research exert long-lasting influence on that scholarship, their interpretive approach, their purpose-oriented evaluations and interpretations of Kŭmo sinhwa, made in the face of colonial aggression and the looming annihilation of a Korean identity in the 1930s, proved to be influential and persistent.266

Translations and Transformations of Kŭmo sinhwa in Twentieth-Century Korea and Beyond As mentioned above, the first modern translation of Kŭmo sinhwa was by all indications a Japanese one by Wada Tenmin. His translations of the different tales were successively published in five volumes of The Chōsen,267 the monthly bulletin of the Office of the Government-General of Korea, from

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December 1926 (vol. 139) to April 1927 (vol. 143). The translations published there are entitled “Fūryū saishi to Sai ie no musume” (The elegant scholar and the lady of the house of Ch’oe),268 “Uhekirō no tennyo” (The heavenly woman of the tower of floating greenery),269 “Ryūgū no muyū” (A dream journey of the Dragon Palace),270 and “Jigoku mondō” (Questions and answers in the underground purgatory).271 An early vernacular Korean translation of a tale from Kŭmo sinhwa is “Yi-saeng-gwa Ch’oe-nang: Kŭmo sinhwa kidam” (Scholar Yi and Lady Ch’oe: A strange tale272 from Kŭmo sinhwa), a translation of “Biography of Scholar Yi” published in the September 1931 edition of the journal Tong­ gwang (Eastern brightness).273 The tale was translated by a certain Scholar Han’gyŏl, who also included a short biography of Kim Sisŭp entitled “Sindong-ŭi irŭm nop’ŭn Tongbong Kim Sisŭp” (Tongbong Kim Sisŭp, acclaimed as a “divine child”) in the same volume of the journal.274 Scholar Han’gyŏl should be Kim Yun’gyŏng (1894–1969, pen name Han’gyŏl), who is today mainly remembered as a linguist275 and one of the founders of the Chosŏnŏ hakhoe (Korean Language Society) and later the Han’gŭl hakhoe (Han’gŭl Society).276 In his translation of “Biography of Scholar Yi,” Scholar Han’gyŏl only translated the tale’s narrative passages and left the poems in their original Literary Chinese.277 Translations of Kŭmo sinhwa in the Koreas In South Korea, where the work is an integral part of a canon of kojŏn and thus also of the school curriculum,278 Kŭmo sinhwa has been translated into contemporary vernacular Korean numerous times, and sophisticated translations have been produced by renowned scholars of premodern Korean literature.279 Moreover, Kim Sisŭp’s life as well as the process of the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa have repeatedly served as themes for works of narrative fiction in South Korea.280 A fascinating and also unsettling postmodern parody is the short story “Kŭmo sinhwa” by Ch’oe Inhun (1936–2018), one of the most influential and acclaimed authors of postwar South Korea.281 Kim Sisŭp is likewise accepted in North Korea as one of the great writers (and here especially novelists) of the Chosŏn era,282 and as a canonical work, Kŭmo sinhwa has been part of the school and university curriculum since the early 1950s.283 There exist policy-based negative evaluations of some of the tales, especially concerning the work’s focus on the aristocratic yangban class as well as its depiction of fantastic realms and figures. Yet overall Kŭmo sinhwa is regarded favorably in North Korea as an important piece of native premodern Korean literature.284 For instance, in the early North Korean historiography of Korean literature Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak (Korean lit-



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erature before liberation, 1958), the author Yun Sep’yŏng, a distinguished literary historian,285 states that Kim Sisŭp’s “classic legacy, Kŭmo sinhwa, is extraordinary not only as our country’s first collection of short stories, but also as a romantic work filled to the brim with a conscience of nation and people.”286 Decades later, Kim Hamyŏng, author of Chosŏn munhaksa (A history of Korean literature, 1991), wrote, “As a poet, Kim Sisŭp marked a high point of [early Chosŏn] poetry, and as the creator of the collection of short stories Kŭmo sinhwa he was likewise an exceptional novelist who opened up a new age in the realm of the development of Korean narrative literature.”287 At the same time, Kim Hamyŏng identifies limitations—from a North Korea perspective—of Kim Sisŭp and Kŭmo sinhwa: “Again, by means of poetry and prose Kim Sisŭp sharply criticized the reality of the feudal society of Sejo’s reign, but since Confucian doctrines, in other words, the loyal devotion to King Sejong, constituted the foundation of his thought, he was not able to reach a stage that would have allowed him to reject the feudal order as a whole.”288 As can be seen in these examples, Kŭmo sinhwa is discussed in North Korean historiographies of literature and textbooks from the 1950s until today, though it could be said that the scholarly treatment of the work becomes more repetitive and one dimensional with time. While the work and its author are discussed in depth in the early North Korean historiographies of Korean literature such as Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak or the influential Chosŏn munhak t’ongsa (A universal history of Korean literature, 1959),289 more recent texts appear to either repeat what had already been stated (and thus officially approved) decades before or to neglect to mention certain issues at all. For example, in an extensive chapter on the literature of the fifteenth century, Chosŏn munhak t’ongsa offers a detailed description of Kim Sisŭp’s reception of Jiandeng xinhua, including a partial translation of Kim Sisŭp’s poem “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu” (Inscribed at the end of Chŏndŭng sinhwa).290 It is stated here that although Kim Sisŭp was strongly influenced by works of Chinese literature, he nevertheless displayed his individual literary excellence in the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa by setting the tales against a Korean backdrop. While we do find similar references to the Chinese foundations of Kŭmo sinhwa in other historiographies of literature of this time,291 such nuanced observations of intertextual relations are not to be found in recent publications.292 Structurally, Kŭmo sinhwa is in North Korean publications frequently claimed to consist of two parts: while the first three tales are widely explained to mirror the various characters’ opposition to the feudal Confucian system, the fourth and fifth tales are said to reflect Kim Sisŭp’s opposition to Sejo’s reign. The most discussed and praised of the tales in the majority

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of available sources from North Korean literary studies are “Biography of Scholar Yi” and “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.”293 “Biography of Scholar Yi” is widely believed to be the collection’s best tale where narrative structure and character development are concerned. It is further said to constitute an example of opposition to the feudal Confucian doctrine of early Chosŏn, a work that shows that the characters aim to break free from the oppressive feudal system that obstructs free love between men and women from different social classes.294 “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” often praised as a remarkably advanced work, is said to best represent Kim Sisŭp’s critical stance toward the reign of Sejo, his people-oriented thought (K. minbon chuŭi), his humanitarianism, and also his atheism (K. musillonjŏk sasang).295 There exist North Korean translations of individual tales, as well as (almost) complete translations of Kŭmo sinhwa from different developmental stages of North Korean history.296 Although there is not space here to do justice to the complex issue of North Korean translations of premodern Korean literature, I will briefly introduce below some notable characteristics of several North Korean translations. The university textbook Chosŏn munhak kangdok (Annotated readings in Korean literature) from 1954 features a translation of “Biography of Scholar Yi” under the tale’s original title, “Ri-saeng kyujang chŏn.” (The term ch’oyŏk, “first translation,” is appended to the title, though it is definitely not a reprint of the early 1930s translation by Scholar Han’gyŏl.)297 Unique to the translation is the inclusion by the anonymous North Korean translator of many Chinese characters in brackets following the Korean rendering of the terms. This feature of the translation underlines its academic character, for the official proclamation prescribing the exclusive use of the vernacular Korean script and the exclusion of Chinese characters in the DPRK of the 1950s meant that Chinese characters could only be used in texts for academic use. Moreover, the translator has excluded the poems featured in the source, translating only the narrative passages (in this the translation coincides with the real ch’oyŏk by Scholar Han’gyŏl).298 Also different from later translations, the 1954 translation neither contains longer annotations nor the original hanmun text. The initial complete North Korean vernacular translation of Kim Sisŭp’s collection was published as a single book under the original title, Kŭmo sinhwa (showing the Chinese characters in brackets), in December 1957 by Kungnip ch’ulp’ansa (National Publishing House) in a printing of ten thousand copies (at 40 wŏn per copy). Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak served as translators,299 while a person named Ryu Su supervised and reviewed the translation.300 The translation includes an introduction dealing



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with Kim Sisŭp’s life and his standing in the history of Korean literature,301 assertions of which frequently reappear in later historiographies and textbooks, namely, that “as a writer and thinker, Kim Sisŭp, just like the majority of progressive people of the middle ages, did not and could not free himself of time- and class-related restrictions”302 and that Kim Sisŭp ought not to be studied as a Confucian scholar or Buddhist monk but rather as a hanmun munhakka, a “writer of hanmun literature.” This 1957 translation features all five tales of the collection, which in the North Korean vernacular rendering are respectively entitled “Manboksa-ŭi yunnori” (A game of yut at Manbok Temple), “Ri-saeng-gwa Ch’oe-nang” (Scholar Ri and Lady Ch’oe), “Pubyŏkchŏng-ŭi talmaji” (Enjoying the moon at Pubyŏk Pavilion), “Kkum-e pon Namyŏmbuju” (Namyŏmbuju as seen in a dream), and “Ryonggung-ŭi sangnyang chanch’i” (A ridgepole-blessing feast in the dragon palace).303 There are endnotes after each tale,304 and the translation is followed by the complete Literary Chinese original. The second North Korean translation of Kŭmo sinhwa exists in two versions that were published several decades apart. The first version, contained in Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip (Collected works of Kim Sisŭp), volume 12 of a series entitled Chosŏn kojŏn munhak sŏnjip (Selected works of Korean classical literature, 1955–1965), was translated by Ryu Su (who had already been involved in the 1957 translation) and published by Chosŏn munhak yesul ch’ong tongmaeng ch’ulp’ansa (Publishing House of the Literature and Art Federation of Korea) in 1963. A revised version of this translation is contained in a 1990 edition of Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip (volume 57 of an enlarged and reissued Chosŏn kojŏn munhak sŏnjip, begun in 1983), which was published by Munye ch’ulp’ansa (Literature and Arts Publishing House). In this revised edition, the mentioned translators are Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl. Although the two versions of the translation are very similar, there is one decisive difference: while the 1990 version features all five tales of the collection (the titles of which, interestingly, are the same as those in the 1957 translation), the 1963 version only features four tales, omitting the collection’s third tale, “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion.” Moreover, in the version from 1963, some of the titles of the tales differ from those in the 1990 (and 1957) version, reading, “Manboksa-ŭi yunnori,” “Ri-saeng kyujang chŏn,” “Namyŏmbuju iyagi” (A tale of Namyŏmbuju), and “Ryonggung-ŭi yŏnhoe” (A banquet in the dragon palace). The annotations are another point of difference. While the translation from 1963 features the original text as well as annotations in the lower margin of the pages, the 1990 translation, like the one from 1957, has endnotes after each of the five tales as well as an appendix containing the source text. We do not find rich annotations in either of the two versions, but the

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explanations in the 1963 translation are more detailed than those given in the 1990 translation.305 The degree of annotation varies among the different translations,306 but since Kŭmo sinhwa contains manifold references and allusions to works of Chinese literature and philosophy, we can believe that the meaning of many passages has remained obscure to general readers, especially of the 1990 version. One short example underlines this point: When the father of the protagonist in “Biography of Scholar Yi” learns that his son is engaged in a love affair with the daughter of a noble house, he scolds his son, and in his rant quotes from the third stanza of the Shijing poem “Jiang Zhongzi,” screaming, “You certainly act like a frivolous fool, climbing over other people’s walls, breaking their hardwood. Should your actions become as transparent as dew, then all of the people will call me to account for not having raised my son strictly enough!”307 In the source from Shijing it reads, “I beg of you, Chung Tzu, do not climb into our garden, do not break the hardwood we have planted. Not that I mind about the hardwood, but I am afraid of what people will say.”308 This specific reference to the breaking of “hardwood” (or, as in other translations, “sandalwood tree”) implies that Scholar Yi’s father is most afraid of what people might say about him and the way he raised his son. (As Ezra Pound put it in his 1954 translation, “The tree don’t matter, but the subsequent chatter!”) In the North Korean translations, Scholar Yi is merely accused of having broken some kkot, “flowers,”309 or kkot kaji, “flowery branches,”310 which might still be understood as allusions to Scholar Yi’s sexual relationship with Miss Ch’oe but does not convey the deeper meaning contained in the reference to the passage from Shijing. The moderately erotic passages contained in Kŭmo sinhwa, written in conformity with the conventions of the chuanqi genre,311 are translated in a rather sober fashion in the North Korean translations. For instance, in the case of “Biography of Scholar Yi,” when in the original Scholar Yi and Lady Ch’oe “enjoy the pleasures of love to the utmost,”312 the 1963/1990 North Korean translation says merely that they exchange some chŏngdaun mal, “affectionate words.”313 Another difference evident in the North Korean translations is in several passages in which the original was deliberately translated incorrectly to make the text comply with official North Korean political guidelines. This is already visible on the basic level of terminology. Since the five tales of Kŭmo sinhwa are set in different places on the Korean Peninsula, there are scenes in which some of the characters refer to Korea. When they do so, they use common premodern appellations such as Tongguk (Eastern Country)314 or Tongbang (Eastern Region),315 designations, in other words, that (in a premodern framework quite naturally) refer to Korea from a Chinese perspective. In the North Korean translations (in a modern North Korean framework also quite naturally), the



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Korean perspective is foregrounded as the terms are respectively rendered as Chosŏnttang (Land of Chosŏn)316 and Chosŏn’guk (Country of Chosŏn).317 In the North Korean translations, Chosŏn, Chosŏnttang, and Chosŏn’guk carry the double meaning of Chosŏn in the sense of the premodern dynasty and Chosŏn in its modern sense, that is, as a self-appellation of North Korea. The different translations vividly reflect the North Korean translators’ progressive attempts to make the text comply with certain official policies and ideologies that gained significance during different developmental phases of North Korean history. While the 1957 translation constitutes a complete translation of the entire source, the later translation shows the deletion or alteration of certain passages. This can especially be seen in passages mentioning the Chinese origins of Korean culture.318 For example, the 1957 translation contains the following thorough vernacular Korean rendering of the opening of “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion”: P’yŏngyang was once the capital of Old Chosŏn. After King Mu [Wu] of the Chinese state of Chu [Zhou] had attacked and defeated the state of Sang [Shang], he visited the refugee Kija and learned the laws of the “Hongbŏm kuju” [“Hongfan jiuchou”]. King Mu then enfeoffed Kija with this land and did not make him his subject but rather treated him as the sovereign of an independent nation.319

This passage in the 1957 translation contains annotations on King Wu,320 the “Hongfan jiuchou” that Kija purportedly passed on to the king of Zhou,321 and even a note on Kija himself, which reads, Kija = as an uncle [K. ajŏssi] of the tyrant Chu of the state of Sang, he obtained [the region] Ki [C. Ji] as a fiefdom, which he subsequently governed [as viscount]. Kija remonstrated against Chu, who had acted in a cruel, inhumane way, but [the ruler] did not listen to him. Later, the legend was transmitted that Korea was given to Kija as a fiefdom by King Mu.322

Kija (C. Jizi, Viscount of Ji) is possibly a mythical figure who had become an object of reverence already in the Three Kingdoms period. He was firmly installed as an ancestral sage during Koryŏ and became an important object of worship during the Chosŏn dynasty. Kija was believed to have brought Chinese culture to the Korean Peninsula and thought to have founded Kija Chosŏn, traditionally viewed as the second state on the Korean Peninsula, which during late premodern times was considered the first legitimate state in Korean history.323 The fact that the initial passage of “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is not only thoroughly translated but also carefully an-

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notated in the 1957 translation is noteworthy from a current perspective on North Korea. This is the case because, while the Kija tongnae sŏl (The tale of Kija’s immigration to the East [Korea])324 is disputed in South Korea and the West,325 in North Korea it is today considered flat out to be the invention of supporters of sadaejuŭi (meaning flunkyism, or “serving-the-greater-ism”), the tributary system under which Chosŏn Korea served as a loyal tributary state of various Chinese dynasties.326 Kija’s Chinese background as well as the fact that, if one gives credence to the legend, one must acknowledge the Chinese origins of Korean culture are incompatible with core elements of Juche (Chuch’e, “self-reliance”), the official state ideology of North Korea. Juche, which was first made public in 1955 (two years after the death of Stalin) and took shape in the late 1950s, denies foreign influences on Korea. As a consequence, the two versions of the second North Korean translation of Kŭmo sinhwa do not feature the passage in question. In the 1963 version, produced only a few years after the establishment of Juche, the tale “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” was excluded entirely from the translation;327 the 1990 version does contain a translation of the tale, but the first sentence of the opening passage of the translation merely mentions the role of P’yŏngyang (today the capital of North Korea) in ancient times, after which it says “wŏnmun 25 cha saengnyak,” meaning that the following twenty-five characters of the original text (i.e., the rest of the opening) have been omitted.328 Clearly, the abridgement of the passage (and in the case of the 1963 version the exclusion of the entire tale) is because of an incompatibility with ideological guidelines and the official North Korean view of history under Juche. Because Kija is mentioned several times throughout the story, the omission in the 1990 version of the initial sentences on Kija influences the translation of other parts of the tale. At one point, the female protagonist tells the male character, Scholar Hong, that she is a direct descendant of Kija, who brought the rites and laws to Korea. This information is of significance for the further development of her account because through her genealogy she dissociates herself from the cultureless usurper Wiman (C. Wei-man), who overthrew her father, the last legitimate king of Kija Chosŏn. In the North Korean translation she is merely portrayed as a displaced person from Ko Chosŏn with no mention whatsoever of Kija. Also, Kija’s shrine, which was prominently located in P’yŏngyang for centuries before being destroyed in the early 1960s, is mentioned in several poems in the tale. One poem reads, “In the garden by Kija’s tomb a big tree ages; / the wall around Tan’gun’s shrine entangled by dodder.”329 While this couplet appears in its entirety in the 1957 translation,330 in the 1990 translation the tree merely ages in a “place in front of the old castle” ( yet sŏngt’ŏ-ap).331 Such censorship notwith-



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standing, it is noteworthy that, in contrast to the 1963 version, the tale of the “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is actually included in the North Korean translation of 1990. In the various North Korean translations, several passages in the collection’s fourth tale, “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” are also rendered in remarkable ways. At one point in the original, King Yama states that it was the inextinguishable loyalty toward his king that led to his appointment as head of the underground purgatory, the hellish place where he rules over the “wicked who killed their parents or the king.”332 In the 1957 translation, King Yama’s original “utmost loyalty toward his king” (K. chinch’ung ŏ-wang) is correctly transformed into the assertion that he “truly exhausted loyalty toward the king” (K. chinjŏng-ŭro imgŭm-ege ch’ungsŏng-ŭl tahaesso),333 while in both versions of the second translation this is changed to “loyalty toward the country” (K. nara-e taehan ch’ungsŏngsim). Moreover, in the 1963/1990 translation, the group of the king’s wicked subjects includes “those who plotted against their comrades [K. tongji] and those who massacred the people [K. paeksŏng].”334 Such abridgements and modifications in the second translation are, of course, not random; they were, rather, done purposefully in specific passages deemed in need of rehabilitation from an official North Korean point of view. It is important, then, to consider the translations in a broader framework, especially within the context of North Korean history. The first translation was produced in the late 1950s and the second one in the early 1960s, that is, during and after the Juche ideology was formulated and established. The 1990 version was published in a period when Juche officially replaced Marxism-Leninism as the state ideology in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union,335 in a time when Juche was even more strongly accentuating the uniqueness and independence of Korea and Korean history. During the phases of the establishment and realignment of Juche, Korean history as presented by North Korean officials became increasingly nationalistic; acknowledgments of foreign origins, borrowings, or outside assistance, which were still possible in the late 1950s, a period when there was generally a higher degree of freedom of expression, were increasingly denied. In this way, Korean history purportedly became progressively one of a constant struggle against foreign invaders; especially the sadae system, which had constituted the core of Korean foreign policy until the late nineteenth century, was increasingly viewed as the most obvious sign of premodern Korea’s weakness.336 Against this backdrop, the complete, literal translation of “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” in the 1957 translation, its complete omission in the 1963 translation, the abridgement of this tale’s initial passage in

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the 1990 version, as well as the other deviations from the source in the later North Korean translation can be explained. It is fascinating to see the differences in two translations of Kŭmo sinhwa produced only about six years apart, differences that demonstrate how a work from early Chosŏn Korea was dynamically transformed, progressively customized, and censored in order to comply with and even substantiate the emerging ideologies, political guidelines, and views of Korean history in mid-twentieth-century North Korea. Studies and Translations of Kŭmo sinhwa in the West Though not to the same extent as in Korea, Kim Sisŭp and his Kŭmo sinhwa have drawn attention from scholars in the West. The work is mentioned in historiographies,337 and a number of scholars have studied it in detail.338 An excellent study, which includes an annotated translation of the first tale of the collection, is a thesis by Ane Husstad-Nedberg of the University of Oslo.339 Kŭmo sinhwa has been translated into Vietnamese and Bulgarian, there exists a Russian translation from the early 1970s,340 and Jaroslav Bařinka has translated the work into Czech.341 Peter H. Lee included an English translation of the collection’s second tale in his Anthology of Korean Literature,342 while Gregory N. Evon has translated the third tale under the title “An Account of Drunken Merriment at Floating Jade-Green Pavilion.”343

New Tales in Motion An array of works of Chinese fiction served as sources of inspiration for Kim Sisŭp’s collection of tales, yet the one work identified early on as the primary literary model is the early Ming-dynasty chuanqi collection Jiandeng xinhua by Qu You (courtesy name Zongji, pen name Cunzhai).344 Textual relationships between Jiandeng xinhua and Kŭmo sinhwa are undeniable, but closer inspection also reveals Kŭmo sinhwa to have been substantially influenced by Li Changqi’s Jiandeng yuhua, an early fifteenth-century follow-up to Jian­ deng xinhua. Kim Sisŭp reworked both texts, but, as the term xinhua (sinhwa) in the title of the Korean adaptation already strongly suggests, he especially appears to have wanted to establish a connection with Qu You’s work. Together with Jiandeng yuhua, Jiandeng xinhua was first officially imported into Korea in the early sixteenth century at the order of King Yŏnsan’gun (r. 1476–1506),345 who seems to have read the work himself.346 Eventually, Jiandeng xinhua, which had been indexed in China from the 1440s for several decades,347 became one of the most widely read works of Chinese fiction



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throughout the latter half of the Chosŏn dynasty, both in urban areas (where clerks and members of the middle class are known to have used it to develop their hanmun-reading skills)348 and rural areas.349 Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae and Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu The popularity in Korea of Qu You’s collection is evidenced by the fact that in 1559 Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, a fully annotated Chosŏn Korean version of Jiandeng xinhua, was published in a woodblock-print edition of two volumes.350 The work’s initial page attests to the fact that Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae is an annotated version of Jiandeng xinhua “written by Qu You Zongji of Shan­yang,” compiled and annotated (K. chipsŏk, C. jishi) by Suhoja, and revised (K. chŏngjŏng, C. dingzheng) by Ch’angju.351 Suhoja, “Dewlap Man,” is the pen name of Im Ki (C. Lin Qi),352 who also wrote an afterword to Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, while Ch’angju is the pen name of Yun Ch’unnyŏn,353 that is, the same person who published the Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition of Kŭmo sinhwa, which begins with a portion of his biography of Kim Sisŭp, Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn. The fact that Yun Ch’unnyŏn published these works is noteworthy in a couple of ways: it shows that literati like Yun Ch’unnyŏn had simultaneous access to both Jiandeng xinhua and Kŭmo sinhwa and that they had the chance to read both works in relation to one another and so to spot similarities and recognize differences. It is important to note, moreover, that for about a century, until its disappearance around the middle of the seventeenth century, Kŭmo sinhwa could have been read alongside a fully annotated version of its Chinese model. One might therefore hypothesize that contemporary Korean readers of Kŭmo sinhwa, being aware of the close connection between the two works, might have consulted Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae for a better understanding of certain passages in Kŭmo sinhwa.354 Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, like Kŭmo sinhwa, was also published in Japan. In fact, the 1648 woodblock edition of Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae was the most widely available version of Qu You’s collection in Tokugawa Japan, becoming the dominant version of Jiandeng xinhua to circulate from the Edo period into modern times.355 Hence, Kŭmo sinhwa and Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae were simultaneously available in seventeenth-century Japan. Although Jiandeng xinhua was officially imported into Chosŏn only as late as 1506, Jiandeng xinhua was clearly already available there in the midfifteenth century. It remains unknown how and exactly when Jiandeng xinhua entered Korea and which editions were available. It is known, however, that Sŏ Kŏjŏng went to Ming China in 1453 and 1460 as an envoy, and one could hypothesize that Sŏ brought with him editions of the work. A copy of the work could thereby have gotten into the hands of his friend Kim Sisŭp. It is

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certain, at any rate, that Kim Sisŭp had access to the collection, for he left a lyrical critique of Jiandeng xinhua, entitled “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu,” that proves that he closely read Jiandeng xinhua and that it had quite an impact on him. His poem reads, The nobleman of Shanyang356 played with the loom shuttle;357 his hand trimmed the lampwick, then recorded strange words. There are prose [pieces], poems in the sao style, and narratives of events; in rambling and jest there is order.358 Beautiful like the freshness of the springtime flowers, ever changing like the clouds; the butts of elegant stories all there in one move. At first it is as if there was nothing to go on, but later there is piquancy; the euphoria similar to the sweetness [that intensifies when eating toward a] sugarcane’s roots.359 A dragon fight,360 a ghost cart,361 and a crowing pheasant;362 there is a good reason that Master [Confucius] did not delete them [from the Classics]. When words are related to the education of the world, though strange, they are not harmful; if matters [described] move the people, though fabricated, they can be gratifying. Once I saw the Hejian [zhuan] record lustful elopements,363 and again I saw the Maoying [zhuan] tell of [Lord] No-Such.364 A [tale of a] great gourd [too large] for scooping by the official of the Lacquer Garden;365 and strange are the “Heavenly Questions”366 by the minister of the Three Lü Clans.367 Perusing again, these tales follow previous footsteps;368 kui and gang fly up wildly369 while fish and dragon are dancing.370 Charioting with Qu [Yuan] and Zhuang[zi] on top while treading on Han [Yu] and Liu [Zongyuan]; the twelve peaks of Mount Wu run on clouds and rain. From Tao [Kan’s] wall flew a weaving shuttle,371 and Wen [Qiao] lit a rhinoceros’ horn;372 the old man inside the tangerine firstly spat out dragon-root jerky.373 Turning, hard insides, stored transformative creation; underneath the gently swaying brush, smoke and swarms of bees. In front of the graves of Jin [Ding] and Cui [i.e., Liu Cuicui] creeks and mountains are beautiful;374



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inside the house of Luo [Aiai] and [Scholar] Zhao moss and grass grow thinly;375 outside of Jujing Garden the fragrance of lotus flowers is aromatic;376 above the bank by the Pavilion of Autumn Fragrances the moon is white.377 Whoever looks on this, his heart will grow far and remote;378 fantasy and foam, strange traces as if they were before my eyes. Alone I lie in a mountain hall,379 waking from a spring dream; flying petals, innumerable dots, on my bench and forehead. To read one tale is sufficient for me to [laughingly] open my teeth, and swept away are the lumps [of sorrow] on my breast that had been there for all my life.380 The poem reveals that Kim Sisŭp was quite familiar with the content of Jian­ deng xinhua, and the opening lines suggest that he highly valued the collection’s literary depth and versatility, the moral lessons embedded in its strange and fantastic tales, and Qu You’s creative continuation of certain literary traditions. There are detailed references to the Jiandeng xinhua tales “Cuicui zhuan” (Biography of Cuicui), “Aiqing zhuan” (Biography of Lady Ai), “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” (Travel record of Teng Mu’s drunken excursion to Jujing Gardens), and “Qiuxiangting ji” (Account of [events at] the Pavilion of Autumn Fragrances). Moreover, the opening line, “The nobleman from Shanyang played with the loom shuttle,” and the names of poets such as Han Yu and Liu Zhonyuan as well as the references to Hejian zhuan and Maoying zhuan all show that Kim Sisŭp was most probably inspired by a preface to Jiandeng xinhua written by Gui Heng. Gui Heng, a contemporary of Qu You, used the same expressions and literary refer­ ences.381 The closing lines suggest that the reading of Jiandeng xinhua lifted Kim Sisŭp’s spirit, that it made him feel better during his years on the periphery, and that he found comfort and distraction in Qu You’s imaginary world of chuanqi fiction. Taking into account the generally limited literaryhistorical relevance of fictional works in premodern Korea, this open praise of a piece of narrative fiction, which he would then use as a model for his own collection of tales, is quite extraordinary. Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua in Kŭmo sinhwa The extant edition of Jiandeng xinhua contains twenty-one tales, which can be subdivided and categorized under the following literary subgenres: ji (K. ki), as in “Weitang qiyu ji” (Account of a strange encounter at Wei Landing); zhuan (K. chŏn), as in “Taixu sifa zhuan” (Biography of the judge of the Great

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Vacuity); zhi (K. chi), as in “Sanshan fudi zhi” (Gazetteer of the blessed Land of the Three Mountains); and lu (K. rok), as in “Tiantai fangyin lu” (Report of visiting a recluse in the Tiantai [Mountains]). Although Kŭmo sinhwa contains only five tales, we find all of the subgenres prefigured by the titles of tales in Jiandeng xinhua: “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” and “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki,” “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” “Namyŏmbuju chi,” and “Yonggung puyŏn rok.” Of note is that the genre appellation ki featured in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” and “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki” is usually rendered as “account” or “record of events and affairs.” In the case of “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki,” however, ki must be understood as referring to a yugi (C. youji), a “travel record,” a “record of sojourning” (though in this tale sojourning in an inebriated state), or a “travelogue” (as in the case of “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua). Hence, in accordance with the Chinese model, the tales of Kŭmo sinhwa belong to five different literary formats: ki, “accounts”; chŏn, “biographies”; yugi, “travelogues”; chi, “gazetteers,” “regional descriptions,” or “chronicles”; and rok, “reports,” “ledgers,” or “jottings.” When writing Kŭmo sinhwa, Kim Sisŭp drew to one extent or another on tales from Jiandeng xinhua. There are several tales from the Chinese collection that are clearly reflected in the main storylines and plots of Kŭmo sinhwa tales, while parts of Jiandeng xinhua tales served as models for certain scenes in the Korean work. There are a few tales from the Chinese collection that were only marginally utilized by Kim Sisŭp. Following is a list of the Jiandeng xinhua tales that served as models for “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple”:382 “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” “Lüyiren zhuan” (Biography of a lady in green) “Cuicui zhuan” “Lianfanglou ji” (Account of [events at] the Tower of Twofold Fragrances) “Qiuxiangting ji,” “Jinfengchai ji” (Account of a golden phoenix hairpin)383 “Aiqing zhuan” “Mudandeng ji” (Account of the peony lantern) “Biography of Scholar Yi” strongly reflects the influence of “Lian­fang­ lou ji,” “Weitang qiyu ji,” and “Aiqing zhuan,” but the influence of “Sanshan fudi zhi” can also be detected. For “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” Kim Sisŭp looked to “Jianhu yefan ji” (Account of floating at night on Jian Pond), “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji,” and “Lianfanglou ji.” While possible models for passages in the tale “Southern Continent



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Yŏmbu” can be found to a greater extent in a tale from Jiandeng yuhua as well as in several texts contained in the Maewŏltang chip,384 and although nothing in Jiandeng xinhua rivals “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” in terms of the latter’s density and multifacetedness of philosophical, religious, and historical references, its basic storyline resembles that of the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” (Report of Scholar Linghu’s dream of the underworld). Such tales as “Taixu sifa zhuan” and “Yongzhou yemiao ji” (Account of [events at] a rural temple in Yongzhou) may, moreover, have had a modest influence on discussions on the topic of ghosts and spirits in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.” The plot of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” is obviously modeled on “Shuigong qinghui lu” (Report of a joyful gathering in the Water Palace), the first tale of Jiandeng xinhua, but there are also a number of passages that show the influence of the Chinese collection’s second dragon-related tale, “Longtang linghui lu” (Report of a numinous gathering in the dragon hall), as well as the tales “Shenyang dong ji” (Records of Shenyang Grotto) and “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu.”As can be seen, Kim Sisŭp utilized almost all the tales from the Chinese model, though to varying degrees. It is equally apparent that various Chinese tales provided models for Kim Sisŭp in the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa.385 Yet Kim Sisŭp not only drew inspiration from Jiandeng xinhua, but was undoubtedly likewise inspired by a number of tales from its adaptation, Jiandeng yuhua. This is not surprising, given that in China—and obviously also in early Chosŏn Korea—Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua were viewed as a set, and the two books were later even published and sold in joint editions.386 For “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” Kim Sisŭp reworked the Ji­ andeng yuhua tales “Fengweicao ji” (Account of phoenix-tail fern), “Jiangmiao nishen ji” (Account of mud spirits from a river shrine), “Lianlishu ji” (Account of trees that grow together), and “Wuping lingguai lu” (Report of the numinous and peculiar [events that took place] in Wuping). “Biography of Scholar Yi” overall strongly reflects the influence of “Lianlishu ji.” But for the depiction of Lady Ch’oe’s death, for instance, Kim Sisŭp drew from the opening of the tale “Yueye tanqin ji” (Account of plucking the zither in a moonlit night). He found a model for the underlying scenario of “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” in which a wealthy young man comes to a foreign city in mid-autumn, visits an ancient site, and meets an extraordinary, otherworldly woman with whom he exchanges poems, in the tale “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji” (Account of an autumn night’s visit to Pipa Pavilion). Several passages in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” were based on passages in “He Siming you Fengdu lu” (Records of when He Siming toured

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[the abode of the dead] Fengdu), while the title “Namyŏmbuju chi” might have been inspired by sentences from the tale “Wuping lingguai lu.” Finally, certain parts of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” show obvious resemblances to “Dongtian huazhu ji” (Account of a flower-patterned wedding candle [ceremony] in a grotto heaven), in which a literatus is brought to an otherworldly realm to compose a text on behalf of a spiritual being whose daughter is about to marry. Without doubt, Kim Sisŭp had detailed knowledge of both Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua, and it is clear that he must have had the actual physical books at his disposal when writing Kŭmo sinhwa. The last line of the poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu” at the end of Kŭmo sinhwa reads, “Strange tales of elegance—meticulously I searched them out” (K. p’ungnyu kihwa se susim), and in fact this line may be understood as a fairly accurate description of the process of the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa: at night in his low house, sitting in front of his clean, small black writing table, Kim Sisŭp most likely pored over the two Chinese collections of elegant, strange tales, meticulously searching out passages, plots, motifs, characters, and so on, that he could use as models for his own pieces of chuanqi fiction.387 At the same time, it is important to keep in mind that he did not bluntly copy the Chinese precursors but dynamically transformed the given narrative material in his own highly original way. Furthermore, as was explained above, in the seventeenth century, Kŭmo sinhwa itself served as one impetus for yet another work of narrative fiction, Asai Ryōi’s Otogibōko, and consequently Kŭmo sinhwa can be taken as a vivid example of the cross-boundary circulation and creative transformation of narrative literature in premodern East Asia.

He Who Possesses Virtue May Not Use Force to Ascend the Throne Scholars, both premodern and modern, have noted that one significant facet of Kŭmo sinhwa is its criticism of contemporaneous Korean issues. Although the criticism is veiled, it is nevertheless not hard to believe that it would have been readily recognizable to a specific readership. The fact that Kim Sisŭp used different means to camouflage his criticism is intriguing with regard both to applied literary methods and to the question of who the implied readers of the collection might have been. Jiandeng xinhua and Kŭmo sinhwa as Narratives of Dissent As discussed above, Jiandeng xinhua served as a model for the parody Kŭmo sinhwa. Parody here should not be understood as mockery or comedy but



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rather in the sense of a recontextualization, a renewal of a parent work.388 Within this framework, it is imperative to take into consideration the premodern perception and evaluation of the relationship between the Chinese model and its Korean parody. Extant sources indicate that premodern readers did not consider Kŭmo sinhwa as merely a straight-on copy of Jiandeng xinhua but rather thought of it as a work that took its Chinese predecessor to another level. For instance, in P’aegwan chapki, Ŏ Sukkwŏn says, “When I read it [Kŭmo sinhwa], I could not help but caress the book and sigh thrice. Only its style of narration imitates that of Jiandeng xinhua by Qu Zongji, but in terms of subject matter and narrative expression it surpasses it.”389 Kim Sisŭp hints at this “surpassing of the model” in his poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu,” where he writes that he “brought forth a writing that people have never seen.”390 In his foreword to the Meiji edition, Yoda Gakkai likewise states the opinion that Kŭmo sinhwa is a more advanced and beautiful literary product than Jiandeng xinhua.391 At this point it is essential to consider the questions of why Kim Sisŭp chose to specifically emulate Jiandeng xinhua and its chuanqi format and style, which was marked by the strange and the otherworldly, and in what way he developed the model. Qu You’s collection of tales was well known and widely read in early Chosŏn Korea. Given that it was known to have been banned in Ming China for several decades, it seems reasonable to infer that it was identified as a literary critique of contemporaneous issues. The critical core of Jiandeng xinhua is openly addressed in Yi Sujŏng’s epilogue of the 1884 Japanese edition of Kŭmo sinhwa: “I believe that my native land’s scholars are afraid of the assessment by the Qing officials . . . During the Ming Dynasty it was also just like this. Convicted for writing Jiandeng xinhua, Qu You in the end had to face banishment. If in later times there were those who wanted to create imitations of his work, how could they have ever dared to write [chuanqi tales modeled after Jiandeng xinhua] and intend also to suffer the calamities [that Qu You had to suffer]?”392 Yi Sujŏng makes clear that he believes the criticism aimed at officials contained in Jiandeng xinhua to be the cause of Qu You’s banishment. Moreover, Yi Sujŏng explicitly connects the background against which Jiandeng xinhua was written with the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa, for he states that only social outcasts such as Kim Sisŭp were in a position to write literature imitating the style and meaning of Jiandeng xinhua: “Only Maewŏltang and Kim Ch’unt’aek [1670–1717]393 were both extraordinarily virtuous, upright scholars who stood apart from worldly affairs. For this reason they could use their brushes to write at will about bedchambers, about the sweet smelling and the beautiful, about immortals and ghosts, or about the strange and the fantastic to transmit their

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thoughts.”394 Considering that Yi Sujŏng in the nineteenth century thought of Jiandeng xinhua as a work of dissent, it can be assumed that the Chinese work’s critical tenor was known in mid-fifteenth-century Chosŏn Korea as well. Hence, one can hypothesize that when writing his Jiandeng xinhua parody, Kim Sisŭp presupposed a shared knowledge of the Chinese model and a common horizon of expectations among his readership regarding a chuanqi work of the xinhua-sinhwa subgenre. We can furthermore assume that he envisioned the reputation of the Chinese model as an interdicted book of protest to partly serve as a guideline for the understanding of his own work. Consequently, for Kim Sisŭp, Jiandeng xinhua might have been interesting not only in a literary sense but also as a foundation on which he could construct his literary exposure of social and political evils in contemporaneous Chosŏn Korea. While the theory that Jiandeng xinhua constitutes a work of fiction critical of contemporaneous Chinese issues is generally accepted today,395 it is well to remember, as Herbert Franke pointed out in his pathbreaking 1958 article on the Chinese collection, that although Jiandeng xinhua contains criticism concerning early Ming-dynasty society and bureaucracy, it is not the work of a revolutionary, nor is the author someone who meant to fundamentally challenge the ethical, social, or political systems of his time.396 The criticism in Jiandeng xinhua is of a more general nature. Through his stories, Qu You was commenting broadly on certain social evils such as corruption,397 the arrogance of high-ranking officials, and the fact that able scholars (such as himself) were not given the chance to serve in high positions.398 It is in this respect that Kŭmo sinhwa differs from its primary Chinese model, for while he built on the Jiandeng xinhua’s reputation and deployed it as a guideline for his readers, Kim Sisŭp’s focus was on a specific Korean situation and particular influential figures. He sought to home in on his target by setting his tales in historically significant places on the Korean Peninsula and by utilizing certain aspects of Korean history, mythology, and traditional motifs. As others have argued, the tales’ main male characters can be read as embodiments of Kim Sisŭp. (Scholar Han from “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” for instance, is said to have been a child prodigy whose literary talents were recognized and praised at the court.) The dead female characters especially can be identified as stand-ins for the murdered King Tanjong. The murderers, such as the Red Turban warriors or the Japanese marauders, can consequently be viewed as representations of Sejo.399 Various parts of Kŭmo sinhwa display this more direct, more concrete form of criticism, a criticism that was directed against the reigning king of Chosŏn, his recent usurpation of the throne, and the government officials and literati who profited from the coup d’état.



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Korean History and Mythology in Kŭmo sinhwa Kim Sisŭp’s understanding of Korea and Korean history is reflected not only in Kŭmo sinhwa but also in his poetry. For example, in the cycle Pyŏngwa misun chich’usim naegi kamgŭm sago chak kamhŭng si (Lying sick for more than ten days, as autumn is deep I rise; moved by the present and thinking of the past I create Ganxing shi [Feelings-arising poems]), where there are verses that say, Since the time of the Three Han, the customs of our country have been different from China. Sŏl Ch’ong [ca. 660–730]400 and [Ch’oe] Ch’iwŏn, literary writing [in Korea] began with them. The Korean language401 is very vulgar and coarse, one cannot speak of [the Confucian ideals of] benevolence and righteousness [with it]. Continuously until the end of the Silla dynasty, [rulers] competed to lead by means of the [Pā]li [canon of Buddhism] from West India;402 once the [Pā]li [canon of Buddhism] entered their hearts, just like when a stone sinks in water, it sank deeper and deeper, creating a place no medicine could reach;403 [it was as if] they drank wine, not knowing they were [already] drunk. [Standing close rowed like] spears, stupas were vast in number; [standing lofty as] mountains, Buddhist temples were enormous.404 [Temple] bells and drums sounded noisily from morning until evening, tumultuous like boiling water. They knew profit but did not know disaster; competed in hoping for good fortune in their next lives. How sad! In Koul Prefecture they did not realize that jackals and tigers had entered [their country].405 . . . Heaven gave birth to T’aejo of our [Chosŏn dynasty],406 who drove to heaven riding the six dragons.407 Transmitting a grand example for ten billion years;408 his ritual propriety and music, how could they have been so harmonious? Sejong again continued the thread, and far he pursued the traces of the Three [Sovereigns] and Five [Emperors].409

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He had almost accomplished the restoration of the Great Way; but then, alas, he became a guest in the Nine Layers of Heaven. Time suddenly passes in endless alternation; never ceasing, like a wheel aspin. People of the present begrudge people of the past; the ancient and the present are like flowing water. Later people will sigh over the present time, yet sigh the people of the present do as well. People of the present and people of the past, they never know when this might end.410 What makes a noble man is to regard life light and the death of the body heavy. As my chant ends, I suddenly look up and see the Big Dipper handle sprawling out aslant. These four poems, contained in Yu Kŭmo rok and thus presumably created around the same time as Kŭmo sinhwa, vividly reflect Kim Sisŭp’s clear-cut understanding of Korea and its differences from China, his critical attitude toward Buddhism as a state religion, his views on certain developments in Korean history such as the fall of Silla and the rise of Koryŏ (connected to the topic of Buddhism as a state religion, which he also discussed and criticized in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu”), as well as his evaluation of specific Korean kings of the past. T’aejo of the Confucian state of Chosŏn is said in the poem to hold the Mandate of Heaven and thereby granted the authority to found a dynasty and rule.411 T’aejo and especially his grandson King Sejong are portrayed as legitimate, wise rulers, part of the tradition of sage-kings of Chinese antiquity. Longing for a virtuous ruler like Sejong, Kim Sisŭp in these poems laments the present political state of the dynasty, which, in his mind, lacks a proper king. A similar juxtaposition of legitimate and illegitimate rule features in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” and here again the issue is discussed against the backdrop of Korean history and mythology. On the one hand, this Korean background makes it easy to transfer the related content to a contemporary situation, even more so because the tale’s general setting and the time frame of the narrative are placed at the beginning of the reign of Emperor Tianshun of Ming (r. 1457–1464) or, from a Chosŏn Korean perspective, the beginning of the reign of Sejo. At the same time, the incorporation of certain Korean myths and historic episodes shows the tale’s intended readership to be the well-educated Korean literati, who were able to acknowledge the time-critical message evoked by the depicted events. In



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a significant passage in the tale, the female protagonist—daughter of King Chun, the last king of Kija Chosŏn, and thus a direct descendant of Kija and, at the time of narrative, a Daoist immortal and high-ranking servant of the Goddess of the Moon—tells the main male figure, Scholar Hong, about the fall of her native dynasty, Kija Chosŏn, brought about by the usurper Wiman. The passage reads, The beauty heaved a deep sigh and answered, “I am a descendant of the kings of Yin [Shang], a daughter of the Ki Family. My ancestor [Kija] was indeed enfeoffed with this land. Rites and music as well as the canons of law all complied with the instructions of [King] Tang [of Shang], and he taught the people by means of the Eight Rules. The magnificence and brilliance of our cultural achievements persisted for more than a thousand years. One morning, however, the Way of Heaven became hard and difficult. Calamities and disaster arrived unexpectedly; my now-deceased father suffered defeat at the hands of a commoner, and eventually we lost our ancestral temples and altars. Wiman took advantage of the situation. [He] stole [my father’s] precious position, and the reign of [Kija] Chosŏn collapsed! I stumbled and fell over into a state of utter confusion; and since I wanted to protect my chastity, I could do no more than await death. Suddenly there appeared a divine being who soothed me, saying, “I am the earliest ancestor of this country. After I had taken charge of and ruled the country, I went to an island in the sea and became a transcendent immortal. This was several thousand years ago. Are you able to follow me to the Purple Palace in the Mysterious Capital, roam around freely, and enjoy yourself?” I answered “Yes.”

The related narrative is decidedly Korean. The female figure’s personal downfall corresponds with the elimination of the rightful ruler and the destruction of the dynasty’s capital, P’yŏngyang, the city that in the tale epitomizes the sadness caused by the disappearance of a great past and the frustration about the current state of things. In this passage, the violent usurpation of the throne by Wiman is portrayed as an act of immorality and injustice. Aside from the implied judgment, the female character’s account is roughly based on historical events, as follows: Wiman, who during the war between Old Chosŏn and the Chinese state of Yen—purportedly his own native country—had initially been ordered by King Chun to fortify and defend Old Chosŏn’s northwestern borders. He solidified power over a great mass of Yen refugees and led them back toward P’yŏngyang, where he waged war against his own lord and ultimately usurped the throne, claiming kingship sometime between 198 and 180 BCE.412 Told from the

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perspective of the daughter of the overthrown King Chun, Wiman is depicted as a traitor, an opportunist lusting for power who never questions the rightfulness of his behavior. On the one hand, Wiman’s actions caused destruction and led to the end of the highly civilized state of the culturebringer Kija, who, according to Samguk sagi, propagated benevolence and wisdom in such a sublime way that even Confucius said he would have been glad to go there [i.e., to the east and therefore probably Korea] to live, if necessary sailing to the east on a raft made of driftwood.413 On the other hand, Wiman’s transgressions were not without beneficial result. While they caused the female protagonist to fear the loss of her innocence, she is eventually saved from harm by a divine being (K. sinin, C. shenren), who is, of course, none other than the most legitimate ruler of all, Tan’gun. Tan’gun is the mythical founding father of the first Korean state, whose description in the relevant foundation myth contained in Samguk yusa complies with that of the godlike person who enters into the narration in the above-quoted passage. Considered in terms of legitimacy versus illegitimacy, it is only reasonable that Kim Sisŭp would choose as the female protagonist’s savior the prime patriarch of Korea (who during Sejo’s reign was officially honored as Chosŏn sijo [founder of Chosŏn] while Kija was honored as Hu-Chosŏn sijo [founder of Later Chosŏn]).414 Within the framework of what is legitimate, Tan’gun’s willingness to take her under his wing in the realm of the immortals serves the purpose of underlining the legitimacy of her father’s rule and, conversely, the illegitimacy of the usurpation of the throne by Wiman. This episode can easily be read as an allegory for the politics of Kim Sisŭp’s own day. By making a clear distinction between right and wrong, legitimate and illegitimate, Kim Sisŭp hints at the political developments of his own dynasty and makes a statement about the current king’s obvious lack of legitimacy. The portrayal of the hideousness of Wiman’s usurpation of the throne can be translated into Prince Suyang’s betrayal and overthrow his own kin, King Tanjong. Moreover, it seems appropriate to surmise that the emphasis Kim Sisŭp put on Kija and the legitimacy of his rule in Kŭmo sinhwa should be understood as a direct reaction to Sejo’s attempt to shift the focus away from Kija and to the Tan’gun myth. Since Sejo was a usurper, he could not justify his reign in Confucian terms. He thus sought to legitimize himself by brandishing the image of Kija, an ancient virtuous ruler associated with the concept of heaven, and by propagating Buddhism, Taoism, and shamanism (of which the Tan’gun myth in fact can be seen as an example).415 Hence, in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” Kim Sisŭp at first glance seems to depict some partly legendary events of antiquity. It is hard to imagine, however, that the implied message, the harsh critique directed against King Sejo that emanates from Kim Sisŭp’s writing, could have been missed by any educated Korean



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reader of his time. Thus, as in some of his poetic works,416 in Kŭmo sinhwa Kim Sisŭp appropriates certain events and aspects of Korean history and mythology to underpin his criticism of contemporary political issues. Huaigu and the Classics in Kŭmo sinhwa Criticism of political leaders in Kŭmo sinhwa is further substantiated through allusions to Chinese poetry and references to the Confucian Classics. With respect to poetry, the poems contained in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” are of importance because they constitute huaigu (K. hoego), “meditations on the past” or “contemplations of the past,” a type of Chinese poem in which the poet contemplates a visit to a site of ancient greatness now lying in ruins. In these lyrical works, the poet reflects on the scene and is moved by the thought that what had once been a place of glory and prosperity has now become a site of decay and destruction.417 It has been argued that Kim Sisŭp had written huaigu poems criticizing the enthronement of Sejo as early as 1458, during his travels through the Kwansŏ region.418 Yet the celebration of the old capital P’yŏngyang and the ancient dynasties in the huaigu-style poems419 contained in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” can likewise be read as a critique of the current ruinous state of things, considering that the tale is set during the beginning of Sejo’s reign. Fittingly, the final poem by the female protagonist says, “When mourning the ancient, manifold are the tears I shed; / when hurt by the present, sorrows rise by themselves.”420 The huaigu certainly placed “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” in the lineage of its Chinese model tales “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua and “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, both of which prominently feature such “meditations on the past” while at the same time clearly serving as poetic criticism of the age. What’s more, references to and quotations from the Confucian Classics substantiating criticism of contemporary political issues can be found especially in the collection’s fourth tale, “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.”421 At one point in the story, the male protagonist, Scholar Pak, and the grand ruler of the earthen purgatory, King Yama, who himself states that he rules over the siyŏk (C. shini), that is, those “who in the previous world have killed their parents or the king,”422 come to discuss the foundation of the state of Koryŏ (or Hu-Koguryŏ, “Later Koguryŏ,” 901–918), namely, the rule of Kungye (869–918). Kungye, who had proclaimed himself Maitreya Buddha, was overthrown by a group of generals led by Wang Kŏn in 918, which marked the beginning of the Koryŏ dynasty (he was subsequently killed during an attempted escape by the people he had allegedly menaced during his time in power). At this point in the tale, King Yama remarks the following:

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk He who possesses a country may not use violence to threaten its people. The people, though it may seem that they followed out of fear and awe, in fact harbored feelings of rebelliousness. As days pile up into months, [just like the frost one treads on reaches its ultimate,] the disaster of solid ice will arise. He who possesses virtue may not use force to ascend the throne. Heaven, though it does not openly decree [the mandate] by means of words, it reveals [the mandate] through actions and affairs, from beginning to end, and the mandate of the Highest Emperor is strict. I would say of that country, it is the country of the people. The mandate, it is the Mandate of Heaven. If the Mandate of Heaven is already lost and the hearts of the people have already departed, then, even if [the king] wanted to protect his body, how could he do so?423

King Yama essentially asserts that the min, the ordinary people, have the right to rise up in rebellion against an illegitimate ruler if treated cruelly. He substantiates this claim by underpinning it with references to and quotes from the Confucian Classics. For instance, the basic prerogative of the virtuous ruler that “he who possesses a country may not use violence to threaten its people” is reminiscent of a statement in a commentary to the Great Learning by Confucius, which reads, “He who possesses the country must be prudent. If he errs, he will be the embarrassment of the realm.”424 Yama subsequently applies an abbreviated Yijing quotation, “The frost one treads on reaches its ultimate stage as solid ice” and consequently implies that people will ultimately revolt against and overthrow a leader who acts improperly. In the commentary to this sentence in Yijing, the killing of a lord by his subjects or of a father by his son is, in fact, mentioned, and it is explained that acts of violence against a father or a leader are not caused by something that happened this morning, but by something that should have been dealt with a long time ago but never was.425 The quote from Yijing in this passage is complemented by an ensuing one from Mengzi 5A:5: “Heaven, though it does not openly decree [the mandate] by means of words, it reveals [the mandate] through actions and affairs.”426 The passage in Mengzi originally refers to the enthronement of the sagely emperor Shun and implies that the mandate of a ruler can only be granted by heaven and cannot be handed on or forcefully taken by men. The passage in Mengzi implies that the mandate is only given to those who are virtuous and that those who do not possess virtue—such as, from Kim Sisŭp’s perspective, Kungye or Prince Suyang—are not allowed to found a dynasty and rule. Accordingly, it is clearly stated that “he who possesses virtue may not use force to ascend the throne.” Hence, the idea of a righteous overthrow of a menacing ruler by the threatened people is reinforced by the (quite



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common) literary method of inserting quotations from authoritative, core texts of Confucianism.427 The criticism of contemporary Korean issues, an important feature of Kŭmo sinhwa, can be said to be structurally founded on three pillars: first, the modeling after Jiandeng xinhua, the reputation of which as a work critical of contemporary Chinese issues; second, the use of specific Korean myths and historical narratives; and third, the utilization of particular poems and passages from Chinese literature and philosophy that address questions of the legitimacy and virtue of rulers. Thus, as is the case in many respects in Kŭmo sinhwa, it is the creative interplay between the Chinese and the Korean, the native and the foreign, through which Kim Sisŭp’s collection develops impact and meaning. The aforementioned examples serve to illustrate the Kŭmo sinhwa’s comparatively more concrete, more severe kind of criticism than that found in Jiandeng xinhua. The words uttered by King Yama are quite drastic, for they could be understood as calling for an armed rebellion. Naturally, it must be kept in mind that Kim Sisŭp held no office and was moreover considered a social outcast living far away from the dynasty’s center of power. Still he could not have openly addressed Sejo’s usurpation of the throne. Nor could he have made an overt call for people to rise up against the king, an action that would have made him a political threat, a danger to the throne with whom those in charge would certainly have dealt most severely. Here one could detect another reason why Kim Sisŭp might have chosen to model his parody Kŭmo sinhwa after Jiandeng xinhua, for Qu You’s work is a piece of chuanqi fiction, a genre fundamentally characterized by the strange and otherworldly that at first glance would not be given credence. In the case of Jiandeng xinhua, the fantastic elements of the stories can be said to veil the author’s true intent. The same holds true for Kŭmo sinhwa. By using the generic features of chuanqi fiction and by openly modeling his parody on Jiandeng xinhua, Kim Sisŭp had the literary means to artistically camouflage his disapproval of the authorities while simultaneously making his dissent plain to any educated contemporary reader. While it may be just one among many facets of Kŭmo sinhwa, the notion of the text as a critique of contemporary issues is lent further credence if one considers an aspect that has thus far received rather little attention: that is the collection’s title Kŭmo sinhwa.

Thoughts on the Collection’s Title English translations of the title Kŭmo sinhwa are many: New Stories from Gold Turtle Mountain,428 New Tales from Mount Kŭmo, and New Tales of a Golden Sea

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Turtle,429 just to name a few. There likewise are different theories regarding the title’s meaning. The predominant theory has it, first, that the term sinhwa, “new tales,” places the collection in the tradition of the precursor Jiandeng xinhua, and second, that the term kŭmo is usually taken as a reference to the actual place where Kim Sisŭp is believed to have written and compiled the work, namely, the Mount Kŭmo area in Kyŏngju. According to this conception, the translation of the title ought to be Xinhua of [Mount] Kŭmo or New Tales [Composed] on Golden Turtle [Mountain]. This interpretation is supported by premodern sources such as the Taedong unbu kunok (Korean rhyming dictionary, 1589) compiled by Kwŏn Munhae (1534–1591), in the fourteenth volume of which it says, “Mount Kŭmo lies in the Eastern Capital [Kyŏngju]. Kim Tongbong [Sisŭp] early on took up residence on this mountain. Taking Jiandeng xinhua as a model, he brought forth Kŭmo sinhwa in several volumes.”430 Moreover, since Kim Sisŭp named the various poetry collections he created during his pilgrimage after the regions in which the respective works were written, it is reasonable to conclude that he chose the title for his collection of tales in the same manner. Yet there are no extant sources in which Kim Sisŭp himself states that he wrote Kŭmo sinhwa during his time in Kyŏngju. This leaves room for the theory that he merely conceptualized the work there and wrote the actual tales at a much later time. The aforementioned poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu” itself is said to have been written in the spring of the year kyes­a (1473) when he was living in a small hermitage east of the capital. Thus it is possible to hypothesize that he wrote the tales later and applied the collection’s title Kŭmo sinhwa only in remembrance of his time on Mount Kŭmo.431 Although the interpretation of kŭmo as a place-name seems reasonable, it is also possible to detect other meanings in the collection’s title. The term “golden turtle” appears in a poem written by the Tang poet Gu Yun for the Silla-dynasty scholar and poet Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn.432 This poem says, “As I heard there are three golden turtles in the [eastern] sea; / the golden turtles carry mountains on their heads which rise up high.”433 According to legend, three golden turtles carry on their heads the three mystical island paradises of the immortals.434 Since these islands are said to be in the Eastern Sea (the Yellow Sea), and from a Chinese perspective Korea lies in the east, “golden turtle” came to be used in China as a synonym for Korea.435 Consequently, by using kŭmo in the title of his collection, Kim Sisŭp might have been hinting at the decidedly Korean nature of his tales. If one understands kŭmo as a reference to Chosŏn Korea, Kŭmo sinhwa could thus be translated as New Tales from the [Land of the] Golden Turtle. The golden turtle also plays a role in the depiction of the acquisition of literary imagination through dreams. For instance, a person by the name



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of Liu Zan is said to have swallowed a little golden turtle in a dream, after which he developed extraordinary literary talents. In a later dream he spit it back out and died shortly thereafter.436 Kim Sisŭp clearly knew about the role ascribed to the golden turtle in the realm of the attainment of literary brilliance because he mentioned it in “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” Here, a turtle sings, “Enjoyed the power of the brush437 of him who has swallowed the turtle.”438 Moreover, the lyrical epilogue to the collection suggests that Kim Sisŭp regarded his Kŭmo sinhwa as a masterwork and himself a man of great literary talent. Consequently, it would also be possible to render Kŭmo sinhwa as New Tales by [Him Who Swallowed the] Golden Turtle. Another convincing explanation for the meaning of the term kŭmo has been suggested by Marion Eggert. According to her theory,439 the term kŭmo must be read as a reference to the Ŭigŭmbu, the Office for the Deliberation of Forbidden Affairs, or the State Tribunal, a special judicial institution established in 1414 (fourteenth year of the reign of T’aejong) that convened only on royal orders for the ad hoc consideration of political cases, accusations of treason or lèse majesté on the part of members of the official class, and crimes committed by royal relatives.440 Importantly, the Ŭigŭmbu was also widely known under the alternate name Kŭmo (C. Jinwu), an appellation most likely derived from the Chinese imperial guards that functioned as a sort of police force. This is attested, for instance, in a statement by Tasan Chŏng Yagyong (1762–1836) from Kyŏngse yup’yo (Design for good government, 1817): “The Ŭigŭmbu is the office that handles major crimes, but it does not have any inherent responsibilities with respect to patrol. Nowadays it is customary to refer to it as Kŭmo, but that is a mistake.”441 The title of Ŭigŭmbu’s code of regulations, moreover, was Kŭmo hŏnnok. Conse­quently, kŭmo in Kŭmo sinhwa might be read as a reference to the State Tribunal, which, in its function as the judicial institution dealing with treason and crimes committed by the royal family, in Kim Sisŭp’s view ought to have dealt with and severely punished Prince Suyang for his usurpation of the throne and the assassination of the rightful king, Tanjong. By applying the term kŭmo, Kim Sisŭp might have meant to imply that Kŭmo sinhwa would serve as a literary means to prosecute the usurper Sejo. This reading of kŭmo supports the interpretation of Kŭmo sinhwa as a fictional work critical of contemporaneous political issues and figures, as a kind of narrative of dissent. Reflecting the collection’s overall complexity and multilayered quality, the title appears to bear a variety of meanings. It is perhaps best to assume that Kim Sisŭp had all of them (and maybe more) in mind when he chose his title. Hence, setting the tone for the entire work, Kŭmo sinhwa would stand for a collection of New Tales in the tradition of Chinese predecessors that

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was written on Mount Kŭmo, which is closely connected to the history, mythology, and people of Korea; that it constitutes an excellent work of fiction written by a man of great literary ability; and that it contains criticism directed at particular actors in a specific political situation in fifteenth-century Chosŏn Korea.

II. Translation New Tales of the Golden Turtle (Kŭmo sinhwa)

CHAPTER 1

Biography of Master Maewŏltang (Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn)1 Yun Ch’unnyŏn

The master’s family name was Kim, his given name was Sisŭp, and his courtesy name was Yŏlgyŏng. A man from Kangnŭng,2 he was a descendant of [Kim] T’aehyŏn,3 director of the Chancellery during the Koryŏ dynasty. His great-grandfather was [Kim] Kuju, magistrate of Anju District;4 his grandfather was [Kim] Kyŏmgan, battalion commander in the Five Military Commands; and his father was the loyal and obedient guard [Kim] Ilsŏng. His mother was from the Chang Family. The master was born in the year ŭlmyo [1435] during the Xuande period.5 He had the disposition of understanding things from birth,6 and at the age of three he was able to create poetry. Once, when he saw his wet nurse, Kaehwa (name of the wet nurse), grinding barley, he intoned the following in a clear voice: There is no rain, but those sounds of thunder, where do they rumble? Yellow clouds, wisp by wisp, spray in all four directions. Everyone thought it miraculous. When he was five, Yŏngmyo [King Sejong] called him to the Royal Secretariat to test him by means of poetry. [King Sejong] praised him greatly and rewarded him with fifty bolts of silk, which he ordered him to carry away himself. The master eventually tied them together end to end, dragged them along behind him, and went out. The people thought him even more extraordinary. Once, an old woman on a road fed him some tofu, whereupon he immediately intoned the following poem: 71

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The basic essence comes from amid two stones; round and bright as the moon rising in the east; Boiled dragon or roasted phoenix, though it cannot match them, it is most fitting for an old woman whose head is bald and whose teeth are loose. Thereupon his name circulated throughout the entire country. People’s eyes were cast upon him; they called him the “five-year-old,” not daring to call him by his given name.7 Later he took the daughter of Nam Hyorye, senior commander in the Military Training Administration, as his wife. At the age of twenty-one, in the year ŭrhae [1455] during the Jingtai period,8 he was studying at Chunghŭng Monastery on Mount Samgak when someone passed by on his way back from the capital. [After he had learned about Sejo’s rise to power,] the master closed his door and did not come out again for three days. One evening he suddenly wailed in pain, burned all his books, acted like a madman, and plunged into the latrine and [then] fled from it. Thereupon he cut off his hair and became a monk, his [Dharma] name being Sŏlcham. One time he lived at Surak Monastery in Yangju and another time he lived on Mount Kŭmo in Kyŏngju; he went east and went west and never had a fixed place of residence. Several times he changed his pen name,9 calling himself Ch’ŏnghanja, Tongbong, Pyŏksan ch’ŏngŭn, Ch’weseong, and Maewŏltang. When Sejo was about to hold the Enlightened Gathering of a Thousand Clouds and Water Monks10 at Wŏn’gak Temple, all the monks said, “This meeting is not possible without Sŏlcham!” The king eventually ordered that he be summoned. [But] when he arrived he threw himself into the temple latrine.11 All of the monks thought him mad and dismissed him. His attainments nevertheless grew even deeper and his reputation was known in places even farther away. People who wanted to ask about the Way all turned to him and they were thousands in number, but the master would pretend he was mad and act as if his mind was fickle. Sometimes he would attack them with sticks or stones, sometimes he would draw his bow [as if he] meant to shoot at them, thereby testing their intention. Among his disciples there was one by the name of Sŏnhaeng12 who served him for several years. Although [Sŏnhaeng] received floggings, he did not leave until the end. Some people thought this strange and asked him about it, and [Sŏn] haeng answered, “Once when my master lived at a temple in the mountains, he poured water into a gourd and held it up with both hands; [he] kneeled down in front of the seat of the Buddha and stayed there from morning to night for three days. Since his meditative concentration is like this, he must be a buddha. I trust him from my heart and it is impossible for me to leave.”



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The master considered studies of poetry13 a superfluous matter, but his [knowledge of the] rules of poetry was high and his ideas were very subtle. [His poetry] far surpassed ordinary feelings. When he wanted to discharge his excitement or convey his thoughts, he gave himself over to his feelings, letting his brush run free, and only a shortage of paper would limit him. Yet [when his poetic works were] finished he would immediately burn them all. This is the reason why not many [of his writings] have been transmitted to the world. In the year sinch’uk [1481], during the Chenghua period, [Kim Sisŭp] let his hair grow and returned to the lay life. He composed [ritual] texts to hold sacrificial services for his grandfather and father.14 Eventually he married a daughter from the An family, had various residences, and roamed around the villages. One day, after he had drunk some wine, he passed by the market where he met Chief State Councilor Chŏng Ch’angson;15 he called out to him: “You slave! You ought to take a rest!”16 Sometimes on moonlit nights, he would chant [Qu Yuan’s] “Lisaojing”17 and immediately wail in pain. Thereafter his wife passed away. Since he had no place to go, he again returned to the mountains. In the second month of the year kyech’uk [1493], during the Hongzhi period,18 he died at Muryang Monastery in Hongsan County. He had left the order that there should be no cremation. On an ordinary day, the master had personally painted two self-portraits, one depicting himself in his old age and one depicting himself as a young man. He had then written a [statement of] self-praise [on one of them]; they were kept at the temple. Confucian scholars who had followed him were Hong Yuson, [courtesy name] Yŏgyŏng, and Nam Hyo’on, [courtesy name] Paekkong. His disciples among the monks were Toŭi and Hangmae.19 In the world it was believed that the master had performed many kinds of sorcery, that he had been capable of commanding wild tigers, that he could change wine into blood, belch out qi [vital force] to create rainbows, and call upon the five-hundred arhats.20 [These stories,] however, are not entirely credible.

CHAPTER 2

Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple (Manboksa chŏp’o1 ki)

In Namwŏn2 lived a man called Scholar Yang.3 [He] had early on lost4 both father and mother and, as yet unmarried,5 he dwelled alone in a room to the east6 of Manbok Temple.7 Outside [this room] stood a pear tree that opened in full bloom with the coming of spring, resembling a heap of silver on a tree of jade.8 On every moonlit night9 Scholar Yang retired [under this tree], and with a bright voice he would intone the following poem: A pear tree’s blossoms keep me company in silence and isolation;10 how pitiful11 to let down a night in which the moon shines so bright.12 A youth lies alone by the solitary windowsill; where does the jade girl blow her phoenix flute?13 A kingfisher flies alone, unable to make a pair; a mandarin duck has lost its partner, bathes in a clear river.14 At whose house does she have an appointment to tap the chess pieces aboard?15 Divine with the candlewick at night16 and sorrowfully lean against the window.17 When his chant ended, he suddenly heard a voice in the air, saying, “If you want to obtain a good mate,18 why worry that it might not be achieved?” Scholar Yang’s heart rejoiced at this. The following day was the twenty-fourth of the third month. It was customary in the province to light lanterns at Manbok Temple and pray [to the Buddha] for blessings [on this very day]. Men and women19 gathered in droves and each brought forth his or her aspirations.20 When the day drew to an end, when the hymns in praise of the Buddha had ceased, and only a few people were still present, Scholar Yang put a chŏp’o dice game21 inside 74



Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple

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his sleeve. [Entering the prayer hall, he took the game back out] and threw it in front of the Buddha, saying, “Today I want to play a game of chŏp’o with you, Buddha. If I lose, I will prepare a venue for a Dharma lecture22 in order to pay the bet. If you, Buddha, lose, I ought to obtain a beautiful woman to fulfill my wish.” His prayer ended and he eventually tossed [the wooden sticks of the chŏp’o game]. Scholar Yang indeed won and kneeling down in front of the Buddha he said, “Karma has already been determined.23 You may not deceive me now!” Thereupon he hid underneath the offering table so as to be on the lookout for the one who had been promised to him. Soon thereafter a beautiful young woman appeared. She might have been fifteen, sixteen years of age. Her hair was arranged in a knot; she was lightly dressed and her appearance was so delicate and graceful that she resembled an immortal beauty or [the goddess] Tianfei.24 He gazed at her dignified attitude. She held a bottle of oil in her hands, filled up a lamp [with the oil], and inserted incense sticks [into a burner]. [Facing the Buddha] she made three prostrations; falling on her knees, she heaved a deep sigh and spoke: “I was born ill fated, but how could it have come to something like this?” Thereupon she took a plaint25 from her bosom and presented it [to the Buddha by putting it down] on the offering table. Her words went as follows: Someone of some clan, residing in some province of some region, humbly ventures to think: some time ago, when defenses broke down in the frontier regions and the Japanese marauders came to invade,26 there were shields and spears as far as the eye could see and beacon fires burned for years on end. [The marauders] burned houses and huts to the ground, abducted and looted from ordinary people. To the east and to the west people ran for refuge; to the left and to the right they fled to escape. My relatives and our servants all scattered in chaos. I, with a body as frail as a willow catkin, was not able to run far and thus I entered a secluded bedchamber to protect my noble chastity until the very end. [I] never acted in a way by which I would be drenched by the dew on the path,27 [I endeavored] to avoid the calamities of perverse manners.28 In order for their daughter’s chastity not to be at risk, my parents had me escape from that land and live in seclusion, residing far away out in the wilderness. It has already been three years now.29 However [splendid the times of] the autumn moon or the springtime flowers, my grieving heart vacantly passes through them. And through drifting clouds and rushing waters I pass my days in weariness.30 [I] live hidden away in a bare valley31 and sigh over my entire life’s ill fate. Good nights I spend alone, and I am pained by the lonely dance

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk of a colorful Luan bird.32 Oh sun, ah, moon,33 now my celestial soul has melted, my earthly soul is lost, through summer evenings or winter nights it feels as if I have been torn and broken. I only wish that the Emperor of Enlightenment34 may bend down and take pity on me. My life was decided beforehand. Karma I could not avoid, but if there is karmic affinity35 in the mandate36 granted to me, I beg to [be allowed to] obtain the pleasures and joys [of a meeting with my predestined partner] in good time. Unable to bear the gravity of my earnest prayer, I sincerely pray for this.

The girl then threw away the plaint and sobbed. Scholar Yang looked at her appearance through a gap and was not able to keep his feelings at bay. Scrambling forth he said, “That plaint you threw away just a moment ago, what matter was it about?”37 He glanced at the words of her plaint and an expression of happiness came over his face as he said to her, “What sort of person are you, coming here alone?”38 The girl replied, “I, too, am a human being! Is there anything that makes you harbor doubts about this? Should it not be enough for you to obtain a beautiful companion? You do not necessarily have to inquire about my name!39 If it is like this, there will be confusion!”40 At the time, Manbok Temple was already in a state of utter decay and the residing monks all lived off in one corner [of the monastery]. In front of the prayer hall there was only a corridor41 standing abandoned and alone. At the end of this corridor was a very narrow shack made of wooden planks. Scholar Yang coaxed the girl;42 [he] entered [the room] and the girl did not make it hard. Together they came to cultivate their good relationship, and it was the same as in the world of the living.43 At midnight the moon rose above the eastern mountains, and shadows fell through the window lattice. Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps. “Who’s there? Might it not be my maid who has come?” the girl asked. “Yes,” a child replied. “In the past my lady did not venture to pass the middle gate, and even when you did walk out you could never bear to take more than a few steps. But yesterday you coincidentally went out at dusk. How did you come to this extremity?” The girl answered, “Today’s events are certainly no coincidence,44 for [we were] assisted by heaven and helped by the Buddha.45 I have met the lovely one,46 and I think that we will grow old together. He did not inform [my parents about the union] and yet we married, even though this [contravenes the] law of the enlightened teaching.47 But let us feast and play,48 for this is certainly the strangest encounter of my entire life. You may go to the thatched hut. Fetch mats, cushions, wine, and fruit and then come back here!” The maidservant did as ordered and left.



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[When she returned],49 they held a banquet in the yard. The time was advancing toward the fourth watch. A long table, plain and without ornamentation, was set up. The scents and fragrances arising from the wines and liquors certainly did not belong to any delicacies from the human world. Although Scholar Yang thought this suspicious and bewildering, [the girl’s] talk and smile were so pure and gentle, her conduct and appearance so leisurely and relaxed, that he came to think she had to be the daughter of a noble family who had climbed over the wall [of her parents’ estate] and run away. Hence, he did not doubt her any further.50 The wine cups having been brought forth, she ordered her maidservant to sing a song in order to assist them [in their enjoyment], after which she told Scholar Yang, “The child is set on ancient tunes. I ask to write a [new] verse myself to accompany [our drinking]. How about it?” “Yes,” Scholar Yang replied with delight, whereupon she wrote one stanza to the tune of “Man’ganghong,” “Full River Red,”51 and ordered her maidservant to sing it:52 Grief-stricken, spring is cold and silken sleeves are thin;53 many times have I been torn, the gold-duck incense burner has cooled down.54 At dusk,55 mountains like knitted blackened brows; at nightfall, clouds like a long stretching baldachin. Brocade curtains and mandarin-duck blankets, but no one keeps me company; the precious hairpin half askew if I blew the dragon flute.56 How woeful, time changing like a bouncing ball57 makes me feel depressed inside. The lamp shows no flame,58 the silver screen is short; when I wipe away my tears, who is there to comfort me? Rejoice, for tonight Zou [Yan’s] pitch pipes have been played once more to make the warmth return.59 Broken is my beautiful castle’s60 ancient grief; softly singing the “[Tune of] Golden Threads,”61 we tilt the silver bowls. I regret62 to have harbored sorrow in times gone by and to have frowned while sleeping in a guest house.63 The song ended, and with a grave expression the girl said, “Some time ago, at Pengdao,64 we missed the right time for our appointment. Yet today, at Xiaoxiang,65 there is a meeting with my man of yore, and what I obtained,

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is it not the blessing of heaven? If you do not leave me forever66 I will serve you with towel and comb for the rest of my life,67 but if you deny my wish we will be separated forevermore like clouds and mud.” Hearing these words Scholar Yang was both moved and startled. “But how could I ever dare not to follow your orders?” he said. Her manner, however, was not normal and he kept a close eye on what she did. At that time the moon already hung above the western peaks, a rooster cried in a deserted village; the temple bell was first struck and the light of early dawn pushed back the darkness.68 “Child, you may pack up the mats and go back,” the girl said. Following this, [the child] replied obediently,69 following which she disappeared. [It is] impossible to know where she went off to. “This karmic affinity has already been decided beforehand, it would be appropriate70 if we held hands,” the girl said, and Scholar Yang took her hand. When they passed through a village, dogs started barking vigorously behind fences. There were people walking on the road, but those who passed them did not seem to notice that Scholar Yang was returning together with the girl. They merely asked, “Scholar, where are you coming from at this early hour?”71 “I just got drunk and lay down to sleep at Manbok Temple. Now I am on the way to my old friend’s village,”72 Scholar Yang answered. At daybreak, the girl pulled him along until they arrived in a wilderness of [creeping] grass and weeds, heavily covered with dew,73 where there was neither a beaten trail nor a road they could have followed. “But how can your place of dwelling be anything like this?” Scholar Yang asked. “The residence of a solitary woman74 just has to be like this,” she answered, then teased him, saying, “The paths are drenched with dew. True, I said ‘Early in the night’; but I fear to walk in so much dew.”75 Scholar Yang likewise teased her, saying, “There is a fox dragging along by that dam on the Qi.76 The Lu road is easy and wide, a pleasant journey to the lady of Qi.”77 They recited and laughed proudly. Eventually, together they went into Kaenyŏng Valley,78 where weeds and brambles covered the fields79 and thorns and briers rose high into the sky. Right there was a house, which was small but extremely beautiful. She invited Scholar Yang in and they entered together. Inside, bedding and curtains were arranged most neatly, just as if they had been prepared the night before. He stayed for three days, and their pleasures were like that of an entire lifetime. Her maidservant was beautiful and not cunning, the tableware clean and not ornamented. [Scholar Yang] came to think that all this could certainly not belong to the human world, but his wish to embrace her was deep,80 and he did not ponder on it again. After a while the girl said to Scholar Yang, “Three



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days in this land are no less than three years [in the world of the living]. You ought to go back home81 now in order to attend to your business.”82 Eventually she prepared a parting banquet to bid him farewell. “How come we suddenly have to part with such haste?” he asked, disappointed. “We shall meet a second time in order to fulfill the wishes of our entire lives,” the girl answered. “Since today you have come to this lowly dwelling,83 there necessarily has to be a predestined connection.84 Now, you ought to meet my neighbors and relatives. How about it?” “Agreed,” Scholar Yang replied. Thus, she ordered her maidservant to inform her four neighbors to make them convene. The first was Miss Chŏng, the second was Miss O, the third was Miss Kim, and the fourth was Miss Yu.85 They all belonged to noble families and great clans and were the girl’s kin, living together with her in the same village.86 All were as yet unmarried. By nature they were warm and gentle, and their elegant, graceful bearing was extraordinary. Also, they were intelligent and literate, knew the Chinese script, and were capable of writing poems and rhapsodies. All created short poems of seven characters per line in four stanzas in order to present them to Scholar Yang as farewell presents. Miss Chŏng’s manner was refined and elegant, and her hair, coiled like clouds,87 covered the soft hair on her temples. She sighed and intoned her poem, which went as follows: In a spring night, flower and moon like two beauties; for a long time I held onto spring longings,88 don’t even remember the years. It grieves me that I cannot be like the shared-wing [birds], which form pairs and playfully dance in the deep blue sky.89 The lacquered lamp without a flame,90 how is the night?91 The stars begin to lie horizontal, the moon is half aslant.92 Melancholy, to the dark palace93 the living do not come; kingfisher-blue garments wrinkled in disorder, hair on the temples disheveled in strands. The emotional promise [to come before] plop fall the plums,94 it finally95 slipped away; wasted, matters of springtime breezes have already passed.96 Tear stains upon the pillow, how many dots might there be? In a lush garden, mountain97 rains pelt a pear tree’s blossoms.98

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Matters of the springtime heart have already become dull;99 amid silent, deserted mountains I spent so many nights. Do not see the traveler passing over the Blue Bridge; in which year will Pei Hang meet Yun Qiao?100 Miss O, her hair parted and braided on both sides, looked enchantingly beautiful and fragile. Overcome by emotion and desire she continued by intoning the following: She burned incense in a temple, and upon her return golden coins were secretly tossed, yet who might have arranged marriage after all?101 Flowers in spring and the moon in autumn, infinite regret melts away in front of the cask with a jar of wine. Beads of morning dew wet peachy cheeks; in a dark valley,102 spring is deep, but the butterfly does not come. And yet I rejoice, for in a neighboring house the bronze mirror has been reunited;103 sing a new tune over again and pour a cup from a gilded vase.104 Year after year swallows dance in the eastern wind; heart breaking, matters of the springtime heart are already void. How enviable, those lotus flowers are bound to one another by their stalks,105 and as night deepens they bathe in a pond as one. A tower located on an emerald mountain; atop the trees with branches that twine together, blossoms flourish in deepest red.106 How regrettable, life is not like these trees;107 at a young girl’s ill fate, tears fill my eyes.108 Lady Kim straightened her countenance, solemnly moistened her brush, and chided the previous poems for being licentious and excessive, saying, “The events that took place today do not necessarily need many words; one should only tell of the scenery and setting. Why then would you unravel your innermost thoughts, thereby losing propriety,109 and transmit your coarse yearnings to a human?” Eventually, with a clear voice, she recited her poem, which went as follows:



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A cuckoo’s110 cry carried on the winds of the fifth watch; waning and fading, the Milky Way is already revolving in the east. Do not take the flute of jade, do not play on it a second time;111 the flirtatious expressions,112 I fear the human might understand. Pour exquisite wine113 into golden bowls,114 you should get drunk, and don’t you say that it’s too much. Tomorrow morning the spring wind whirling across the ground will be hateful;115 a scene of spring, and what to do about the dream? Green silken sleeves droop down languidly;116 to the sound of strings and pipes, wine in a hundred goblets. Pure excitement is not yet exhausted, thus returning is not yet possible; again,117 new words will make a new song. How many years have dust and filth clotted118 her cloudlike hair? But today she has met her man, and for once has loosened her face.119 Yet in no case should one take the matters of Gaotang’s spiritual realm120 and have them fall as elegant gossip121 into the world of the living. Lady Yu had put on light make-up and wore plain white clothes.122 Although she was not extremely gorgeous, there was consistency in her exemplary manners. She had remained silent, but now smiled faintly and wrote her poem, which went as follows: Firmly guarding the noble chastity, I spent how many years? Fragrant soul and jade bones123 hidden away in the Deep Springs.124 In spring nights, with the Goddess of the Moon125 as my companion, by the cassia tree’s126 heaps of blossoms, I loved sleeping alone. And I laugh, as blossoms of peach and plum in the eastern wind whirl and whirl in tens of thousands of dots, then fall down upon the people’s houses.127 In life, do not take the bluebottles’ specs [of excrement]128 and mistakenly consider them a flaw in the jade of Mount Kun.129 Rouge and powder held languidly between the fingers,130 my head like [the flying pappus of the] artemisia;131

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dust covers the perfume case, a greenish [patina] sprouts on the bronze [mirror]. This morning, happy to take part in a neighboring house’s feast, but embarrassed I am to see the cockscomb [in her hair], which is of such peerless red.132 The young lady,133 today she has taken the white-faced youth as her partner;134 heaven decided their karmic affinity; their long-awaited meeting135 is fragrant. The Old Man in the Moon136 has already transmitted the red thread of conjugal harmony; from today on you shall treat one another like [Lian] Hong and [Meng] Guang.137 The girl, deeply moved by the words of Lady Yu’s last piece, rose from her seat, saying, “Since I also possess some basic knowledge of the characters’ strokes, how could I alone remain silent?” She then wrote a new-style poem of regulated verse with seven words per line and four rhymes, which went as follows: In Kaenyŏng Valley I embraced spring longings; flowers fell and flowers bloomed, I felt a hundred griefs.138 I neither saw you amid the clouds in [Wu] Gorge during times of Chu,139 nor under the bamboo of the River Xiang as tears filled my eyes.140 In the clear river, as the sun warms, mandarin ducks unite; in the deep blue skies, as the clouds melt, kingfishers sojourn.141 I love that our joined hearts were tied together, but do not let the thin silken fan resent the pure autumn.142 Scholar Yang, too, was capable of writing. When he saw that her poetic diction was pure and excellent, that her rhymes and rhythms sounded [as clear] as clinging jade, he incessantly sighed in admiration. Then, on the spot, he swiftly wrote an old-style long verse to answer her poem. This evening is what evening, that I see this immortal beauty.143 Her flower-like face, how delicate; her crimson lips like tiny cherries.



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Her poetry144 so skillful and marvelous, Yi’an145 would have been speechless.146 The Weaver Maid has thrown away her loom,147 has descended from the Ford of Heaven;148 the Goddess of the Moon has tossed away her pestle, has left the Clear Capital. Pretty dresses illuminate this feast on tortoise-shell mats,149 winged cups150 cross one another in flight, the pure banquet is cheerful. [We enjoyed the pleasures of] enmeshed rain and entangled clouds, though we were not used to them yet;151 shallow ladling and low singing, mutually delightful. Overjoyed that I erroneously entered Penglai Island and faced this realm of immortals with its elegant disciples. Jade-like liquors152 fill precious carafes to the brim, ambergris vapors spew forth in fine mists from a gold lion censer.153 In front of the bed of white jade, incense ashes fly; a gentle breeze arouses waves154 on the green silk curtain155 by the kitchen. The genuine one met me, we joined and sipped from the same cup156 as colored clouds piled up slowly, encircling and enveloping one another. Have you not seen how Wen Xiao met Cailuan,157 or how Zhang Shuo encountered Du Lan[xiang]?158 In our lives’ union there certainly is karmic affinity, inevitably we must raise the cup and drink together. But my lady, why utter such careless words and say that I would suddenly159 abandon the thin silken fan in the winds of autumn? World for world and life for life160 we will be husband and wife, and linger together before the flowers and under the moon. When the wine was emptied and they had to bid each other farewell, the girl brought forth a silver bowl, which she gave to Scholar Yang as a present, saying, “Tomorrow, my parents will prepare food for me at Poryŏn Temple.161 If you haven’t abandoned me by then, I ask you to wait162 upon the road so that together we can return to the temple and present ourselves before my parents. How about it?” “Agreed,” Scholar Yang replied. [The following day,] Scholar Yang did as he had been told and, holding the bowl, waited upon the road. Then, indeed, he saw the members of a

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noble family who were on their way to make offerings for the well-being of their daughter’s soul on the anniversary of her death. Rows of chariots and horses filled the road as they walked up Poryŏn.163 When they glanced over to the side of the road, there was a scholar who stood holding a bowl. One of the attendants exclaimed, “The object buried alongside the young lady, someone has already stolen it!” “What’s that?” said his master. “It’s the bowl that the scholar over there is holding!” cried the attendant. Eventually [the attendant] gathered the horses together so that [his master] could inquire [about the bowl], and Scholar Yang answered by telling him how [he and the girl] had made an appointment [the day] before.164 Her parents were moved and astounded, and after quite some time [her father] said, “We only had a single daughter. At the time when the marauders and thieves brought destruction and chaos upon us, she died amid shields and spears. We could not give her a proper burial, and thus we [provisionally] laid her to rest in the valley by Kaenyŏng Temple.165 Still to this day we have not held a funeral in accordance with the old customs and rites. And since today the anniversary of our daughter’s death has arrived, we will temporarily hold a ceremonial banquet [at the monastery] and make offerings to escort our daughter on the road to the dark realms. Sir, do as you have promised. I ask you to wait for our daughter, to come together with her, and I wish that you not be astonished.” Having said this, he rode ahead. Scholar Yang stood around for a long time waiting. When the time came, there indeed was a girl following her maid. Her hips swaying gracefully, she came toward him; she was [none other than] his girl. Both were overjoyed. [They] took each other’s hands and went back [in the direction of Poryŏn Temple]. The girl entered through the temple gates, bowed in obeisance before the Buddha, and threw herself behind a white curtain.166 Her family and the monks of the temple were all in disbelief;167 Scholar Yang alone could see her. Then the girl addressed Scholar Yang: “We should all have some tea and food together.” Scholar Yang passed her words onto her parents. To test [whether their daughter was really there with them,] her parents eventually ordered that they should eat together. [And although they could not see her,] they did hear the clicking sounds of spoon and chopsticks, which were exactly like those a human being would make.168 At that, her parents sighed in bewilderment, and eventually they urged Scholar Yang to spend the night beside [her dead body] behind the [white] curtain. In the middle of the night there was the tinkling sound of words being



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spoken, but just when the people169 wanted to carefully listen in on what was being said, [the voices] abruptly stopped. Her words had been as follows: “My violation of the rules,170 I am too aware of it. When I was young, I read the Shi[ jing] and the Shu[ jing] and thus I do possess some rough knowledge of ritual behavior and proper conduct. It is not that I was not well acquainted with the possible embarrassment described in “Qianchang”171 or the possible shame described in “Xiangshu.”172 For a long time, however, I dwelled amid weeds and brambles, abandoned out in the wild, and once the feelings of passionate desire arose I was ultimately unable to keep them at bay. Some time ago, when I prayed for blessings at the Buddhist monastery173 and burned174 incense in the main prayer hall, I could not help but sigh on account of my entire life’s ill-fatedness. Suddenly I met the karmic affinity of the three times,175 and I wished to use your thorn hairpin to do up my hair,176 offer you my highest integrity for a hundred years, make wine for you, mend your clothes, and cultivate the way of the wife for my entire life.177 It grieves me, but I cannot avoid [my] karma, and the dark realms178 are a certainty for me. Joy and delight have not yet been completely exhausted, but a sorrowful parting will arrive most suddenly. Now, walking on lotus flowers, [the ghostly women] must reenter the folding screen,179 A Xiang must turn the chariot around,180 clouds and rain must clear above the Sunlit Terrace,181 crows and magpies must fly apart in the Ford of Heaven.182 From here forward we must part, and a later meeting is difficult to promise. To have to bid you farewell fills me with such chilling fear, I do not know how to put it into words.” When sending off the soul, the wailing was endless. Having arrived beyond the gates, only the faintest of sounds remained: “There is a limit to the dark destiny; woeful it is, but we must part. Wish that my husband and I may not drift too far apart. Sad, sad, my parents did not find me a mate.183 Yet in the distant, distant Nine Springs, our hearts will be bound together.” The remaining sounds gradually grew weaker and weaker until they were indistinguishable from choked sobs. Her parents already knew that she had been real and refrained from asking any further doubting questions. Scholar Yang also knew that she had turned into a ghost and felt even more pained at heart than before. He and her parents then put their heads together and cried bitterly until they said to him, “You shall use the silver bowl that was given to you. As our only daughter, she had a few acres of farmland and a number of people, [slaves and servants]. You ought to [take care of these and] consider them a sign of our faith. Do not forget our daughter!” The next day, Scholar Yang prepared a sacrificial animal and a pair of wine vessels [and set out] to find traces of what had happened in the past.

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And indeed, there was a place where someone had once been provisionally buried. Scholar Yang prepared the sacrificial offerings, mourned her, burning strings of paper money in front [of her grave].184 Eventually, he held the funeral there and composed a sacrificial essay to mourn her.185 It went as follows: Numinous one! From birth so warm and beautiful, when growing up so pure and unspoiled.186 Your appearance equal to that of Xi Shi,187 your poems and rhapsodies greater than those of [Zhu] Shuzhen.188 You did not come forth from inside the fragrant bedchamber and always listened to your father’s teachings.189 You encountered chaos and separation, but your jade remained intact;190 you met marauders and thieves, but your pearl sank.191 Left amid weeds and brambles, you dwelled there alone, facing the flowers and the moon, and it pained your heart. Heartbroken in the winds of spring,192 sorrowful over [being in a far-off region where] the cuckoo cries [till it coughs up] blood;193 torn in the frost of autumn, you sighed over the silken fan’s lack of karmic affinity. Back then, we met one night free of conventions,194 and our hearts’ skeins intertwined. Although we knew that darkness and light195 are separated from one another, we truly exhausted the shared pleasures of fish and water.196 We spoke of a hundred years to grow old together, but why must I mourn you overnight? [Now you are] the beauty that harnesses Luan birds inside the moon cave, the lady who drives the rain above Mount Wu. The earth is dark and there is no way back; heaven is distant and so difficult to look at. Stepping in, there is nothing to say, for all is obscure and vague;197 stepping out, there is nowhere to go, for all is vast and boundless. When facing the numinous curtain [covering your coffin] I hid my tears; [now that] I pour out purest wine, the pain only grows greater.198 Feel the mystic darkness of your voice and face, miss the tinkling sound of your speech. Oho,199 how sad! Your nature was comprehensive and wise, your qi delicate and complete. Your three souls have scattered [in death], yet your one numinousness, how could it be lost? Certainly it will descend near from above and step up into the courtyard, and perhaps your vapors and odors200 will be by my side. Though there is otherness in death and life, may there be stimulation in this composition.

Scholar Yang was thereafter completely overwhelmed by his emotions and his sadness. He sold the farmland and the house201 and continued to make offerings two or three times more. One night,202 the girl called out to him from midair, saying, “As you have made offerings on my behalf, I have already been reborn in another country



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as a man. Although there is separation between darkness and light,203 I feel deep gratitude and admiration for you. You managed to restore and purify [my] karma,204 and we both will be freed from saṃsāra, the flow of cyclic existence.”205 Hereafter, Scholar Yang did not marry again but rather entered the Chiri Mountains,206 where he picked herbs. Nothing is known of his end.207

CHAPTER 3

Biography of Scholar Yi Who Peered over the Wall (Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn)

In Songdo there was a man named Scholar Yi who lived next to Camel Bridge.1 At eighteen years old, his bearing was elegant, both pure and advanced, and his heavenly endowed gifts2 were outstanding and refined. Whenever he was on his way to the National Academy3 he read poetry4 by the roadside. In Sŏnjuk Village5 there lived an unmarried girl from the well-known Ch’oe family. She might have been fifteen or sixteen years of age. Her manner was splendid and lovely, she was skilled in embroidery and well versed in poetry and rhapsodies. Hence the world praised them thus: “Elegant the son of the Yi Family, lovely6 the young lady of the house of Ch’oe. If talent and beauty were edible, [a person] could satiate his starving stomach.”7 Every time Scholar Yi, books tucked under his arm, went to school, he passed by the house of the Ch’oe family. Outside the northern wall [of the estate] stood a circle of several dozen drooping willows, swaying in the wind. Scholar Yi used to rest underneath them. One day, he peered over the wall toward the interior [of the garden and caught sight of] precious flowers in full bloom as well as bees and birds buzzing and chirping. There was a small tower to one side, set off against flowering shrubs. A beaded curtain was half rolled up and a gauze curtain hung low. Right there was a beautiful girl. Tired of embroidering, she had halted the needle, rested her chin in her palms, and intoned the following poem: Alone I lean against the gauze window, embroidering is slow;8 amidst a hundred flowering shrubs, a twittering yellow oriole. For no reason I am secretly knotted up, and spring winds9 are resentful; wordlessly I halt my needle, for there is something on my mind.

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Upon the road, to which house might that pale-faced youth10 belong? His blue collar and great girdle11 set off against the drooping willows.12 What can I do to turn into a swallow [flying in and out] of the hall, which lowly grazes the [bottom of the] beaded curtain and darts over the wall? Upon hearing this, Scholar Yi could not help being eager to display his own ability [in verse-making], but the gates were high and towering and the garden door deep and distant, so the only thing he could do was walk away discontented. When he returned, he carried a white sheet of paper on which he had written a poem of three stanzas. This he wrapped around a piece of rubble and threw it [over the wall]. It went as follows: On Mount Wu’s twelve [peaks], fog [banks] rolling in heavily,13 half revealing the pointed peaks, purple and kingfisher blue piling up [against them]. How afflicting, in King Xiang’s dream on a solitary pillow they readily turned into cloud and rain and dwelled beneath the Sunlit Terrace.14 When [Sima] Xiangru wanted to entice Zhuo Wenjun,15 the manifold feelings were already complete.16 Red powder atop the wall, [the blossoms of] peach and plum wondrously beautiful; they follow the winds, but where do they fall so dizzyingly?17 Will there be favorable consequences, unfavorable consequences?18 Emptily holding an anxious heart—a day seems like a year. With twenty-eight characters19 marriage vows already achieved, on which day will I meet the divine immortal on the Blue Bridge? Miss Ch’oe ordered her maidservant20 Hyanga to go and have a look at [the piece of rubble], and there was Scholar Yi’s poem. [Miss Ch’oe] unfolded [the sheet of paper] and read [the poem] two or three times. Her heart rejoiced in it. She then likewise wrote eight characters on a bamboo slip and threw it [back over the wall].21 It said, “Sir, have no doubt. Consider dusk the time.”22 Scholar Yi did as her words told him23 and set off under favor of dusk. Suddenly he saw the branch of a blossoming peach [tree] reaching over the wall, trembling [as it] swayed back and forth.24 When he stepped closer to take a look at it, he saw that there was a litter—woolen ropes tied to a

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bamboo chair—hanging down [from the branch]. Scholar Yi grabbed the ropes, pulled himself up, and climbed over the wall.25 Just at this moment the moon rose behind the eastern mountains and the flowers cast shadows on the ground. How lovely were their pure fragrances! Scholar Yi believed he had already entered the immortals’ realm. Yet in his heart, though there was clandestine joy, he felt the secrecy of the stealthy affair and his hair stood on end.26 He let his gaze wander left and right. The girl was already amidst the bushes of flowers, from which, together with Hyanga, she plucked some to put in her hair. [The girl and her servant] had spread out woolen blankets in a secluded spot [of the garden]. Catching sight of Scholar Yi [the girl] smiled. [She] formulated two lines and, taking the lead, sang them: On the boughs of peach and plum [trees], flowers bloom abundantly, on pillows designed with mandarin ducks27 the moonlight is graceful. Scholar Yi continued the verse and intoned the following: If the tidings of spring28 should be disclosed another time, the heartlessness of wind and rain29 too can make us miserable. Hereupon all color vanished from the girl’s face as she said, “Originally I wanted to be together with you, look after you with dustpan and broom for the rest of my life, and eternally30 be bound to you in happiness and harmony. But why would you say something like that?31 Although I am a woman, my heart and will are at ease. You have the bold spirit of a great man, yet you still allow yourself to use such words? Should the events from within the bedroom be disclosed on another day, my parents will put the blame on me.32 But with my body I will bear it.33 Hyanga! Go inside the room and get wine and fruit and bring them forth!”34 The child did as she was told and went off. It was quiet and still all around and there was no human sound far and wide.35 “What kind of a place is this here?” Scholar Yi asked. “This, here, is a spot below a small tower in the northern part of the garden. As I am my parents’ only daughter, the affection they have for me is deep, and they had this tower specially built by the banks of the lotus pond. When spring comes and precious flowers are in full bloom, they want to induce me to take my child servant and leisurely stroll around here. My family’s living quarters and their bedchambers lie deep and distant. Thus, even though we might laugh and talk clamorously, they will still36 not be able to hear us right off,” she replied.



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The girl poured a cup of brownish, foamy rice wine [and offered it to Scholar Yi]. Then she formulated a poem in the style of the ancient airs, which went as follows: Over the curved balustrade,37 bending down over the lotus pond; on the pond, amid the heaps of flowers, people speak to one another. Fragrant mists fall in clouds, spring is mild; produce new words, sing [to the tune of] the “White Linen [Song].”38 The moon moves the flowers’ shadows, makes them move to the woolen blanket; if together we pull on a long branch, it will shower red rain upon us. The wind stirs up pure fragrances, scents permeate our clothes; the daughter of Jia39 [performs the] first steps [of] the dance under the springtime sun.40 Silken sleeves lightly brush a branch of wild roses, startled, arises a parrot that had been resting among the flowers. Scholar Yi immediately responded: Accidentally I entered Taoyuan,41 where flowers bloom in the ­brightest colors; the manifold feelings, I cannot put them into words.42 Kingfisher-blue hair braided twice, a golden hairpin placed low, the splendid spring jacket is made of green linen. The eastern wind first splits open pairs of lotus flowers; do not let the flourishing branches tremble in wind and rain. Fluttering, fluttering are the immortal’s sleeves, shadows trip and sway,43 amid the cassia tree’s shadows the Goddess of the Moon44 is dancing. Excellent matters have not yet ended, but sorrow will certainly follow; do not write new words and teach them to the parrot. When his recital ended, the girl said to Scholar Yi, “Today’s events necessarily are not the result of trivial karmic affinities. Sir, you should follow me now so45 that we may finally express our true feelings to one another.” With these words the girl entered [the tower] through the northern window. Scholar Yi followed her. The tower’s staircase was inside the room. It was a greenish staircase. He ascended, and indeed, there was an attic. The studio and the desk were extremely neat and tidy. On one wall hung the Painting of Misty Rivers and

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Layered Peaks (Yŏn’gang ch’ŏpchang to),46 as well as the Painting of Dark Bamboo Groves and Ancient Trees (Yuhwang komok to),47 both famous masterworks. Poems had been written at the upper margin [of the scrolls], but it was impossible to know who had created them. The first one48 read, The tip of whose brush contained such surplus strength as to repaint a mountain of a thousand layers in the heart of this river? Majestic! [Mount] Fangfu, thirty thousand fathoms49 high, half rising from fog and clouds in the hazy distance. Seen from afar it appears tiny and vague, a few hundred miles away, seen from up close it looms precipitously [like] a blue turban shell. Gray waves, boundless and bare, floating toward a distant void; at sundown, gazing into the distance, sorrowfully [thinking] of my home region.50 Facing this makes a man’s spirit grow bleak and dismal, as if adrift [in a boat] in a wind-swept, rainy bend of the Xiang River. The second one read, Mournful soughing winds in dark bamboo groves—as if there were voices; ancient trees, rising aloft—as if there were feelings.51 Mazy roots, gnarled and bent, all covered with moss; old trunks, withered and crooked, beaten by wind and thunder. Inside the chest, creation’s cave naturally exists by itself; how could I ever tell others of that marvelous place? Wei Yen52 and Yuke53 have already turned into ghosts; divulge the mechanism of heaven, but how many could fathom it? By the clear window, rapt in thought, serenely facing [the painting], love to look at that illusionary ink—the spirit fixed and undisturbed.54 One wall was covered with paintings depicting the scenery of the four seasons, each with a poem of four stanzas. Again, it was impossible to know who had created them. The calligraphic style resembled that of Songxue,55 the characters’ forms perfect in their exquisite fineness and subtle beauty.56 The poem on the first scroll read, Warmth under a lotus-pattern canopy,57 fragrances like threads; outside the window, falling in clouds, the red rain of the apricot [blossoms].



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Atop the tower a shattered dream to the bell of the fifth watch;58 a shrike calls out on a magnolia slope.59 Swallows grow with each day that passes, the bedroom lies deep; laziness comes and wordlessly I rest the golden needle.60 Beneath the flowers, butterflies flit about in pairs, Quarreling, they chase61 falling blossoms into the garden’s shade. A light chill softly passes through my green silken skirt, emptily I face the springtime winds, concealing a broken heart. Gazing tenderly—this feeling, who can reckon it? Amid heaps of hundreds of flowers are dancing mandarin ducks. Springtime’s beauty is deeply treasured at Miss Huang Four’s home;62 deep red and light green shimmer against the window silk. In one garden’s sweet-smelling grasses the springtime heart is embittered; lightly lifting the beaded curtain, I see falling blossoms. The poem on the second scroll read, Small ears of wheat begin to shoot, baby swallows slant in flight; in the southern garden the pomegranate trees bloom far and wide. A silk worker by the green window and the sound of scissors; planning to make a red skirt, she cuts through purple wisps. In the season of yellow plums, beaded curtains of rain are fine; an oriole twitters in the shade of a pagoda tree, a swallow enters through the curtain. And again, ’tis how one year’s scenery ages:63 a bead tree’s blossoms wither and fall, as bamboo shoots sprout anew. Pick up a green apricot to [playfully throw it at and] hit the oriole;64 winds pass by the southern eaves, the sun’s shadows move tardily. Lotus blossoms already fragrant, a pond’s waters covered with them; amid cyan waves in a deep spot there is a bathing cormorant. On the rattan bed and the bamboo mat [I see patterns resembling] ripples of waves, Xiaoxiang painted on a folding screen, and a single wisp of cloud.

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Idleness and laziness I cannot bear, waking from midday dreams, through the half-open window [I see] the slanting sun striving toward the western twilight. The poem on the third scroll read, The autumn wind breezes gently, autumnal dews gather; the autumn moon shines gracefully, autumnal waters cyan. Calling once, calling twice, it’s a wild goose returning; once again I hear [the rustling of] the wutong trees’ leaves by the golden well.65 Underneath the bed, hundreds of insects are chirring and chirping, atop the bed, a beauty’s pearly tears drip down. My lover, ten thousand miles away, has gone on a campaign; tonight, above Yumen [Pass],66 the moon is bright. New clothes I want to tailor, but the scissors are cold;67 softly summon the maid-child, call out [she should bring] the flat iron. In the flat iron the fire has gone out, and no one has noticed; pluck the zither of Qin,68 then again I scratch my head. On the small pond lotus flowers wither, plantains are turning yellow, the mandarin duck tiles coated with new frost.69 Old sorrows, new grief—impossible to restrain; still hear the cricket cry in the deep chamber.70 The poem on the fourth scroll read,71 A single branch of a plum tree casts its shadow across the window; [above] wind-battered western corridors the moon shines brightly. The fire in the brazier has not yet gone out—I stir it with tongs; turning ’round I call out to the girl she should bring another pot of tea. Again and again the leaves of a forest are startled by the midnight frost; a whirling wind swirls72 the snow, blows it into the long corridors. In dreams of longing in an endless night we stay by frozen streams in battlefields of ancient times.



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Filling the window is the red sun,73 as warm as [on a day] in spring; brows furrowed in grief show traces of slumber. A small plum in a bellied jug, cheeks half-exposed; shy and wordless I embroider a pair of mandarin ducks. Cutting, frosty winds howl through northern forests; a hungry crow cries out to the moon, troubling the heart.74 In front of the lamp, thoughts of you bring me to tears, which drip down, soaking the thread and slightly bending the needle. Off to one side there was a separate small room with a curtained mattress covered with blankets and pillows. Here, too, everything was arranged very neatly and beautifully. Outside the curtain smoldered the gland of a musk deer, and orchid oil was burning inside a lamp, its shine as bright as the light of day. [As for] Scholar Yi and the girl, ultimate were their pleasures and joys. In the end, he stayed on for several days. Then he said to her, “The words of the sages are thus: ‘While your parents are alive, [you should not travel far,] and when you do travel you must keep to a fixed itinerary.’75 But76 now three days have already passed since I last made my parents’ bed [in the evening] or inquired about their well-being [in the morning].77 By now, my family must certainly stand by the village gate and watch for me.78 That is not the way of a son!” Though the girl grew sad, she nodded at [what he’d just said]. Letting him climb back over the wall, she sent him on his way. After this, however, not a single night went by that Scholar Yi did not go out [to visit her]. One evening, his father asked Scholar Yi, “To go out in the morning and to return at dusk, one does this in order to learn the maxims of benevolence and righteousness left to us by the former sages. But to go out at dusk and return at dawn, say, what matter would that be about? You certainly act like a frivolous fool, climbing over other people’s walls, breaking their hardwood.79 Should your actions become as transparent as dew, everyone will call me to account for not having raised my son strictly enough! Also, this girl, should she be of noble descent, your craziness and cunning will necessarily besmirch and soil her family’s reputation, so that you will call her relatives’ wrath upon yourself. This surely is no tiny matter! Hence, you will leave for Yŏngnam immediately.80 Take some servants with you and supervise the farm work there. And don’t you dare come back again!” Thus, the following day he was sent into exile to Ulchu.81 Every night the girl waited for him in her flower garden. Several months passed, but Scholar Yi did not return. The girl thought that he had fallen ill

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and ordered Hyanga to secretly ask around in Scholar Yi’s neighborhood. One of the neighbors said that “Young Yi82 was accused of a crime by his own father and had to go to Yŏngnam, but that was already several months ago!” When the girl heard this she fell ill and lay in bed, where she tossed and turned, unable to rise. She let neither water nor broth enter her mouth; her speech was incoherent and her flesh and skin were thin and haggard. Her parents thought this strange and questioned her about the symptoms of her disease, but she remained silent. When they then rummaged through her writing casket they found the poems Scholar Yi had recited in response on a day in the past. Surprised and startled, they hit their limbs, proclaiming, “We almost lost our daughter!”83 [Hereupon] they asked her, “Who is this Scholar Yi?”84 As it had come this far, the girl could no longer hide it from them. With a low voice that almost got stuck in her throat, she spoke to her parents. Dear Father, dear Mother, you fed me, reared me, and deep is the kindness you have granted me. I cannot conceal it any further. I personally consider the feeling between man and woman as the weightiest human emotion. “Plop fall the plums. Come while it is lucky!”85 Thus it is sung in “Zhounan.” “Reciprocity is in the calf of the leg, which means misfortune.”86 Thus it is advised in the Xi Yi.87 My body is weak and bent like a willow tree, for I did not think of the poem that tells of the mulberry tree shedding [its leaves].88 Dew on the path89 has drenched my clothes,90 and now I will be exposed to the contemptuous sneers of the people next to me. Mistletoe and dodder cling to trees,91 but I have already acted like an easy girl,92 committed abundant sins, and brought shame upon our house. Yet once this mad boy93 had stolen Jia’s perfume,94 he left me and I bore a thousand grudges against him, [which were like Fu Liqing’s] grudge against [Scholar] Qiao.95 With my feeble, gaunt body I wanted to hold out in a lonely place of silent sorrows, but day by day my emotions and thoughts have grown deeper, day by day my wasting illness has grown graver. I am approaching the realm of the dead and have almost turned into an exhausted, needy ghost. My dear parents, if you were to follow my wishes you would eventually save what is left of my life. But should you disapprove of our amorous relationship, I will have to plunge into death, and that would be all. I would rather sojourn down in the underworld together with Scholar Yi, for I swear I will not be married into a different house!96

Once her parents knew her intentions they refrained from asking her further about her illness. Yet urging and encouraging, they managed to soothe her



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heart. Then, in accordance with the rites of a go-between, [they commissioned a matchmaker,] who was to inquire at Scholar Yi’s house. After Mister Yi had asked whether the house of Ch’oe was of noble or low descent, he spoke: “My boy97 may well be young and fickle, but his learning is thorough and his appearance is like that of a man. What I hope for is that one day he may become principal graduate,98 so that the phoenix may sing some years from now.99 I do not wish to seek a spouse for him too quickly.” [And so] the matchmaker went back with these words and reported them. Ch’oe sent the matchmaker back again to deliver the following message: “One time, my friends and acquaintances all praised your esteemed son as a distinguished person of brilliant talent. Though for now he might still be coiled and bent, why should he be just a creature in a pool?100 It would be appropriate to quickly determine an auspicious morning for the excellent gathering101 in order to unite in amity our two [families of different] surnames!” The matchmaker went back again with these words to report them to Scholar Yi’s father, who said, “I, too, picked up the books and exhausted the Classics from a young age, but now I am old and have achieved nothing. My servants have run off, my family is of little help, my life is tough, and I can barely scrape by. Why would a noble family of such great descent take up one poor Confucian scholar and even entertain the idea of making him a son-in-law? This necessarily must be the work of some busybody who over-praised my family to deceive your high house!” [And so] the matchmaker again reported [the father’s response] to the [master of the] Ch’oe family, who said, “I will take care of all the rites of betrothal presents and all matters concerning drinks and gowns. Please select an auspicious day and determine at which time the wedding candles shall be lit.” And again the matchmaker went back to report [the girl’s father’s response]. As it had come this far, Scholar Yi’s father gradually changed his mind.102 Thus, he eventually sent someone out to summon Scholar Yi so that he could ask him about it.103 Scholar Yi, beside himself with joy, thereupon wrote a poem, which read as follows: There is a time for the shattered mirror to be made round and whole again; in the Ford of Heaven, crows and magpies will aid the fulfillment of our beautiful vows. From now on the Old Man in the Moon will tie a [red] cord; do not complain to the eastern wind about the cuckoo.104 After Miss Ch’oe heard this, her illness gradually improved. She then likewise wrote a poem, which read as follows:

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Unfavorable consequences are favorable consequences,105 the words of our vows to be fulfilled at last. On which day will we pull the barrow together?106 You beauties, help me rise, put my flowery headdress back in place.107 Thereupon a propitious day was chosen and at long last a wedding ceremony was arranged. It was here where the strings [of their love] were mended. After they had shared the wedding banquet, they loved each other as husband and wife, respected one another, and mutually treated each other like high guests. Even Meng Guang or Bao Xuan could not be said to have surpassed them in loyalty and righteousness. The following year Scholar Yi passed the civil service examinations. He ascended to high office and his good reputation was even heard of at court. In the year sinch’uk [1361], when the Red Turbans occupied the capital [Kaesŏng],108 the king fled to Pokchu.109 The enemy burned and destroyed houses and huts, slaughtered and gorged on both humans and cattle. Neither husbands and wives nor entire families were capable of protecting one another. Some fled to the east while others hid in the west. Everyone only wanted to save his or her own life. Scholar Yi dragged his family out to hide them by some remote cliff, but there was one enemy who drew his sword and made after them. Scholar Yi ran as fast as he could and managed to shake off [the pursuer], but his wife was captured by the enemy. When [the enemy pursuer] wanted to force himself on her, she scolded him roundly, screaming, “You evil ghost of a tiger,110 just kill me and feed me [to the beasts]! Gladly I will die and perish inside the bellies of jackals and wolves, for how could I ever be the mate of a dog, a swine like you?” The enemy became enraged and killed and dismembered her.111 Scholar Yi ran away into the wilderness and barely managed to save the little that was left of his lean body. When he heard that the enemy forces were already in full retreat, he eventually set out to find his parents’ old home, but their house had already been burned to the ground by the soldiers’ fires. He then reached the house of his wife’s [family], but here the corridors were overgrown and deserted and rats squeaked and birds twittered.112 His grief beyond control, he ascended the small tower,113 where he wiped away his tears and heaved long sighs. Nightfall came unnoticed while he sat there alone like a lump of earth. Now that he thought of [those former days] when he had sojourned [here with Miss Ch’oe], it all seemed to him but a single dream.114 At around the time of the second watch, when the moonlight wanly illuminated the room and the beams, he heard the sound of footsteps from the corridor below, first from afar but coming closer.



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When they reached him, [he turned around and saw] none other than Miss Ch’oe.115 Although Scholar Yi knew that she had died, he still loved her deeply, and thus he neither doubted [her existence] nor was he surprised [by their sudden encounter]. “Whereto did you escape to preserve your life?” he hurriedly asked her. His wife took him by the hands, wailed in deepest despair116 and finally poured out her heart to him. I was originally of good descent and from an early age followed my father’s teachings. I became skilled at embroidery and sewing and studied the methods of benevolence and righteousness contained in the Shi[ jing] and the Shu[ jing]. I was familiar only with the rules of the bedroom. How could I have understood the cultivations outside its boundaries? But when you peered over the wall [covered with] the red [blossoms of the] apricot tree, I freely offered you the pearl of the cyan ocean. One smile in front of the flowers and our favors were tied for an entire lifetime. Our repeated encounters within the silken curtains were more intimate than [what others could ever experience] in a hundred years. Now that I speak of this, how could I bear my sadness, my shame? [I] thought that we would grow old together and that we would return back home. How should I have guessed that I would die such a violent death, that I would be rolled into a ditch? In the end, however, I did not give my body away to that jackal, that tiger. [Instead I] suffered of my own accord the carving up of my flesh in mud and sand.117 It was certainly the state of the heaven-endowed nature as it is, but it was nothing that one could ever endure with human emotions! How regrettable. For once we had been separated by those remote cliffs, I finally became a bird, flying separately from its companion. Our house was destroyed, my parents had passed away, and my wounded, weary soul had nothing to lean on. Yet righteousness is heavy and life is light. Fortunately, my ruined body escaped disgrace. Who will take pity on my shattered, ashen heart? Only my butchered, rotting intestines are still tied up, as my bones were scattered in the open fields and my liver and gallbladder were strewn all over the ground. Musing calmly over it now, I think that the joys and pleasures of bygone times turned into the grief and injustice of that day. But now, the tune of Zou Yan’s pipes already resounds in a dark valley, and Qiannü has returned to the realm of light.118 The pledge to meet on Mount Penglai for twelve years has been firmly made; on the Continent of Concentrated Grottos119 the sweet fragrances of the three lives rise. After having again been separated from one another for so long,120 let us this

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Overjoyed122 and deeply moved, Scholar Yi exclaimed, “Certainly, this is what I have wished for all along!” Thus, they shared their heartfelt feelings and gave expression to their emotions. When their conversation touched on whether the family fortune had fallen into the hands of thieves and looters, whether it was still there or not, the girl said, “Not a single part of it has been lost, for I buried it by some mountain in some valley.” Again, Scholar Yi asked, “The remains of both our parents, where are they?” “They were scattered and thrown away someplace,” the girl replied. After the revelation of their feelings was finished, they shared the bed, and their ultimate joys were just as they had been in the past. The following day, she set out together with Scholar Yi to find the place where the [family fortune] lay buried, and indeed they obtained some ingots of gold and silver as well as various precious things. They managed, moreover, to gather the remains of both their parents. They traded the gold and sold the precious [things] to build adjoining graves at the foot of Mount Ogwan.123 They raised mounds and planted trees, presented sacrifices and made offerings. It was all completely in accordance with the rites. Hereafter Scholar Yi did not seek office, [instead] only lived with Miss Ch’oe. The servants who had fled to save their lives returned and stayed on their own accord. Scholar Yi subsequently grew weary of the affairs of the world, and even when family members or other guests [visited him on certain ceremonial occasions] to congratulate him or express their condolences, he latched the door and did not step outside. Always he was with Miss Ch’oe. Sometimes pouring each other wine, sometimes exchanging poetry, they lived in conjugal harmony. And the years passed by quickly. One evening, [the girl] said to Scholar Yi, “Thrice now we have encountered sweet times. But the affairs of the world are getting out of joint. So although joy and delight have not yet been fulfilled, a sad parting will now arrive most suddenly.” Eventually she sobbed bitterly. “But for what reason has it come to this?” Scholar Yi asked, startled. The girl replied, “It is impossible to hide from my fate in the dark realms. The Heavenly Emperor, believing that the relationship from our previous lifetime had not yet been severed and that there was also no hindrance caused by any harmful behavior of mine,124 transformed my body and lent me a human form in order for me to temporarily ease your griev-



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ing heart. Yet I may not linger in the human world any longer lest I bewilder the living.”125 She ordered her child maid to bring wine, whereupon she sang one stanza [of a poem] to the tune of “Jade Tower Spring” (“Ongnu ch’un”)126 by way of a toast to Scholar Yi. She sang, Shields and spears as far as the eye can see, where we were torn apart127 jade burst and petals flew128 as a mandarin duck lost its partner. My remains still lying scattered, who will bury them at last? Bloody and filthy the wandering soul, no one it could talk to. In Gaotang, the girl of Mount Wu once more descended, but as the shattered mirror cracks again, my heart is in agony. If now we bid each other farewell, we will be so far apart, for between heaven and humans correspondence is blocked. Each time she sang a line she swallowed numerous tears, so much so that she almost could not finish [her poem].129 Scholar Yi, too, could hardly bear his sadness when he said, I would rather enter the Nine Springs together with you, for how could I live the rest of my life in such dismal loneliness? Not long ago, after the hurtful turmoil, our family members and servants each fled in chaos, and the remains of our deceased parents lay scattered in the open fields. If not you, who would have been capable of making offerings and burying them properly? The ancients said, “When your parents are alive, serve them in accordance with the rites; when they pass away, bury them in accordance with the rites.”130 This [maxim] exists in total in the supreme filial piety of your heavenly nature and the sincere magnanimity of your human feelings. My heartfelt gratitude is endless, but how can I bear my shame?131 I wish that you would stay much longer in the human world and that a hundred years from now we may together turn to dust and earth.

She replied, “There are still several ji132 left in the lifespan that has been granted you, Master Yi. But since my name is already listed in the Ghost Records,133 I cannot live a long life. If I was too strongly attached to a human, I would violate the regulations [of the netherworld]. I would not only bring hardship upon myself but involve you in trouble as well. Now only my remaining bones are still lying scattered someplace. If you are merciful to me, please do not let them be exposed to wind and sun!” They looked at each other, tears streaming down their faces. “Master

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Yi, please take good care of yourself.”134 Her words ceased, and she vanished slowly until not a single trace remained of her.135 Scholar Yi gathered her bones and laid them to rest next to the grave of her parents. After the funeral, Scholar Yi remembered her with such longing that he fell ill and died within a few months. Among those who heard their story there were none who did not sigh in sadness and admire their righteousness.

CHAPTER 4

Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion (Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki)

P’yŏngyang was once the capital of Old Chosŏn.1 After King Wu of Zhou had defeated the Shang,2 he called on Kija,3 who informed him about the laws of the “Great Plan with Its Nine Divisions” (“Hongfan jiuchou”).4 King Wu then enfeoffed him with this territory and did not make him his subject.5 Among the places in P’yŏngyang renowned for their scenic beauty are Mount Kŭmsu,6 Ponghwang Terrace,7 Nŭngna Island,8 Kirin Cave,9 Choch’ŏn Rock,10 and Ch’unam Hill.11 All are historical sites; Yŏngmyŏng Temple12 and Pubyŏk Pavilion13 also belong to [this group]. Yŏngmyŏng Temple is where King Tongmyŏng’s Kuje palace used to be,14 and it is located twenty miles outside the city walls in a northeastern direction. Looking down from there you can see the long river, and gazing into the far distance you can see level plains; the view is limitless. It really is a spot of marvelous scenic beauty. At sundown, the colorfully painted pleasure boats and merchant vessels are moored by Willow Landing, which lies beyond Taedong Gate.15 Those who rest there necessarily walk upstream and ascend to take a good look around. [They] enjoy [the view and sites] to the utmost and then return. South of the pavilion there are stepladders of refined stone. Those to the left are called Blue Cloud Stepladders, those to the right, White Cloud Stepladders.16 Their names have been engraved in the rock and a splendid pillar has been erected to mark them as points of interest. At the beginning of the reign of Emperor Tianshun [of Ming],17 in Songgyŏng18 there lived a man from a wealthy family named Scholar Hong. He was young and handsome and had an elegant demeanor. He also excelled in literary composition. On the occasion of the mid-autumn full moon festivities, he and his friends brought cloth to exchange for thread19 in Kisŏng.20 When they moored their boat on the dock by the banks, the city’s 103

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renowned courtesans all stepped out through the gates of the fortification wall to make eyes at them. In the city there lived an old friend [of Scholar Hong’s] by the name of Scholar Yi, who prepared a feast in order to set Scholar Hong at ease. Scholar Hong was quite drunk when he returned to his boat. The night was frosty, and he could not fall asleep. Suddenly he remembered Zhang Ji’s poem, “Mooring by Night at Maple Bridge” (“Fengqiao yebo”).21 Barely able to contain his pure excitement, he climbed into a small skiff and, floating in the moonlight, struck the oars and rowed upstream. It was his desire to return only after fully exhausting his excitement. Arriving [at the base of] Pubyŏk Pavilion, he tied the boat rope in the reeds and ascended the stepladder. Then he leaned against the balustrade and, gazing out into the distance, he loudly intoned a poem and clearly whistled a tune. At the time, the light of the moon resembled the sea, and the shimmer of the waves [of the Taedong River] resembled white silk. A wild goose cried out from the sandy riverbank while a crane rose, startled, from a dewy pine.22 It was as sublime as if he had ascended to the pure void23 or the Purple Palace.24 Yet when he turned his gaze back toward the ancient capital, he saw fog enveloping the lime-washed battlements. The waves were beating against the [rocks at the foot of the] lonely city, and Scholar Hong sighed over barley in ear covering the grounds of Yin.25 He then created a poem of six stanzas, which went as follows: Cannot endure intoning, having ascended to a pavilion above the P’ae River;26 sobbing bitterly the river flows, it’s a heartbreaking sound. The ancient capital already void of the qi of dragons and tigers,27 but the weed-covered city appears as if it still has the shape of the phoenix. On the sandy riverbank, in the white light of the moon, a wild goose has lost its way back; fog settles upon a yard’s grasses, beads of dew [flicker like] fireflies. The scenery barren and bleak, human affairs have changed; from inside Cold Mountain Temple I hear the ringing of the bell.28 Autumnal grasses in the emperor’s palace, cold and chill; winding stone stairs enshrouded by clouds, the small trail becoming vague. The place where once stood the courtesans’ chambers now covered in weeds; a waning moon above the parapet, a crow cries out in the night.



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Elegance and glorious matters have turned to dust and filth, the silent, empty city is overgrown with weeds and vines. Only the river’s waves sob as in times of old, and amply they flow toward the sea gate in the west. The waters of the P’ae River more cyan than indigo,29 rise and fall in ancient times; the regret I cannot bear. In the golden well the water has run dry, creeping figs droop down into it; a stone altar moss covered and worn away, concealed by tamarisk and camphor trees. The strange land’s wind and moon in a poem of a thousand stanzas; reminiscences of the ancient capital, half-drunk from wine. The moon is white as I lean against the balustrade, unable to sleep; as night deepens, fragrant cinnamon [leaves] fall in wisps. The light of the moon in mid-autumn is truly beautiful; but one look toward the lonely city, and a sense of frustration comes all at once. In the garden by Kija’s shrine big trees are old,30 on the wall of Tan’gun’s ancestral temple dodder creeps.31 Heroes are silent, where are they now?32 Grass and trees merged and indistinct, how many years have passed? From olden times there remains only the upright moon, it’s pure shine flowing, glittering, illuminating the collar of my robe. As the moon climbs above the eastern mountains, crows and magpies fly; as the night deepens, cold dew covers my clothes. Cultural relics, robes and caps of a thousand years have all vanished; everlasting are mountains and streams, the walled town is not. The sage emperor [Tongmyŏng] was on Choch’ŏn [Rock], but today he will not return;33 idle stories of a fallen world, who will be there to attest to them in the end? The golden carriage and the wondrous horse, gone without a trace; the sedan road overgrown with grass, and a monk walks back on it alone. A garden’s grass in the autumnal cold, withered by jade-like dew; the Blue Cloud Bridge faces the White Cloud Bridge.

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Soldiers of Sui followed sobbing rapids,34 their emperor’s son’s spirit35 transformed into a resentful cicada. The imperial highway36 buried in fog, beautiful sedans have ceased to come;37 by the king’s travel lodge a pine lies fallen, vibrantly sounds the evening bell. Ascended up high and created a rhapsody, but who to share and appre­ciate it with? The moon is white and the wind is pure, my excitement has not yet subsided. When Scholar Hong’s recitation came to an end, he clapped his hands, rose, and danced hesitantly. Every time he had been about to intone a line, he had heaved deep sighs, and although there had not been the joy of a response to his poem by either the beating on the side of a boat or the blowing of a flute, emotionally he was deeply moved. His poem would have sufficed to arouse a submerged dragon to whirl around in cavernous depths and to cause a widow to weep in her lonely boat.38 By the time his recital was over and he wanted to return, the night had already advanced to the third watch. Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps coming toward him from the west. “A monk from the temple must have heard the sound [of me reciting]. He got alarmed, and now he is on his way over here,” Scholar Hong thought to himself and sat down to wait. What he saw instead was a beautiful young woman. Two servant girls followed and waited on her left and right. One held a whisk with a handle made of jade, the other held a folding fan made of finest silk. The woman’s grave deportment and her orderly appearance were that of a maiden from a noble family. Scholar Hong climbed down the stairs and hid himself inside a crevice in the wall to watch what she would do. The woman leaned against the southern balustrade and, sighing softly, gazed up at the moon. There was proper order in her elegance, manner, and dignified attitude. The servant girls held up cloud-brocade cushions and mats and brought them forth, after which the woman changed her expression and took a seat. With a pearly voice she said, “There was someone just here who recited a poem, but where is he now? I am neither a demon of the flowers and the moon39 nor the beauty who walks on lotus flowers.40 Luckily, tonight the firmament spreads out infinitely. The sky is wide and the clouds have gathered, the icy wheel41 is in flight, and the silver stream is shimmering faintly. The cassia tree’s [fragrance] drifted down and the jade tower42 is cold. With a jar of wine and a verse I would like to disclose unrestrainedly my secret feelings, for what else is there to do on such a beautiful night as this?”



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Scholar Hong, both afraid and joyful, hesitated for some time but then let out a little cough. The servant girls went out looking for the place from whence the sound had come. [When they caught sight of him] they said, “Our principal mother cordially invites you.”43 [With that] Scholar Hong stepped forth reverently, prostrated himself, and kneeled. But the woman did not treat him very respectfully but merely said, “You might as well come up here.” Because the servant girls quickly concealed her with a short folding screen, only half of her face looked at the other. “The poem you intoned earlier, what were its words? Say it again for me,” she said casually. Scholar Hong thus recalled the poem one by one in order to recite it by heart, whereupon the beauty smiled and said, “You are someone whom one may speak with about poetry.”44 She ordered her servants to bring forth a round of wine, but the food [served with the wine] was not like that of the human world. When Scholar Hong took a bite it was so hard that he could not eat it. The wine, too, was so bitter that he was unable to drink it. The beauty smiled faintly, saying, “Uncultured scholar, how would you know the white jade liquor or the dried meat of the horned dragon?” And right away she ordered her servants, “You, quickly go to Sinho Monastery,45 beg the monks for a bit of rice, and come back!” (At the temple there are statues of luohan.)46 The children took the order and left. In no time they had secured [the food] and returned, but, then again, it was nothing but rice and there were no side dishes. Again she ordered her servants, “You, go to Wine Rock,47 beg for some food, and come back!” (There is a pond at the foot of the rock; it is the place where a dragon lives.)48 Having received carp and roasted meat, they returned in no time. Scholar Hong ate [this food]. Before he had finished, the beauty, building on his poem in order to match its meaning,49 had already written down a poem on fine paper made from the wood of a cassia tree. She ordered her servants to throw it in front of Scholar Hong. Her poem read as follows: In the eastern pavilion tonight,50 the moon is bright and abundant; such pure conversation, what to do with these anguished feelings? The trees’ colors merged and indistinct, [as if] a green canopy was spread; the river’s currents swelling and surging,51 [as if] a white skirt was pulled. Time suddenly disappears, like birds flying by; worldly affairs often change, like waves flowing by. This night’s reminiscences, who could understand? Sounds of bells and chimes issuing forth from fog-shrouded vines.

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Gazing south from the old city toward where the P’ae River forks, where waters are cyan and sands glitter, a flock of wild geese honks. The wondrous [horse] and wagon do not come, the dragon already gone, the phoenix’s cry has ceased long ago, the earth has turned into a grave. As mists in the mountains want to shower rain, the poem is rounded off; no people in the fields and temples, we are half drunk from the wine. Must bear the sight of the bronze camel buried in thorns and brambles;52 traces of a thousand years have transformed into floating clouds. By the grass roots a sobbing cicada;53 having once ascended to the high pavilion, I think of the distant and remote. Ceasing rain and dispersing clouds, pained by bygone events; falling flowers and flowing waters, moved by bygone times. Waves surging with the qi of autumn, their splashing sounds magnificent; the tower’s [reflection] dips into the heart of the river, the moonlight is cool. This here is the land of cultural achievements of ancient times, but the neglected trees in the deserted city afflict one’s heart. Embroidered silk piles up in front of Embroidered Silk Mountain;54 river maples set off against the old city’s shore. From where comes the pounding noise? In autumn the beating on a laundry stone sounds so weary; and there is the creaking of oars as a fisherman’s skiff returns.55 An old tree rests against a cliff, entangled by creeping fig, a cracked stone tablet lies askew in the grass, all covered in moss. Leaning against the balustrade I am without words, pained by events of the past; the light of the moon and the sound of the waves, all is sad. So many distant stars, dots in the jade capital;56 the silver stream’s clarity fading, but the moon shines clearly. Only now I understand that those good matters were all empty matters;



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hard to foretell whether in another life one can again encounter this life. Let’s get drunk with a jar of the finest wine; like dust in the wind are the three-foot [laws],57 pay them no mind. Heroes of myriad ages have completely turned to dust and filth; the world is void, and what remains after death is no more than a name. How to take such a night, as it is moving toward its end? The wan moon above the parapet is properly round. Although you and I will from now on be separated by two worlds, you have met me, and we indulged in a thousand-days’ joy. In the jade tower by the river, people are about to scatter; on the jade tree in front of the stairs, dew begins to spread. [If you] want to know where we are to meet hereafter; it will be when peaches are ripe on Peng Hill58 and the cyan sea runs dry. Having received the poem, Scholar Hong was pleased, but he feared that now she might return [to where she had come from]. By engaging her in a conversation, he wanted to make her stay, and thus he asked, “May I dare inquire about your family name and genealogy?” The beauty heaved a deep sigh and answered, “I am a descendant of the kings of Yin, a daughter of the Ki family.59 My ancestor [Kija] was indeed enfeoffed with this land. Rites and music as well as the canons of law all complied with the instructions of [King] Tang [of Shang],60 and he taught the people by means of the Eight Rules.61 The magnificence and brilliance of our cultural achievements persisted for more than a thousand years. “One morning, however, the Way of Heaven was hard and difficult.62 Calamities and disaster arrived unexpectedly; my now-deceased father63 suffered defeat at the hands of a commoner,64 and eventually we lost our ancestral temples and altars.65 Wiman took advantage of the situation.66 [He] stole [my father’s] precious position,67 and the reign of [Kija] Chosŏn collapsed! “I stumbled and fell over into a state of utter confusion;68 and since I wanted to protect my chastity, I could do no more than await death. Suddenly there appeared a divine being who soothed me,69 saying, ‘I am the earliest ancestor of this country. After I had taken charge of and ruled the country, I went to an island in the sea and became a transcendent immortal. This was several thousand years ago. Are you able to follow me to the Purple Palace in the mysterious capital,70 roam around freely, and enjoy yourself?’

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“I answered yes. Eventually he led me by the hand and pulled me along until we arrived at where he lived. He built a guest house for me where I could receive him and gave me the medicine of immortality from the mysterious continent.71 Several days after I had taken a dose of it, I suddenly realized that my body had become lighter and my qi stronger, [yet it felt and sounded like] my limbs were being torn off,72 as if my bones were being exchanged in it. Thereafter I strolled around the nine borders73and roamed the six domains.74 Among the grotto heavens and blissful lands,75 as well as the ten continents and three islands, there were none I did not travel and survey. “One day, when the autumnal sky was luminous and bright, the jade mansion clear and shining, and the moonlight resembled water, I looked up to the toad and cassia tree [in the moon]76 and was quite unexpectedly overcome by the desire to go far, far away. Eventually I ascended to the moon cave, entered the residence of broad cold and pure emptiness,77 and prostrated myself in front of the Goddess of the Moon inside the Crystal Palace. She thought me chaste and gentle, able and cultured, and she enticed me, saying, ‘Although the immortals’ realms of the earth below are called “blissful lands,” they are all just dust in the wind. How could there be anything better than to walk in the blue skies and harness white Luan birds, to scoop up pure fragrances by the red cassia tree and enwrap yourself in the cold gleam in the azure heaven, to roam and ramble in the Jade Capital or swim playfully in the silver stream?’ And right away she ordered me to become her altar78 maid, who would accompany her left and right. The happiness I felt cannot be put into words. “But tonight, suddenly, I thought of home. And when I looked back down at the mayfly-like world I caught a glimpse of my old home. Things [such as mountains and streams] were there, but the people [from my age] were not. The bright moon concealed the colors of smoke and dust, and clear dew cleansed the piles of dirt and brushwood.79 So I bid the pure sky farewell and descended slowly to bow low in front of the graves of my ancestors.80 Once more I wanted to stroll to the pavilion above the river in order to unrestrainedly [give myself away to those] reminiscences. “Just then I met you, man of letters. I was pleased on the one hand, but my cheeks reddened on the other. I rested on your lines of jade and dared to use my dull and witless brush. It is not that I dare call it competent [poetic] words; I only did so in order to disclose my feelings.” Scholar Hong bowed twice with his head to the ground, saying, “This lowly scholar is foolish and ignorant. I would gladly wither with the grass and the trees. How could I have ever thought of being with a descendant of kings, a heavenly woman, and how could I have ever dared hope for a poetic exchange [with someone like you]?”81 Scholar Hong then took the paper that



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had been rolled out in front of his seat, and with one look he learned her poem by heart. Again he lowered his head, bowed, and said, The sinful deeds this foolish, ignorant one has already committed are deep and grave, and thus I was unable to chew the food of the immortals. But how lucky I am to have gathered some rough knowledge of the Chinese characters’ strokes, for it helps me understand your cloud ballad at least a little. Truly, this is one strange event! The four beauties are difficult to assemble,82 [but they have been brought together here tonight]. Now I would like to ask you to take the lyrical theme “enjoying the moon in an autumnal night in the riverside pavilion” (kangjŏng ch’uya wanwŏl), write a poem of forty rhymes, and teach it to me.

The beauty nodded at this. [She] wetted her brush, whirled it a single time, [and the words on the silk appeared as if] clouds and haze flowingly entangled one another. After she had let her brush run free, the poem went as follows: The moon is white above the riverside pavilion tonight, jade dew flows in the long void. Pure gleam dips into the Milky Way, vast qi covers wutong and catalpa trees. Bright are the triple-thousand worlds,83 wonderful the twelve towers.84 Delicate clouds, not half a stain on them; light wind brushes the eyes. Swelling and surging, [my eyes] follow the flowing waters; merged and indistinct, [they] send a departing boat on its way. Possible to peer through a fissure in the door of brushwood onto mirroring reeds by the bank. As if hearing the “[Melody of the] Rainbow Gown [and Feathered Robe]” being played,85 like seeing the jade ax mending.86 The oyster pearl carries cowrie gate towers,87 a rhinoceros halo lies aslant over the human world.88 Together with [Zhao] Zhiwei I wish to take pleasure [in the moon],89 and always accompany [Luo] Gongyuan on his voyage [to the moon].90 The moonlight’s cold [gleam] startled the magpies of Wei;91 the shadows’ lightness made the cow of Wu gasp.92 Faintly [the moon stands above] the blue mountain rim,

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roundly [the moon stands above] a corner of the cyan sea. Together with you I open the lock with a key, on an impulse we put up the hook of the bamboo blind. The day when Master Li put down the wine cup,93 the autumn when Scholar Wu cut down the cassia tree.94 The white folding screen gleams brilliantly, the silken curtain is thinly embroidered. The precious mirror polished and for the first time hung up, the icy wheel drives on without rest.95 The golden waves, how come they are so solemn? The silver water clock, if only it ran on and on. Draw the sword, and the wicked toad96 is sliced; throw out the net, and the cunning rabbit97 is caught. In the sky, fresh rain subsides; above the stony trail, light mist settles. The balustrade holds back a thousand herbages and trees, the stairs lead down to a pond ten thousand fathoms deep. By passes and streams,98 who had lost the way? In my home country I luckily met my companion. Peach and plum we throw and requite,99 jug and jar we give and take. Good poetry, we compete with a marked candle;100 beautiful wine, enough left to add a few more counting arrows.101 In the brazier, black silver pieces crackle;102 in the copper pot, crab-eye foam bubbles. Dragon-juice incense flies up from inside a drowsing duck;103 jade-colored liquids fill a humpy jar to the brim. Calling out, a crane awakes104 on a lonely pine; crying out, a cicada worries inside the four walls. On folding chairs, Yin and Yu talked;105 in Jin, on a riverbank, Xie and Yuan sojourned.106 Vague, faint, the deserted city stands where grasses and trees grow densely. Green maples sway placidly, yellow reeds crunch frostily. The immortals’ realm and the universe are boundless, but in the dust-like world time is unyielding. In the old palace, foxtail and broomcorn millet in ear;107 in the ancestral temples on the fields, catalpa and mulberry grow crookedly. Fragrant odors linger by a crumbled memorial stone;



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ask a floating seagull about rise and fall. Xian’e108 always wanes and becomes full again, but the pile of dirt, how much more is it than a mayfly? A king’s travel lodge has turned into a house for the monks, and a former king was buried on Tiger Hill.109 Firefly lights, tiny beyond the curtain; ghost fires, obscure beside the grove.110 When mourning the ancient, manifold are the tears I shed; when hurt by the present, sorrows rise by themselves. Of Tan’gun there remains Mount Mongmyŏk,111 of Kija’s capital only a castle.112 In the cave are traces of [King Tongmyŏng’s] wondrous horse, in the plains one encounters the Suksins’ arrowheads.113 [Du] Lanxiang returns to the Purple Palace, the Weaver Maid rides the azure dragon. The man of letters puts down his flowerlike brush, the immortal stops playing the zither. As the song comes to an end, people want to scatter; as the wind dies down, oars lap softly. With the writing finished, she threw away the brush and soared up into the void and vanished. Where she went—impossible to know. But before returning [to the place from whence she had come], she had instructed her servants to transmit the order [she had received] to Scholar Hong: “There is strictness in the mandate of the [Highest] Emperor,114 I must harness white Luan birds [and leave]. / Our pure conversation was not yet concluded, and this saddens my innermost feelings.” Shortly after, a spinning whirlwind swept over the earth and blew across the place where Scholar Hong was sitting. Snatching the poem, it disappeared, again to where one could not know. It might be that the unusual conversation was not meant to be disseminated in the human world. Scholar Hong came to his senses and arose, still dazed and lost in thought. For what seemed like a dream was not a dream and what seemed like reality was not reality.115 He leaned against the balustrade, rapt in thought, and finally recorded all of her words. Yet his mind was still occupied with the strange encounter, and he could not overcome his feelings of affection. He then reminisced in order to intone a poem, which went as follows: Clouds and rain in Yangtai, as if amid a dream; how many years before I again see Yu Xiao’s bracelet?116

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The waves of the river, heartless things they are, sobbing and mournfully crying, they flow down to the shores on which we parted. His chant having ended, he looked around. A bell was ringing in a mountain temple, a rooster was crowing in a village by the river,117 the moon had hidden itself west of the city, and the morning star was twinkling. He heard [nothing other than] the squeaking of mice in the yard and the chirping of insects by the spot where he sat. Scholar Hong was quiet and mournful, solemn and apprehensive; he felt sorry that he could not stay longer. He went back and climbed into his skiff, feeling miserable and gloomy. When he came up to the old cliffs [from where he had set off], his friends hastily asked him, “Where did you lodge last night?” Scholar Hong deceived them, saying, “Last night, I grabbed my fishing rod and, taking advantage of the full moon, [rowed until] I arrived at the riverbank by Choch’ŏn Rock outside of Changgyŏng Gate,118 where I wanted to catch some pretty fish. But eventually the night became frosty and the water cold, and I did not even get a single carp. What could be more disappointing than that?” His friends naturally did not doubt what he had told them. Scholar Hong thereafter longed so strongly for the beauty that he contracted a consumptive, weakening disease and so went home ahead of the others. But his mind was clouded, his speech lacked consistency, and he tossed and turned in bed. This went on for quite some time without any improvement in his condition. One day, in a dream, Scholar Hong saw a beautiful woman who was wearing light makeup. Coming up to him, she reported the following: “Our principal mother has presented a memorial to the Supreme Emperor, and the Supreme Emperor now holds your talents in high esteem. He has thus instructed you to subordinate yourself to the command of Altair and become his chief administrative officer.119 Because it is the Highest Emperor’s command, how can it be avoided?” Scholar Hong awoke with a start. He ordered his family members to wash and dress him. Then he burned incense, swept the floor, and spread out a mat in the courtyard. He rested his chin in his palms, lay for a short while, and suddenly passed away. It was the fifteenth day of the ninth month.120 His body lay in state for several days, but the color of his face did not change. People believed that he had met an immortal and said that he had shed his lifeless human body in order to become an immortal himself.

CHAPTER 5

Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu (Namyŏmbuju chi)

At the beginning of the Chenghua period,1 there lived in Kyŏngju2 a man called Scholar Pak. He had devoted himself to the Confucian teachings and had always set his hopes on joining the scholars of the National Academy.3 But since he had not been able to succeed in any examination, he always felt discontented and embittered.4 Yet his will and spirit were high and advanced, and though he saw that the circumstances were not favorable for him, he would not bend. People thought him haughty and obstinate, but when he talked to people face to face, [they found that] he was honest and sincere, modest and generous, and his entire home village praised him for this. Scholar Pak had doubts about the stories that Buddhists and shamans told about ghosts and spirits.5 He had faltered6 and was undecided about them.7 He [tried to] substantiate them with the Zhongyong, comparing them with the “[Xi]ci [zhuan]” of the Yi[ jing],8 after which he was reassured and doubted no more.9 Due to his honesty and generosity he even developed friendly relations with some Buddhist monks, just like Han [Yu] had done with [Da]dian [Baotong]10 and Liu [Zongyuan]11 with Xun [Shangren]. Yet [these relationships] were [limited to] no more than two or three monks. Buddhist monks likewise befriended him as a man of letters, just like [Hui]yuan12 had with Zong [Bing]13 and Lei [Cizong],14 and [Zhi]dun15 with Wang [Meng]16 and Xie [An].17 He became their close friend. One day he asked one of the Buddhists about the stories of the celestial palace18 and the underground purgatory.19 Again harboring doubts, he said, “Heaven and earth are but a single yin and yang. Outside of the existing heaven and earth, how could there exist another heaven and earth? This necessarily has to be deceptive speech.”20 When he questioned the Buddhist monk thus, the Buddhist monk was yet again unable to give him a decisive answer. He replied merely by telling stories about subsequent retribution by means of evil or good karma. Scholar Pak, however, was not convinced. 115

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Early on he had written a Discussion on the One Principle (Illi ron) by way of admonishing himself not to get confused by other Ways. A summary of it reads as follows: Often I heard that “the principle21 between heaven and earth is one and only one.”22 One: What is it? [It means] that there is no duality. Principle: What is it? It is human nature23 and nothing more. Human nature: What is it? It is that which is decreed by heaven. By means of yin and yang as well as the five agents,24 heaven transforms and produces the myriad things.25 When qi creates forms, the principle is likewise endowed therein.26 What is meant by “principle” is that of all matters and things of daily use each has an inherent principle to follow. In the relationship between father and son, [each] exerts his intimate feelings to the utmost; speaking of the relationship between ruler and subject, they exert righteousness to the utmost; when it comes to the relationship between husband and wife as well as that between the old and the young, for all of them there exists a path of appropriate conduct. This is what is called the Way, and the equipment of principle is in our minds and hearts. If one adheres to this principle, there will be no predilections and disharmonies. If one contradicts this principle and goes against one’s nature, there will be disastrous consequences. To “exhaust principle by studying and fulfilling nature”27 studies just this, and the “investigation of things and the extension of knowledge”28 investigates just this. Generally, from birth, all men have this heart; likewise, all are equipped with this nature; and all things under heaven have this principle. The mind is void and numinous. One adheres to the inherent state of nature, goes to the things and investigates the principle, explores events and pursues origins. By striving to reach its ultimate, there will be nothing about the principle under heaven that will not be brought forth clearly or that will not appear. And when the supreme ultimate is reached, it will all be completely assembled in the tiny mind. Consequently, if one pursues it, within all under heaven and the ruling house there is nothing that is not included, nothing that would have to be added [to the principle in the mind]. “To investigate all between heaven and earth but to not revolt, to verify before all ghosts and spirits but to have no misgivings,”29 and to follow [the principle] through all of time and never let it fall, [these three] matters are all a Confucian has to concern himself with. Under heaven, how could there ever be two principles?30 Those heretics’ tales for me are not worth believing!31

One day, Scholar Pak was in his living room. At night he trimmed the lampwick and read the Yijing. He then rested his head on a pillow and dozed



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off. Suddenly he [found himself] in a land, an island in the middle of a vast and boundless ocean32 where there were neither grasses nor trees [growing from] its ground. Neither was there sand or pebbles. And wherever one put a foot down, if there was not copper there was iron. During the day, infernal blazes swept across the sky and the earth melted away and dissolved. During the night, a freezing wind howled in from the west, piercing people’s skin and bones, its roaring and raging unbearable. There were, moreover, iron cliffs towering like a castle, stretching out along the ocean’s shores. Set into the cliffs was a single iron gate, massive, its bars and locks awesomely solid. The gatekeepers, whose bills and fangs were hideous and wicked, held spears and iron hammers with which they fended off anything from outside. The people living within [the castle grounds] had built houses out of iron. During the day, [their skin] burned and ulcerated; during the night, [it] froze stiff and tore apart.33 At dawn and at dusk these people squirmed and writhed around, and yet it appeared as if there was actually laughter and talk, and they did not seem to suffer so very much. Scholar Pak, shocked and alarmed, backed off a few paces, but the gatekeepers called out and summoned him. Although so frightened he nearly lost his composure, Scholar Pak was unable to disobey their order, and with respectful uneasiness34 he stepped forth. One gatekeeper, holding his spear erect, asked, “You there, what kind of human are you?” Trembling with fear, Scholar Pak replied, “I am just from some country, some land, just a confused Confucian. I dared to insult the numinous official, but I hope that my sin may be pardoned and that the law may be applied mercifully.” Then he bowed two or three times, apologizing for his rude misconduct. The gatekeeper said, “It is said that Confucians do not bend even when they encounter powers. How come you are as bent as a chiming stone?35 We have long since wanted to see a nobleman who has knowledge of the principle. Our king likewise wants to see such a nobleman. Thus, he spread the word in the Eastern Region.36 Please, sit down a little while. I will inform the king about you.” Having said this, with swift movements of his feet [the gatekeeper] quickly went inside the castle. Shortly afterward he came back out again and said, “The king wishes to receive you in the lateral hall. You should speak to and face him with grandeur, and you must not hold back [your words] out of fear of his might. Then let the people of our country hear about the essentials of the Great Way.” Two children appeared, one wearing black garments, one wearing white garments. They held official documents in their hands, one of which had blue characters on a black background while the other had red char-

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acters on a white background. They unrolled them, [one scroll] to the left and [the other to the] right of Scholar Pak in order to present them to him. Scholar Pak looked at the red characters and saw his name and surname. [The document] read, “Pak So-and-So, currently living in Such-and-Such country, is without sin in his present lifetime and should not count as one of the people of this country.” [At this] Scholar Pak asked, “You present this unworthy one with these official documents, but what are they?” One of the children answered, “The [document with the] black background is the register of the bad. The [document with the] white background is the register of the good. Those whose names are included in the register of the good the king will welcome, employing the Rites of the Gentlemen.37 Those whose names are included in the register of the bad, though [the king] does not additionally penalize them, he treats them as his subjects and servants. When the king sees you, scholar, the rites will naturally be applied thoroughly and completely.” Having said this, they took the registers and went back inside. Only moments later there arrived a jeweled carriage with wheels of whirling winds. On top was a lotus dais38 as well as a pretty child and a palace woman,39 [the former] carrying a whisk, [the latter] holding a parasol. Military servants and patrolmen waved their spears while shouting to make way. [Scholar Pak climbed onto the dais]. He raised his head and then he saw it: up ahead was an iron castle three stories high. A palace towered at the foot of a golden mountain, fires blazed, filling the sky, flaring and flickering. Scholar Pak took a look around and saw people by the side of the road amid the fire and flames. [They were] treading on swelling copper and melting iron; it seemed as if they were stepping on boiling mud. In front of Scholar Pak the road went on like this for a few dozen steps, but then the earth became [as level and flat as] a whetstone and there were no longer any flowing metals or blazing fires. It might have been spiritual forces that had changed [the scenery]. When he arrived at the royal castle, all four gates stood wide open, [revealing] pond terraces and viewing towers just like those in the human world. Two beautiful maidens came out and bowed. [Then] standing abreast on each side of him, they pulled him along and together they entered the palace. The king wore the Hat for the Communication with Heaven40 and a belt set with patterned jade tied around his waist and held a tablet of jade in his hands. He came down the stairs and received Scholar Pak, who threw himself on the ground, unable to look up. The king said, “The scholar’s world is very different from mine, and I do not command and control them both. As a nobleman who understands the principle, why would you bend your body to awe and might?”41 Then he pulled Scholar Pak by his sleeves



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and walked up to the main hall, where a golden bench with a railing made of jade had been set up especially for the occasion. After Scholar Pak had taken a seat, the king called a servant and ordered that tea be served. Scholar Pak caught a glimpse of [the tea tray] from the corner of his eye and saw that the tea was melted copper while the fruits were balls of iron. He was both startled and afraid, but without means to escape he could merely observe what [the servants] were doing. When it was placed in front of him, [the melted copper and iron balls had transformed into] sweet-smelling tea and beautiful fruits. Flowery fragrances and aromas permeated the hall. When the tea was finished, the king spoke to Scholar Pak: Scholar, do you not know this land? It is what is called Continent Yŏm­bu (Yŏmbuju).42 The mountain to the north of the palace is Mount Ok­ch’o.43 This continent lies in the south of heaven, and for this reason it is called Southern Continent of Floating Blazes (Namyŏmbuju).44 In Yŏmbu, blazing fires burn red-hot, and always they float through the great emptiness. For this reason it is called thus. My name is Yŏmma,45 which means “he who is ground by flames.” Some ten thousand years have passed since I became the ruler of this land!46 My life is long and I am numinous. Wherever my mind goes, there is nothing that it would not miraculously comprehend. Whatever my will desires, there is nothing that would not comply with my intentions. When Cang Jie created the written script, I sent my people to wail over it.47 When Jutan48 attained buddhahood, I sent my lot to protect him. But then, getting to the Three [Sovereigns] and the Five [Emperors], [the Duke of] Zhou49 and Confucius—since they guarded themselves by means of the Way, I was not able to step up to them.”

Scholar Pak asked, “The Duke of Zhou, Confucius, and Jutan, what kind of people were they?” The king said, The Duke of Zhou and Confucius, they were the sages amid China’s civilization, and Jutan, he was the sage among the wicked, ferocious peoples of the Western Regions.50 Although civilization was bright, there were both people whose nature was contradictory and people whose nature was pure. Thus, the Duke of Zhou and Confucius led them. Although the wicked, ferocious peoples were benighted, [among them] there were both people in whose qi was keenness and people in whose qi was dullness. Thus, Jutan warned them. In the teachings of the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, one takes the correct to eliminate the incorrect. In the laws of Jutan, one unfolds the incorrect to eliminate the incorrect. [The Duke of Zhou

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk and Confucius] took the correct to eliminate the incorrect, and this is the reason why their words were correct and straight. [Jutan] took the incorrect to eliminate the incorrect, and this is the reason why his words were excessive and wild. Correct and straight is the reason why the noblemen could easily follow. Excessive and wild is the reason why the small people could easily believe. Yet, in their ultimate, they all made both noblemen and small people return to the correct principle in the end. [The Duke of Zhou, Confucius, and Jutan] never confused the world or deceived the people, nor did they lead them astray by means of deviant Ways.

Scholar Pak again asked, “The stories about ghosts and spirits, what about them?” The king said, As for ghosts, they are the numinous part of yin, while spirits are the numinous part of yang. They are the traces of transformative creation, the genuine capability51 of the two generative forces.52 When alive, one is called a human being; when dead, one is called a ghost or a spirit. Yet their principle is never different.

Scholar Pak said, “In the human world, there are the rites for presenting sacrificial offerings to ghosts and spirits. The ghosts and spirits to whom sacrificial offerings are presented and the ghosts and spirits of transformative creation, are they different?” The king said, They are not different. Scholar, how can you not see this? As a Confucian from previous times wrote, “Ghosts and spirits have neither shape nor sound.53 However, concerning the end and the beginning of things, there is nothing that is not made by the conjunction and dispersal of yin and yang.”54 The holding of ritual services for heaven and earth is something by which one venerates the transformative creation of yin and yang, while the worshiping of mountains and streams is something by which one pays tribute to the rising and descending of qi transformation. The sacrificial offering to one’s ancestors is something by which one pays tribute to one’s roots, while the worshiping of the six deities55 is something by which one avoids disaster. They all make humans pay respect. It is not as if they have a form or substance by which they could presumptuously bring disaster or luck upon humans. Only when humans [present sacrificial offerings] do they become resplendent luminosity, odiferous fumes, and sad feelings,56 and like overflowing water it is as if they are there.57 Confucius said, “Respect ghosts and spirits while keeping them at a distance.”58 This was correctly spoken.59



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Scholar Pak said, “In the human world there is a deviant qi,60 as there are demonic and bewitching beings that harm the people and bring confusion to things. Should one also call them ghosts and spirits?”61 The king replied, Ghosts, they are bent. Spirits, they are straight.62 Bent and then straight, these are the spirits of transformative creation. Bent and then not straight, these are the demons of desolate frustration. [Spirits,] they are in conjunction with transformative creation, and for this reason they end and begin together with yin and yang and have no traces. [Ghosts,] they are blocked by desolate frustration, and for this reason they mingle with humans and things, harbor grief and grudges and have shape. The demon of the mountains is called xiao;63 the weird creature of the water is called yu;64 the weird creature of the waters and stones is called long65 or wangxiang;66 the weird creature of the trees and stones67 is called kui68 or wangliang;69 that which harms things is called li;70 that which afflicts things is called mo;71 that which clings to things is called yao;72 that which brings confusion to things is called mei.73 All of them are ghosts.74 What yin and yang do not allow us to plumb we call “spirits.”75 Yes, that is just what spirits are. “Spirit” means “marvelous function.” “Ghost” means “returning to the roots.”76 Heaven and humans, they have a single principle; there is no gap between the manifest and the imperceptibly subtle. Returning to the roots is called “stillness,” the restoration of the mandate is called the “constant.”77 To always be in the process of transformative creation but to still be unaware of the traces of this transformative creation, that is what is called the Way.78 Hence it is said, “How abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to them!”79

Scholar Pak again asked, I have often heard this from a follower of the Buddha: “Up in heaven there is the celestial palace, a place of pleasure and delight. Yet beneath the earth is the underground purgatory, a place of hardship and suffering. There, in a long line, are the underground tribunals80 and the Ten Kings81 who interrogate the inmates of the eighteen hells.” Is that so? Moreover, he said that seven days after a person’s death one is supposed to hold a mass for the Buddha and present sacrificial foods to accompany the soul and then hold ritual services for you, the king, and burn paper money in order for [the deceased’s] sins to be redeemed. Is it possible, then, for the king to exercise leniency and pardon utterly wicked, violent people?82

Startled, the king spoke:

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk This is something I have never heard before. The ancients said that to once become yin and to once become yang, this is what is called the Way.83 To once be opened and to once be shut, this is what is called “transformation.”84 Production and reproduction, this is what is called “change.”85 The nonexistence of falsity, this is what is called “sincerity.”86 Now, if this is the case, how could there exist yet another entire universe outside of the existing entire universe, yet another heaven and earth outside of the existing heaven and earth? And “king,” that is the name given to him who is held in esteem by the ten thousand people. Before the three dynasties [Xia, Shang, and Zhou], the ruler over the myriads was called “king” by them all and there was no one who called him by a different title. Likewise, when Confucius revised the Chunqiu87 he set up the great law, which even a hundred kings could not change; and to exalt the royal house of Zhou, he called the ruler tian­ wang, “heaven-appointed king.”88 Hereafter, there was nothing more to add to the appellation “king.” Getting to the Qin, after they had conquered the six states and united the four seas,89 they believed their own virtue to be equal to that of the Three Sovereigns and thought their own merits higher than those of the Five Emperors. Eventually they revised the king’s title, henceforth calling him huangdi, “emperor.”90 At this time, there were many who usurped and thievishly took possession of the title, like the lords of Weiliang or Jingchu.91 From that time on, the duties proper to the king’s title became ever more indistinct. The reverent title of [the kings of Zhou] Wen, Wu, Cheng, and Kang had already plunged down to earth. The ordinary people had no knowledge anymore, and since they simply abandoned themselves to their emotions, they acted unrestrainedly with one another. Ah, it is not even worth speaking of. Yet getting to the divine Way of Heaven, it was as strict as ever. How can there be so many kings inside a single region? Scholar, have you not heard that “there are not two suns in heaven, nor two kings in a country”?92 It is not worth giving credence to [that Buddhist’s] words. Getting to the presenting of sacrificial foods to accompany the soul as well as to the ritual services for the kings during which one is supposed to burn paper money—I really do not know why they would do anything like that. Scholar, please inform me in detail about the deceptions and illusions of your world’s customs.

Scholar Pak stood up from his mat, adjusted his garment, and stated the following: According to the customs of the [present] age, forty-nine days93 after the death of one’s father or mother, regardless of whether one is of high or low



Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu social status, one should not look after the mourning or funerary rites but rather one is supposed to dedicate oneself solely to the pursuit of making offerings.94 As for the rich, their wasteful expenses are excessive and they brag and boast wherever there are people to listen. The poor, they go so far as to sell their fields, trade in their houses, borrow money, or buy grain on credit. They cut paper to make banners, trim colored silk to make flowers, call in a group of shaved-heads to serve as fields of merit,95 and set up flimsy statues for the officiants.96 Their singing of hymns in praise of the Buddha and recitation of scriptures sound like the chirruping of birds or the squeaking of rats, just a collection of senseless ramblings. And the bereaved, they drag their wives and lead their children, pull along their relatives and call their friends, so that men and women get mixed together, and in the disorder all sorts of feces are strewn over the ground. They turn the Pure Land97 into a filthy pigsty and the [so-called] site of the attainment of the extinction of afflictions98 into a clamoring marketplace. They also call to the so-called Ten Kings, preparing fine foods in order to hold ritual services for them and burn paper money so that they will redeem [the deceased’s soul]. Now, these Ten Kings, do they take no heed of ritual and rectitude? Do they give free reign to greed and indiscriminately accept these [offerings]? Would they not rather mind laws and procedures, follow regulations and severely punish them? This was something that this unworthy one was striving to understand and anxious to have clarified but dared not put into words. This unworthy one asks you to explain it to him.

“Ah,” said the king, It really has gone to these extremes! When man is born, heaven mandates him by means of nature, earth raises him by means life, the lord governs him by means of laws, the master teaches him by means of the Way, and the father rears him by means of kindness. There thereby exists order in the five cardinal moral codes,99 and the three bonds100 are not in confusion. Obey them, and there will be auspiciousness. Disobey them, and there will be misfortune. Auspiciousness or misfortune exists in a human lifetime depending on how [the five cardinal moral codes and the three bonds] are observed. Arriving at death, the material force that had consolidated into essence101 has already dispersed; the celestial soul rises while the earthly soul descends, returning to the source.102 How, then, could there be yet another sojourn in the dark realms? Sentient souls that harbor grievances and grudges, as well as the ghosts of those who died violently or prematurely, do not obtain such a death and can in no way dissipate their qi. They instead have to scream loudly on battlefields or in the yellow sands,103 or [they]

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk cry mournfully in the houses where they lost their lives or were grievously wronged. This happens occasionally. Sometimes [these unfortunates] turn to shamans to state their cases; sometimes they lean on humans in order to share their grudges. But although their spirits might not have dispersed at the time, eventually they can return to a state without signs.104 How, then, could there be a false shape for them in the netherworld on which a prison sentence could be imposed? This is something that you, a nobleman who investigates things, naturally needs to consider. Now, as for those matters concerning the zhai fo, [that is,] the purification ceremonies for the Buddha, and the holding of ritual services for the kings, these are even more absurd! Zhai means “to purify,” that by purifying what is not purified one arrives at its purification.105 Yet fo, “buddha,” is the designation for purity. And wang, “king,” is the title for dignity. [As for a king] who demands the chariot and demands the gold, [inappropriate behavior such as this] has already been disparaged in the Chunqiu.106 [Inappropriate behavior such as] using gold and using silk [when making offerings to the Buddha] started during the times of Han and Wei. How could there be one with the spirit of purity who would indulge in the mundane humans’ supply of food and drink? How could there be one with the loftiness of a king who would take bribes from criminals? How could there be a ghost of the dark realms who would release someone from the punishment of the human world? This is likewise something that you, a scholar who exhausts the principle, certainly needs to take into consideration.

Scholar Pak again asked, “Saṃsāra, the flow of cyclic existence, spins incessantly; one dies here and lives yonder. May I hear107 about the meaning of this?” The king said, “When the nature and the numinousness do not disperse, it appears as if the transmigration of souls is ongoing. Over a long period of time, however, they do disperse and eventually vanish.” Scholar Pak said, “Majesty, for which reason do you live in this strange region, and how did you become its king?” The king replied, When I lived on earth, I served my king with utmost loyalty and exerted myself in the unrelenting fight against his enemies. And I swore to myself thus: “If I die, I shall become a vengeful ghost so that [even after death] I can kill his enemies.” [In the wake of my demise] this wish had not faded, my loyalty and commitment had not been extinguished, and therefore I was reincarnated in this country of evil and became its ruler and superior. Now I live in this land and those who worship me are altogether those who in the previous world have killed their parents or the king, a wicked,



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ferocious lot. They are reincarnated here. Having become what I control, I will correct their bad hearts. But if one is not correct, straight, and without self-interest, one cannot possibly become the ruler of this land even for a single day. I had heard that you are correct, straight, and possess a resilient will, so that while you lived in the mundane world you did not bend. You truly are an enlightened man, and I have not even once succeeded in shaking your will in this world either. You are like the jade stone of Mount Jing108 that was thrown away into dusty fields, a bright moon pearl109 that lies sunken in a deep pool.110 What if you had not met a great artisan, who would have known what an exceptional treasure you are? How would that not have been most regrettable? My lifespan is already exhausted, and I will soon put down my bow and sword.111 Your lifetime, too, has already expired and soon you will be buried beneath weeds and brambles. He who can govern this country, if it is not you, who could it be?

The king then commenced a feast, giving Scholar Pak utmost pleasures. He asked Scholar Pak about the traces of rise and fall in the Three Han,112 and Scholar Pak told him about them one by one. When he got to the causes for the foundation of Koryŏ,113 the king sighed two or three times, saying, He who possesses a country may not use violence to threaten its people.114 The people, though it may seem that they follow out of fear and awe, in fact harbor feelings of opposition and rebelliousness. As days pile up into months, [just like the frost one treads on reaches its ultimate,] the disaster of solid ice will arise.115 He who possesses virtue may not use force to ascend the throne. Heaven, though it does not openly decree [the mandate] by means of words, it reveals [the mandate] through actions and affairs116 from beginning to end, and the mandate of the Highest Emperor is strict. I would say that the country, it is the country of the people; the mandate, it is the Mandate of Heaven. If the Mandate of Heaven is already lost and the hearts of the people have already departed, then, even if [the king] wanted to protect his body, how could he do so?117

Scholar Pak listed the generations of emperors and kings who had revered the deviant Way,118 and when he got to matters of disaster and auspiciousness, the king wrinkled his nose in a frown and said, When the people sing praises, the arrival of floods or droughts is heaven’s way of warning the human ruler to act cautiously. When the people grieve

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk and complain, the appearance of auspicious events is the way seductive demons flatter the human ruler so as to make him act even more arrogantly and self-indulgently. In the days when emperors and kings throughout the dynasties saw as the arrival of auspicious events, would the people have lived peacefully and at ease or would they have screamed that they were being wronged?

Scholar Pak said, “When treacherous ministers rise like swarms of bees and great chaos is created over and over again, when those at the top menace [the people] with their power, when they consider it a good thing to crave empty titles, can [the people] be at peace?”119 The king considered this for quite some time, then, heaving a deep sigh, he said, “Your words are correct.” When the feast was over, the king wanted to bequeath his throne to Scholar Pak. Thus, he wrote an edict by hand, which read as follows: The region of the continent of Yŏm[bu] truly is a country of feverish diseases, a land that the steps of King Yu [of Xia] did not reach, a land where the [eight] steeds of King Mu [of Zhou]120 have not yet arrived. Here, crimson clouds conceal the sun and poisonous fogs block out the sky. When one is thirsty, one must drink from the red-hot ocean of copper; when one is hungry, one must eat from the infernal blazes’ melted iron. If one is not [a malignant demon such as] the yecha121 or the luocha,122 there is nothing by which one could put his foot down. If one is not [an evil demon such as] the chimei123 or the wangliang, it is impossible to release one’s qi here. The fire castle stretches out for a thousand miles; the iron mountain ranges pile up in ten thousand layers. The people’s customs are strong and violent, and if one is not correct and straight, there is nothing by which one could judge their wickedness. The lay of the land is gashed and jagged, and if one is not divine and dignified, one cannot handle its transformations. Ah, you, someone from the country in the east, are correct, straight, and without selfish desires; you are resolute, steadfast, and decisive. You are one who has the disposition to efface his prominent qualities,124 and you have the talent to dispel ignorance.125 [Even though] illustriousness and glory126 were absent in your former life, the right to promulgate laws and rules will truly exist in your afterlife. He whom all people can eternally rely on, if not you, who else could it be? Certainly, you have to guide them by means of virtue and keep them in line by means of the rites. I hope you make people abide in the highest good127 and by personal practice and mental attainment raise the world into a state of concord and bliss. Complying with heaven, you ascend the throne. Emulating the way in which



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Yao bequeathed his throne to Shun,128 I hereby make you my high guest, my successor. Ah! Be reverent!

Scholar Pak received the edict. All his movements were proper129 when he twice prostrated himself and withdrew. The king again decreed that his ministers and people congratulate Scholar Pak and then sent him on his way with rites appropriate for a crown prince. Once more he decreed to Scholar Pak: “Before long you will return, but for now, be on your way. Those words that were stated I will transmit and disseminate among the humans and at once sweep away all of the absurdities.” Scholar Pak again bowed twice, then thanked the king, saying, “How could I dare not comply with even a single ten-thousandth of Your Majesty’s excellent charge?” He then stepped out through the gates [and climbed back onto the chariot]. Suddenly the person who pulled the chariot lost his footing and stumbled and the chariot turned upside down. Scholar Pak was flung to the ground. Startled, he arose . . . and woke up. It had all been but a dream. He opened his eyes and looked around. His writings and books lay strewn across the table and the lampwick glowed dimly.130 Scholar Pak was both moved and taken aback for quite some time but then thought to himself that soon he would die. During the following days he was absorbed in taking care of his household affairs. A few months later he grew ill, and as he was already aware that, necessarily, he would not rise again, Scholar Pak declined all doctors and shamans. And so he passed away.131 On the evening of the day of his transformation, a spiritual being reported the following to all of Scholar Pak’s neighbors in their dreams: “Master So-and-So from a neighboring house shall become King Yama!”

CHAPTER 6

Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace (Yonggung puyŏn rok)

Near Songdo lies Mount Ch’ŏnma. This mountain pierces [the sky], shooting up steeply. For this reason it is called Ch’ŏnma, “Heavenly Grindstone.”1 Amid the mountain there exists a dragon pond2 named Pagyŏn,3 which is narrow and so deep that no one knows how many fathoms downward it reaches. [This deep pool] flows out into a waterfall that may be several hundred fathoms in height. The scenery here is so pristine and beautiful that itinerant monks and passing wayfarers necessarily stop and admire the view. [There are tales of Pagyŏn,] having early on brought forth a different, numinous [being]. [The stories are] contained in all transmitted records, and the country offers sacrificial animals to worship [the numinous being] every year in the appropriate season.4 During the previous dynasty5 there lived a man named Scholar Han. A talented poet in his early youth, he had been brought forth at court,6 where he was praised as a munsa, a “man of letters.”7 One night as he sat quietly in his room, two court officials wearing blue robes and winged hats8 suddenly descended from on high. Prostrating themselves in the yard they spoke: “The divine dragon of Pagyŏn cordially invites you.” Stunned, Scholar Han changed his expression. “The paths of spirits and humans are separated. How could they ever reach one another? Moreover, the water realm lies endlessly far away where waves and white caps swallow each other whole. How could I ever go there safe and sound?” he said. The two [court officials] replied, “A swift steed is waiting right outside the gates. Please, do not decline!” Then they bowed low, seized him by his sleeves, and pulled him along.9 They stepped outside the gates and, indeed, there was a swift horse10 with a golden saddle and a bridle made of jade. Its head was adorned with silken yellow ribbons and, amazingly, it also had wings! The attendants, 128



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red turbans wrapped around their heads and wearing brocade trousers, might have comprised some ten persons. They helped Scholar Han mount the horse [and from atop it he could see that] banner bearers led the way ahead while concubines and musicians followed behind. The two officials, holding tablets11 in their hands, followed him. His horse soared up into the air and flew. Beneath his feet Scholar Han saw nothing but clouds and haze piling up and veiling, and he could not see whether the earth existed below. Within moments he had arrived outside the palace gates and got off his horse.12 The gatekeepers all wore armor made of crab13 and turtle shells. Their spears and halberds were close ranked, and how huge were their staring eyes!14 But when they caught sight of Scholar Han they lowered their heads, bowed, set up a bench, and asked him to rest.15 It was as if everything had been prepared for his reception. The two [court officials] quickly went inside the palace to report his arrival.16 After a short while two youths appeared, dressed in blue. They clasped their hands [in greeting] and then pulled him along and entered the palace. Scholar Han walked slowly. While moving forward he raised his head to look up at the palace gate. The sign [atop the gate] said, “Gate of Cherished Benevolence.”17 Just as Scholar Han stepped through the gate, the divine king18 came downstairs. He was wearing a “cleave-cloud” hat.19 A doubleedged sword hung from his belt and he held a bamboo slip. He pulled Scholar Han up the stairs, led him to the main hall, and asked him to sit down on the Water Crystal Palace’s throne of a hundred pieces of jade. Scholar Han bowed, fell to his knees, and declined forcefully, saying, “This lowly scholar is a foolish human, and I will gladly wither with the grass and the trees. How could I ever dare to offend your divine dignity by presumptuously accepting such cordial treatment?” The divine king said, “I have long since admired your excellent reputation and I respectfully bow to your nobility and dignity. Please, do not look at [my request] in a skeptical manner.”20 He made a welcoming gesture with his hands, bowed low, and again asked [Scholar Han] to sit. Scholar Han declined thrice, but then climbed up [onto the throne]. Facing south, the divine king sat down on the Seven Treasure Throne.21 Scholar Han, facing west, had not completely taken his seat when a gateman announced, “The guests have arrived!” The king stepped outside the gate to receive them. Scholar Han looked up and saw three people in red robes riding in sedan chairs of patterned silk. Their dignity and servants made them appear as majestic as kings. The king led them, too, upstairs to the main hall.22 Scholar Han hid underneath a small window, for he wanted to wait until they were all seated before requesting an audience.23 The king ordered the three persons to face the east, bow, and sit. Then he said to them, “Just at this

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moment a man of letters from the human world is present whom I have cordially invited to be here. Gentlemen, do not be suspicious of one another.” Then he ordered [the servants] to his left and right24 to bring Scholar Han in. Hastily Scholar Han stepped forth and prostrated himself in accordance with the rites, to which all others likewise lowered their heads and bowed in return. Declining the chair he was offered, Scholar Han spoke: “You are noble spirits, honorable and powerful, while your humble servant is no more than a poor Confucian. How could I ever dare accept this high chair?” Again, he declined forcefully. The others replied, “The ways of yin and yang25 are different from one another and neither can alone command the entirety. The divine king is authoritative and his evaluation of humans is always enlightened. Hence, you must necessarily be a masterful literatus of the human world. The divine king has given the order, and we ask you not to refuse!”26 The divine king said, “Sit!” Simultaneously, the three persons took their seats, while Scholar Han cautiously, uneasily climbed onto his. He perched on the very edge of his chair, so the divine king said, “Sit comfortably!” Scholar Han sat back and together they enjoyed a round of tea.27 The divine king spoke: I only have a single daughter and the capping and hairpin ceremony has already been held.28 Thus, I want to marry her to a suitable spouse in the near future. However, my own lowly dwelling is secluded and in disrepair. There exists neither a house for a reception nor a room for wedding candles. Now I want to construct a separate building, which I have ordered to be named Kahoe, the “[Building of a] Beautiful Meeting.”29 Craftsmen and artisans have already been gathered and lumber and stones have been completely prepared. The one thing missing is a ridgepole blessing.30 I have heard that your name has been brought forth in the Three Han and that your talents surpass even those of all the great masters. For this reason I have especially invited you to come here from afar. I beg you to write it for me.31

Even before he had finished speaking two children with braided hair appeared. One held an emerald-colored jade inkstone and a Xiang River bamboo brush while the other held a piece of ice-white silk32 about a fathom in length. Kneeling down, they presented [the writing materials] to Scholar Han.33 He lowered his head, bowed, and rose. Scholar Han had barely moistened the brush with ink when the writing was already completed, [and the words on the silk appeared as if] clouds and haze entangled one another. His words read as follows:



Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace It is my humble opinion that between earth and heaven34 the dragon spirit is most numinous and that between humans the spouse is most important. Already there is [the dragon king’s] achievement of having moistened the [myriad] things. How then could there not be the foundation for overflowing fortune?35 Thus, in the “Guanju” [from Shijing] it is with the finding of a good mate that the beginning of the ten thousand transformations is brought forth. When a flying dragon [is in the sky], it is fitting to see [the great man];36 this also symbolizes the traces of the [dragon king’s] numinous changes. On that account he newly constructs [a building equaling] the Afang Palace37 and makes it shine by giving it the magnificent name [Kahoe]. He assembles gigantic clams38 and alligators and makes them his workforce; he amasses precious shells and considers them building materials, erects pillars of water crystal and coral, and installs a ridgepole made of dragon bone and malachite.39 The beaded curtain is rolled up and [one sees] mists on the mountains, dense40 and greenish. The door of jade is opened and [one sees] clouds in the gorge, curling and meandering. If [the dragon king’s daughter goes home] and brings good to family and house,41 they will enjoy infinite blessings for ten thousand years. If their lutes, large and small, give their notes,42 they will give birth to imperial descendants43 for eons of generations. Commanding the changes of wind and clouds, [the divine dragon] will forever support the function of creation. He might dwell in the sky or dwell in a lake,44 yet he will revive the yearnings of the lower people.45 He might stay in the depths or he might leap, yet he will protect the benevolent heart46 of the Sovereign on High. By flying and soaring he spreads delight in the universe; his dignity and virtue exercise influence both far and near. Black turtles and red carp leap high to sing in chorus; the weird creatures of the woodlands and the specters of the mountains come one after the other with congratulations. I will now write a short song to honor the occasion of the placement and the engraving of a ridgepole. We put the ridgepole to the east:47 Violet-turquoise peaks stand meanderingly, supporting the dark blue sky. In one night, sounds of thunder roar over meandering mountain streams. Along azure cliffs, ten thousand feet48 deep, the bright jingling of pearls. We put the ridgepole to the west: A narrow path49 winds around the rocks, mountain birds cry out. Abysmally50 deep pond, who knows how many fathoms it reaches downward? A pool’s springtime waters are like crystal.51 We put the ridgepole to the south: Ten miles of pine and cedar forest

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Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk crossed by turquoise mountain mists. Who knows the spiritual palace, its vastness and its greatness? On the bottom of dark blue lapis lazuli, shadows merge into one another. We put the ridgepole to the north: When the sun first rises at early dawn, the lake’s mirror is emerald. Plain white silk spans across the sky for three hundred fathoms. Begin to wonder if the silver stream might have fallen from the firmament. We put the ridgepole above: Hands holding onto the white rainbow, sojourning through the open and boundless.52 Parhae53 and Fusang,54 millions of miles away. Looking back at the human world, it is like the palm of my hand. We put the ridgepole below: How woeful, above the springtime levees hazes fly [only briefly]. Wish to carry along just one drop of the numinous spring’s waters. Create sweet rain and sprinkle it over the entire world. Reverently and humbly I pray that, after [Your Majesty] has built the palace, on the morning of the wedding day, ten thousand good fortunes shall completely assemble and a thousand auspicious signs shall entirely arrive. The jasper palace and the jade hall shall be filled with masses of noble clouds; from the phoenix pillows and mandarin duck blankets, sounds of exuberant joy shall arise. Illustrious his virtue, to make manifest his numinousness.55

When the writing was finished, he stepped forth and presented it. The divine king was greatly pleased and ordered the three other spirits to pass it around and inspect it thoroughly. The three spirits all sighed with admiration and highly praised Scholar Han’s work. Thereupon the divine king initiated the brush-wetting feast. Scholar Han fell onto his knees, saying, “When you, high spirits, had all gathered around earlier, I did not dare inquire about your honorable names.” The divine king replied, “Since you are a man from the human world, it is only natural that you do not know them. The first is the Cho River spirit,56 the second is the Nakha spirit,57 and the third is the Pyŏngnan spirit.58 I want to be together with scholars and worthy equals, and for this reason we have gathered.”59 Wine was brought forth and music was played. There were about ten groups of beautiful women who waved their kingfisher-blue sleeves and wore flowers of jasper in their hair. They moved forward and drew back, danced and sang the “Pyŏkdam-ji kok,” the “Song of the Dark Blue Lake,”60 which went as follows: Blue mountain, azure, azure;61 emerald lake, vast, vast.



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Flying brook, gushing, gushing, joining the silver stream up there in heaven. There seems to be someone at the center of a wave,62 jingling a dress beset with pearls and jade. His dignity blazing and fiery, dazzling, dazzling; ah, his appearance high and imposing. Chose a lucky day with an auspicious name,63 interpreted the resounding of the phoenixes’ cries.64 There are wings, it is the splendid hall; there is good fortune,65 it is the numinous one. Summoned was a man of letters, he wrote a short writ, sang about the complete transformations, erected a long ridgepole. Pour cinnamon wine, let fly our winged cups;66 a light swallow whirls in the air, steps under the springtime sun.67 From the mouth of a beast [fragrance of] winter daphne fume,68 in a pig’s belly, sparkling wine bubbles.69 Beat the fish drum—flutteringly trembling sounds; play the dragon flute—nimbly running sounds. The spirit, dignified, rests on a couch; admirable is his ultimate virtue, impossible to forget. Their dance ended, and then there was a group of about ten youths who held panpipes made of bamboo in their left hands and pheasant plumes in their right hands.70 They circled each other, looked back at one another, and then sang the “Hoep’ung-ji kok,” the “Song of the Whirlwinds,”71 which went as follows: There seems to be someone in the fold of the mountain, in a coat of fig leaves with a rabbit-floss girdle.72 The day will soon end,73 pure waves [roll], give rise to delicate patterns like silk. Winds blow gently, open hair disheveled and tousled, clouds pile, clothes trip and sway.74 Back and forth in circles, slowly coiling, pretty smiles passing one another. Throw shirts into sobbing maelstroms and loosen a jade bracelet in cold sands.75 Dew wets a garden’s sedge; in hazy twilight mountains tower. Gazing at the ruggedness and jaggedness of the distant peaks, they seem like blue turban shells above the river. Sporadic striking of copper gongs,

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drunken dancing, capering about.76 There is wine, like rivers; there is meat, like hills. The guest already drunk, his face is flushed, he writes a new song, sings it drunkenly. Some may assist one another, pull one another, some may applaud one another, scold one another. Beat the jug of jade, drink it all up in an instant, when pure excitement is exhausted, sorrowful feelings will be manifold.77 Their dance ended. The divine king was happy and clapped his hands. He rinsed a beaker, raised a horn cup, and put it in front of Scholar Han. Then he, himself, played on a jade dragon flute and sang a verse to the tune of the “Suryong ŭm,” the “Water Dragon Chant,”78 to complete the feelings of joy and delight. [The king’s] words went as follows: To the sounds of wind and string instruments, round goes the wine cup; the mouth of an auspicious unicorn fumes bluish camphor vapors. One sound from a traversely blown79 [flute made from a] splinter of jade, and in the firmament dark blue clouds are as if swept away. The sound makes waves80 break, the melody makes wind and moon turn over. The scenery is idle, yet man ages; how sad that time is like an arrow, that elegance is like a dream, that joy and delight again give rise to afflictions. Above the western pass, silken mountain mists begin to disperse; fortunately, above the eastern peaks the icy tray looms frostily bright. Holding the jar, I ask the bright moon in the blue sky81 how often I may have seen wickedness and goodness. Wine fills a gilded vase to the brim, a person collapses like a snowy mountaintop,82 but who might have pushed him to make him tumble? For our beautiful guest I will untangle his gloom, which is like the clouds and mud of ten years,83 and joyfully he will ascend into the azure skies.



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His song ended, [the king] looked back and spoke [to the servants] to his left and right: “The arts and circuses of this world are not of the same kind as those in the human world. Who among you will present something for our admirable guest?” Someone [stepped forth] who called himself Armored Officer84 Kwak85 [and who was a crab]. Raising his feet and moving sideways, he came forward and spoke: Your humble servant is a hermit from among the rocks, a recluse from amidst the sands. When in the eighth month the winds are pure, I bring my awn to the edge of the eastern sea [to present it as a sacrificial offering to the spirit of the ocean].86 And when the clouds disperse in the Nine Heavens,87 I bring brightness to the side of the southern well. My center is yellow and my outside is round; I wear hard [armor] and carry sharp [weapons]. Always I get quartered to enter the caldron, scrape myself bare from head [to heels], and benefit humans.88 My delicious taste and elegance are apt to loosen the faces of the strongest of men; my appearance and skittering, side-to-side movements89 in the end make all the ladies smile. Though [Sima] Lun of Zhao despised me in the water, Qian Kun thought of me when he went to the frontier regions.90 After death, I enter the [right] hand of Minister of Rites Bi,91 my portrait92 leans on Han Jingong’s brush.93 Now that I have come to this place and [have been asked] to create a performance, I will gladly shake my legs and dance in circles.

And right away he donned his armor, grabbed his spears, fumed foam, glared at them, rolled his eyeballs, shook his limbs, tottered and staggered, spun round and round, first moved forward, then drew back—and created the “P’alp’ung mu,” the “Dance of the Eight Winds.”94 His retinue consisted of several dozen persons, who also whirled round and round, bent over, and fell to their knees, all while simultaneously striking up a melody, to which [Armored Officer Kwak] sang a song that went as follows: Lean on rivers and oceans, to live in holes; emanate a grand appearance, with tigers I fight. My body is nine feet, I will enter tributary offerings;95 ten species of my kind and manifold my names. Here to delight the divine king’s excellent gathering; Ha! Stamp my feet and move sideways. Love to sink down to the depths of a lake to live there all alone; surprised by the shine of the [fishermen’s] lights by the riverbank. It is not gratitude for mercy received that makes me cry those pearls;

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it is not revenge against my enemies that makes me carry my spears at an angle. Ah! Those great men on that dam on the Hao River,96 they laugh at me and call me mujang, “gutless one,”97 but you can compare me with those noble men, for virtue fills my belly, and yellow is my inside.98 Excellence abides within me, emanates through my four limbs;99 in my pincers are flowing jade and congealed fragrances. Ha! This evening is what evening,100 that I get to attend the banquet of Yaochi?101 The [dragon] spirit lifts his head, he makes a song; the high guest already drunk, he strolls around. In the hall of yellow gold and on the throne of white jade they pass on the large horn chalice to the sounding of string instruments and flutes. Sing to the strange sounds of the three flutes of Mount Jun,102 eat their fill of spiritual foods from the nine rice pots of the immortals’ halls. Ghosts of the mountains leap, come whirling and soaring, people of the waters jump, come prancing and flying. On the hills grows a hazel tree, on the low ground the licorice;103 reminiscing on a beauty, unable to forget.104 Thereupon Armored Officer Kwak spun to the left, twisted to the right, pulled back, and plunged forward. All those who had filled the seats lay on their sides and on their backs and could not help but laugh wholeheartedly.105 When the performance ended, there was someone else who called himself Teacher Hyŏn106 [and who was a turtle]. Dragging his tail and stretching his neck, he effected a grand appearance, stared at them, came forth, and said, Your humble servant is one who hides underneath bundles of yarrow stalks, one who sojourns on lotus leaves.107 In the Luo River I bore a writ on my back that already made manifest the meritorious deeds of [Emperor] Yu of Xia.108 I was caught in a net when I was on my way as envoy from the Clear Yangzi; I then predicted Lord Yuan’s future strategies.109 I had my belly ripped open to benefit humans,110 but how afraid I am of the unbearable pains I have to suffer when they strip off my shell.111 [The column capitals of a hall] were carved [in the shape of] mountains while [the images of] water plants decorated [the hall’s roof beams], for my shell became the treasure of Master Zang [Wenzhong].112 Stone intestines, black



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armor, from my chest I vomit a qi of the strongest of men. Lu Ao perched on me upon the sea,113 and Mao Bao released me in a river.114 When alive, I become a precious object of a glorious time. When dead, I am made into a treasure of the numinous Way. I will gladly open my mouth and sing a quiet song in order to give expression to the deepest thoughts of the thousand-year-old Concealed Six.115

And right away he vomited a qi, which was like a thread several hundred feet in length. [Then he] drew a breath and sucked it back in, leaving not a single trace of it. First he pulled in his neck and concealed his limbs, then he stretched out his neck and wiggled his throat. After awhile he came forward, tapping, calm and unhurried, and created the “Kugong-ji mu,” the “Dance of the Nine Merits.”116 Alone he advanced, alone he drew back, and at last he made a song, which went as follows: Lean on mountains and marshes, to live in a shell; love to hail and to sip, and long I live.117 Live a thousand years and five aggregates, wiggle ten tales, I am the most numinous. I’ll drag my tail in the mud, for I do not wish to be stored in an ancestral temple.118 Though I am not one who performs alchemy, I have lasting vision;119 though I am not one who studies the Way, I am numinous and long-lived. When I meet a sagacious [ruler]120 in a thousand years, I will present the conspicuousness of auspicious responses. I am the elder of the waters’ peoples, assisted [in the creation of] the Lianshan and the Guicang.121 Carry a writ and characters on my back in which there is fate,122 inform about well and woe,123 complete strategies. But in great knowledge there is what is dangerous and difficult, and in great ability there is what cannot be reached;124 I cannot escape that my heart is cut out and that my shell is scorched;125 I am friends with fish and shrimp,126 and I cover my tracks; Ha! I stretch my neck, lift my heels, for I participate in the feast of the high hall. Congratulated the flying dragon for his numinous changes, enjoyed the power of the brush of him who has swallowed the turtle.127 Wine has already been served, music is being played;

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Ha! Joy and delight are limitless. The beating of lizard-skin drums128 and the playing of flutes ornamented with phoenixes arouse the submerged dragon to dancingly whirl around in cavernous depths.129 [The divine dragon] brings together the chimei of the mountains and marshes, he assembles the noble lords of the rivers and streams, like when Wen Qiao burned a rhinoceros horn,130 or like the shame [felt by] the wangxiang on Yu’s tripod.131 Together they dance and tap in the front courtyard, some laugh teasingly, some clap their hands. The sun is about to sink, the wind freshens,132 fish and dragon fly up spinning, waves swell and surge. Oh, rarely, rarely the time is given;133 my heart beats wildly and I am deeply moved. When his song ended, [Teacher Turtle] waddled, staggered, jumped, bowed, and straightened. Everything went so fast, one could hardly tell his movements apart. All those who filled the seats burst into roars of laughter.134 When his performance ended, the [strange creature of the] trees and stones, the wangliang, and the weird beings of the mountains and forests rose to demonstrate what each of them was capable of. Some howled, some sang, some danced, some puffed, some clapped, and some leaped. Though different in appearance, their melodies were the same. Then they created a song, which went as follows: The divine dragon stays in the lake, looking as if he will leap to the sky.135 For millions of years to come his blessings will continue on. Humble and in accordance with the rites, he invited the worthy, dignified like a divine immortal. Enjoys that new work, [in which] pearls and jade are connected to one another; takes wanyan jewels136 to engrave it, to transmit it over a thousand years.137 The noblemen, they must go back,138 open this fabulous banquet.139 Sing the “Picking Lotuses [Song]”;140 peculiar dances, swaying, surging.



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Deep is the roll of the drums,141 harmonious the swift sounds of the zithers. On the table, [wine cups going back and forth like] a ferry; [they drink like] the long behemoth sucking down a hundred rivers.142 [Guests and host] bow low, wheel about; happy and without fault. Their song ended, and right away the princes of the rivers and streams fell to their knees and presented their poems.143 First in line was [the poem by the Cho River spirit], which went as follows: Toward the cyan ocean [I stream, like] a royal subject hastening to court, powerful and never resting; [my] rushing waves flow rapidly, carrying a light boat. After the clouds have begun to disperse, the moon sinks above the estuary; when the tide is about to rise, winds fill the isles. When the sun is warm, tortoise and fish leisurely swim up and dive down; when the waves are glittering, ducks sink and float to their hearts’ content. Year after year I hit against the rocks, manifold my woeful sobs, but tonight’s joy and delight will wash away a hundred griefs. Second in line [was the poem by the Nakha spirit], which went as follows: The Five Flower Tree’s shadows shading cushioned seats, dishes of bamboo and wood, and reed instruments laid out in order. Behind the mica curtain, songs eddying, revolving; inside the crystal curtain, dances hesitant, withdrawing. The divine dragon, how could he be a creature in a pool?144 The man of letters has always been the treasure on the mat.145 How can I manage to tie a long cord around the bright sun [to prevent it from sinking]? To linger on drunkenly in the splendid season of spring. Third in line [was the poem by the Pyŏngnan spirit], which went as follows: The divine king is inebriated, he leans against a golden bench; as mountain hazes fall in clouds, already there’s the setting sun.

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Peculiar dancing, capering about, spinning embroidered sleeves; pure songs, thinly winding around the engraved ridgepole. How many years has my solitary rage turned over the silver islands?146 But today let us all be joyful and raise goblets of jade. Ever flowing is time, but humans do not know, for in old and new, worldly matters are carried out much too busily. When they had all finished writing, they stepped forth and presented [their poems]. The divine king laughed and inspected them, after which he told someone to hand them over to Scholar Han. Scholar Han received them, fell onto his knees, and read them three times in a row, full of admiration. Then, straight away and in front of their seats, he wrote a poem of twenty rhymes in order to give literary expression to the magnificent matters of the day.147 Its words went as follows: Mount Ch’ŏnma towers high, rising to the Milky Way; [a waterfall] gushes out over the cliffs, far it flies into the void. Straightly falling it drills into forests and ravines, swiftly flowing it creates enormous roars. The heart of the waves holds the moon cave,148 the bottom of the lake conceals the dragon palace. His changes and transformations leave traces of divinity, hoisting himself up to heaven he establishes great merit. His primal vapors149 give birth to fine mists, his unrestrained movements give rise to auspicious winds. Under the deep-blue [eastern] sky, split tallies are important;150 in Ch’ŏnggu, the land of azure hills,151 ranks and positions are being venerated.152 Taking the clouds, he holds his morning ritual in the Purple Ultimate; commanding the rain, he rides a grey dappled steed. In the golden tower he holds a beautiful banquet, by the jade stairway he performs the “Pyŏrhong.”153 Drifting auroras floating in a teacup, clear dew dripping from lotus leaves in red. Courteousness and humility show that his dignity and righteousness are enormous; the circulating of glasses shows that his etiquette and decency are abundant. Glittering are the patterns on his clothes and his hat, bright are the sounds of pearls on his ceremonial robe.



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Fish and tortoise come to his court to congratulate, [spirits of] rivers and streams likewise assemble. His numinous plan, how could it ever be vague and illusionary? His mysterious virtue154 is profound and humble. In the garden they beat the drum that causes the flowers to bloom,155 as a jar scoops down and swallows a rainbow of wine. A heavenly beauty blows her flute of jade, Queen Mother of the West plays on her zither. A hundred prostrations before passing on wine of the richest flavor, three prayers of blessing like those offered up at [Mount] Hua and [Mount] Song.156 Haze envelops frost-skinned157 fruits, trays reflect crystal scallions. Exquisite delicacies fill our throats, gracious waves deeply permeate our bones. Just like having drunk the night dew,158 as if having reached Yingzhou or Penglai.159 But when those joys are exhausted, we will have to part, and all the elegance will have been just a dream. The poem was brought forth. All those who filled the seats were overjoyed and ceaselessly praised [his work]. The divine king thanked him, saying, “I shall let this poem be engraved in metal and stone and consider it a treasure of my lowly dwelling!” Scholar Han prostrated himself, thanked him, stepped forth, and spoke: “The surpassing sites of the dragon palace, I have now already completely seen them! But the vastness of the royal chambers or the tremendousness of the entire territory, would it not be possible to have a look around and see all of that?” The divine king replied, “It is possible.”160 Receiving the order, Scholar Han stepped out the door and glanced around wide-eyed. Yet he only saw colored clouds rolling and meandering so that he could not even tell east from west. The divine king ordered a cloud blower to sweep them away, and a person appeared in the courtyard who pursed his lips and blew only a single time, after which the heavens cleared up and brightened. But there were neither mountains nor rocks, neither cliffs nor precipices. Scholar Han saw only the earth, flat and wide like the board of a game of Paduk, stretching out for several tens of miles. Rows of jasper flowers and emerald trees had been planted in its center; [the ground] was covered with golden sand, and it was enclosed by a golden wall. The corridors and courtyards were all paved with bricks of dark blue lapis lazuli, where light and shadow merged into one another.

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The divine king ordered two people to show Scholar Han around. They proceeded and soon arrived at a tower named Tower for the Audience with the Prime (Chowŏn-ji ru). It was built entirely of crystal, decorated with pearls and jade, and inlaid with gold and dark blue [jade]. When Scholar Han ascended, he felt as if he was soaring into the emptiness within it. The tower’s floors might have been a thousand in number. Even so, Scholar Han wanted to ascend all the way to the top. His attendants said, “The divine king can freely ascend to the very top by means of his divine powers, but for us servants it is not possible to look at it in its entirety!” Since the highest floor merged with the cloudy skies, the average human of the dust-like world could not reach it. Scholar Han ascended to the seventh floor and then went back downstairs.161 Next they arrived at a building, this one named Building of Soaring into the Emptiness (Nŭnghŏ-ji kak). “What is this building used for?” Scholar Han asked. “When the divine king holds his morning ritual for the heavens, this is where his ceremonial implements are arranged and where his ceremonial dresses and hats are prepared,” he was told. “I would very much like to see his ceremonial implements,” Scholar Han requested, whereupon his attendants pulled him along until they reached a certain place. There [they found] an object resembling a round mirror that radiated such brilliant light that it was impossible for the dazzled eye to take a closer look. “What kind of object is this?” Scholar Han inquired. “It is the mirror of the Mother of Lightning,”162 he was told. Next was a drum of the same size [as the mirror]. Scholar Han wanted to strike it, but his attendants stopped him, saying, “If you strike this drum only once, all things on earth will shake in their entirety, for this is the drum of the Lord of Thunder.”163 Next there was another object, [this one] resembling a pouch or a woodwind instrument. Scholar Han wanted to swing it, but his attendants stopped him again, saying, “If you swing it only once, mountains and rocks will crumble completely and giant trees will be uprooted, for this is the pouch that makes the wind rise.”164 Next was an object resembling a whisk or a broom and beside it stood a water bucket. Scholar Han wanted to sprinkle some of [the bucket’s contents], when his attendants again stopped him, saying, “If you sprinkle only a single [drop of this water], [there will be an] overflow of water and the inundation will embrace the mountains and overtop the hills.”165 “If that is the case, why is it that you do not also store the instrument that exhales the clouds here?” Scholar Han asked.



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“The clouds, well, it is the divine king’s divine powers that transform them. It is not the working of a machine that can produce them,” he was told. Scholar Han again asked, “The Lord of Thunder (Leigong), the Mother of Lightning (Dianmu), the Earl of Wind (Fengbo), and the Master of Rain (Yushi), where are they?” “The Heavenly Emperor holds them captive at an obscure place and has decreed that they shall no longer sojourn freely. Only when the [dragon] king comes forth can they assemble around him at last,” they said. The remaining instruments and tools [were so numerous that] it was impossible to get to know them all.166 Next there came a long corridor, stretching out for many miles. The doors and windows were locked by golden dragon locks. “What is this place?” Scholar Han asked. His attendants replied, “This is the divine king’s storehouse of the seven treasures.” Scholar Han looked around for quite some time but was unable to see everything. “I want to go back!” he said. His attendants answered “Yes,” but when he was about to go back [to the palace], the doors were so numerous that he became confused and did not know where he was supposed to go. Thus, he ordered his attendants to walk ahead and lead the way. When Scholar Han arrived back at his original seat, he thanked the king, saying, “By Your Majesty’s grace I have been granted the opportunity to take a look at the beautiful scenery.” Twice he prostrated himself, then bid the dragon king farewell. Thereupon the divine king took a coral tray, onto which he laid two bright [moon] pearls and two bolts of icewhite silk as parting gifts for Scholar Han.167 Outside the palace gates he bowed and bid Scholar Han farewell. The three other spirits also simultaneously bowed and took their leave; climbing into their sedan chairs, they went back immediately. [The dragon king] then ordered two attendants to take the Horn for the Drilling of Mountains and the Winnowing of Water168 and to wave it in order to take [Scholar Han] home. One attendant said to Scholar Han, “You may climb onto my back, but please close your eyes for a short while!” Scholar Han did as he had been told, and the other attendant waved the horn and led the way ahead. To Scholar Han it felt as if he ascended into the void; he only heard the sounds of wind and water, which did not fade for quite some time. When the sounds stopped, he opened his eyes.169 [It was then that he realized] that he was simply lying flat on the floor of his own living room. He stepped outside the door and saw that large stars had begun to fade away as the east lightened. A rooster cried three times; it was already the fifth watch! Hastily he searched his bosom and saw that

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the pearls and the silk were still there. Scholar Han stored them inside a cloth-bound chest and considered them his most precious treasures, which he would never show to anyone. Hereafter, Scholar Han never again concerned himself with personal renown.170 He entered a famous mountain and nothing is known of his end.171

CHAPTER 7

Written at the End of the First Collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa] (Sŏ kapchip-hu)

A low house1 and a blue felt blanket, warmth remained; a plum tree’s shadows filled the window as the moon shone for the first time [that night]. Lit the lamp in a long night, burned incense, sat, and leisurely brought forth a writing that people had never seen.2 To whirl the brush in the Jade Hall, already I had no mind for it;3 upright I sat by the pine window in deepest night. Incense sticking out of a copper vase, the small black table was clean; Strange tales of elegance—meticulously I searched them out. During the time I lived in Kŭmo I did not care about sojourning far. For this reason, my insides grew cold, diseases and illnesses came one after the other. Only by the shores of the ocean did I sojourn at ease; I roamed freely around the vicinity of my house, looking for plums and visiting bamboo [groves], and always I enjoyed myself by reciting poetry or getting drunk on wine.4 In the spring of the year sinmyo [1471], upon request, I went to the capital. Since the autumn of the year imjin [1472], I have lived in seclusion in P’okch’ŏn Study Hall [K. P’okch’ŏn chŏngsa] [on Mount Surak] east of the city. I have divined on the site of a hut so that I might remain there till the end of my years.5 Written in the spring of the year kyesa [1473].

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Glossary of Names and Terms

Ado Aemin ŭi Afang gong Ainai ge Aiqing zhuan akch’wi aluohan An Chŏngbok An Chungsŏng Anju moksa An Sin Asai Ryōi A Xiang Baihua Baihutong Bai Juyi Baizhou Bajiu wenyue Ban Jieyu banzhu baojing Baopuzi neipian baowei Bao Xuan Bao Zhao Baqiong ren Beixi ziyi bian Biancheng wang Bian He Bianwu biao mei Biao you mei bici Bielu Bigan

阿道 愛民義 阿房宫 欸乃曲 愛卿傳 惡趣 阿羅漢 安鼎福 安仲善 安州牧使 安信 浅井了意 阿香 白華 白虎通 白居易 柏舟 把酒問月 班婕妤 斑竹 寶鏡 抱朴子內篇 寶位 鮑桓 鮑照 巴邛人 北溪字義 變 變成王 卞和 辯物 摽梅 摽有梅 詖辭 別錄 比干

biju Bi Libu binglun Bin zhi chuyan biyiniao Bi Zhuo Bohai boli bowang hou Bo xi Boya Boyi Boyi song Buju bulian shu Bunshō byŏng (CMPP), kŭn (SDCP) byŏngjip Caicai Cailian qu Cailuan cainü Caiqi Cai Shen caizi jiaren cangcang Cang Jie Cao Cao Cao Pi Cao Xueqin cha ch’aekch’aek yŏn chae pul Chahŏ ch’a hwa

弊居 畢吏部 氷輪 賓之初筵 比翼鳥 畢卓 渤海 玻璃 博望侯 伯兮 伯牙 伯夷 伯夷頌 卜居 步蓮姝 文正 柄, 根 丙集 采采 採蓮曲 彩鸞 采女 采芑 蔡沈 才子佳人 蒼蒼 蒼頡 曹操 曹丕 曹雪芹 字 磔磔然 齋佛 子虛 此話

147

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Glossary of Names and Terms

Ch’a Kŭmo sinhwa ŏ-Yun Yewŏn ch’amch’an’gwan ch’amwang Chan (K. Sŏn) chan ch’ang (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), wi (Meiji) ch’ang changbu Chang’e Ch’anggwansan Changhen ge Ch’ang il Ch’angjŏlsa Ch’angju Chang Kang Changnyong changsa (CMPP), sa (SDCP) Changxin qiu ci Chang Yu changyuk ch’anja Chao che Chasa chinch’an che Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu

借金鰲新話 於尹禮元 參贊官 僭王 禪 蟾 娼, 媦 倀 丈夫 嫦娥 蒼觀山 長恨歌 窓日 彰節祠 滄州 張綱 長龍 狀詞, 詞

長信秋詞 張維 藏六 粲者 慈烏啼 自寫眞贊 諸 題剪燈新 話後 Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) 祭金悅卿時 mun 習文 Che Kŭmo sinhwa 題金鰲新話 Chen 陳 Chen Chun 陳淳 cheng 誠 Cheng gong 成公 Chenghua 成化 Cheng Tang 成湯 Cheng Yi 程頤 Chen Tuan 陳摶 Chen Xuanyou 陳玄祐 Chen Youliang 陳友諒 Che Pagyŏn 題朴淵 Chesŏk isu 除夕二首

Che yuhwang komok to

題幽篁古 木圖 chi (CMPP), chin (SDCP) 遲, 進 chi 尺 Chibi fu 赤壁賦 Chibong yusŏl 芝峰類說 ch’ido 馳道 Chigwansa 知館事 Chiin 至人 Ch’ilbong sŏwŏn 七峰書院 ch’ildang karam 七堂伽藍 chimei 魑魅 chin (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), 趂, 趰 i (Meiji) chinch’ung ŏ-wang 盡忠於王 Chinhŭng 眞興 Ch’inp’il chŏn’gi chip 親筆傳奇集 Chinsan 鎭山 chiok 地獄 Chiphyŏnjŏn 集賢殿 chipsŏk 集釋 chisinsa 知申事 Chi Talha 池達河 cho (CMPP, Jōō), 祚, 祥 sang (Meiji) chŏ (CMPP), 摴, 樗 chŏ (Jōō and Meiji) chŏ 著 Chō Baigai 長梅外 Choch’ŏnsŏk 朝天石 Chodong owi yohae 曹洞五位 要解 Ch’oe Cha 崔滋 Ch’oe Ch’iun 崔致雲 Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn 崔致遠 Ch’oe Ingnyŏng 崔益齡 Ch’oe Inhun 崔仁勳 choejang 罪障 Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki 崔生遇眞記 Ch’oe Sukchŏng 崔淑精 Cho’gang 祖江 Ch’ŏgŏn 摭言 chŏk chang 寂場 Cho Kŭkkwan 趙克寬

Cho Kwanghyŏng Ch’ŏl segye ch’ŏn (CMPP) and ch’ŏng (Jōō and Meiji) ch’ŏndang chŏndo (CMPP), chŏndŭng (SDCP) Ch’ondong song hae Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae Chŏndŭng sinhwa pyŏnjŭngsŏl Chŏn’ga hŭi’u Chŏng Ch’angson Chŏng Chisang Ch’ŏngch’ŏn ch’ŏngch’u Ch’ŏngch’un Ch’ŏnggan Ch’ŏnggudo ch’ŏnggŭm Ch’ŏnggŭm rok Ch’ŏnghanja Chŏng Hŭidŭng Chŏng Hŭiryang chŏn’gi chŏn’gi sosŏl chong iwi ho, yŏng iwi ho Chŏngjae chip Ch’ŏngjŏlsa chŏngjŏng Chŏng Kunja Chŏng Mongju chŏngmyŏl tojang chongnu chŏngŏp Ch’ŏngp’ung Ch’ŏngp’unggak ki Ch’ŏngp’yŏngsan chongquan chongsa chŏngsa chŏngsa

Glossary of Names and Terms 趙光亨 鐵世界 蒨, 靑 天堂 剪刀, 剪燈 村童送蟹 剪燈新話 句解 剪燈新話辨 證說 田家喜雨 鄭昌孫 鄭知常 淸天 淸秋 靑春 淸簡 靑丘圖 靑衿 靑衿錄 淸寒子 鄭希登 鄭希良 傳記 傳奇小說 終以爲好, 永 以爲好 定齋集 淸節祠 訂正 鄭君子 鄭夢周 寂滅道場 鐘樓 定業 淸風 淸風閣記 淸平山 重泉 宗社 精舍 丁巳

ch’ŏngsa ch’ŏngsa chongsagwan Chŏng Saju Ch’ŏngsa yŏlchŏn chŏngsŭng ch’ŏngsŭng chŏngt’o Chŏng Tojŏn Chŏng Tugyŏng Ch’ŏngŭn chŏn Ch’ŏngun’gyo Ch’ŏngunje Chŏng Yuŭi ch’onhŏ ch’ŏnja Ch’ŏnjamun chŏnji chŏnjo Ch’ŏnmasan ch’ŏnmyŏng chŏnsa (CMPP), chŏndap (SDCP) ch’ŏnsan p’asu-ji kak

149

靑紗 靑莎 從事官 鄭師周 淸士列傳 政丞 靑蠅 淨土 鄭道傳 鄭斗卿 淸隱傳 靑雲橋 靑雲梯 鄭有義 村墟 天資 千字文 傳旨 前朝 天摩山 天命 田舍, 田畓

穿山簸水 之角 chŏnsin 傳神 ch’ŏp 貼 chŏp’o 摴蒲 Cho Ryŏ 趙旅 Chŏrŭisa 節義祠 ch’ŏrun’gwan 切雲冠 Chōsen, The 朝鮮 Chōsen ihō 朝鮮彙報 Chōsen Kenkyūkai 朝鮮硏究會 Chōsen Kosho Kankōka 朝鮮古書刊 行會 Chōsenshi henshūkai 朝鮮史編 修會 Chōsen tsūshin 朝鮮通信 Chosin 調信 Chosŏn 朝鮮 Chosŏn kojŏn munhak 조선고전문 sŏnjip 학선집 Chosŏn kwangmunhoe 朝鮮光文會

150

Glossary of Names and Terms

Chosŏn mokp’an pon Chosŏn mundan Chosŏn munhak-ŭi kaenyŏm Chosŏn munja-kŭp ŏhaksa Chosŏn sijo Chosŏn sosŏlsa Chosŏn wangjo sillok Cho Su ch’osu Cho Tŭngnim Chou Choumou Chou si Cho Wi Chowŏn-ji ru chu Chu Chuam chuanqi ch’ubok susŏn ch’uch’ŏn ch’uch’ŏn Chuci Ch’ugang chip Ch’ugwan hyŏngjo Chujiang wang chukdu Chuksŏ Chumong Ch’unamhŏ chunchou Chungjong Chŭng cham sangin chungin ch’ungsin ch’ungsunwi Chŭng Tongbong Ch’unhyang chŏn ch’unp’ung ch’unp’ung myŏn Chunqiu

朝鮮木版本 朝鮮文壇 朝鮮文學의 槪念 朝鮮文字及 語學史 朝鮮始祖 朝鮮小說史 朝鮮王朝 實錄 趙須 椒水 趙得琳 祖雨 綢繆 抽思 曺偉 朝元之樓 籌 楚 酒巖 傳奇 追福修善 追薦 鞦韆 楚辭 秋江集 秋官刑曹 初江王 竹兜 竹西 朱蒙 楸南墟 春愁 中宗 贈岑上人 中人 忠臣 忠順衛 贈東峰 春香傳 春風 春風面 春秋

Chun sangin ch’unsim Ch’un sosik chunt’o Chun wang Chunyang qu Chunyang wu Chun ye yan cong di taoli yuan xu Chunyuan ch’usŏn Ch’uun Chuya chwahwa chwau (CMPP, Jōō), chae u (Meiji) Ch’weseong Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki cipai Congma xing Cuicui zhuan cuihua gu Cui Tu cuji cun Cunzhai Dadian Baotong Dahan Dai bei baitouweng Dai Shulun Daolin Daoying Dasheng Datang xiyu ji Daxue Dazhuan Dianmu Dili zhi Di Renji dizi jingling Donghuang taiyi Dongmen zhi fen dongtian fudi

峻上人 春心 春消息 㕙兎 準王 春陽曲 春陽舞 春夜宴從弟 桃李園序 春怨 追善 秋雲 晝夜 坐化 左右, 在右 贅世翁 醉遊浮碧 亭記 詞牌 騘馬行 翠翠傳 催花鼓 崔塗 踧踖 寸 存齋 大顚 寶通 大漢 代悲白頭翁 戴叔倫 道林 道應 達生 大唐西域記 大學 大傳 電母 地理志 狄仁傑 帝子精靈 東皇太一 東門之枌 洞天福地

Dongtian huazhu ji Dōshun Hayashi Razan dou Duan Chengshi Du Fu Dui jiu Duixue Du Lanxiang Du Mu Dushi wang Du Yuezhu erqi erqi zhi liangneng Erya fameng Famu Fan Chengda Fang Guozhen Fangji fangliang Fangzhang Fan Kuai Fan Li Fazhuji fenfu Fengbo fengliuqing Fengqiao yebo fengqing Feng qiu huang fengsao Feng Yi Fugui fajisi ji

洞天花燭記 道春 林 羅山 斗 段成式 杜甫 對酒 對雪 杜蘭香 杜牧 都市王 杜月渚 二氣 二氣之良能 爾雅 發蒙 伐木 范成大 方國珍 坊記 方良 方丈 樊噲 范蠡 法住記 分符 風伯 風流情 楓橋夜泊 風情 鳳求凰 風騷 馮夷 富貴發跡 司記 Fūryū saishi to Sai ie no 風流才子と musume 崔家の娘 Fusang 扶桑 Fu Shufang 符淑芳 futou 幞頭 Fuxi 伏羲 Gamō Shigeaki 蒲生重章 Gang 岡 gaohuang 膏肓 Gaotang fu 高唐賦

Glossary of Names and Terms Gaozong rongri Gōhime Gongcheng qingshan yue Gong Sheng Gotsuchimikado Go-Yōzei guanhe Guanju Guan Longfeng Guan Yuan Danqiu zuo Wushan pingfeng gui gui gui Guicang Guice liezhuan guiche Gui Heng Guilu guimi Gu Kaizhi Gumu youhuang tu Guofeng Guo Pu Guo shihuang mu Guo Xiulinggong Guoyu Gushi shijiu shou Gu Xiong Gu Yun Guzhong Haedong Haedong chamnok Haedong cheguk ki Hae-egesŏ sonyŏn-ege

151

高宗肜日 豪姫 功成慶善樂 龔勝 後土御門帝 後陽成 關河 關雎 關龍逢 觀元丹丘坐 巫山屏風 桂 歸 鬼 歸藏 龜策列傳 鬼車 桂衡 鬼籙 鬼米 顧愷之 古木幽篁圖 國風 郭璞 過始皇墓 過繡嶺宮 國語 古詩十九首 顧夐 顧雲 鼓鍾 海東 海東雜錄 海東諸國記 海에게서少 年에게 Haejŏ yŏhaeng kidam 海底旅行 奇譚 haengno (CMPP), haengno 行露, 行路 (SDCP) haengsildo 行實圖 Haengu 杏雨 haengyu i chŏkpul 行儒而迹佛 Hagŭmgo 學音稿

152

Glossary of Names and Terms

Hainei shizhou ji Haiyongshan Hakcho hakkwan Hamin-ji mun Han Han Han Feizi Hangmae hangxie Han’gyesan Han’gyŏl-saeng Han Kyesun hanhu Han Huang hanin Kim Sisŭp hanmun hanp’il Hanshansi Han Shou Hanshu hansi Hansŏngbu Hanyang Han Yu hanzhang Haoliang Hasŏ sŏnsaeng chŏnjip

海內十洲記 海湧山 學祖 學官 含仁之門 漢 韓 韓非子 學梅 沆瀣 寒溪山 한결生 韓繼純 含糊 韓滉 韓人金始習 漢文 漢筆 寒山寺 韓壽 漢書 漢詩 漢城府 漢陽 韓愈 含章 濠梁 河西先生 全集 Ha Wiji 河緯地 Hebo 河伯 Hejian zhuan 河間傳 Helü 闔閭 hengchui 橫吹 Heng’e 姮娥 Hengmen 衡門 Heshi 和氏 He Siming you Fengdu 何思明遊酆 lu 都錄 Hetu 河圖 ho 號 Hŏ Cho 許稠 Hŏ Ch’ohŭi 許楚姬 hoe (CMPP), han (SDCP) 悔, 恨

hoedap kyŏm swaehwansa 回答兼刷 還使 hoenghaeng kaesa 橫行介士 hoeng’yŏk 橫逆 Hoep’ung-ji kok 回風之曲 hoesan yangnŭng 懷山襄陵 hogu 好逑 hogwi 虎鬼 Hojil 虎叱 hojo p’ansŏ 戶曹判書 Hŏju 虛舟 holhwang (CMPP) hwang­ 惚恍, 恍惚 hol (SDCP, Jōō, Meiji) Hŏ Kyun 許筠 Hŏ Mok 許穆 hŏmyŏng 虛名 Honam 湖南 Hŏ Nansŏrhŏn 許蘭雪軒 Hong Chikp’il 洪直弼 hongdu chŏk 紅頭賊 Hongfan jiuchou 洪範九疇 honggŏn chŏk 紅巾賊 hongjŏk 紅賊 Hong Kildong chŏn 洪吉童傳 Hongloumeng 紅樓夢 Hongmun’gwan 弘文館 Hong Yuson 洪裕孫 Hongzhi 弘治 hop’ae 戶牌 Hŏ Pong 許篈 Hosoi Hajime 細井肇 Hou Chibi fu 後赤壁賦 Hou Hanshou 後漢書 hu (measure) 斛 hu 笏 huaigu 懷古 Huainanzi 淮南子 Huajian ji 花間集 huangdi 皇帝 Huangniao 黃鳥 Huan gong 桓公 huangsha 黄沙 Huan Kuan 桓寬 Huan Shaojun 桓少君

Huarui furen huayue yao Hu-Chosŏn sijo hŭi Hŭiraktang mun’go Huiyuan Hullyŏnwŏn Hŭngin-ji mun Hŭngnyunsa Hun Yi huqiu huqiushan Huqiu zhenniang Hwa chŭksa Hwa maehwa hwan’ga (CMPP), hwan’gŏ (SDCP) Hwangbo In Hwangnyongsa Hwaŏm Hwawang kye hyanggyo hyanghyŏnsa hyangt’o saek Hyeryang hyŏnbu Hyŏn Ch’ae Hyŏn Chŏkpok hyŏngjo chŏngnang Hyŏnjong Hyŏnnŭng Hyŏn sŏnsaeng Hyoryŏng taegun i (CMPP), i (SDCP) igyo ijo p’ansŏ ilgŏ wŏlche Illi non ilsaeng (CMPP), samsaeng (SDCP) Iltŭngnok Im Che Im Chŏng Imch’ŏn kahwa

Glossary of Names and Terms 花蕊夫人 花月妖 後朝鮮始祖 喜 希樂堂文稿 慧遠 訓練院 興仁之門 興輪寺 昏義 虎丘 虎丘山 虎丘真娘 和卽事 畫梅花 還家, 還去 皇甫仁 皇龍寺 華嚴 花王戒 鄕校 鄕賢祠 鄕土色 惠亮 玄夫 玄采 玄積福 刑曹正郞 顯宗 顯陵 玄先生 孝寧大君 以, 而 異敎 吏曹判書 日居月諸 一理論 一生, 三生 日得錄 林悌 林井 林泉佳話

imjin Im Ki inon (CMPP), yŏnon (Jōō, Meiji) Insamun inyŏn Iryŏn ji Jia Chong Jia Dao jianbing Jianchi Jiandeng conghua Jiandeng xinhua Jiandeng yuhua Jiangmiao nishen ji Jiangnan Jiangpan dubu xunhua Jiang Zhongzi Jianhu yefan ji Jianxi Jiaohong ji Jiaosi zhi Jiaotong jiaoxiao Jiaren jiashen Jia Wu Jibin jiegu Jiegu lu Jigoku mondō Jigu Ji Liu Xiazhou Bohua shijun sishi yun Jin Ding Jinfengchai ji Jingchai ji Jinglun jing pu jingqi Jingtai

153

壬辰 林芑 氤氳, 煙熅 人事門 因緣 一然 紀 贾充 賈島 堅冰 劒池 剪燈叢話 剪燈新話 剪燈餘話 江廟泥神記 江南 江畔獨步尋 花七絶句 將仲子 鑑湖夜泛記 簡兮 嬌紅記 郊祀志 狡童 鮫綃 佳人 甲申 賈午 罽賓 羯鼓 羯鼓錄 地獄問答 擊鼓 寄劉峽州伯 華使君四 十韻 金定 金鳳釵記 荊釵記 警論 荊璞 精氣 景泰

154

Glossary of Names and Terms

jin poluo Jinqian ji Jinshu Jin ting jinwu Jinzhi jiugai Jiu ge jiuliu jiuquan jiushi jiutian jiutouniao Jiu zhang Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan Jiyi Jiyi zhi jizhu Jōō Juan’e Juan’er Jueju juku Junshan Jutan kabin nakt’ak Kaeryŏng hyŏn Kaeryŏng tong kaesa Kaesŏng Kaesŏngbu kaeyŏl sŏng kagwang kahoe (CMPP), kahoe (SDCP) kahoe Kaiyuan Tianbao yishi Kakhwang kamgae-ji sa Kanbun kangdang Kang Hang

金叵羅 金錢記 晉書 進艇 金吾 金枝 九垓 九歌 九流 九泉 久視 九天 九頭鳥 九章 寄揚州韓綽 判官 祭義 集異志 機杼 承應 卷阿 卷耳 絕句 聚窟 君山 瞿曇 家貧落魄 開寧縣 開寧洞 介士 開城 開城府 開裂聲 覺王 嘉會, 佳會 佳會 開元天寶 遺事 覺皇 感慨之事 寛文 講堂 姜沆

Kang Hŭimaeng Kangjŏng ch’uya wanwŏl Kangnŭng Kim-ssi Kanyang rok kanyu kapcha sahwa kapchip Karam chip Karam Yi Hyŏnil kari kasŏng Katō Kiyomasa Ke Jiusi Keyi Ki Chahŏn kidam kidong Kija kija Kija Chosŏn Kijae Kijae kii Kija myo Kija tongnae sŏl Kikensho-moku Kim Alji Kim Allo Kim Chinan nae man Kim Chŏngguk Kim Chŏngho Kim Chongsŏ Kim Ch’unt’aek Kim Chuwŏn Kim Hwangwŏn kimi Kim Ilsŏng Kim Inhu Kim Koengp’il Kim Kuju Kim Kyŏmgan Kim Maengsŏng Kim Manjung Kim Oksan

姜希孟 江亭秋夜 玩月 江陵金氏 看羊錄 堪輿 甲子士禍 甲集 葛庵集 葛庵 李玄逸 伽梨 佳城 加藤清正 柯九思 刻意 奇自獻 奇談/奇譚 奇童 箕子 碁子 箕子朝鮮 企齋 企齋記異 箕子廟 箕子東來說 既見書目 金閼智 金安老 金鎭安內挽 金正國 金正浩 金宗瑞 金春澤 金周元 金黃元 己未 金日省 金麟厚 金宏弼 金久柱 金謙侃 金孟性 金萬重 金玉山

Kim Pan Kim Ponggi Kim Sisŭp Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip Kim Sisŭp chŏn Kim Sisŭp sŏnsaeng chŏn Kim Suon Kim T’aehyŏn Kim T’aejun Kim Tongbong hwasang ch’an Kim Yŏn Kim Yu Kim Yun’gyŏng King Zhu kirin Kiringul Kisŏng Kiyang Kiyŏng kŏ Ko Chosŏn Ko Chumong kodae sosŏl Koeae Koguryŏ kogwan kojŏn Kojong kok Kong Li Kongmin wang Kongzi jiayu kŏnjŭl Koryŏ Kŏryŏng hyŏn Koryŏ sa Koryŏ sa chŏryo Kosŏng hoego kosŭl kogŭm Koulchu Koyul si

Glossary of Names and Terms 金泮 金鳳基 金時習 김시습작품 선집 金時習傳 金時習先 生傳 金守溫 金台鉉 金台俊 金東峯畫 像贊 金淵 金紐 金允經 王蠋 麒麟 麒麟窟 箕城 箕襄 箕營 遽 古朝鮮 高朱蒙 古代小說 乖崖 高句麗 孤館 古典 高宗 哭 孔鯉 恭愍王 孔子家語 巾櫛 高麗 居寧縣 高麗史 高麗史節要 古城懷古 鼓瑟鼓琴 高鬱州 古律詩

Kŏ Yongjangsa kyŏngsil yu hoe Ku, Emperor ku ku Kugong-ji mu Kuibian Kujegung kuk Kukcho pogam kukhak kuksa kŭmap kŭmdang Kŭmgang kyŏng ŏnhae Kŭmgang sammae kyŏng Kŭmhwajŏn Kŭmnu kok Kŭmo (Ŭigŭmbu) kŭmo (golden turtle) Kŭmo hŏnnok kŭmo kŏsa Kŭmosan Kŭmo sinhwa Kŭmo sinhwa haeje Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi kogŏ Kŭmsŏng Kŭmsusan kungmunhak Kungye Kurita Manjirō kuru Kuunmong K’waehŏn kwae kwan kwahak sosŏl Kwahak sosŏl Pihaengsŏn kwaksak Kwandong Kwandong illok kwangdal

155

居茸長寺經 室有懷 嚳 丘 溝 九功之舞 頍弁 九梯宮 國 國朝寶鑑 國學 國士 金鴨 金堂 金剛經諺解 金剛三昧經 金花箋 金縷曲 金吾 金鰲 金吾憲錄 金鰲居士 金鰲山 金鰲新話 金鰲新話 解題 金鰲新話의 考據 金城 錦繡山 國文學 弓裔 栗田萬次郞 溝婁 九雲夢 快軒 掛冠 科學小說 科學小說 飛 行船 郭索 關東 關東日錄 曠達

156

Glossary of Names and Terms

Kwanggaet’o kwanghan ch’ŏnghŏ-ji pu kwangsŭng Kwansŏ kwisin Kwisin chep’al Kwisin ron kwiwang Kwŏn Han’gong Kwŏn Hŭn Kwŏn Kŭn Kwŏn Munhae Kwŏn Pyŏl kyech‘uk Kyegok Kyegok chip Kyemyŏng Kyerim kyesa Kyeyu chŏngnan kyeyul kyomok kyŏmsasŏng kyŏnch’aek (CMPP), kyŏnch’aek (SDCP) kyŏng (CMPP), ŭi (SDCP) kyŏng (CMPP, Jōō), kyŏng (Meiji) kyŏng (CMPP), chŏng (Jōō, Meiji) kyŏngch’agwan Kyŏngguk taejŏn Kyŏnghye kyŏngjang Kyŏngju Kyŏngmong yogyŏl Kyŏngse yup’yo kyŏngsu kyŏngyŏn kyŏn kohyang lang’gan Lanqiao

廣開土 廣寒淸虛 之府 狂僧 關西 鬼神 鬼神第八 鬼神論 鬼王 權漢功 權俒 權近 權文海 權鼈 癸丑 谿谷 谿谷集 啓明 鷄林 癸巳 癸酉靖難 戒律 喬木 兼司成 譴責, 見責 竟, 意 警, 驚 俓, 征 敬差官 經國大典 敬惠 經藏 慶州 擊蒙要訣 經世遺表 瓊樹 經筵 見故鄕 琅玕 藍橋

Lei Cizong Leigong li (principle) li (evil ghost) Lianfanglou ji Liangchuan douxiayuan zhi Liang Huiwang liangneng Liangui Lianlishu ji Lianshan Li Bai Li Changqi Lieji Lienü zhuan Lieyi zhuan Lie Yukou liezhuan Liezi Li He Lihun ji Liji Lin’an Lingbo zhi ci Linghusheng mingmeng lu Lingtai Lin jie pian liqi Liqing Li Qingzhao Lisao Lisaojing Li Shangyin Li Shizhi liting Liu Ao Liu Che Liu Guimeng liuhe Liu Jia Liu Qiqing Liu Xiang

雷次宗 雷公 理 厲 聯芳樓記 兩川都轄 院志 梁惠王 良能 蓮龜 連理樹記 連山 李白 李昌祺 禮記 列女傳 列異傳 列御寇 列傳 列子 李賀 離魂記 禮記 臨安 淩波之詞 令狐生冥 夢錄 灵台 鳞介篇 厲氣 麗卿 李清照 離騷 離騷經 李商隱 李適之 鯉庭 劉驁 劉徹 陸龜蒙 六合 陸賈 柳耆卿 劉向

Liu Xiyi Liu Yiqing Liu Yong Liu Zan Liu Zongyuan Li Ye Li Zhen Li Zhi Longtang linghui lu longtou long zhan Luan Luan Cheng Lu Ao Luche Lu Guang Lu Lengjia Luming Lunheng lunxu Lunyu luocha Luo Gongyuan luohan Luoshu Lüshi chunqiu Lüyiren zhuan Lu Xun Maeda Toshiie Maeksu ka maeksu ŭnhŏ-ji t’an Maesan Maesan sŏnsaeng munjip Maewŏltang Maewŏltang chip Maewŏltang chip sŏ Maewŏltang pyŏlchip Maewŏltang sijip Maewŏltang si sa yurok Maewŏldtang sŏ

Glossary of Names and Terms 劉希夷 劉義慶 柳永 劉贊 柳宗元 李業 李禎 李贄 龍堂靈會 錄 龍頭 戰 鸞 欒成 盧敖 鹿車 陸廣 盧楞枷 鹿鳴 論衡 倫序 論語 羅刹 羅公遠 羅漢 洛書 吕氏春秋 綠衣人傳 魯迅 前田利家 麥秀歌 麥秀殷墟 之歎 梅山 梅山先生 文集 梅月堂 梅月堂集 梅月堂集序 梅月堂別集 梅月堂詩集 每月堂詩四 遊錄 梅月堂序

Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn Maewŏltang yŏngdang kwŏnyŏn mun man (CMPP), man (SDCP, Jōō, Meiji) Manase Seikei Manase Seirin Manboksa Manboksa chŏp’o ki Manboksa kwisŭng Manbugyo Man‘ganghong mangcang Mang Suraksan hoe Kim Tongbong Manji Manp’il Mao Bao Maoying zhuan Mazu mei Meng (Shijing) Meng (Yijing) Meng Chang Mengfu Meng huanxian Mengzi mi Mideng yinhua min minbon chuŭi Ming mingfu mingyuezhu Mirǔksa Mishima Chūshū Misu kiŏn mo moding fangzhong Mogŭn sigo moksa moluo

157

梅月堂先 生傳 梅月堂影堂 勸緣文 脕, 晚 曲直瀨正珪 曲直瀨正琳 萬福寺 萬福寺摴 蒲記 萬福寺歸僧 萬夫橋 滿江紅 莽蒼 望水落山懷 金東峯 萬治 漫筆 毛寶 毛潁傳 媽祖 魅 氓 蒙 孟昶 夢符 夢還鄉 孟子 羙 覓燈因話 民 民本主義 明 冥府 明月珠 彌勒寺 三島中洲 眉叟記言 魔 摩頂放踵 牧隱詩藁 牧使 魔羅

158

Glossary of Names and Terms

Mongmyŏksan Mōri Terumoto Mozi Mudandeng ji Mugua mugwi mujang mujang kongja Mulanhua man mumei mun (CMPP), mun (Jōō, Meiji) Munjang munjip Munjong munmyŏng munsa Mup’ungjŏng Paekwŏn Muryangsa wabyŏng Musa mushi musillonjŏk sasang Mu Tianzi zhuan Muzhong myo, myo Myobŏp yŏnhwagyŏng pyŏlch’an myŏng myŏng (CMPP), myŏng (SDCP) Myŏngch’i pon Myŏng Ch’ŏnwŏn Kim Sisŭp ch’ebal i yusu myŏngdo myŏnggyo Myŏngjae yugo Myŏngju illok Myŏngmidang chip Nakhado Nakt’agyo Nam Hyo‘on Nam Hyorye

木覓山 毛利輝元 墨子 牡丹燈記 木瓜 巫鬼 無腸 無腸公子 木蘭花慢 木魅 聞, 問 文章 文集 文宗 問名 文士 茂豊正百源 無量寺臥病 無思 木石 無神論的 思想 穆天子傳 沐腫 眇, 藐 妙法蓮華經 別讚 命 暝, 明 明治本 明天淵金時 習剃髮而 留鬚 冥道 明敎 明齋遺稿 溟洲日錄 明美堂集 洛河渡 駱駝橋 南孝溫 南孝禮

Namwŏn Namwŏn Kwanghannusang mun chŏk Namwŏn tohobu Namyŏmbuje Namyŏmbuju Namyŏmbuju chi Nam Yongik nangmu nangnang (CMPP), hongnang (SDCP) nangp’ae (CMPP), nangja (Jōō, Meiji) Nanhai Guanyin Namsan Nanshan Nan Zhuo Ning Yu Niulang Niu Sengru Ni Zan no (CMPP), ho (SDCP) Norŭng chi Nosan’gun No Sasin Nŭnghŏ-ji kak nŭnghŏ-ji kwan Nŭngnado Nŭngŏm kyŏng Nüwa O Chŏngsŏk oho (CMPP, Jōō, Meiji), oho (SDCP) Oju yŏnmun changjŏn san’go Oksŏnmong oktang ŏm (CMPP, SDCP), ŏm (Jōō, Meiji) ŏp i chŏng ŭi ŏpp’ung onch’ŏn Ongnu ch’un ŏnhae

南原 南原廣寒樓 上聞笛 南原都護府 南閻浮提 南炎浮州 南炎浮州志 南龍翼 廊廡 娘娘, 紅娘 狼狽, 狼藉 南海觀音 南山 南山 南卓 甯兪 牛郎 牛僧孺 倪瓚 老, 好 魯陵志 魯山君 盧思愼 凌虛之閣 凌虛之冠 綾羅島 楞嚴經 女媧 吳廷碩 嗚虖, 嗚呼 五洲衍文長 箋散稿 玉仙夢 玉堂 奄, 掩 業已定矣 業風 溫泉 玉樓春 諺解

onjŏng Ono Kozan Oryun haengsildo Osaeng ose (C. aoshi) ose (C. wusui) Ŏ Segyŏm ose tongja ose tongja tong ŏsu Ŏ Sukkwŏn Ōtani Kōzui Otogibōko Ōtsuka Hikotaro Ouyang Xiu owi pujang P’aegang P’aegang kok Paegisan Paegun’gyo Paegunja Paegunje P’aegwan chapki p’aegwŏl Paekchŏ ka Paekkong Paek Nŭngp’a Paekp’al pŏnnoe p’aenggi paengmyŏn rang paengmyŏn sŏsaeng paengnyŏn Paengnyongdam Pagyŏn Pagyŏn P’ahan chip pak (gourd) Pak (surname) Pak Chihwa Pak chinsa Pak Ich’ang Pak P’aengnyŏn Pak Sedang Pak Sungjil

Glossary of Names and Terms 溫井 小野湖山 五倫行實圖 悟生 傲世 五歲 魚世謙 五歲童子 五歲童子洞 魚水 魚叔權 大谷光瑞 伽婢子 大塚彦太郞 歐陽修 五衛部將 浿江 浿江曲 伯夷山 白雲橋 白雲子 白雲梯 稗官雜記 貝闕 白紵歌 伯恭 白凌波 百八煩惱 彭蜞 白面郞 白面書生 百年 白龍潭 瓢淵 朴淵 破閑集 瓢 朴 朴枝華 朴進士 朴以昌 朴彭年 朴世堂 朴崇質

Pak T’aebo Pak Ŭn Pak Ŭnsik Pak Yonghŭi pal p’alcho p’algwan hoe p’algyŏng P’alp’ung mu p’amun kapsa Pang Maewŏltang kujŏk

159

朴泰輔 朴誾 朴殷植 朴容喜 跋 八條 八關會 八景 八風舞 把門甲士 訪梅月堂 舊跡 pangŏn 方言 Pan’gung 泮宮 Pansagok 盤蛇谷 Pan Yunu 潘玉奴 pao, zhi 拋, 置 p’asa (CMPP, SDCP and 婆娑, 婆婆 Jōō), p’ap’a (Meiji) Pei Hang 裴航 Pei Xing 裴鉶 Peng 蓬 Pengdao 蓬島 Penghao 蓬蒿 Penglai 蓬萊 p’i (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), 彼, 波 p’a (Meiji) pijo 鼻祖 p’il (SDCP), p’a (CMPP) 匹, 叵 p’ilbu 匹夫 p’ilto (CMPP, Jōō), 筆刀, 筆力 p’illyŏk (Meiji) Pingdeng wang 平等王 Pipa xing 琵琶行 pŏbyŏn 法筵 Pohan chip 補閑集 pokchŏn 福田 P’okch‘ŏn chŏngsa 瀑泉精舍 Pokchu 福州 pŏmgung 梵宮 pŏmp’ae 梵唄 pŏmryul 犯律 Pŏpkyedo chu 法界圖註 Ponghwangdae 鳳凰臺

160

Glossary of Names and Terms

Poryŏnsa posuo powang pu (CMPP, Jōō), sŏl (Meiji) Pubyŏngnu Pubyŏngnu ch’aun Pubyŏngnyo pul chi sin (CMPP), pul sin chi (SDCP) Pulgi pun (CMPP, SDCP, Meiji), pun (Jōō) p’ungnyu kihwa se susim p‘ungu mujŏng Pusa chip Pusang illok Pusangnok Pusŏksa p’yo (CMPP), p’yo (SDCP), “whirl” p’yo (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), p’yo (Meiji) Pyŏkdam-ji kok Pyŏksan ch’ŏngŭn pyŏlsi pyŏng P’yŏngando Pyŏnghak ŭm Pyŏngnando Pyŏngwa misun chich’usim naegi kamgŭm sago chak kamhŭng si P’yŏngyang P’yŏngyangbu Pyŏrhong Qi qi Qian Qianchang Qiangtou hua Qian Kun

寶蓮寺 婆娑 普王 膚, 雪 浮碧樓 浮碧樓次韻 浮碧寮 不之信, 不 信之 不器 紛, 粉 風流奇話細 搜尋 風雨無情 浮査集 扶桑日錄 扶桑錄 浮石寺 飄, 縹 摽, 標 碧潭之曲 碧山淸隱 別試 病 平安道 病鶴吟 碧瀾渡 病臥彌旬 至 秋深乃起 感 今思古 作感 興詩 平壤 平壤府 別鴻 齊 氣 乾 褰裳 牆頭花 錢昆

Qianniang Qiannü lihun qianquan yi Qiao Jifu Qiaoqiao qiao yuan qibao qikuo Qin qingqiu qingtu Qinguang wang qingxu qingzhe Qin Shi huangdi Qin zheng qiongjiang qiongli jinxing qionglou Qiufeng ci Qiuhuai shi Qiushui Qiuxiangting ji Qiuxi fang Pipa ting j qiyuan li qizi Quan Tangshi Quan yan Quiran Ke Zhuan Qu You Qu Yuan ran (CMPP, Jōō and Meiji), ran (SDCP) Ranran gu sheng zhu ren Renshi zhuan renxin Richō bukkyō Riyue Rufen rugoe chŏkso runbi yan Ruxing

倩娘 倩女離魂 繾綣意 喬吉甫 翹翹 喬怨 七寶 契闊 秦 靑丘 靑土 秦廣王 淸虛 磬折 秦始皇帝 秦箏 瓊漿 窮理盡性 瓊樓 秋風辭 秋懷詩 秋水 秋香亭記 秋夕訪琵琶 亭記 漆園吏 碁子 全唐詩 詮言 虯髯客傳 瞿佑 屈原 闌, 欄 冉冉孤生竹 仞 任氏傳 仁心 李朝佛敎 日月 汝墳 累塊積蘇 潤筆宴 儒行

ryŏl (CMPP), ryŏl (Jōō, Meiji) ryŏmyŏm (CMPP, Jōō), ryŏmryŏm (Meiji) ryŏn (CMPP, SDCP, Meiji), rin (Jōō) ryugi Ryugu no jōtō Ryūgū no muyū ryul sa sa (CMPP), sin (SDCP) sa (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), sa (Meiji) sach’ae saeng saengŏp Saengsa sŏl saengwŏn saeng yŏ ki ŏn (CMPP), saeng mun ki ŏn (SDCP) saeng yuksin Saga chip Saga sijip sain Sajae Sajae chip salchang mun samch’ŏn kye Samgang haengsildo Samguk ponsa Samguk sagi Samguk yusa samhan sami samse samun sanchi sanchifa sang (CMPP), sil (SDCP) sangang sangbu Sangjang chesip

Glossary of Names and Terms 裂, 烈 瀲灩, 瀲瀲 憐, 隣 柳磯 竜宮の上棟 龍宮の夢遊 律 士 沙, 身 莎, 紗 舍菜 生 生業 生死說 生員 生如其言, 生 聞其言 生六臣 四佳集 四佳詩集 士人 思齋 思齋集 撒帳文 三千界 三綱行實圖 三國本史 三國史記 三國遺事 三韓 四美 三世 斯文 三尺 三尺法 喪, 失 三綱 孀婦 喪葬第十

sangnyang mun sang rak (CMPP), ro rak (SDCP) Sanguozhi sangwi Sang Yŏju Ch’ŏngsimnu yu kam Sang Yu Yangyang chinjŏng sŏ (Chahan) sanlü zi Sanshan fudi zhi sanwu sanyŏ saphwa Sa-ssi namjŏng ki Sau myŏnghaeng rok saye sa yuksin Sa yurok Sejong Sejong sillok chiriji

161

上樑文 桑落, 露落

三國志 相位 上驪州淸心 樓有感 上柳襄陽陳 情書自漢 三閭子 三山福地志 三五 士女 揷畫 謝氏南征記 師友名行錄 司藝 死六臣 四遊錄 世宗 世宗實錄地 理志 sese saengsaeng 世世生生 Shangui 山鬼 Shang Wei zuo xiang ershi 上韋左相二 yun 十韻 Shanhaijing 山海經 Shantang 山堂 shanxiao 山魈 Shanyang junzi 山陽君子 Shao Jingzhan 邵景詹 Shaowen 少文 She jiang 涉江 shen 蜃 Shen Baoxu 申包胥 Shen Bin 沈彬 Shengmin 生民 shengming 聖明 Shen Jiji 沈既濟 Shennong 神農 Shen Shao 沈韶 Shenyang dong ji 申陽洞記 Shen Yazhi 沈亞之 sibi (CMPP), sia (SDCP) 侍婢, 侍兒

162

Glossary of Names and Terms

sihak Shiji Shi Jilong Shijing Shi jizhuan Shili Shishou xinyu shiwang Shiwangjing shiyi Shiyue zhi jiao Shuigong qinghui lu Shuigong qinghui shi Shu jizhuan Shulong yin Shun dian Shuo gua Shuowen jiezi siho sihwa sijo puhŭng undong sijung Sik chŭnghae siktang sil ki chŏl Silla Silla pon’gi Sima Qian Sima Xiangru Sim Ch’ŏng chŏn Sim Chongjik Sim Kyŏngho simyu chŏkpul sinbu sinch’esi Sindokchae Kim Chip Sindokchae sut’aek pon chŏn’gi chip Sindong-ŭi irŭm nop’ŭn Tongbong Kim Sisŭp Sin’gwi sŏl Sinhomun

詩學 史記 石李龍 詩經 詩集傳 士禮 世說新語 十王 十王經 十翼 十月之交 水宮慶會錄 水宮慶會詩 書集傳 水龍吟 舜典 說卦 說文解字 諡號 詩話 時調復興 運動 侍中 食蒸蟹 食堂 失其節 新羅 新羅本記 司馬遷 司馬相如 沈淸傳 沈宗直 沈慶昊 心儒迹佛 信符 新體詩 愼獨齋 金集 愼獨齋手澤 本傳奇集 神童의 이름 높은 東峯 金 時習 神鬼說 神虎門

Sinhosa Sinhŭng sinin Sinjun Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam Sin Kwanghan sinmyo sinp‘yŏn Sinsaeng Sin Sukchu sinwang Sip hyŏndam yohae sisŭng siyŏk Sŏ sobok Sŏbuk hakhoe wŏlbo Soch’ong yugo Sŏgye chip Sŏgyŏng Sŏ Hanjŏng sŏk (CMPP), ilsŏk (SDCP) Sŏ kapchip-hu Sŏ Kŏjŏng sŏl Sŏlcham Sŏl Ch’ong sŏllin son Songdi wang Songdo Songgang Chŏng Ch’ŏl Sŏnggŏsan Songgyŏng Sŏnggyun’gwan Sŏngho sasŏl Sŏng Hyŏn Sŏngnimam ki Sŏng Sammun Song Siyŏl Sŏng Sŭng

神護寺 晨興 神人 神駿 新增東國輿 地勝覽 申光漢 辛卯 新篇 新生 申叔舟 神王 十玄談要解 詩僧 弑逆 書 素服 西北學會 月報 篠䕺遺稿 西溪集 西京 徐翰廷 夕, 一夕 書甲集後 徐居正 說 雪岑 薛聰 善隣 飡 宋帝王 松都 松江 鄭澈 聖居山 松京 成均館 星湖僿說 成俔 石林庵記 成三問 宋時烈 成勝

Sŏng Tamsu Songxue Sŏng Yŏsin Song Yu Song yuan Sŏn’gyundang ki Sŏnhaeng Sŏnjo sŏnju Sŏnjungni Sŏnsa Sŏnsa Chang-ssi sŏnsa purhŭi pul Sonyŏn Sŏraksan Sŏsan sŏwŏn sosŏlga Sosŏlga-ro pon Sŏp’o Kim Manjung Soushen ji Ssangnyŏ pun sŏlhwa ssi subu Su Dongpo Su’e Sugup’a sugyŏn Suhoja Sui Sui chŏn Suihou zhi zhu Sukchong Suksin Suk Wŏnsŏng sŏgwan sumunjang sun (CMPP, SDCP, Jōō), chŏng (Meiji) Sunam chip sŭngbang Sŭngjŏngwŏn Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi Sŭng Sŏlcham raebang sŭngt’ong

Glossary of Names and Terms 成聃壽 松雪 成汝信 宋玉 送遠 蟬橘堂記 善行 宣祖 仙姝 善竹里 仙槎 仙槎張氏 禪師不喜佛 少年 雪嶽山 西山書院 小說家 小說家로 본 西浦 金萬重 搜神記 雙女墳說話 氏 水府 蘇東坡 素娥 守舊派 夙緣 垂胡子 隋 殊異傳 隋侯之珠 肅宗 肅愼 宿原城西館 守門將 淳, 渟 順菴集 僧房 承政院 承政院日記 僧雪岑來訪 僧統

Sun Simiao Suo Jing Suo Jing zhuan suosuo Suryong ŭm suryŏn Su Shi Sutai zhuzhi qu Su Wu Suyang taegun Taean tae changbu taedae Taedongmun Taedong unbu kunok Taedong yasŭng Taedong yŏnju sigyŏk T’aegŭk hakpo t’aehakkwan Tae hwaŏm pŏpkyedo chu sŏ T’aejo T’aejong T’aejong sillok T’aektang chip taemo yŏn Taesan chip taesasŏng t’ago Taiping guangji Taishan wang Taixuanjing Taixu sifa zhuan Takahashi Tōru T’akt’agyo Tang Tang Song chuanqi ji Tan’gun Tan’gun myo Tan’gun wanggŏm T’angyu Honam rok T’angyu Kwandong rok

163

孫思邈 索靖 索靖傳 傞傞 水龍吟 修鍊 蘇軾 蘇臺竹枝曲 蘇武 首陽大君 大安 大丈夫 大帶 大同門 大東韻府 群玉 大東野乘 大東聯珠 詩格 太極學報 大學館 大華嚴法界 圖註序 太祖 太宗 太宗實錄 澤堂集 玳瑁筵 大山集 大司成 鼉鼓 太平廣記 泰山王 太玄經 太虛司法傳 高橋亨 槖駝橋 唐 唐宋傳奇集 檀君 檀君廟 檀君王儉 宕遊湖南錄 宕遊關東錄

164

Glossary of Names and Terms

T’angyu Kwansŏ rok T’angyu Kwansŏ rok huji Tanjong Tan sheng taohua Taohua yuan ji Tao Kan Tao Qian Taoyao taoyuan Tao Yuanming t’ap Tasan Chŏng Yakyong Tawara Tōda Hidesato Teng gong Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji tiandi Tianfei Tianhe Tianhou tianjin Tianshun Tiantai fangyin lu tianwang Tianwen tianyi Tianzhongji tiaoli to (CMPP, Jōō), p’ado (Meiji) to t’o toch’ŏp T’oegye chip T’oegye Yi Hwang Togang rok tohwan t’ong (CMPP), t’ong (SDCP) tong (CMPP, SDCP), kan (Jōō, Meiji) tongbang

宕遊關西錄 宕遊關西錄 後志 端宗 談生 桃花 桃花源記 陶侃 陶潛 桃夭 桃源 陶淵明 塔 茶山 丁若鏞 俵藤太秀郷 滕公 騰穆醉遊聚 景園記 天地 天妃 天河 天后 天津 天順 天台訪隱錄 天王 天問 天醫 天中記 條理 濤, 波濤 挑 土 度牒 退溪集 退溪 李滉 渡江錄 跳丸 慟, 痛 洞, 間 東房

tongbang (CMPP), tongbang pang (SDCP) Tongbang Tongbong Tongbongja Tongbong yukka tongbusŭngji t’ongch’ŏn-ji tae Tongguk Tongguk mun’gam Tongguk t’onggam Tongguk Yi Sangguk chip Tongguk yŏji sŭngnam Tonggwang tonggyŏng hap Tonghaksa Tongin sihwa T’ongjin tongjŏng Tongmun sŏn Tongmyŏng chip Tongmyŏng wang tongp’ung t’ongsinsa tongtian fudi tongtian guan tongtian xi ton’gyŏn tosa Toŭi Toyotomi Hideyoshi ttakchibon sosŏl tugyŏn (CMPP), tuu (SDCP) Tunam Sŏ-gong myojimyŏng tŭng (CMPP, Jōō), so (SDCP, Meiji) tŭng u soru (CMPP), tŭng ru (SDCP) tut’a Tu yuan

東房, 東方房 東方 東峯 東峯子 東峯六歌 同副承旨 通天之帶 東國 東國文鑑 東國通鑑 東國李相國 全集 東國輿地 勝覽 東光 銅鏡合 東鶴寺 東人詩話 通津 東亭 東文選 東溟集 東明王 東風 通信使 洞天福地 通天冠 通天犀 豚犬 導師 道義 豊臣秀吉 딱지本小說 杜鵑, 杜宇 遯菴徐公墓 誌銘 燈, 燒 登于小樓, 登樓 頭陀 兔爰

U Ueda Akinari Ugetsu monogatari Uhekirō no tennyo

又 上田 秋成 雨月物語 浮碧樓の 天女 ŭi 義 Ŭigŭmbu 義禁府 ŭiha sa ya (CMPP), 爲何事也, 何 haŭi sa ya (SDCP) 爲事也 Ukita Hideie 宇喜田秀家 Ŭlchi Mundŏk 乙支文德 ŭlchip 乙集 Ulchu 蔚州 Ŭlmiltae 乙密臺 ŭlmyo 乙卯 Unam chamnok 雲巖雜錄 ŭndo 銀島 ŭnsŏ 隱書 unsu 雲水 unsu sŭng 雲水僧 ŭrhae 乙亥 Uta o nakadachi to shite 歌を媒とし chigiru て契る Uŭijŏng 右議政 Uya 寓夜 Wada Ichirō 和田一郎 Wada Tenmin 和田天民 waegu 倭寇 Waiwu 外物 wal (CMPP), un (SDCP) 曰, 云 Wang Changling 王昌齡 Wang haichao 望海潮 Wang Huzhi 王胡之 Wang Kŏn 王建 wangliang 魍魎 Wang Meng 王濛 Wang Rong zhuan 王戎傳 Wang Shen 王詵 Wang Shifu 王實甫 Wangsun shi mu 王孫氏母 Wang Tanzhi 王坦之 Wang Wei 王維 wangxiang 罔象 Wang Xizhi 王羲之

Glossary of Names and Terms Wang Yangming Wang Yuanzhong Wang Zhou wanshan Wei Wei Fanghua Wei Gao Wei/Liang Weishu Weitang qiyu ji Weitong Wei Yen Wei Zhao Wei Zhuang Wen Wen Jiao Wen Letian shou Jiangzhou Sima Wen Tianxiang Wen Tong Wen Xiao Wen xuan Wenzong Wiman Wiman Chosŏn Wojiaoshan Wojiaoshi wŏlgung Wŏljŏng manp’il wŏnang ch’im Wŏn Chahŏ chŏn Wŏn’gak kyŏng Wŏn’gaksa Wŏn Ho Wŏnhyo Wŏn-saeng mongyu rok Wŏnsŏng wang Wŏram sŏwŏn woyi Wu wucheng Wudaishi Wudaozhuanlun wang wudian

165

王陽明 王元中 王宙 紈扇 魏 衛芳華 韋皋 魏梁 魏書 渭塘奇遇記 未通 韋偃 韋昭 韋莊 文 溫嶠 聞樂天授江 州司馬 文天祥 文同 文簫 文選 文宗 衛滿 衛滿朝鮮 沃焦山 沃焦石 月宮 月汀漫筆 鴛鴦枕 元子虛傳 圓覺經 圓覺寺 元昊 元曉 元生夢遊錄 元聖王 月巖書院 倭夷 吳 烏程 五代史 五道轉輪王 五典

166

Glossary of Names and Terms

Wu Gang Wuguan wang Wuhou Wujun zhi Wu Na Wuping lingguai lu Wu Sansi wushi wushi gong wutong wuwang wuyin Wu Zhi Wu Zixu Xia xiamin Xian Xian’e Xiang xiang’an Xiang furen xianghun yugu Xiangshan Xiangshu xianrong xiao Xiao Baojuan Xiaopin ji Xiao Tong Xiaoxiang Xiaoxue Xiaoyao yu Xici zhuan Xie An xiehou Xie Huilian Xie Lian Xie Lingyun Xiepu Xie Shang xie yuan Xijing zaji xing Xinglu

吳剛 伍官王 武侯 吳郡志 吳訥 武平靈怪錄 武三思 亡是 亡是公 梧桐 無妄 烏銀 吳質 伍子胥 夏 下民 咸 纖阿 襄 香案 湘夫人 香魂玉骨 湘山 相鼠 顯榮 魈 蕭寶卷 效顰集 蕭統 瀟湘 小學 逍遙遊 繫辭傳 謝安 邂逅 謝惠連 謝璉 謝靈運 蟹譜 謝尙 謝袁 西京雜記 性 行露

xingxue Xin Qiji Xinyi wu Xi Shi Xishuai Xi wangmu Xixiang ji Xi Yi Xiyou ji xiyu xizhu li Xuande xuande xuandu Xuanguai lu Xuanzang Xuanzhongji xuanzhou Xuanzong Xu Deyan Xuefu Xuhai fu Xunzi ya (CMPP), hap (SDCP) yadam Yagyo Yakho pu yak yu in Yama Yan yanfu zongyu Yang yangban Yang fei weizhuan Yang Xingmi Yang Xiong Yanmo Yan Shu Yantie lun Yanxia dong yanxuan yao Yao Yaochi

性學 辛棄疾 辛夷塢 西施 蟋蟀 西王母 西廂記 羲易 西遊記 西域 西竺利 宣德 玄德 玄都 玄怪錄 玄奘 玄中記 玄洲 玄宗 徐德言 雪賦 虛海賦 荀子 惹, 合 野談 夜橋 藥壺賦 若有人 燄摩 燕 閻浮總獄 煬 兩班 楊妃外傳 楊行密 揚雄 燄摩 晏殊 鹽鐵論 煙霞洞 言旋 妖 堯 瑤池

Yao dian yaotiao Yasim ya yŏha yecha Yejong Yesang uŭi kok Ye you mancao yi Yi Am Yi’an jushi Yi Cha Yi Chae Yi Chaeho Yi Chehyŏn Yi Ching Yi Ch’ong Yi Chŏngŭn yi ci yidao Yi Hakkyu Yi Igun Yi Ik Yi Illo Yi Inbo Yijo ch’ogi-ŭi illyu sosolga Yi Kae Yi Kawŏn Yi Kŏnch’ang Yi Kŭngik Yi Kwangsu Yi Kyejŏn Yi Kyŏngp’il Yi Kyŏngyun Yi Kyubo Yi Kyugyŏng Yili Yi Maengjŏn Yimeng lu Yinghuo Yingying zhuan Ying Zheng Yingzhou

Glossary of Names and Terms 堯典 窈窕 夜深 夜如何 夜叉 睿宗 霓裳羽衣曲 野有蔓草 易 李巖 易安居士 李耔 李縡 李載浩 李齊賢 李澄 李摠 李貞恩 易辭 異道 李學逵 李益運 李瀷 李仁老 李寅甫 李朝初期의 一流小說家 李塏 李家原 李建昌 李肯翊 李光洙 李季甸 李景弼 李慶胤 李奎報 李圭景 儀禮 李孟專 異夢錄 螢火 鶯鶯傳 嬴政 瀛州

Yin Hao yinyang jia Yinzhong baxian ge Yi P’a Yi Pokhyŏng Yi Pong Yi Pyŏngjŏng Yi Pyŏngmo Yi Saek Yi-saeng-gwa Ch’oenang, “Kŭmo sinhwa kidam” Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn Yi Sangjŏng Yi Sanhae Yi Sehwang Yi Sein Yishi Yi Sik Yi Sŏnggye Yi Sugwang Yi Sujŏng Yi U Yi Yi Yōan-in bunko Yōan-in zōsho Yoda Gakkai Yŏgyŏng yojang yŏk yŏkkwan Yŏktae yŏn’gi Yŏlgyŏng yŏlliji Yŏllyŏsil kisul Yŏllyŏ sŏlhwa yoma Yŏmbuju yomul yŏmyang yŏn Yŏnam chip yŏndŭng hoe Yŏn’gang ch’ŏpchang to

167

殷浩 陰陽家 飲中八仙歌 李坡 李復亨 李封 李秉鼎 李秉模 李穡 李生과 崔 娘. 金鰲新話 奇談 李生窺牆傳 李象靖 李山海 李世黃 李世仁 逸詩 李植 李成桂 李睟光 李樹廷 李堣 夷逸 養安院文庫 養安院藏書 依田學海 餘慶 瑤漿 亦 譯官 歷代年紀 悅卿 連理枝 燃藜室記述 烈女說話 妖蟆 炎浮洲 妖物 厭禳 緣 燕巖集 燃燈會 煙江疊嶂圖

168

Glossary of Names and Terms

Yongbi ŏch’ŏn ka Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki yongch’u Yŏngch’umun yŏngdang Yonggung puyŏn rok Yŏnggwan Yongjangsa Yongjangsa—sung Sŏlcham, songmyŏng Kim Sisŭp, ose nŭng songmun, onŭng-hu, yanggwang wisŭng, ip Kŭmosan-jung, ku ch’a sa kŏji Yŏngmyo Yŏngmyŏngsa Yŏngmyŏngsa yaban sŏ hoe Yŏngnŭng yongwang Yŏn’gwangjŏng yŏnhwajwa yŏnjwa Yŏnsan’gun Yŏnsan’gun ilgi Yŏrha ilgi Yoshida Tōgo yŏ si in yougong Youhu Youxue zishuo Youyang zazu youyu Yu yu Yuan Yuan gui Yuan Hong Yuan Jie Yuanshi Yuan you Yuan Zhen Yuanzhen (Zu Ying)

龍飛御天歌 龍泉談寂記 龍湫 迎秋門 影堂 龍宮赴宴錄 靈觀 茸長寺 茸長寺, 僧雪 岑, 俗名金時 習, 五歲能屬 文, 魯陵後, 佯狂爲僧, 入 金鰲山中, 構 此寺居之 英廟 永明寺 永明寺夜半 書懷 英陵 龍王 練光亭 蓮花座 蓮座 燕山君 燕山君日記 熱河日記 吉田 東伍 如是人 幽宮 有狐 幼學字說 酉陽雜俎 猶豫 禹 魊 元 原鬼 袁宏 元結 怨詩 遠遊 元稹 元珍

Yuanzhu Yu Chahan Yu Chami Yudi Yue Fei Yuejueshu Yue ke Yue Lao Yuexia laoren Yueye Yueye yu ke yin xinghua xia Yufu yugok yugung yugwang Yu Hoin Yuhuang shangdi Yu Hŭiryŏng Yuhwang komok to yujing yukchŏn sosŏl Yuke Yu ko kukhak yuksin Yuksin chŏn Yuktang Ch’oe Namsŏn Yu Kŭmo rok Yulgok chŏnsŏ Yulgok Yi I Yu Liang Yu Liang zhuan Yulou chu, Chun hen Yumen Guan yumyŏng Yun Chŭng Yun Ch’unnyŏn Yun Ch’unnyŏn pon yungyuk yunhuan Yun Hyŏnggak Yun Kŭnsu Yunnori Yun Qiao furen

緣珠 柳自漢 柳自湄 玉帝 岳飛 越絶書 約客 月老 月下老人 月夜 月夜與客飲 杏花下 漁父 幽谷 幽宮 流光 兪好仁 玉皇上帝 劉希齡 幽篁古木圖 玉京 六錢小說 與可 遊古國學 六神 六臣傳 六堂 崔南善 遊金鰲錄 栗谷全書 栗谷 李珥 庾亮 庾亮傳 玉樓春 春恨 玉門闗 幽冥 尹拯 尹春年 尹春年本 六六 雲鬟 尹衡覺 尹根壽 윷놀이 雲翹夫人

Yun Sang Yun Sanggŏ Yun Sŏn’gŏ Yun Sun’gŏ Yun Ying Yun Yŏngson Yu Ogwansan kan Yu Shanwen Yushi Yu Sŏngnyong Yu Sŏngwŏn Yu Suraksan ki Yu Tŭkkong Yu Ŭngbu Yuweng Yu Xiao Yu Zhong Zaiqu Zang Wenzhong Zani shishou zaohua zhi ji zengshang Zengzi zhai zhai (Jōō, Meiji), qi (CMPP) Zhai’erling, shiti zhai fo zhang Zhang Han Zhang Ji Zhang Kejiu Zhang Liang zhangmu Zhang Shicheng Zhang Shuo Zhang Yi Zhang Zai zhanzhan Zhao Zhao Bingwen Zhao hun Zhao Mengfu

Glossary of Names and Terms 尹祥 尹商擧 尹宣擧 尹舜擧 雲英 尹鈴孫 遊五冠山澗 餘善文 雨師 柳成龍 柳誠源 遊水落山記 柳得恭 兪應孚 漁翁 玉簫 虞仲 載驅 臧文仲 雜擬十首 造化之迹 增傷 曾子 齋 齋, 齊 寨兒令 失題 齋佛 丈 張翰 張繼 張可久 張良 章木 張士誠 張碩 漲鎰 張載 湛湛 趙 趙秉文 招䰟 趙孟頫

Zhao Shixiu Zhao Zhiwei zheng Zheng Guangzu Zhengsu zhenshi wuwang Zhenzhong ji Zhidun zhiguai Zhinü zhishan Zhizhen Zhonghui zhi gao Zhongyong Zhongyong huowen Zhongyong zhangju Zhong Ziqi Zhouli Zhou Mu wang Zhounan Zhouyi zhuangyuan Zhuanxu zhujiao Zhumu Zhuo Wenjun Zhu Qinming Zhu Shuzhen Zhu Xi Zhuzi yulei zifu Zixu fu Ziye wuge—Qiuge zizan Zong Bing Zongji Zou Lu Zou Yan Zui huayin Zuozhuan Zutang ji Zu Ying

趙師秀 趙知微 箏 鄭光祖 正俗 眞實無妄 枕中記 支遁 志怪 織女 至善 至正 仲虺之誥 中庸 中庸或問 中庸章句 鍾子期 周禮 周穆王 周南 周易 壯元 顓頊 竹轎 主母 卓文君 祝欽明 朱淑真 朱熹 朱子語類 紫府 子虛賦 子夜吴歌 秋歌 自贊 宗炳 宗吉 鄒魯 鄒衍 醉花陰 左傳 祖堂集 祖瑩

169

Abbreviations

Full citations of the sources listed below may be found in the bibliography. CGC

Ch’ugang sŏnsaeng munjip

CJC

Chŏngjae chip

HRTG

Hŭiraktanggo

HSC

Hasŏ sŏnsaeng chŏnjip

KGMP

Kyegok manp’il. Kyegok sŏnsaeng chip

MJYG

Myŏngjae sŏnsaeng yugo

MMDC

Myŏngmidang chip

MSC

Maesan sŏnsaeng munjip

MŬG

Mogŭn’go

MWTC

Maewŏltang chip

SAC

Sunam sŏnsaeng munjip

SGC

Sŏgye chip

SJC

Sajae chip

TGC

T’oegye sŏnsaeng munjip

TYSC

Tongguk Yi Sangguk chip

YGCS

Yulgok chŏnsŏ

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Notes

Translator’s Introduction 1. For the etymology as well as a variety of possible meanings and translations of the title Kŭmo sinhwa, refer to the present introduction’s final section, “Thoughts on the Collection’s Title.” 2. The collection’s fourth tale is set “at the beginning of the Chenghua period.” The Chenghua Emperor of the Ming dynasty reigned from 1465 to 1487. Thus, the earliest that Kim Sisŭp could have written Kŭmo sinhwa is 1465, when he lived in Kyŏngju. 3. Chuanqi fiction, which evolved out of the so-called zhiguai (K. chigoe, “accounts of the abnormal”) of the Six Dynasties period (220–589), developed and gained popularity in the Tang dynasty (618–907). Yet it also flourished in the early Ming dynasty (1368–1644). For a discussion of the term and the genre, see Nienhauser, Tang Dynasty Tales, xiii. Today in Korea and China the genre is generally referred to as chŏn’gi sosŏl (C. chuanqi xiaoshuo). Common English translations of the generic term comprise “transmissions of the strange,” “stories of the supernatural,” “tales of the marvelous,” and “tales of wonder.” 4. Both tales can be labeled “ghost-wife” tales, although it is important to note that their plots are quite different from one another. In the case of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” the protagonist enters into a relationship with the ghost of a dead woman straight away. “Biography of Scholar Yi,” on the other hand, begins with two living people falling in love and marrying before they are torn apart by death and eventually reunited in the wake of the girl’s “revival” as a ghost. Consequently, although it is crucial for the story, the ghost-wife episode is essentially only one subplot of the tale. 5. In his historiography of Korean literature Kim Hunggyu states, “A theory that explains the origin of the classic novel satisfactorily has yet to emerge, but clearly Tales of Kŭmo . . . by Kim Sisŭp . . . marks the beginning of the emergence of the classical novel.” Hunggyu Kim, Understanding Korean Literature, 107. Similarly, in an entry on Kim Sisŭp featured in the 1962 North Korean publication Chosŏn-ŭi myŏngin (Famous people of Korea), Ch’oe Sihak writes, “Seven years he spent on Mount Kŭmo, and from the process of his creative life there he brought forth the famous novel Kŭmo sinhwa, which shines brilliantly as the first piece of narrative fiction in the history of our country’s literature.” Kim Ilsŏng chonghap taehak ryŏksa yŏn’guso, Chosŏnŭi myŏngin, 282. Today, South Korean textbooks, which generally feature excerpts from “Biography of Scholar Yi” translated into vernacular Korean, also highlight

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this aspect. For example, in a literature textbook published by Ch’ŏnjae kyoyuk (2003) the introduction to the tale says, “This piece is one of the five tales contained in Kŭmo sinhwa, our country’s first collection of hanmun stories.” Chang Kyŏngnam, “Kodŭng hakkyo kyogwasŏ-ro pon kojŏn sosŏl,” 190. 6. The preface by Qu You is dated to the eleventh year of the Hongwu period, which corresponds to the year 1378. This first edition is no longer extant. Qu You edited the second edition while living in exile in Baoan. 7. I have striven to identify and integrate as many sources as possible, but since the allusions and references to works of Chinese literature and philosophy in the five tales are vast in number and often subtly veiled, I can make no claim to completeness. 8. The term hyangt’o saek, “local [Korean] color,” was used by Kim T’aejun (1905–1949) with respect to Kŭmo sinhwa in his influential historiography of Korean literature. This historiography will be discussed later in this introduction in the section titled “Kŭmo sinhwa in Modern Korea.” 9. Kŭmo sinhwa was placed at the center of a newly developing national canon of literature during late colonial modernity in Korea (see the section titled “Kŭmo sinhwa in Modern Korea”). The work remained an integral part of the Korean canon in both South and North Korea after the division of the country, inevitably also becoming part of the school curriculum. For example, the 1954 North Korean university textbook Chosŏn munhak kangdok (Annotated readings in Korean literature) features a translation of one of the tales as well as an introduction of the work written for students of literary studies. Here, it says, “It is especially noteworthy that all of these [tales from Kŭmo sinhwa] take our own native land as their background and show the people and customs of that particular time in diverse ways.” Kim Ilsŏng chonghap taehak Chosŏn munhak kangjwa, Chosŏn munhak kangdok, 181. 10. For instance, in P’ahan chip 2.22 we find an entry on Pubyŏk Pavilion and Yŏngmyŏng Monastery, which are places of significance in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion”; there is an entry on Mount Ch’ŏnma (P’ahan chip 3.5) that is the initial setting of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace”; and the first sentence of P’ahan chip 3.30 states that the Western Capital was once the capital of Koguryŏ, which is reminiscent of the opening sentence of the third Kŭmo sinhwa tale. The initial ­woodblock-print edition of P’ahan chip, which was produced in 1260 through the effort of Yi Illo’s son Yi Sehwang (dates unknown), has not been transmitted, and the earliest extant edition is that of 1659. However, an entry in the Veritable Records of Sŏngjong (24th year of Sŏngjong, 12th month, 28th day) shows that both P’ahan chip and Pohan chip were circulating and being printed in fifteenth-century Chosŏn Korea. 11. Though he does not name a specific story, the South Korean Kŭmo sinhwa specialist Sim Kyŏngho, who translated the work into vernacular Korean and wrote an authoritative biography of Kim Sisŭp, already mentions that Pohan chip might have served as a stimulus for Kŭmo sinhwa. See Sim, Kŭmo sinhwa, 42. One story contained in the third fascicle of Pohan chip (ha 42) shows similarities to “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” It narrates the tale of Yi Inbo, who encounters a beautiful woman while staying at Pusŏk Monastery. The two characters enter into an erotic relationship and the woman becomes pregnant. However, when Yi eventually realizes that



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his lover is not a human but a ghost, he asks to end the relationship, after which the woman disappears in a thunderous storm. Pak, Yŏkchu Pohan chip, 487–491. The tale ends with a quotation from Yuan gui (On the origin of ghosts), an essay by the Tang Confucian scholar Han Yu (786–824). The same passage from Yuan gui, which says that ghosts have neither shape nor sound, is also quoted in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 75. 12. Sui chŏn, the authorship of which is disputed, dates from the Silla (668–936) or Koryŏ dynasty. Among the tales in Sui chŏn, the tale “Ssangnyŏ pun sŏl­hwa” (Story of a tomb of two girls) is of special significance. “Ssangnyŏ pun sŏl­hwa” deals with the love affair and poetic exchange between the Silla-dynasty scholar and poet Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn (857–?), to whom, in fact, the entire Sui chŏn is often attributed, and the ghosts of two sisters who died prematurely. For a modern Korean translation and the original, see Cho, Chaegusŏng Sui chŏn, 66–80. In the North Korean historiography of Korean literature Chosŏn munhak kaegwan (Survey of Korean literature), “Ssangnyŏ pun sŏlhwa” is named as a source for “Biography of Scholar Yi.” Chŏng Honggyo and Pak Chongwŏn, Chosŏn munhak kaegwan, 141–142. However, since the tale from Sui chŏn deals with the love relationship and poetic exchange between Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn and the ghosts of two girls who died before their time, there are actually more intersections with “A Chop’o Game at Manbok Temple.” Furthermore, one of Korea’s earliest dream-journey tales, the story of the Silla monk Chosin, which is contained in the collection of legends, folktales, and historical accounts Samguk yusa (Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms [13th c.] written by Iryŏn [1206–1289]), might also have served as an inspiration for the first tale of Kŭmo sinhwa. 13. The most prominent example being Kuunmong (A dream of nine clouds) by Kim Manjung (1637–1692), which is set in an idealized (somewhat Chosŏn-like) Tang-dynasty China. 14. Another novel written (primarily) in Literary Chinese (which also contains idu, “clerk’s writing,” as well as passages written in baihua, written vernacular Chinese) that is at least partly set on the Korean Peninsula is the late Chosŏn dream-adventure tale Oksŏnmong (The dream of the Jade Immortal). The framing narrative of this novel is set in Korea, while the core dream narrative is set in Ming China. Oksŏnmong is discussed in Wuerthner, A Study of Hypertexts. Thus, although the Korean setting in Kŭmo sinhwa appears to have been a novelty in the fifteenth century, if it is considered against the background of the overall development of narrative fiction during the Chosŏn era, it can hardly be viewed as a truly extraordinary feature. 15. For a more detailed discussion of the interpretational approaches of Kŭmo sinhwa in Korea, see Sim, Kŭmo sinhwa, 45–48. 16. Yu Chahan, a person with whom Kim Sisŭp was well acquainted during the late 1480s, was principal graduate in the special examinations (K. pyŏlsi) held in P’yŏngyang in the year 1460. From 1464 he served as special crop assessor (K. kyŏngch’agwan) of Kyŏnggi Province and became district magistrate of Yangyang in 1486. In the wake of the kapcha sahwa, the literati purge of 1504 staged by King Yŏnsan’gun, he was sent into exile, where he passed away.

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17. Contained in volume 21 of Maewŏltang chip, sec. “Sŏ” (Letters). See MWTC 21:19b–24b; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 74–77. This letter is also partly contained in P’aegwan chapki (A storyteller’s miscellany) by Ŏ Sukkwŏn (fl. 1525–1554). For an English translation, see Peter H. Lee, A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 104– 106. In addition, miscellaneous biographical sketches such as those contained in an entry on Kim Sisŭp in volume 2 of Haedong chamnok (Miscellaneous records from [the country] east of the sea; completed 1670) are in large part based on the information given in this letter. There are other letters Kim Sisŭp sent to Yu Chahan, but “Sang Yu Yangyang chinjŏng sŏ” contains the most detailed information by Kim on his own life. The letter dates from the time when he resided in the Kangnŭng area during the 1480s. 18. MWTC 9:36b–38a. For a translation, see, e.g., Kim Sun’gi et al., Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp-kwa ttŏnanŭn Kwansŏ yŏhaeng, 399–402. 19. In MWTC 14:1a–2a. 20. Nam Hyo’on, though much younger than Kim Sisŭp, was his closest friend. Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun says, “Late in his life he encountered Ch’ugang. . . . Haengu died before the master, and it caused Boya to break the strings of his lute.” The relationship between Kim Sisŭp and Nam Hyo’on is here said to have been like that between the legendary zither player Boya and his best friend, Zhong Ziqi. Upon Zhong Ziqi’s death, Boya broke his zither in despair that he had lost the one person in the world to whom he could freely express himself. There exists a letter Kim Sisŭp wrote to Nam Hyo’on, which is included in volume 21 of Kim Sisŭp’s munjip. 21. “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” is contained in volume 7 of Ch’ugang chip (Collected writings of Ch’ugang). CGC 7:21b–32b. 22. Kim Allo wrote Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki when he was living in exile. According to the foreword to this yadam collection, Kim Allo sought to dispel the idleness and boredom of life on the periphery by noting down stories he had previously heard when talking to his friends. Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki treats thirty-five topics, one being the life and eccentric behavior of Kim Sisŭp. 23. The Maewŏltang chip sŏ by Yi Cha (MWTC:1a–3b); the Maewŏltang chip sŏ by Yi Sanhae (MWTC:1a–4b). 24. Hence the biography is included in the present translation, preceding the collection of tales. The Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP) of Kŭmo sinhwa was most likely published by Yun Ch’unnyŏn around 1551 (the same year he published Kim Sisŭp’s poems from the Kwansŏ and Kwandong regions). Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 395. It is reprinted in a book containing all known premodern Korean and Japanese editions, Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 5–108. 25. Yun Chunnyŏn, “Maewŏltang,” 1:5–6. 26. Kim Sisŭp chŏn is contained in Yulgok chŏnsŏ (Complete works of Yulgok), vol. 14, sec. “Chapchŏ” (Miscellanies). YGCS 14:23a–27b. 27. For King Sŏnjo’s royal order, see Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Sŏnjo sujŏng, vol. 16, 15th year (1582), 4th month, 1st day, 5th article. Large parts of Yi I’s Kim Sisŭp chŏn



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were republished in early modern times in a kugyŏl version, meaning a version in which the Literary Chinese original was not modified but merely grammatically broken up by inserted vernacular Korean. This kugyŏl version of Kim Sisŭp chŏn appeared in the 1909 July edition of the journal Sŏbuk hakhoe wŏlbo (Northwest scholarly association monthly) under the new title “Kim Sisŭp sŏnsaeng chŏn: Tanjongjo saengyuksin-ŭi il” (Biography of Master Kim Sisŭp: One of the “six surviving subjects” of Tanjong’s court). 28. For the Maewŏltang sojŏn see Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 257–261. 29. Today Yi Sujŏng is mainly known for being the first person to have translated the Bible into Korean. He stayed in Japan for several years during the 1880s. He returned to Chosŏn in 1886 and was eventually executed for alleged participation in a plot. Ch’oe Namsŏn (1890–1957), who in 1927 used the 1884 Japanese edition as the basis for the first discussion of Kŭmo sinhwa in modern academic terms, stated with regard to this biography: “In the Maewŏltang sojŏn, which features at the beginning of the first volume of the reprint edition and which appears to have been written by one of our [Korean] overseas Confucians residing in exile, it says that the man from Kangnŭng was ‘a man from Kwangsan’ or that he who passed away at Muryang Monastery on Mount Hong simply ‘hid on a famous mountain and that nothing is known of his end.’ ” Yuktang chŏnjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, Yuktang Ch’oe Namsŏn chŏnjip, 606. Ch’oe Namsŏn here criticizes the Maewŏltang sojŏn for being inaccurate and even at times false. (Kim Sisŭp’s family actually was from Kangnŭng and he indeed passed away in Muryang Monastery on Mount Hong.) It seems reasonable to assume that the person Ch’oe describes as the author of the biography is Yi Sujŏng. Yet it might also be that Ch’oe Namsŏn was referring to a person by the name of Yi Kyŏngp’il, a Korean who was likewise involved in the production of the 1884 edition and about whom basically nothing is known. 30. Kim Sisŭp used the pen name Maewŏltang in the 1460s and 1470s. Plum Moon Hall is also the name of a hermitage he built on Mount Surak. 31. Maewŏltang chip, originally published in 1583, was in 1927 republished by Kim Ponggi, a descendent of Kim Sisŭp, in an edition that featured supplementary poems and was set in the then-new movable type. In 1973, the Sŏnggyun’gwan taedong munhwa yŏn’guwŏn (Sungkyunkwan University Academy of East Asian Studies) combined the original premodern edition, which had been stored at Hōsa Library in Nagoya, Japan, with the 1927 edition to form the Maewŏltang chip, including the Maewŏltang sokjip, the Maewŏltang pyŏlchip, and the Maewŏltang woejip. The Maewŏltang woejip then contained Kŭmo sinhwa. It is Sŏnggyun’gwan taedong munhwa yŏn’guwŏn’s edition that served as the source for the 1978 vernacular Korean translation of the Maewŏltang chip, the Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip. 32.  In the Sŏngnimam ki (Account of Stone Forest Hermitage) by the ­seventeenth-century literatus Pak Sedang (1629–1703), which is contained in volume 8 of his collected writings, Sŏgye chip, it says, “On the eastern side of Mount [Surak] in former times there existed Maewŏltang [Plum Moon Hall], Hŭngguk Temple, Ŭnsŏn Hermitage, and a number of other monasteries. Maewŏltang is the place

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where Kim Yŏlgyŏng [Sisŭp] used to live, but many years have passed and it already lies in ruins. Yŏlgyŏng always loved this mountain, and thus he named himself Tongbong.” SGC 8:8a–b. 33. Pyŏksan ch’ŏngŭn was the pen name he used in the 1480s when living in the Kangwŏndo region. Pyŏksan is the ancient name of present-day T’ongch’ŏn. 34. He began using the pen name Ch’weseong toward the end of his life, around the mid-1480s. For instance, he wrote his Toksanwŏn ki (Account of Toksan Monastery, 1485) under this sobriquet. 35. There is an interesting entry entitled “Sŏn’gyundang ki” (Account of Cicada Tree Studio) contained in Yŏnam chip (Collected writings of Yŏnam), vol. 7, sec. “Ki” (Accounts), the munjip of the renowned eighteenth-century scholar Pak Chiwŏn (1737–1805). This entry retells a conversation between Kim Sisŭp and a monk on the subject of Kim’s various pen names and his Dharma name. 36. During this time, however, the Yi dynasty inclined more toward a suppression of the military, and the children of military families were consequently less privileged than those of civil service officials in the government examination. Pyŏng-uk Chŏng, “Kim Si-sŭp,” 37. 37. In the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp wrote the following concerning his genealogy: My surname lineage is from Kangnŭng, and we are descendants of [Kim] Chuwŏn [8th c.], the younger brother of King Wŏnsŏng [?–798; K. Wŏnsŏng wang, thirty-eighth king of Silla], who was himself a descendant of Kim Alji [65–?, progenitor of the Kim royal family of Silla], the Silla king of the time of the Three Dynasties. [Concerning these ancestors] the records in the Samguk ponsa [Original histories of the Three Dynasties; most likely a reference to the Samguk sagi (History of the Three Kingdoms) and the Silla pon’gi (Authentic records of the Silla dynasty)] are detailed! My mother’s lineage was from Uljin, as she was from the Chang family of Sŏnsa [K. Sŏnsa Chang-ssi]. It has been transmitted that [the Chang family of Sŏnsa] are descendants of the Han dynasty [imperial envoy] Marquis of Bowang (C. Bowang hou) Zhang Qian [d. 113 BCE], but we do not know for sure whether this is true. My remote ancestor Kim Yŏn [dates unknown] and Kim T‘aehyŏn [1261–1330, who collated the compilation of prose works Tongguk mun’gam (Literary mirror of the Eastern Country)] were directors of the Chancellery [K. Sijung] of Koryŏ for generations. In the Koryŏ ponsa [meaning the Koryŏsa (History of the Koryŏ dynasty)] there are detailed records [about them]! Getting to my great-grandfather, he merely reached the office of Pongik [taebu]. . . . My father had just obtained an office but soon was unable to carry it out further because of illness. (MWTC 21:20a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 75) 38. In the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp lists and describes his Confucian teachers in the following way:



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In the year kimi [1439] I read the Zhongyong [Doctrine of the mean] and the Daxue [Great learning] under the guidance of such’an Yi Kyejŏn, who lived in the neighborhood. I studied together with [Yi] U, elder brother of [Yi] P’a and [Yi] Pong. That was when I was five years old. Our neighbor, saye Cho Su, gave me my courtesy name and created an explanation. That I began to become famous in the metropolitan area was because two or three great men living in the neighborhood were the first to sing my praises. . . . From that year on until I reached the age of thirteen, I visited the house of Kim Pan, headmaster of the National Academy, who lived in the immediate vicinity. There I was taught the [Lun]yu, Meng[zi], Shi[ jing], Shu[ jing], and Chunqiu. Also, I visited the house of kyŏmsasŏng Yun Sang, who lived in the neighborhood. There I was taught the Yi[ jing] and the Li[ ji]. (MWTC 21:21a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 75–76. Also cf. Sim, “Ch’weseong kot Sŏlcham,” 55–56) 39. The personal name Sisŭp can be taken as a reference to the first line in Lunyu (Analects), though the meaning of the two characters in the original source is quite different. Peter H. Lee, in A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 104, translates it, “At due times to repeat what one has learned.” 40. YGCS 14:23b. 41. Pan’gung (C. pangong) refers to the Sŏnggyun’gwan and the Munmyo Shrine. 42. Kim Sisŭp was not the only magnificently gifted child in Korean history to prove his heavenly endowed talents by means of this very verse about flowers and birds; in P’ahan chip 3.28 we find the following self-composed anecdote about the early days of the author, Yi Illo: “When I was eight or nine years of age, I practiced reading under an old Confucian. Early on he taught me to read the following aphorism of a person of ancient times: ‘Flowers laugh in front of a fence, but the sound cannot be heard; / birds cry in the forest, but tears are hard to see.’ I said, ‘Ultimately this is not like “The willow knits its brows beyond the gate, but the meaning is hard to know.” Now this is a verse quite magnificent in terms of wording and meaning.’ The old Confucian was flabbergasted.” 43. MWTC 21:20a–b. In the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp continues the description of his first steps in verse-making in the following way: By the spring of the year chŏngsa [1437] I was able to speak, so I said to my maternal grandfather, “How does one create poetry?” My grandfather replied, “You put together seven characters. [You need] level and oblique tones, parallelism, and rhymes—that’s what you call poetry.” I said, “If it is like that, I can put together seven characters! Grandfather, it would be appropriate if you called out the lead character.” My grandfather called out the character ch’un, “spring,” and straightaway I responded, “Spring rain’s new curtain, the qi is moving and opening.” The house we lived in was a straw-thatched hut. Gazing out I saw that in the middle of the

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Notes to Page 9 garden a fine rain was falling and the blossoms of the apricot trees were beginning to bloom. I also wrote, “Peach trees are red, willows are green, the three springs are coming to an end.” I also wrote, “Beads strung on a dark-green needle, it’s dew on a pine needle.” The lines I created in this way were not few in number, but the handwritten copies have all been lost, and for this reason I have forgotten [most of] them. From then on I read [primers such as] the Zhengsu [Correct customs; 14th c.], the Youxue zishuo [Character explanations for elementary education], and other books for children. When I got to the Xiaoxue [K. Sohak; Elementary learning], I comprehended its general meaning, and I was able to compose texts with a few thousand words.” (MWTC 21:20b–21a; also see Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 75)

44. In the letter to Yu Chahan, the visit by Hŏ Cho is described in the following way: When my empty name [K. hŏmyŏng, “false reputation”] soared and was registered, Chancellor [K. chŏngsŭng] Hŏ Cho came to our house and visited me. Straightaway he called out a Chinese character, saying, “I am old! [Take the] character ro [C. lao], ‘old,’ and create a verse with it.” Hence I responded, “A flower is blossoming on an old tree; its heart is not old.” Hŏ struck the table, sighed in disbelief, and said, “Now that is what I call a sindong!” (MWTC 21:21a–b; also see Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 75) 45. In the autobiographical poem “Tongbong yukka,” which he wrote during the last phase of his life, this episode is also mentioned: “Yŏngmyo heard it and called me to the vermilion steps [of the palace]; / a large brush was waved just once, and the dragon flew. . . . My will and wish did not come true; / the world and I contradicted one another.” MWTC 14:1b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip 2:385. 46. A later passage of the letter to Yu Chahan says, “One can really only laugh long and hard about it; it’s all hollow talk, just like that [rambling] about [my alleged] poems on the subject of Mount Samgak, about the exorcism [K. yŏmyang] [I am supposed to have performed], or about the ‘Han-dynasty brush’ [K. hanp’il; it is not clear what this term alludes to].”MWTC 21:23a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76. 47. MWTC 21:21b. Thus, in the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp disputes having written on the subject of Mount Samgak when summoned to the Sŭngjŏngwŏn. This obviously erroneous information is contained, for instance, in the contemporary sacrificial elegy “Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun” written by Hong Yuson. Here it says, “Merely five years after my master had been born into this world his fame was already tremendous. [When at the court,] he recited a verse on [the subject of] Mount Samgak that made the old Confucians’ hearts turn to ashes [out of envy]. The entire world was in an uproar, and [people] said that Zhongni [Confucius] had been born again.” This incident of Kim Sisŭp being invited to the Royal Secretariat is retold in other sources, for instance in an entry on Yongjang Monastery (where Kim



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Sisŭp lived in the mid-1460s) contained in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (Revised augmented survey of the geography of Korea; 1530, vol. 21, sec. “Kyŏngjubu”). Here it says that he was examined by Sejong personally, and the poem on Mount Samgak is even cited. It says, Yongjang Monastery lies on Mount Kŭmo. The poet-monk [K. sisŭng] Sŏlcham early on built it there and lived in it. The lay name of [Sŏl]cham was Kim Sisŭp. At the age of five he was able to compose literature. Sejong called him in, prescribed rhymes, and ordered him to write a quatrain on the subject of Mount Samgak. The poem [Kim Sisŭp created] read, Bundled and towering, three peaks pierce the great blue [of heaven]; ascending to the top one just might [reach out] and pluck the Big Dipper [from the night sky]. It is not merely that the mountaintops give rise to clouds and mist; they are apt to bring peace to the country for aeons to come. The king praised it, sighed in admiration, and bestowed gifts upon him. Hereafter he feigned lunacy and became a monk, but then again, he did not rigidly adhere to Chan Buddhist laws. He styled himself Ch’ŏnghan[ja]. In Kim Sisŭp chŏn the incident at the Sŭngjŏngwŏn is described in the following way: “Renowned officials such as Hŏ Cho came to pay him visits. When Great King Changhŏn [King Sejong] heard of him he summoned him to the Royal Secretariat. He was examined by means of poetry and, indeed, [the boy] was skillful and beautiful. The king ordered, “Though I wanted to see him in person, now I fear that it might bewilder ordinary people if they heard about [a king receiving a mere child]. [Therefore] you ought to stimulate him at his home, hide and raise him there. If we wait for his learning to be complete, he will be of great use in the future.” He gave [the boy] silk and had him return home. Thereupon his reputation shook the entire country. The people nicknamed him the “five-year-old” and did not call him by his given name anymore.” YGCS 14:23b. 48. In “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” Nam Hyo’on stresses that the invitation by King Sejong was an exceptional and highly unusual event. 49. MWTC 21:22a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76. Much earlier, in 1458, Kim Sisŭp had written in the T’angyu Kwansŏ rok huji, “From youth I was unconstrained and I did not take pleasure in fame and profit.” MWTC 9:36b. 50. In the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp described this difficult time in the following way: When I was fifteen years old, my loving mother passed away and I was brought up by my maternal grandmother. Since I was her only grandson, I was cared for and raised by her as if I was her son. During the time of mourning for my mother, [my grandmother] took me to a farm and did not

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Notes to Pages 10–13 send me to the capital, and thus I guarded [my mother’s] grave for three years. But I had not yet finished the mourning period when my grandmother also left this world. Since my widowed father was in bad health, he was unable to take care of family matters, and I obtained a stepmother. Worldly affairs were out of joint and poor. [Hereafter] I lived alone in our house in the capital.” (MWTC 21:22a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76)

51. MWTC 21:22a; Kim Sisŭp, 76. 52. Except for the Maewŏltang sojŏn, all biographies of Kim Sisŭp state that he went up to Chunghŭng Temple. The Maewŏltang sojŏn says that he went up to a certain Paegun Temple. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 258. 53. For a description of the sequence of events, see Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 119. 54. Much of the factionalism that characterized Chosŏn politics in the later decades stemmed from the aftermath of Tanjong’s deposition and assassination. Pratt and Rutt, Korea, 463. 55. They were: Sŏng Sammun (1418–1456), Pak P’aengnyŏn (1417–1456), Ha Wiji (1387–1456), Yi Kae (1417–1456), Yu Ŭngbu (?–1456), and Yu Sŏngwŏn (?–1456). Their lives and deaths were described in the privately composed Yuksin chŏn (Biographies of the six [martyred] subjects; contained in CGC 8:2b–9b), by Nam Hyo’on, who shared the same political views as the six persons he wrote about. 56. These six were: Wŏn Ho (dates unknown), Yi Maengjŏn (1392–1480), Cho Ryŏ (1420–1489), Sŏng Tamsu (dates unknown), Nam Hyo’on, and Kim Sisŭp. 57. For the development and effects of kyeyu chŏngnan, see, e.g., Oh, Engrav­ ing Virtue, 208. 58. YGCS 14:23b–24a. In Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn, which most likely served as a source for Yulgok, the incident is described in a very similar way. See Yun Chunnyŏn, “Maewŏltang,” 5. 59. This anecdote is actually contained in the chapter on Kim Suon in volume 2 of Haedong chamnok, not in the biographical sketch of Kim Sisŭp that features in the same volume. Mengzi arrived in Liang in 320 BCE. King Hui of Liang [C. Liang Huiwang] had assumed the title of king by usurpation. 60. For instance, in the chapter “Ruxing” (The conduct of the Confucian) of Liji (Book of rites) it famously says that, in certain situations, the Confucian scholar will not submit to the Son of Heaven nor serve a feudal lord. 61. Cf. Mengzi 2B:6. 62. Cf. Mote, Confucian Eremitism in the Yüan Dynasty. 63. A passage in the biographical sketch of Kim Sisŭp in Haedong chamnok relates that in terms of loyalty, he had a number of role models from Chinese antiquity. The loyal subjects (K. ch’ungsin, C. zhongchen) of Chinese history that Tongbong, remembering past injuries that he had suffered, praised were: Guan Longfeng, who was put to death by Jia, the last ruler of the Xia dynasty; Bigan of Shang, who had his heart cut out after reproaching King Zhou; Jizi of Yin, who refused to serve King Wu of Zhou and later came to Korea; Boyi, who starved himself to death rather than serve the Zhou after the fall of the Shang; Luan Cheng of Jin, who opposed Duke Wu of Quwo;



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Ning Yu, or Ning Wuzi, of Wei; King Zhu of Qi, who said that a loyal subject should not serve two kings; Shen Baoxu of the state of Chu, who went to Qin for help when his state was vanquished by Wu; Qu Yuan, who committed suicide over the loss of his motherland, Chu; Zhang Liang of the Han dynasty; Su Wu of the Han dynasty, who stayed loyal to his homeland after being captured by the enemy; Gong Sheng of the Former Han, who refused to serve Wang Mang; Li Ye of the Former Han, who lived as a Confucian recluse after the rise of Wang Wang; Wuhou Zhuge Liang of Shu Han; Yue Fei of the Southern Song, who was the epitome of loyalty; and Wen Tianxiang of the Southern Song, who refused to yield to the Yuan. 64. Wŏn Ho passed the state examinations in 1423 and held office under King Sejong and King Munjong. When Tanjong was sent into exile at Yŏngwŏl, Wŏn Ho followed him there, and when Tanjong was killed, he mourned for three years. Afterward he returned to his hometown of Wŏnju, barred his gates, and refused to set foot outside his door. Sejo is said to have summoned him to court several times, but Wŏn Ho purportedly never heeded the call. He was posthumously bestowed with an office during King Chŏngjo’s reign (r. 1777–1800) and was venerated at Ch’ilbong sŏwŏn (Ch’ilbong Academy) in Wŏnju. Interestingly, Wŏn Ho, whose pen name was Chahŏ, also serves as the protagonist of a piece of narrative fiction, namely, the dream-journey tale “Wŏn-saeng mongyu rok” (Report of Scholar Wŏn’s dream journey), which was attributed to Kim Sisŭp but is now known to have been written by Im Che (1549–1587), who is mentioned as the story’s author in Chugang chip. In the tale, Wŏn Hŏ in a dream meets the six martyred subjects as well as King Tanjong and recites poetry with them. “Wŏn-saeng mongyu rok” is also known under the title “Wŏn Chahŏ chŏn” (Biography of Wŏn Chahŏ), which is contained, for example, in CGC 8:23b–27a. 65. Yi Maengjŏn passed the state examinations in 1427 and held positions under Sejong and Munjong. After the deposition of Tanjong, however, he renounced public office and returned to his hometown, Sŏnsan. He, too, barred his gates, did not set foot outside his doors for thirty years, and passed away in 1480. Along with the other saeng yuksin, he later became the object of veneration at Sŏsan sŏwŏn (Sŏsan Academy), but he was also venerated at Wŏram sŏwŏn (Wŏram Academy) in Sŏnsan. 66. Born in 1420, Cho Ryŏ became literary licentiate of the National Academy in 1453. When he heard of the deposition of Tanjong, he returned to his hometown of Haman and lived in seclusion at the foot of a mountain called Sŏsan. Thus, similar to Kim Sisŭp, Cho Ryŏ refused to take office at the outset of his career. 67. Kim Sisŭp’s ceremonial burning of the very books he used to prepare for the civil service examinations (one of the core institutions of the Confucian state) clearly symbolized a break with the Confucian system and society of fifteenth-­ century Chosŏn Korea, which was, in his view, ruled by an illegitimate usurper and governed by opportunistic, disloyal officials. 68. This decisive stage of his life is also described in the nineteenth-century Maewŏltang sojŏn, where a direct connection between King Sejo’s usurpation of the throne and Kim Sisŭp’s reaction is drawn: “When he heard that Tanjong had abdicated the throne to Sejo he let out a great cry, feigned madness, and burned his books.

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In the middle of the night he disheveled his hair and ran away. Sŏng Sammun, Pak P’aengnyŏn, and others were six people who devised a plan to reinstate Tanjong. The matter was exposed and Tanjong was demoted to the title of Prince Nosan and escaped to Yŏngwŏl. [Kim] Sisŭp then cut off his hair and became a Buddhist.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 259. 69. About a year later, Sejo also held the “summoning of souls” ritual service for those who lost their lives in the wake of his usurpation, including Tanjong and the six martyred subjects, at the same temple. 70. The northwestern region of the Korean Peninsula, roughly comprising the provinces of P’yŏngan and Hwanghae. 71. The northeastern region, usually referring to the region of Kangwŏn Province. 72. Meaning the region of the northern and southern Chŏlla Provinces. 73. YGCS 14:24a. 74. Namsan (Southern Mountain) in Kyŏngju was also known under the appellation Kŭmo, “Golden Turtle.” Later, however, the entire area around this mountain came to be referred to under this name, and Kŭmo signifies Mount Kŭmo as well as the area surrounding it. 75. These poetry collections have been extensively and thoroughly studied by Sonja Häußler. See, for instance, Häußler, “Kaesŏng from the Perspective of Chosŏn Dynasty Intellectuals.” 76. MWTC 9:37a; also see Kim Sun’gi et al., Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp-kwa ttŏnanŭn Kwansŏ yŏhaeng, 399–400. 77. For the Daoist thought of Kim Sisŭp, see Ch’a, “Kim Shi-sŭp and Taoism,” 54, where he is called the “founder of revitalized disciplinary Daoism.” 78. McBride and Vermeersch, Hwaŏm, 44. 79. It cannot be ruled out that Kim Sisŭp took as models for his own actions these Confucians-turned-Buddhist-monks of Koryŏ times. Judging from descriptions in Kŭmo sinhwa, it can be assumed that Kim Sisŭp was aware of the early thirteenth-century sihwa collection P’ahan chip. In this work Yi Illo tells of a monk by the Dharma name Sinjun, whose sobriquet was Paegunja and whose real name (according to Pohan chip 1.40) was O Chŏngsŏk (see P’ahan chip 3.9 and 3.18). This Paegunja, who also left a record dated 1156 in Samguk yusa, was originally a Confucian minister who hung up his official cap and became a wayfaring monk in reaction to the Koryŏ military officials’ rise to power in 1170. The first entry (3.9) on him in P’ahan chip reads, “After Paegunja Sinjun had hung up his [Confucian] cap [K. kwae kwan] on Sinhomun [Divine Tiger Gate; the northern gate of the Koryŏ palace in Kaesŏng] he returned to his mountain house in Kongju to live in reclusion.” Entry 3.18 of P’ahan chip says, “After Paegunja had put away his Confucian cap, he studied the teachings of the Buddha. With a bundle tied to his waist he sojourned extensively through all the famous mountains [as an itinerant monk].” In a passage in Koryŏsa (vol. 110, the “Yŏlchŏn” of Yi Chehyŏn) we find the following information on this specific monk: “Unfortunately, in the final year of the reign of King Ŭijong [1170] the men of the military started a revolt and rose to power, indiscriminately burning both jade and common stones. Those who by a stroke of luck were able to



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escape from the tiger’s mouth fled into remote mountains, cast off their [Confucian] caps and girdles, and put on the patchwork robes of monks [K. kari] to spend the rest of their lives [as itinerant monks]. Sinjun and Osaeng belonged to that group of people. Later, when the country somewhat restored official selection by literature [i.e., the civil service examinations], there were scholars who had the intention to learn, but there was nowhere they could obtain that learning. Thus they all followed this group [of former ministers who were now living as monks].” Hence, Sinjun left the government. But although he did not return to the laity, he nevertheless offered Confucian learning to later students. 80. For a discussion of Li Zhi, see Handler-Spitz, Symptoms of an Unruly Age, especially chapter 3. 81. Decades after the death of Kim Sisŭp, Li Zhi is also said to have presented himself in this rather paradoxical way. Handler-Spitz, Symptoms of an Unruly Age, 79. However, there are no sources indicating that Li Zhi knew about or emulated Kim Sisŭp. 82. According to Mengzi 3B:2, this tae changbu, “great man” or “great fellow,” is a person who, if necessary, will pursue his way alone for the good of the people, a man who is resolute and can never be “bent by authority or violence.” 83. KGMP 1:53a. 84. The term kyomok (C. qiaomu), “lofty trees,” can be found in Mengzi 1B:7 and here probably means high-ranking, respectable ministers. 85. Kwibu, “register of ghosts,” might be understood as an alternative expression for the place where the civil service examinations were held (usually known as kwagŏjang). Hence, the sentence at hand could be understood as a reference to former acquaintances of his who after the coup of 1455 had not turned their back on the usurper’s government but had opportunistically chosen to lend their learning and knowledge to the service of Sejo’s regime. One example for such a friend-turned-foe is the statesman Sin Sukchu. 86. Siwen, “level of culture,” or as Peter Bol puts it, “This Culture of Ours.” The term refers to Confucianism and derives from Analects 9.5: “When under siege in K’uang, the Master said, ‘With King Wen dead, is culture [wen] not here with me? Had Heaven intended that This Culture of Ours [siwen] should perish, those who died later would not have been able to participate in This Culture of Ours. Heaven is not yet about to let This Culture of Ours perish, so what can the men of K’uang do to me?” Bol, This Culture of Ours, 1. 87. A reference to a passage from “Tiandao” (The Way of Heaven) from Zhuang­ zi: “Yesterday if you had called me an ox, you might have done so; or if you had called me a horse, you might have done so.” 88. MWTC 21:22b; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76. 89. The first stanza of this poem reads: While holding literary fame for thirty years, he never set foot in the metropolitan area. As the water level drops, the rocks in the front come into view;

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Notes to Page 16 as spring comes, the trees in the garden are proper. The Chan master does not rejoice in the Buddha, his disciples all [praise him as an] able poet. It grieves me that I am all tied up; my intention of finding the master [Tongbong] cannot be carried out. (CGC 2:27b)

90. There are similar representations from the early sixteenth century of Kim Sisŭp as a monk who never really believed in the Buddha’s teachings. For example, in P’aegwan chapki 2.72, Ŏ Sukkwŏn writes, “Once Yu Hŭiryŏng [1480–1552] compiled an anthology of poems written by Koreans and entitled it Taedong sirim [Forest of Korean poetry, 1542]. . . . I have noted many puzzling things in Yu’s anthology. Permit me to cite a few striking examples here. Kim Sisŭp, who lived in recent times, was a remarkable man. Though he feigned madness and became a monk, his heart was never in Buddhism, and later he renounced the cloth. How can we consider his earlier works to be those of a monk? This is the first error.” Peter H. Lee, A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 171. 91. CGC 7:24a–b. 92. The beginning of the biography of Hong Yuson, contained in the encyclopedia Sŏngho sasŏl (Sŏngho’s discourses on the minute) by Yi Ik (1681–1763), is remarkably similar to that of his master Kim Sisŭp. It reads, Hong Yuson: his courtesy name was Yŏgyŏng, his pen name was Choch’ong, and he was a man from Namyang. As the son of a petty clerk, he was a person who hid behind lunacy. When he came to the capital at the age of five, there was not one among the high ranking and senior officials who did not consider him a wondrously [gifted] child [K. kidong]. When he was twenty-one years of age, Kwangmyo summoned him to a separate palace hall and ordered him to write rhapsodies and poems. . . . He was not willing to set his mind on the civil service examinations. He followed Kim Sisŭp Yŏlgyŏng on his travels, and those he was friends with were Hanhwŏndang [pen name Kim Koengp’il] Kim Taeyu [Kim Koengp’il’s courtesy name] Koengp’il [1454–1504], Nam Paekkong Hyo’on, Mup’ungjŏng Paekwŏn [i.e., the renowned zither player Yi Ch’ong], . . . and Yi Chŏngŭn [dates unknown, a member of the royal house] . . . , who were all famous people of the time. (Sŏngho sasŏl, vol.14, sec. “Insamun”) 93. Zou and Lu refers to the home states of Mencius (Zou) and Confucius (Lu). 94. This might be understood as a reference to Doctrine of the Mean 11, where it has Confucius saying, “When you study the occult and perform miracles, later generations always tell about it. This I won’t do.” See http://www.acmuller.net​ /­con-dao/docofmean.html. 95. Chan (K. Sŏn) and Dao (K. Do) here meaning Chan Buddhism and Daoism.



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96. In Chan discourse, pyŏng (C. bing), “disease,” often refers to a condition of practice gone errant because of mistaken attachment to certain narrow aspects of the teachings. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 97. Simyu chŏkpul: Yulgok modeled this sentence, “His heart was Confucian, but his traces were Buddhist,” after a similar one in Yi Cha’s Maewŏltang chip sŏ, namely, Haengyu i chŏkpul, “His conduct was Confucian, but his traces were Buddhist.” 98. YGCS 14:24b–25a. 99. We find similar portrayals of Kim Sisŭp from around this time, that is, the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. For instance, Pusa chip (vol. 1, secs. “Si” and “Ch’irŏn chŏlgu”), the munjip of Sŏng Yŏsin (1546–1632, pen name Pusa), contains a poem entitled “Yongjangsa: Sŭng Sŏlcham, songmyŏng Kim Sisŭp, ose nŭng songmun, onŭng-hu, yanggwang wisŭng, ip Kŭmosan-jung, ku ch’a sa kŏji” (Yongjang Monastery: The monk Sŏlcham, his worldly name was Kim Sisŭp, was able to write literature at the age of five, but after Tanjong was laid in his grave he acted in a mad way and became a monk, entered Mount Kŭmo, built this monastery, and lived there), which reads, Only five years of age, but excelled in writing literature; later, in his integrity he acted mad, but how could this have been [real] madness? Escaped into Buddhism, but who knew the meaning of this escape? It was only for his old lord [Tanjong], whom he did not forget until the very end. (PSC 1:20b) 100. Labeled as such in Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 327. Sŏ Kŏjŏng (1420–1488) was one of the most prolific writers of the early Chosŏn period. He spent forty-five years in office and worked as editor and compiler of such works as Koryŏsa, Tongmunsŏn (Selections of refined literature of Korea, 1478), and Tongguk t’onggam (Complete mirror of the Eastern Country, 1484). 101. In Kim Sisŭp chŏn it says “Kim Suon and Sŏ Kŏjŏng, who were both famous officials at the time, praised [Kim Sisŭp] as a kuksa.” YGCS 14:25a–b. Yi continues by recounting a tale about an encounter between Kim Sisŭp and Sŏ Kŏjŏng at a market, during which Kim Sisŭp disregarded the official procedures and spoke to Sŏ Kŏjŏng as a friend. There is also a poem by Sŏ Kŏjŏng entitled “Chŭng cham sangin” (A gift to Master [Sŏl]cham). 102. For instance, Kim Sisŭp criticized the strict, unrealistic Buddhist proscription against the killing of animals, writing, “Some may say that Buddhism proscribes all killing and ask if this proscription does really represent the highest ethical precept. But I say that killing of fowl and animals may be done for alleviation of the misery of the people and for enlargement of their life. If things have come to a pass when hunger drives people to the verge of cannibalism, what is the significance of the good sounding words: Thou shalt not kill life?” Uchang Kim, “On Love of Animals,” 42–43. See also a text such as Musa (On no-thought), a translation of which is contained in

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Peter H. Lee and Theodore de Bary, Sources of Korean Tradition, 1:388. Kim Sisŭp was also quite critical of the corruption in Buddhist circles. 103. Regarding the creation of the Kim Sisŭp chŏn by Yi I, a 1699 article from Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi (Records of the Royal Secretariat) says, “After Kwangmyo had received the mandate, the scholar [K. sain] Kim Sisŭp cut off his hair and fled from the [regular Confucian] world. Temporarily he returned to the laity and took a wife, but he had no sons or grandsons. His writing maintained principle; it was excellent and lofty, so that later famous commentators called him the Boyi of current times. The former true servant Yi I, at Sŏnmyo’s [King Sŏnjo] court, received the order to create a biography [of Kim Sisŭp], which is contained in his munjip.” Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi, vol. 33, 25th year [1699], 2nd month, 10th day. 104. Such unidimentional portrayals of Kim Sisŭp’s life and thought can still be found in modern works. An interesting example is a quite radical entry in the North Korean collection of biographies of “famous people of Korean history,” Chosŏnŭi myŏngin, which is clearly based on the previously quoted passage from Nam Hyo’on’s “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” as well as the biography by Yulgok. Here, it says. He took a Confucian position and opposed all of the Buddhist superstitions. He in fact had the appearance of a Buddhist monk, but he did not take this on because he truly believed in Buddhism. It rather served him as a shield that enabled him to escape from the immoral, atrocious time during which Sejo rose to power. Whenever he met a Confucian scholar he would necessarily talk about Confucius and Mencius, but he would not open his mouth to speak about Buddhism. Yulgok Yi I, who penned Kim Sisŭp’s main biography, also stated, “Confucianism he carried in his heart, but on the outside he followed the Buddha.” Not only did Kim Sisŭp not believe in Buddhism, he opposed it from the bottom of his heart. (Kim Ilsŏng chonghap taehak ryŏksa yŏn’guso, Chosŏn-ŭi myŏngin, 285) 105. Sŏlcham’s deep understanding of Buddhism and his innovative approach with regard to Hwaŏm and the Meditation School are well described in Mok, “A Study of Sŏlcham’s Commentary.” This article also features translations of Sŏlcham’s Buddhist writings. His Buddhist writings are also discussed in McBride and Vermeersch, Hwaŏm, 46–48. In the 1970s Kim Sisŭp’s Buddhist writings were put together in a three-volume anthology, the Maewŏltang pyŏlchip, which contains the following: “Myobŏp yŏnhwagyŏng” pyŏlch’an (The separate writing on the Saddharmapundarīkasūtra), Sip hyŏndam yohae (Essential explanation of the ten mysterious discourses), Pŏpkyedo chu (Commentary on the diagram of the Dharma realm), and a preface to the Pŏpkyedo chu, the so-called Tae hwaŏm pŏpkyedo chu sŏ. The Sip hyŏndam yohae was composed in 1475, the Pŏpkyedo chu in 1476, and the Myobŏp yŏnhwagyŏng pyŏlch’an presumably in 1463 (though it might have been written later, approximately in the mid-1470s). Mok, “A Study of Sŏlcham’s Commentary,” 121–122. 106. Sim, “Ch’weseong kot Sŏlcham,” 56. Ane Husstad-Nedberg (An Annotated Translation, 38) writes that he studied Buddhism at Chogye Monastery. 107. McBride and Vermeersch, Hwaŏm, 45.



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108. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 225. Such a toch’ŏp would have been quite important for him because it would have meant that he could not have been drafted for military service. As a mere wayfarer without the toch’ŏp in his pocket, military service would most likely have been unavoidable. 109. The Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn says, People who wanted to ask about the Way all turned to him, and they were thousands in number. But the master would pretend he was mad and act as if his mind was fickle. Sometimes he would attack them with sticks or stones, sometimes he would draw his bow [as if he] meant to shoot at them. By this he tested their intention. Among his disciples there was one by the name of Sŏnhaeng who served him for several years. Although he received floggings, [Sŏnhaeng] did not leave until the end. Some people thought this strange and asked him about it, and [Sŏn]haeng answered, “Once, when my master lived at a temple in the mountains, he poured water into a gourd, held it up with both hands, kneeled down in front of the seat of the Buddha, and stayed there from morning until night for three days. Since his meditative concentration is like that, he must be a Buddha. I trust him from my heart and it is impossible for me to leave.” (Yun Chunnyŏn, “Maewŏltang,” 5) 110. Prince Hyoryŏng actively assisted Sejo in some of the king’s major Buddhist endeavors— such as the construction of Wŏn’gak Temple, during which he served as the commissioner of the Directorate of Construction—or the production of highly specialized ŏnhae editions of several sūtras such as the Wŏn’gak kyŏng (Sūtra of perfect enlightenment, 1465), of which he took charge of publication. 111. During Sejo’s rule, all eleven of these ŏnhae editions of the sūtras were completed. From 1482 to 1496 another seven texts were published under the patronage of Sejo’s widows, Tŏkchong and Sŏnjong. Plassen, “From Apologetics to Subversion,” 365. 112. The Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn says, “When Sejo was about to hold the Enlightened Gathering of a Thousand Clouds and Water Monks at Wŏn’gak Temple, all of the monks said, ‘This meeting is not possible without Sŏlcham!’ The king eventually ordered him to be summoned.” Yun Chunnyŏn, “Maewŏltang,” 5. Yet during the gathering he apparently acted in an erratic way and was eventually expelled. An entry in P’aegwan chapki deals with Kim Sisŭp’s unusual behavior during this sort of gathering as well as King Sejo’s reaction to it: “Kim Sisŭp left home to become a Buddhist monk. An old man from a wealthy family gave him a cassock of white satin out of charity. Kim wore the cassock to the capital, where he took it off and threw it away after rolling around in filthy water dozens of times. Later, Sejo made a royal visit to the Wŏngak monastery to celebrate the festival of land and water. Kim, who was considered a sainted monk, was summoned. He appeared in a tattered cassock, carrying a bundle of herring. Kim left the fish partially exposed throughout his audience with the king. Sejo thought him mad.” Peter H. Lee, A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 220–221.

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113. In P’aegwan chapki 4.77 we see that in mid-sixteenth-century Korea there were still monks claiming that their self-proclaimed high Buddhist education originated with Kim Sisŭp: “Monk Sŏrong claimed that he had studied under a student of Kim Sisŭp and that he was thoroughly versed in the writing of poetry and the telling of fortunes.” Peter H. Lee, A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 258. 114. For a study of the Buddho-Confucian writings of Kim Sisŭp, see Plassen, “From Apologetics to Subversion.” Note also the forthcoming dissertation “Das Chodong owi yohae: Bildlichkeit und Hermeneutik im religiösen Kontext” (tentatively titled “The Chodong owi yohae: Imagery and Hermeneutics in a Religious Context”) by Christian Mularzyk of Ruhr University Bochum. 115. An entry contained in Unam chamnok (Unam’s miscellaneous records) by Yu Sŏngnyong (1542–1607) features a poem allegedly written by Yi I, which seems to show that Yulgok also recognized certain similarities between himself and Kim Sisŭp. “By nature he [Yi I] was clever and smart, and he was an able poet. . . . There exists a verse [written by Yulgok], reading, ‘In my previous life I was certainly Kim Sisŭp; / in the present world I again became Jia Langxian [refers to the Tang poet Jia Dao, 779–843, who also had an interlude with Buddhism].’ ” This poem is also mentioned in the Veritable Records of Myŏngjong. See Myŏngjong sillok, 19th year (1564), 8th month, 30th day. 116. In the Kukcho pogam (Mirror of the dynasty) it says, “The scholar [K. sain] Kim Sisŭp: at the beginning of the time of Kwangmyo he became a monk, cut off his hair, and escaped from the world. Temporarily he returned to the laity and took a wife but had neither sons nor grandchildren. His writings and principled behavior were high and lofty, and thus it would be right to posthumously promote him to office and offer sacrifice in his honor. The king then ordered . . . [Kim] Sisŭp to be posthumously promoted to an office and made him the object of sacrificial offerings.” Kukcho pogam, vol. 51, Sukchongjo 11, 25th year of the reign of Sukjong (1699). 117. Chŏngjo sillok, vol. 17, 8th year (1784), 3rd month, 11th day, 3rd article. 118. The letter’s title says that Yun Chŭng wrote this Ch’ŏngp’unggak ki (Records of Pure Wind Pavilion) in his uncle’s stead. The uncle would be Yun Sanggŏ, brother to Yun Chŭng’s father, Yun Sŏn’gŏ (1610–1669). 119. In Buddhism, ch’ŏngp’ung (C. qingfeng) can refer to a purified state of mind. See Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism, s.v. “ch’ŏngp’ung.” 120. The source says sach’ae (C. shecai), which are rituals held on a regular basis to celebrate the opening or relocation of Confucian schools. 121. MJYG 26:14a–b. 122. Yi Ching, a renowned painting official, was the illegitimate son of Yi Kyŏngyun (1545–1611), a famous painter and direct descendant of King Sŏngjong. It is not exactly clear when Yi Ching died, but at the time he repainted the self-portrait he must already have been around seventy years of age. 123. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 586–587. A brilliant study on the meaning of the artistic representations of Kim Sisŭp is Yang Sŭngmin, “Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp ch’osanghwa.” 124. Alluding to ritual failure, this line is a reference to a story from Liji. Zengzi



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(505–435 BCE), a disciple of Confucius, was so concerned about the proper performance of ritual that even on his deathbed he worried when he learned that he was lying on a mat improper for his status. He asked that the luxurious mat be changed but died before the new one was put in place. 125. These lines actually are an abbreviated quotation of a passage in Kim Sisŭp chŏn dealing with Kim Sisŭp’s friend Kim Suon. The passage by Yulgok reads, “After [Kim] Suon had already passed away, among the people there was a rumor that he had died [as a Buddhist] while sitting in meditation. [Kim] Sisŭp said, ‘Koeae [was a man with] many desires, how could there have been anything like that? . . . To pass away while sitting in meditation is against the rites. I have only heard about Zengzi having his mat changed and about Zi Lu, who tied the cords of his hat [before he passed away], and that is all. I do not know anything else.’ ” YGCS 14:26a. This passage in Kim Sisŭp chŏn was likely to have been cited from “Sau myŏnghaeng rok”, for which, see CGC 7:24b. 126. This writing, entitled “Kim Tongbong hwasang ch’an” (Praise on the portrait of Kim Tongbong), can be found in volume 2 of Pak T’aebo’s collected writings, Chŏngjae chip. See CJC 2:40a. 127. Yulgok merely writes, “When alive, he painted by hand two portraits of himself in his young and old age. Also, he wrote a [statement of] self-praise. They are stored at temples.” YGCS 14:27a. 128. MJYG 26:15a. 129. It says, “Taibo can be said to have had a perfected level of virtue.” Muller, http://www.acmuller.net/con-dao/analects.html, s.v., “Tai Bo.” 130. When those who became known as the six martyred subjects were killed, this Yu Chami is said to have hidden the granddaughter of Sŏng Sammun, thus saving her life. Yu Chami then purportedly raised her, eventually even making her his daughter-in-law. 131. Ilsŏngnok, 21st year of Chŏngjo, 5th month, 10th day ( pyŏlp’yŏn). Kim Sisŭp, however, was not the only member of the saeng yuksin likened to Boyi. For instance, in the Veritable Records of Sukchong we find the following passage: “During the reign of the Jingtai Emperor [of Ming], the literary licentiate and minister Cho Ryŏ went to live in seclusion in the region of Haman; he protected his integrity and died in his hometown. Also, there were those who called [this place] Paegisan, Mount Boyi.” Sukchong sillok, vol. 38, 29th year (1703), 10th month, 13th day, 3rd article. The Veri­ table Records of Chŏngjo states, “In the epitaph of Cho Ryŏ, written by Minister Yi Chae [1680–1746], it says, ‘In the year kyeyu during the reign of the Jingtai Emperor, [Cho Ryŏ] bade the other Confucian scholars farewell, returned to his home region and did not come back out again. In the year kimyo during the reign of King Sukchong, the Confucians of Yŏngnam heard of his loyal actions, and especially . . . constructed a shrine in Hamyang [Haman] at the foot of Mount Boyi, where sacrificial offerings were presented for him as well as Kim Sisŭp, Wŏn Ho, Yi Maengjŏn, Sŏng Tamsu, and Nam Hyo’on.’ ” Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Chŏngjo sillok, vol. 32, 15th year (1791), 2nd month, 21st day, 1st article. 132. In the Maewŏltang yŏngdang kwŏnyŏn mun Pak Sedang writes, “Although I

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was born a few hundred years after the master [Kim Sisŭp], our clothes are not different and our characters are also the same.” SGC 8:28b. 133. See SGC 8:27a–29b. 134. A reference to Lunyu 7.15. 135. The hermits Yu Zhong and Yi Yi are spoken of in the following way in Lunyu 18.8: “It may be said of Yu Zhong and Yi Yi that, while they hid themselves in their seclusion, they gave a license to their words; but in their persons, they succeeded in preserving their purity, and in their retirement, they acted according to the exigency of the times.” 136. This last line is a quotation from “Boyi song” (Eulogy for Boyi) by Han Yu. Another work by Pak Sedang in which he praises Kim Sisŭp is Pang Maewŏltang kujŏk (Looking for old traces of Maewŏltang), in SGC 2:20a. 137. There is an interesting example by a person called Yun Kyŏngjong that says that Kim Sisŭp’s righteous behavior even exceeded that of Boyi. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 591. 138. The Ch’ŏngsa yŏlchŏn is contained in Misu kiŏn, the munjip of Hŏ Mok. According to the preface to this collection of exemplary biographies of “pure scholars,” “During a change of era, [some people] escaped from the world and cut ties with the mundane world. Those who [intentionally] besmirched their traces but cleansed their conduct preserved purity in their persons; their abandonment [of official positions] was adjusted according to the circumstances, and the sage [Confucius] admired them. [To present such figures from Korea] I created the Ch’ŏngsa yŏlchŏn.” Misu kiŏn 11:26. Other biographies contained in Ch’ŏngsa yŏlchŏn comprise those of hermit scholars such as Chŏng Hŭiryang (1469–?). In another entry, contained in volume 9 of Misu kiŏn entitled “U” (Furthermore), Hŏ Mok mentions Kim Sisŭp in the same breath as the virtuous Boyi in the following way: East of Paegun [Monastery] is Sat’an Village of Such’un District. . . .  At the end of the reign of Emperor Jingtai [of Ming], when Kim Sisŭp escaped from the world and covered his traces, it was here he lived in seclusion. [The place subsequently] was called the “grotto of the five-year-old child” [K. ose tongja tong] because when [Kim Sisŭp] was five years of age he had already comprehended the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean, and thus they had nicknamed him the “five-year-old child” [K. ose tongja]. Thus, early on he had gained great fame, but when he was faced with a sudden change of era [from the reign of a legitimate king to that of a usurper], one morning he escaped. From that time on he cut all ties with the age [i.e., the politics and social life of the new era]. He was sad and held grudges, but even at the end of his life he did not regret a single thing. Whenever I read his poems, tears stream down my face. [In the Records of the Grand Historian,] Taishi gong [Sima Qian] discussed Boyi in the following way: “Confucius said [about Boyi], ‘He sought benevolence and obtained benevolence, why should he have held grudges?’ But if one looks at the yishi [non-canonical poems that were not included



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in the Shijing], it is possible to think differenly.” (Misu kiŏn, vol. 9, sec. “Ki” [Accounts]) In his retelling of the tale of Boyi from Shiji (Records of the grand historian), Sima Qian (d. 110 BCE) had added a song allegedly sung by Boyi suggesting that he died holding a grudge against King Wu of Zhou for having used violent means to overthrow the Shang. By finishing his anecdote about Kim Sisŭp with this allusion, Hŏ Mok appears to imply that Kim Sisŭp likewise died holding a grudge against King Sejo. 139. Ch’ŏngŭn chŏn, which features the biographies of Kim Sisŭp and Kim Inhu (1510–1560), is contained in Myŏngmidang chip, vol. 16, sec. “Chŏn” (Biographies); MMDC 16:1a–5a, the collected writings of Yi Kŏnch’ang. There are a number of obvious mistakes in the biography, for example that concerning Kim Sisŭp’s place of dwelling when he heard of the usurpation of the throne by Sejo, for it says, “Sisŭp was staying on Mount Surak east of the capital. When he heard of the change [of government] he wailed, burned all of his books, rent his Confucian clothes, shaved off his hair, and became a monk, calling himself Sŏlcham.” MMDC 16:1b–2a. 140. Yi Kŏnch’ang writes, “Yet the monks all called Sŏlcham a living buddha, and Sisŭp himself likewise calmly claimed that he knew the teachings of the Buddha. However, Sisŭp really did not know the teachings of the Buddha at all. Sisŭp was just extraordinarily talented [in deceiving people].” MMDC 16:2a–b. 141. Although Sin Sukchu had been a favorite of King Sejong, had served several rulers with distinction, and was a gifted poet and astute statesman, in posterity he was looked down upon as a prime example of a minister who had failed remain loyal to the rightful king. As can be seen from a passage in a long entry on Kim Sisŭp (which itself is part of an entry on those scholars who were harmed and murdered during kyeyu chŏngnan) found in the fourth volume of the encyclopedic unofficial history Yŏllyŏsil kisul (Narrations from Yŏllyŏ Study) by Yi Kŭngik (1736–1806), Kim Sisŭp despised Sin Sukchu, though in his youth he had been his friend. The passage reads, Sin Sukchu had been a friend of his. [Once], when [Kim Sisŭp] came to the capital, [Sin Sukchu] heard about it. He made the owner [of the inn where Kim Sisŭp lodged] recommend wine, get [Kim Sisŭp] drunk on it, put him down [on a stretcher], and carry him over to Sin Sukchu’s house. When [Kim Sisŭp] awoke from his drunken stupor, he realized that he had been tricked. Startled, he arose and wanted to leave, but [Sin] Sukchu held onto his hand, saying, “Yŏlgyŏng, how can you not say a single word to me?” Master [Kim Sisŭp], however, kept his mouth shut, shook him off, and left. From then on, his traces were even more secret than before. Kim Sisŭp’s animosity toward Sin Sukchu was likely due to Sin’s involvement in the capture, torture, and execution of the six martyred subjects. The capture and torture is described in the entry on Sŏng Sammun in the Yuksin chŏn by Nam Hyo’on:

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Notes to Pages 23–24 The following year, the year pyŏngja [1456], along with his father, [Sŏng] Sŭng [?–1456], Pak P’aengnyŏn, and others, he planned to restore the former king. They chose the day of the feast for the Ming imperial envoy as the time for their uprising. When they met at the Hall of Worthies to discuss the matter, Sammun said, “Sin Sukchu and I are on good terms, but the crime he committed is severe and there is no way we cannot have him put to death.” “That’s right,” all of the others agreed. Thus, they had military officers each take charge of an assassination, and the section chief [K. Hyŏngjo chŏngnang] of the Ministry of Punishments, Yun Yŏngson, was to take care of Sin Sukchu. Yet on that very day they had to put away their double-edged swords, as the plot suddenly had to be aborted. [Yun] Yŏngson, however, knew nothing of this [development]. When Sin Sukchu entered the bathroom to wash his hair, Yŏngson drew his sword and placed himself in front of him [ready to kill him]. [Sŏng] Sammun saw what was about to happen and stopped him. Yet the matter had been exposed and all of them were arrested. . . . Kwangmyo [Sejo] got extremely angry and ordered a military officer to heat up a [sharp] iron and pierce [Sŏng Sammun’s] feet and cut off his arms with it. Yet [Sŏng’s] face did not change color as he calmly said, “Your punishment is quite cruel.” Sin Sukchu was present at the time, standing in front of the king, and Sammun scolded him, calling out, “When you and I were at the Hall of Worthies together, Sejong used to carry his royal grandson [Tanjong] in his arms every day, strolling around in leisurely enjoyment. Then he would say to his Confucian ministers, ‘After I have lived a thousand autumns and ten thousand years, you must protect this child.’ His words still ring in my ears. How could you alone have forgotten them? I never would have thought that your evil would reach a level such as this!” (CGC 8:5a–6a)

142. In this context one has to note that Prince Nosan was posthumously reinstated as King Tanjong in 1698, the twenty-fourth year of the reign of King Sukchong. 143. The life and dissidence of Sŏ Hanjŏng are described in a text entitled Tunam Sŏ-gong myojimyŏng (An epitaph for Tunam, Master Sŏ [Hanjŏng]), contained in Taesan chip, the collection of writings of the eighteenth-century scholar Yi Sangjŏng (1711–1781). Here, it reads, The master’s name was Hanjŏng, his family name was Sŏ. . . . His greatgrandfather [Sŏ] Ch’ung served as left censor general, his grandfather [Sŏ] Samin was district prefect, his deceased father, [Sŏ] Kyun, was a licentiate. The master was born in the year chŏnghae [1407] of the Yongle reign [1402–1424], on the fifth day of the fifth month. When he had grown up, he enrolled for the triennial lower civil service examinations, but when Kwangmyo took the throne, he did not get to take the civil service examinations but instead went into hiding in the territory of Yŏngp’ung, located at the foot of Mount Sobaek. He closed the gates and cut all ties with the



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era. He styled himself Tunam. . . . If one retraces his intentions, they were of the same kind as those of Ch’ugang [Nam Hyo’on] and Maewŏl[tang] [Kim Sisŭp]. (Taesan chip, vol. 47, sec. “Myojimyŏng” [Epitaphs]) 144. In a 1784 entry in the Ilsŏngnok of Chŏngjo, the king is advised with regard to this matter in the following way: “Sŏ P’yŏngyun from Sunhŭng claims that his ancestor in the tenth generation, [Sŏ] Hanjŏng, exceeded in the constant bonds and protected righteousness for Tanmyo. Thus, he requests that [Sŏ Hanjŏng] may posthumously be bestowed with praise. However, this [alleged] matter happened a long time ago, and thus it is difficult to give it any credence. I recommend [you] disregard both.” Ilsŏngnok, 8th year of Chŏngjo, 9th month, 27th day. The matter was brought to the attention of the king once more a few years later by another descendant of Sŏ Hanjŏng, for in a 1788 entry of the Ilsŏngnok it says, In a memorial, Sŏ Ch’angyŏl, a scholar from Kyŏngsang, states the following: “I consider my ancestor in the ninth generation, the literary licentiate [Sŏ] Hanjŏng, who lived in hiding on Mount Sobaek [as a sign of protest against the deposition of Tanjong], to be equal to Pak P’aengnyŏn, Kim Sisŭp, and the other ministers [who suffered under Sejo] with regard to his [loyal] heart and [loyal] actions. I beg His Majesty to posthumously bestow an official position upon him.” This matter involving Sŏ Hanjŏng happened a long time ago, and if we only rely on the request brought forth by one of his descendants, it will be difficult to simply bestow a title upon him.” [King Chŏngjo] said, “Ask the governor of the province about [Sŏ Hanjŏng and this matter] and make him check in detail the local gazetteers, . . . then report back to me.” (Ilsŏngnok, 12th year of Chŏngjo, 4th month, 4th day) 145. MWTC 9:38a; see also Kim Sun’gi et al., Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp-kwa ttŏnanŭn Kwansŏ yŏhaeng, 402. This was certainly aided by his conviction of the morally sound foundation of his break with Confucian society with all its constraints and pressures. 146. In a way, this can be compared to the production of literature by literati at the time of the century-long phase (from 1170 to 1270) of military rule during the Koryŏ dynasty. For it can be hypothesized that a major factor in the creation of, for instance, a work like P’ahan chip was that its creator, the civil official Yi Illo, refused to serve the (in his eyes illegitimate) military regime. By withdrawing from government and regular society, he had a lot of time on his hands to compose this major piece of Korean sihwa. 147. The sight of which he lyrically described in the poem “Pagyŏn.” The poem is contained in T’angyu Kwansŏ rok. See MWTC 9:6b; see also Kim Sun’gi et al., Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp-kwa ttŏnanŭn Kwansŏ yŏhaeng, 91. In the supplement to T’angyu Kwansŏ rok he writes, “I also ascended [Mount] Ch’ŏnma, [Mount] Sŏn’gŏ, and all other mountains [in the area] in order to marvel at the ruggedness and the steepness of the peaks as well as at the grandeur of P’yo Pond [referring to the deep

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pool Pagyŏn] and Ch’u Falls [meaning the waterfall that gushes out of Pagyŏn].” MWTC 9:37a. 148. One example being P’aegang kok (Song of the P’ae River). MWTC 9:9b. 149. As, for instance, “Kija myo” (The shrine of Kija) or “Tan’gun myo” (The shrine of Tan’gun). MWTC 9:12a–b. 150. A poem such as “Kosŏng hoego” (Meditation [a huaigu] on the ancient castle) undoubtedly anticipates the poems recited by the male protagonist, Scholar Hong, and his immortal woman in the tale. For the poem “Kosŏng hoego,” see MWTC 9:14a. 151. An example for such a poem is “Namwŏn Kwanghannu-sang mun chŏk” (On top of Kwanghan Pavilion in Namwŏn I hear the flute) which is contained in the Yu Honam rok. MWTC 11:18b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:238. 152. Among Kim Sisŭp’s extant poems is “Kŏ Yongjangsa kyŏngsil yu hoe (Yearning while staying in the sūtra room of Yongjang Monastery). In this poem, Kim Sisŭp describes the seclusion he lived in during his first stay on Mount Kŭmo. MWTC 12:11a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:262. 153. For instance in the CMPP and the Japanese edition from 1884. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 108, 374–375. 154. In his historiography of Korean literature from the early 1930s (discussed in more detail in the section of this introduction entitled “Kŭmo sinhwa in Modern Korea”), Kim T’aejun already formulated the hypothesis that, since the extant Kŭmo sinhwa is labeled “kapchip” (C. jiaji), “first collection,” there may have existed an ŭlchip (C. yiji) or even a byŏngjip (C. bingji), i.e., a “second collection” and a “third collection.” He consequently concludes that there must have existed more than the extant five tales. Kim T’aejun, Chosŏn sosŏlsa, 39. The North Korean historiography of Korean literature Chosŏn munhaksa (A history of Korean literature, 1991) says that Yu Hŭiryŏng mentioned several different volumes of Kŭmo sinhwa in his Taedong yŏnju sigyŏk. Kim Hamyŏng, Chosŏn munhaksa, 201. The oldest extant edition of Kŭmo sinhwa, the Chosŏn mokp’an pon, was discovered by Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl of Korea University in the Chinese city of Dalian in 1999. The book was apparently brought to China by the Japanese Ōtani Kōzui (1876–1947), where it was eventually stored at Dalian Library. It consists of a partly extant Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn by Yun Ch’unnyŏn, a table of contents, five of the tales, “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” “Biography of Scholar Yi,” “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” and “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” plus the poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu” and the partly extant afterword from Yu Kŭmo rok. This shows that even the oldest known edition does not contain additional or different tales. For a detailed discussion of this edition, see Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon.” 155. MWTC 6:27b. 156. In Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 108. 157. In light of this poem and the appended text, however, it might also have been the small hermitage east of the capital where Kim Sisŭp lived in the early 1470s. 158. Pyŏng-uk Chŏng, “Kim Si-sŭp,” 39. 159. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 290. In line with a 1988 article by Kim Yŏngt’ae



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on the same issue, Sim states, “Coincidentally the Dharma name is the same, yet it was not Kim Sisŭp but another person. It cannot be that Kim Sisŭp committed such an unreasonable scam and suffered such serious consequences.” Sim, 290. 160. In a sillok commentary on Yun Ch’unnyŏn it says that he purportedly stated that his own previous incarnation was Sŏlcham and that Sŏlcham’s previous incarnation was Mencius. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Myŏngjong vol. 28, 17th year (1562), 9th month, 9th day, 1st article. 161. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Sejo vol. 45, 14th year (1468) 2nd month, 15th day, 4th article. 162. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Sejo vol. 45, 14th year (1468) 2nd month, 18th day, 2nd article. 163. In his letter, Kim Sisŭp addressed Yu Chahan directly, stating, “You, Minister, did not despise me and treated me very generously. To me you are the same as my old friends Koeae [Kim Suon], Saga [Sŏ Kŏjŏng], and Kŭmhŏn [Kim Yu, 1436–1490].” MWTC 21:23a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76. In addition, in the Wŏljŏng manp’il (Miscellaneous jottings of Wŏljŏng), contained in volume 57 of the Taedong yasŭng (Unofficial histories of the great East) by Yun Kŭnsu (1537–1616, pen name Wŏljŏng), we find the following interesting anecdote about the close relationship between Kim Sisŭp and Sŏ Kŏjŏng: Kim Tongbong renounced the secular life and went on his journeys. When he happened to come to the capital, groups of little children would run after him, scornfully calling him “five-year-old.” The reason for this was that when Tongbong had been five years of age, he had been summoned to the royal palace as a “divine child.” Whenever he entered the capital, he stayed as a guest at someone’s home in Hyanggyodong. Saga Sŏ Kŏjŏng went to pay him a visit there, but Tongbong did not treat him in accordance with the proper rites [for a high minister]. Kim Sisŭp lay down, placed both feet in between the walls and played around with his [own] feet. This way the two of them talked all day long. The lower people from the neighborhood all said, “This Kim So-and-So, he does not treat Minister of State Sŏ in accordance with the rites, but instead insults him in this fashion. He [Sŏ Kŏjŏng] will definitely not come again in the future [to meet this awful Kim Sisŭp]!” A few days later, however, Prime Minister Sŏ came back to see [Kim Sisŭp] again. In the Saga chip, the collected writings of Sŏ Kŏjŏng, we find a number of poems dealing with Kim Sisŭp, such as the “Sŭng Sŏlcham raebang” (The Monk Sŏlcham comes to pay me a visit), which reads, Sŏl[cham], we have known each other for a long time; he frequently pays me visits in my small house. He is upset with the times like the old man of Han, and fond of wine like “thirsty Qiang.”

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Notes to Page 27 At dusk, bamboo leaves turn a deeper green; in autumn, chrysanthemum flowers become fragrant. What a pity that you perform transformation so well, but talk and laughter will find a stage. (Saga chip 21:12b)

164. Along with Sŏ Kŏjŏng, No Sasin served as one of the leading creators of Tongguk t’onggam. Also, in 1465 he served as one of the supervising compilers of the Kyŏngguk taejŏn (The great code of administration). Furthermore, from the late 1470s on he was involved, along with Kang Hŭimaeng (1424–1483) and Sŏ Kŏjŏng, in the creation of the Tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (Survey of the geography of Korea). 165. Cf. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 185–187. Sim writes that Kim Sisŭp and No Sasin grew apart and that Kim Sisŭp apparently did not hope for No’s support after his travels through the Honam region. The source presented here, on the other hand, certainly suggests that Kim Sisŭp did rely on his old friend in this difficult situation. 166. No Sasin was active, for instance, in the Kŭmgang kyŏng ŏnhae project, the compilation of a vernacular Korean version of the Diamond Sūtra, in 1464. Prior to that he had been involved in the vernacular Korean translation of the Nŭngŏm kyŏng (Śūraṃgama-sūtra) in 1461. 167. The Wŏljŏng manp’il features an anecdote about an incident involving Kim Sisŭp, a monk by the name of Chou, and No Sasin, who at that time apparently held an official position at the Ŭigŭmbu. (He is said to have been a sangwi, which normally refers to a counselor in the Ŭigŭmbu.) The anecdote goes as follows: In the neighborhood of Namsomun there lived a member of the royal clan, who often spoke of poetry and liked to entertain guests. Poets and religious scholars of that time assembled at his home, which was always full of guests. [At the time,] there lived a monk by the name of Chou, who had early on asked Prime Minister No Sasin to instruct him in the Zhuangzi. One day, he had arrived early at the mentioned house [of the royal clan] while Tongbong Kim Yŏlgyŏng had gotten there late. Although [Tongbong] knew that [Cho]u had already come, he acted as if he knew nothing about [his presence], saying, “[That Cho]u, he received an education from [No] Sasin. That man, how could he venture to rank among humans? If he gets here I will have to teach him.” [Cho]u was not able to hold back his anger; he stepped forth in front of Tongbong and said, “Licentiate [K. saengwŏn; the monk Chou here obviously not addressing Kim Sisŭp as a monk but as a Confucian], how dare you slander the great prime minister? If you want to teach me, I will give myself over [i.e., submit myself] to be taught by you!” Tongbong wanted to grab [Cho]u, but the other guests freed him and thus he barely managed to escape. It was at the time when No Sasin was sangwi. After this, when Tongbong lived on Mount Surak, [Cho]u suddenly came to pay him a visit. Tongbong was delighted, receiving him and saying, “Have you come here to see me? If you wish to obtain an education, I will teach you.” Thus, he ordered his servant to fix



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some rice and offer it to him. When everything was prepared, Tongbong sat down in a higher position, while [Cho]u sat to the side below him. Whenever [Cho]u then raised a spoonful of rice to eat, before he could even get it to his mouth, [Tongbong] stomped the ground with his foot, making the dust rise, which then flew onto the spoon. In the end, [Chou] did not get to eat a single spoonful of rice out of the entire bowl. [Cho] u said, “Licentiate, you prepared it for me, but then you do not let me eat. What is that supposed to mean?” Tongbong said, “You received an education from Mr. No So-and-So. How could you be human?” [Cho]u had early on been an abbot at Songgwang [Monastery], and thus people called him U Songgwang. He lived until he was eighty, ninety years old, and thus Suam [Pak] Chihwa [1513–1592] got to see him. He then spoke to Suam about this [incident involving Kim Sisŭp], saying, “Tongbong’s behavior was usually this weird. I really do not know what kind of person he was.” Suam said, “Tongbong early on had the intention to belittle the [Duke of] Zhou and Confucius, to blame [Emperors] Tang and Wu. At that time, No [Sasin] was prime minister. For this reason he had to act like this. 168. These waters and springs were viewed as beneficial for the treatment of illnesses, especially those of members of the royal house. Hence, ordinary people who discovered such thermal wells and informed the court about their specific locations were rewarded with gifts. We can see this, for example, in the following entry from the Veritable Records of Sejong: “There was a person who came [to court], reporting the following: ‘In Ch’ŏngju there is water, the taste of which is just like pepper—hence it is called “pepper water” [K. ch’osu]. One can treat all kinds of diseases with it. This water can also be found in the counties Mokch’ŏn and Chŏnŭi.’ King [Sejong] heard this and straightaway meant to go on a royal tour in order to [use these waters] for treating a disease of the eyes. He dispatched . . . Kim Hŭnji and ordered him to set up a temporary royal residence. The person who had brought [samples of] the water and reported about it was given ten rolls of tree cotton.” Veri­ table Records, 26th year (1444), 1st month, 27th day. It is known that Sejong actually went to Ch’ŏngju about a month later. 169. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Yejong vol. 6, 1st year (1469), 6th month, 19th day, 2nd article. The entry continues with a scolding of the gatekeepers’ inattentiveness and an order that in future twenty gatekeepers would protect Kwanghwa Gate and the other outer gates from people entering the palace with forged wooden tallies. 170. That the life as a wayfaring monk was hard and that his outer appearance must have been that of a rather poor person can be deduced from statements in his letter to Yu Chahan: “People who do not know me say, ‘His family is poor and he has fallen on hard times [the source says kabin nakt’ak, which can be understood as a reference to the biography of Li Yiji, who was called the “mad scholar,” from Shiji], he cannot stretch out by himself, and for this reason he has wandered along until he arrived here.’ Then they think that I had had to sell all of my slaves, that I was utterly poor.” MWTC 21:23a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76.

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171. A feeling of bitterness appears to have haunted him continually and he seems to have despised many high-ranking government officials for their incompetence and moral inferiority, which, in his view, stood in sharp contrast to his own abilities and behavior. According to Kim Sisŭp chŏn, “When he lived in the mountains and saw a visitor he would ask him if there was any news from the capital. . . . He would see the lists of appointments to office and sometimes there was a high-ranking official who unworthy. Then he would necessarily cry out and say, ‘What sins have these people committed for this person to be thought appropriate for this office?’ ” YGCS 14:25a. This aversion to the scholar-officials of his time is likewise reflected in Kŭmo sinhwa, especially in the fourth and fifth tales. 172. It appears he also served a prison sentence in the city of Kangnŭng when he lived there in mid-1480. He left a poem on a wall of the local prison. Sim, “Ch’weseong kot Sŏlcham,” 68. 173. In the following centuries, Mount Surak was continuously associated with Kim Sisŭp. This can be seen, for instance, in a poem entitled “Mang Suraksan hoe Kim Tongbong” (Gazing at Mount Surak, thinking of Kim Tongbong) by Chŏng Tugyŏng (1597–1673), which is contained in the third volume of Chŏng’s Tongmyŏng chip. The ruinous state of Plum Moon Hall on Mount Surak in the seventeenth century is described in Maewŏltang yŏngdang kwŏnyŏn mun by Pak Sedang: When the master began to live in reclusion on [Mount] Surak, he built Plum Moon Hall in order to dwell there. It is for this reason that he styled himself Tongbongja, “Man of the Eastern Summit”. . . . The hall crumbled a long time ago, yet the place where the ruins are located is still amid steep cliffs. The stones have piled up there to form a flight of stairs, as solid as if they had been built yesterday, yet old creeping vines and heaps of thorny briers coil on top so that among those who come to this place there is no one who does not sigh with an uncontrollable sadness. Alone, the place where [Plum Moon Hall] was located is precipitous and dangerous, and if you are not someone who fasts and practices asceticism, you truly will not be able to survive there. For this reason there has not been anybody who went after the old [model set by Kim Sisŭp]. (SGC 8:28b) 174. See Häußler, Firmness in Adversity, 273. 175. There is one more entry in the sillok from this time, 1475, the sixth year of the reign of Sŏngjong, that mentions a monk by the name of Sŏlcham who does not act in a very Buddhist fashion. It reads, “Remonstrance Official Pak Sungjil [1435–1507] stated the following: ‘Women of aristocratic families are not allowed to become nuns, but nowadays the correction and exposition of such matters is not very strict. . . . Also, they [the women] come and go with the monks and act in a lascivious manner any way they please. Recently there was a monk by the name of Sŏlcham who inherently knows nothing of moral discipline but goes in and out of the Chŏngŏbwŏn, acting as if he transmitted Buddhist doctrines. He loiters and stays the night, and it is not yet known whether any wanton, lascivious matters took



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place while he was there.’ ” Sŏngjong sillok, vol. 55, 6th year (1475), 5th month, 26th day, 1st article. 176. The biography of Kim Sisŭp in Ch’ŏngŭn chŏn by Yi Kŏnch’ang contains the following interesting information regarding this marriage: “When he was in his forties, . . . he let his hair grow and took a wife with whom he was very intimate. She gave birth to a son.” MMDC 16:2b. No other biography of Kim Sisŭp mentions that he had a child. 177. Regarding Tao Yuanming’s wife, Lady Zhai, the Nanshi (History of the Southern Dynasties) says, “Tao Yuanming’s wife, neé Zhai, shared his inclinations and was also able to endure toil and hardship. As they say, the husband ploughed in front and the wife hoed behind; this was how they were.” Tian, Tao Yuanming, 90. Thus, the allusion to Lady Zhai seems to imply that Kim Sisŭp’s own wife was not willing to “endure toil and hardship.” It might, however, also imply that his wife was unable to give birth to a son, for Lady Zhai is said to have given birth to five sons. Meng Guang is another virtuous woman from Chinese antiquity. She was from a wealthy family but chose to live in poverty to please her husband, Liang Hong. The exemplary marriage of Liang Hong and Meng Guang is mentioned several times in Kŭmo sinhwa. 178. One can deduct from these lines that Kim Sisŭp’s wife was not indifferent to their miserable financial situation. Kim Sisŭp, however, appears to have rejected women interested in money. This also shows in another passage of his letter to Yu Chahan: “Moreover, some time ago, you, my Lord, granted me a servant girl, but she was a person who only had an eye for money in finding a husband. I had a clear understanding of her being a servant who ought not to be pursued, and I also did not want to have to suddenly face her over trivialities. For this reason I acted as if, on an impulse, I marveled at the moonlit scenery and watched what she would do. And indeed, she left! I have heard that the following day, you, my Lord, gave her a good scolding, and I can’t thank you enough for it.” MWTC 21:24a; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 77. 179. MWTC 21:23b–24a. Kim Sisŭp’s inability to fit into the society of his time and his being the object of people’s (especially children’s) mockery is described in Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki (though one has to keep in mind that the stories in this yadam collection are based on hearsay): By the time Tongbong Kim Sisŭp lost his baby teeth he already had the reputation of being an able poet. Eventually . . . he cut off his hair, became a monk, and changed his name to Sŏlcham. Together with Nam Ch’ugang [Hyo’on] he sojourned beyond the realm, and their mad chants were unrestrained. . . . He escaped from the [regular] world into Chan Buddhism, but he did not believe in its laws. The world looked at him as a mad monk [K. kwangsŭng]. When he passed through markets or shops, he sometimes fixed his eyes on [the goods] and forgot to leave [the market stall]. He would stand around, moving only every now and then, and sometimes he would defecate right there on the street, not avoiding people’s stares.

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Notes to Page 30 Hordes of children sneered and laughed at him, and they threw tiles and pebbles at him to chase him [through the streets]. (HRTG 8:438b)

180. MWTC 21:22b; Kim Sisŭp, “Sang Yu Yangyang,” 76. 181. MWTC 21:22b–23a. 182. Chŏng Pyŏnguk states that a political incident, the dethronement of Sŏngjong’s second wife, Queen Yun, and her subsequent murder in the early 1480s, drove Kim Sisŭp once again to take up a wandering life. Pyŏng-uk Chŏng, “Kim Sisŭp,” 40. It is not clear what the sources for this statement are. 183. YGCS 14:26b. 184. Toward the end of the letter to Yu Chahan, Kim Sisŭp emphatically describes his poor living conditions to his benefactor: Together with the minister’s children I also liked to pick a quiet spot and read books, yet only this year I planted grain in this valley. From barley I moved to millet, from a dou [K. tu, about a decaliter] I got to a hu [K. hwi, about ten dou]. Also, since the soil here is by nature moist and rich, the drooping ears of grain [ought to have been so plentiful] that I would have said I could have harvested countless hu in the fall. Then I would have sent [the harvest] to the nearby provincial town straightaway and have you, Minister, safeguard it. It ought to have sufficed for the entire next year. But when I returned to the valley this time I saw it: within only a few days, mountain rats had damaged everything and I had lost all the grain. I stood around for a long time and sighed! In these needful circumstances I could have ventured to receive meals [through the good will] of other people, could have eked out a living [though alms given out by] the district office, or I could have shrugged my shoulders, saying, “Yes, yes” [to everything], all for the “sake of getting food and drink” [a reference to Mengzi 4B:25], but hereby the ambitions of a [Confucian] scholar would have plunged down to earth! Then the people next to me, again, would have said: “He’s so poor he [actually] accepts Poor-man-come-here’s-food” [a reference to the chapter “Tangong, xia” of Liji]! The ancients said, “The older [a great Confucian] man gets, the more firm [his will] must become; the poorer he gets, the more unyielding [his will] must become” [from “Ma Yuan zhuan” of the Hou Hanshu]. [These words] apply to me. (MWTC 21:23a–b) 185. One of Kim Sisŭp’s final poems is entitled “Muryangsa wabyŏng” (Lying sick in Muryang Monastery). 186. Written in the style of the final sentence of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” in Maewŏltang sojŏn the following is stated with regard to the death of Kim Sisŭp: “In his final years, [Kim] Sisŭp hid on a famous mountain and nothing is known of his end.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 261. 187. Buddhist-style cremation had by this time been prohibited by the Confucian government of Chosŏn. However, Kim Sisŭp’s personal rejection of cremation,



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which was carried out despite its prohibition, may reflect his wish to be treated as a Confucian, not a Buddhist, in death. 188. Interestingly, such stories about Kim Sisŭp holding quasi supernatural powers can be found in other sources as well. For instance, Wŏljŏng manp’il by Yun Kŭnsu features two anecdotes about his alleged marvelous abilities. The first one reads, Tongbong [Kim Sisŭp] and [the monk] Hakcho lived at the same time. [Hak]cho, though, as a man from a high[-ranking] family who had turned into a monk, did not subordinate himself under Tongbong but would always compete with him. One day, the two of them traveled through the mountains. Tongbong walked in front and [Hak]cho followed him. Just then the rain cleared, and by the side of the road there was a spot where wild boars had dug up tubers of kudzu vines, creating a pit that was rather deep and filled to the brim with rainwater. Tongbong said to [Hak]chol, “I want to jump into this puddle of rainwater, roll around in it, and come back out. Would you be able to follow me?” [Hak]cho agreed to this, and thus the two of them plunged into the rainwater, rolled around in it, and came back out. Yet while there was not a single moist spot on Tongbong’s body or clothes, filthy rainwater was streaming down [Hak]cho’s face, and his clothes were completely soaked. Tongbong laughed and said to [Hak] cho, “How would [someone like] you be able to imitate [someone like] me? The second story reads, A day before Tongbong set off on a journey to [Mount] P’ungak, all the gentlemen from Ch’ugang [Nam Hyo’on’s] group came to pay him a [farewell] visit in his rented place of residence, a riverside pavilion on Mount Yong. Tongbong was in the midst of talking with them when he suddenly fell backward out of the window, several feet down to the ground. He was seriously injured and could not breathe. All of the guests rushed to help him and barely managed to wake him. Then they lifted him up and laid him down inside the pavilion. One of the guests said, “Sir, you are gravely injured, how would it be possible for you to leave tomorrow?” Tongbong answered, “I will recover in a little while, overpower the illness, and then be on my way. You, gentlemen, should go to the front courtyard of the pavilion and wait to give me a [proper] send-off.” The next morning the guests all went out to wait in the front courtyard of the pavilion, but Tongbong was already there, with no sign of having fallen or injured himself, talking and laughing in a composed manner. Ch’ugang reproached him, saying, “You deceived us with your illusionary techniques!” 189. YGCS 14:27a. 190. Zizan (K. chach’an), literally “self-praise,” refers to a poem inscribed on a self-portrait.

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191.  A famous woodblock reprint of a portrait is contained in the early s­ eventeenth-century Maewŏltang si sa yurok (Poems of Maewŏltang: Four records of sojourning), edited by Ki Chahŏn (1567–1624), the oldest version of which is now kept at Korea University. For a copy of the portrait and poem, see Sim, “Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn,” 1. 192. Li He (790–816) is known as one of the best poets and greatest eccentrics of the Tang dynasty. This line thus alludes to both Kim Sisŭp’s marvelous poetry as well as his eccentric behavior. 193. Haedong, “[country] east of the sea,” was a common Chinese and premodern Korean appellation for the Korean Peninsula. 194. In the poem on the portrait it says myo (C. miao), “small” or “tiny.” The same line as quoted in Yulgok’s Kim Sisŭp chŏn features the character variant myo. 195. Again, the Kim Sisŭp chŏn features a different character: on the portrait it says ku (C. qiu), “hill,” while Yulgok’s text says ku (C. gou), “ditch” or “ravine.” 196. For example, in his early 1970s article on the life and thought of Kim Sisŭp, Chŏng Pyŏnguk states, “When all is said and done, his reputation rests mostly upon his single literary creation, Kŭmo Sinhwa, written in Chinese. With these stories Kim developed the first serious fiction. . . . Through these stories, Korean literature discovered a new man, and the national aspiration for freedom and emancipation was given expression.” Pyeonguk Chŏng, “Kim Sisŭp,” 42. 197. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Chungjong vol. 13, 6th year (1511), 3rd month, 14th day, 3rd article. 198. This episode is retold in “Ch’ŏgŏn” (Selected words), contained in volume 4 of Kim Chŏngguk’s collected writings, Sajae chip. SJC 4:31a–b. 199. YGCS 14:25a–27a. The biography by Yun Ch’unnyŏn says, “When he wanted to discharge his excitement or convey his thoughts he gave himself over to his feelings, let his brush run free; only a shortage of paper would set a limit for him. Yet [when his poetic works were] finished he would immediately burn them all. This is the reason why not many [of his writings] have been transmitted in the world.” Yun Ch’unnyon, “Maewŏltang,” 5. 200. CGC 7:25a–b. 201. Yi Cha, “Maewŏltang sŏ,” 1. While the demand for Kim Sisŭp’s writings continued unabated in later centuries, finding his works remained a difficult task. A 1796 entry of the Ilsŏngnok of King Chŏngjo says, “ ‘It would be worth printing the munjip of Maewŏltang with woodblocks. Yet although I have searched far and wide for his remaining writings, I still have not been able to obtain his complete manuscripts. It was said that there are not even [any of his writings] stored inside Ch’ŏngjŏl Shrine on Mount Surak. Do you gentlemen perhaps know a place where they might be stored?’ The royal secretary, Yi Igun [1748–1817]. said, ‘There is also Maewŏl Shrine in Kyŏngju. I will ask around and look for them [there].’ ” Ilsŏngnok, 20th year of Chŏngjo, 6th month, 26th day. 202. For instance, in the Veritable Records of Chungjong it says that Kim Sisŭp’s poetic works were considered the best by any poet of recent times. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Chungjong vol. 98, 21st year (1542), 7th month, 27th day, 1st article.



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203. In the Chosŏn wangjo sillok it is said that Yun Ch’unnyŏn was very fond of narrative literature and held Kim Sisŭp in especially high esteem, even comparing him to Confucius. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Sŏnjo sujŏng vol. 1, 1st year (1567), 10th month, 5th day, 10th article. 204. HRTG 8:439a. 205. Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, vol. 21, sec. “Kyŏngjubu.” 206. Contained in TGC 33:36b; see also, e.g., So, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi mun­hak­ chŏk kach’i,” 180. We find a gloss on Kŭmo sinhwa in the T’oegye sŏnsaeng munjip kojŭng—a book of annotations to the munjip of T’oegye compiled in the eighteenth century—which appears to have been modeled after the entry from Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki by Kim Allo. 207. See, e.g., Peter H. Lee, A Korean Storyteller’s Miscellany, 226. 208. Since he mentions both the Discussion on the One Principle, penned by the protagonist Scholar Pak, at the beginning of the tale as well as the imperial edict by means of which the king of the underground purgatory bequeaths his throne to Scholar Pak at the end of the story, Ŏ Sukkwŏn clearly had access to the tale in its entirety. 209. Muak, Han’guk kososŏl kwallyŏn charyojip, 1:181. 210. The only extant edition of Hyŏn Chŏkpok’s diary (which was written over the course of several decades from 1558 to 1600) is presently stored in North Korea. (The Chinese characters of the diary’s title could therefore not be identified.) The entry on Kŭmo sinhwa is quoted (again only in vernacular Korean) in the North Korean historiography of Korean literature Chosŏn munhaksa. Kim Hamyŏng, Chosŏn munhaksa, 201. 211. HSC 7:4b–5a. In Hasŏ sŏnsaeng chŏnjip (Collected writings of Master Hasŏ) the title of the poem is followed by a supplemented addition: “Sinhwa: this refers to [a book] that Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp composed.” HSC 7:4b; also see Muak, Han’guk kososŏl kwallyŏn charyojip, 1:246. 212. For the reference to Kŭmo sinhwa in Chibong yusŏl, see Muak, 1:196. 213. These complete versions of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” and “Biography of Scholar Yi” from the Sindokchae sut’aek pon chŏn’gi chip, which Chŏng Pyŏnguk discovered and determined to be Kim Chip’s work, are contained in Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 109–142. Further complete chuanqi tales featured in this collection include such works as “Yu Sorang chŏn” (Biography of Yu Sorang), “Ch’oe Munhŏn chŏn” (Biography of Ch’oe Munhŏn [Ch’oe Ch’i­wŏn]), “Wang Sippung kiu ki” (Account of a strange encounter of Wang Shi­peng [(1112– 1171)]), and “Wang Kyŏngnyong chŏn” (Biography of Wang Qinglong). 214. Concerning the question of why Kim Chip incorporated only the first two tales in his chuanqi collection, Kim Wigyŏng hypothesizes that the tales of love and sorrowful parting, i.e., “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” and “Biography of Scholar Yi,” must have had the most appeal to a seventeenth-century readership because they complied with the literati readership’s horizon of expectations. Kim Wigyŏng, “17 segi toksŏmul-losŏ,” 254. 215. Yang Sŭngmin, “Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp ch’osanghwa,” 416.

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216. For instance, the final sentence of “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki,” which is strongly reminiscent of the last sentence of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” reads, “Hereafter, Scholar Ch’oe entered a mountain where he picked herbs. Nothing is known of his end.” Im, Han’guk hanmun sosŏl chŏnjip, 123. The scene in which Scholar Ch’oe arrives at the palace of the dragon resembles Scholar Pak’s arrival at the hellish palace of King Yama in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” yet it is “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” that served as the primary model for “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki.” Hence, Sin Kwanghan parodically transformed passages from different tales of Kŭmo sinhwa, which means that he had access to the entire collection. 217. For the Kuunmong scene in question, see n. 15 to “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” 218. So, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi munhakchŏk kach’i,” 180. 219. Ukita Hideie was one of the two commanders-in-chief of the Japanese expeditionary force during the second invasion and had commanded an army during the first. 220. Katō Kiyomasa commanded one of the armies on both occasions. 221. Mōri Terumoto was the other commander-in-chief during the second invasion. 222. Willem Jan Boot states, “These collections consisted of books which had been gathered in a haste, while ransacking and plundering towns and villages, by Japanese soldiers who were hardly literate; they were shipped back to Japan as space allowed and deposited pell-mell in the castles and town houses of the various daimyō.” Boot, Adoption and Adaptation, 100. 223. As quoted in Boot, 101. 224. The seal was still used by Manase Seikei (1686–1748), Seirin’s grandson’s grandson. Boot, 99–101. 225. Ohashi, “Bunzo Hayata,” 5. 226. For the seals, see Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 11–12. 227. Cf. Lewis, Frontier Contact, 22. 228. The term yŏkkwan denotes Chosŏn-dynasty hereditary non-literati officials who served as interpreters for Chinese, Japanese, Mongolian, or Manchu in diplomatic missions. In the case of Korean interpreters for Chinese, it is well known that they played a key role in the circulation of literature between China and Korea. Interpreters who accompanied embassies to China read a great deal of vernacular fiction in order to keep themselves current on vernacular Chinese. They often brought these works back with them to Korea. 229. Chosŏn wangjo sillok, Injo vol. 42, 19th year (1641), 1st month, 5h day, 1st article. The Korean court did not, however, provide the Japanese envoys with everything they had requested. For example, they did not give them Confucian texts nor did they hand over maps of Korea, despite the envoys’ keen interest in them. 230. Hayashi Razan is mentioned in Kanyang rok (Records of a shepherd), Kang Hang’s account of his time in Japan. Kim Haboush and Robinson, A Korean War Captive, 35. 231.  Cf. Boot, Adoption and Adaptation, 108–111.



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232. Boot quotes the epilogue of this book: “Fifth day of the fifth month, Keichō 7 (1602). Under the lamp of the inn I have finished adding red and black reading marks. The student (sosei) Hayashi Nobukatsu has written this.” Boot, 123. Also see Jōo, “Reading Annotations,” 153. 233. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 243. 234. In this edition, the title of the work is noted down correctly, but the author’s name is misspelled in both volumes: it says Hanin Kim Sisŭp, “The Korean Kim Sisŭp,” with the character si (C. shi), “to begin.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 262, 328. 235. For a comparison of some of the textual differences between the Korean Chosŏn mokp’an pon and the different Japanese editions of Kŭmo sinhwa, see Ch’oe, 14–16. Textual deviations between the CMPP, Sindokchae sut’aek pon (abbreviated SDCP hereafter), Jōō, and Meiji editions will also be indicated in the translation at hand. 236. The first volume contains “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” “Biography of Scholar Yi,” and “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” while the second volume contains “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” and “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” 237. As stated in the foreword of this edition. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 254. In his afterword to the Meiji edition, Yi Sujŏng likewise states, “It has already been some 220 years since this book was stored by the Japanese [person], Mr. Ōtsuka. The book’s old age can be known by this.” Ch’oe, 378. Accordingly, Kŭmo sinhwa does not appear to have circulated in Japan between the late seventeenth and late nineteenth centuries. 238. These are divided into separate columns for comments by the Japanese scholars and those by the two Korean scholars. See, e.g., Ch’oe, 317. The Koreans Yi Sujŏng and Yi Kyŏngp’il appear to have been primarily responsible for the annotations and explanations concerning Korean geography and history. Yet the two Koreans’ annotations dealing with certain events in Korean history are clearly written from a Japanese perspective and for a Japanese readership. For instance, in the entry explaining the events in the year sinch’uk (i.e., the Red Turban invasion mentioned in “Biography of Scholar Yi”) it says, “The year sinch’uk means the tenth year of the reign of King Kongmin of Koryŏ, the sixteenth year of our Shōhei period. . . .” Ch’oe, 300. 239. At the very beginning of his foreword to the collection, Yoda states that early on he had had an interest in Chosŏn Korean works and that he had read Sin Sukchu’s Haedong cheguk ki (Account of all lands east of the sea, 1471) as well as all of the writings by Yi T’oegye on the Classics but that he had never heard of Kim Sisŭp’s Kŭmo sinhwa before he was asked to participate in the editing of the work. Ch’oe, 251–252. As to the reasons for the publication, Yoda remarks that the publication of great Korean texts extant only in Japan was one way to improve friendly relations (K. sŏllin) with Chosŏn Korea. Ch’oe. 255. 240. Yi Sujŏng appears to have been heavily involved in the production of this 1884 edition of Kŭmo sinhwa, for he not only inserted manifold comments but also (in all probability) contributed the aforementioned Maewŏltang sojŏn as well as a

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noteworthy afterword (K. pal, C. ba), to the collection. For the afterword, see Ch’oe, 376–379. 241. It is unclear who this person was and how he came to work with the other scholars. A number of comments by Yi Kyŏngp’il can be found in the Meiji edition. Ch’oe, 271, 284. He was most likely involved in the annotation process, and it cannot be ruled out that he penned the Maewŏltang sojŏn. 242. The following sample quotes are from Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon”: For instance, when Scholar Yang, the protagonist of the first tale, suddenly encounters a beautiful girl in Manbok Temple, Mishima Chūshū asks, “At this time, how happy might Scholar [Yang] have been?” (264). When Scholar Yang and his ghost wife share the pleasures of love, Mishima Chūshū exclaims, “How enviable! How jealous it makes me!” (266) Ono Kozan says, “One question, one answer, the elegance is limitless” (266). When Scholar Yang wonders whether his beloved is a human being, Mishima Chūshū states, “When pleasure is at its ultimate, suspicion is born” (268). When in the second tale Scholar Yi’s hair stands on end as he secretly enters the garden of the house of Ch’oe, Ono Kozan comments, “When pleasure is at its ultimate, fear is born. That again is something that [someone with] human feelings cannot avoid” (286). When the female character later talks about her parents apparently not being able to hear them in the garden, Ono Kozan again states, “The feeling of fear establishes itself more and more” (288). When Scholar Yi’s wife is murdered by one of the Red Turbans, Mishima Chūshū exclaims, “Ah, so pitiful, so dreadful!” (300). When Scholar Yi and his wife later gather and bury the remains of their parents, Mishima Chūshū remarks, “A filial son and filial daughter-in-law!” (303). After having listed the three times in which the characters meet happiness (295, 300, 303) and sadness (296, 300, 304), Mishima Chūshū says, “Sadness and happiness go round in circles. That is the usual condition of humankind, but how much more so in the two houses of Yi and Ch’oe!” (304). When in the third tale Scholar Hong dies, Mishima Chūshū states, “The scholar dies but does not die, for at last he is bound by an immortal relationship” (325). With respect to the king of the underground purgatory who appears in the fourth tale, Mishima Chūshū observes, “The king truly knows the principle. This is the reason why he is able to see a nobleman who knows the principle” (332). Concerning Scholar Pak’s terrified, inappropriate reaction to the greetings offered to him by the gatekeepers of hell, Ono Kozan remarks, “The words of the gatekeeper are very good. The scholar’s reaction is shameful and embarrassing” (332). When King Yama speaks about the Duke of Zhou, Confucius, and the Buddha, Ono Kozan says, “[As for] the words of the king, it is as if they originated from Yangming Wang [Wang Yangming, 1472–1529]” (336). When King Yama says that the Duke of Zhou, Confucius, and the Buddha all wanted both high-born and low-born people to return to the “correct principle” in the end, Ono Kozan states, “These words of the king are extremely good!” (337). When King Yama bequeaths his throne to Scholar Pak, Mishima Chūshū writes, “The abdication of Yama is a strange event, a strange event!” (347). When Armored Officer Kwak performs his dance, Mishima Chūshū observes, “When I read it I did not realize that I was holding my belly laughing” (361).



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243. The quotes given in this note are all from Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon.” When, for example, in the first tale Scholar Yang and the girl enter a little room in Manbok Temple in order to explore the pleasures of love, Ono Kozan comments on one short sentence in an interesting way: “The four characters [that form the sentence] ‘the girl did not make it hard for him’ are wondrously beautiful to the ultimate. Our [painters of] ukiyo-e [a genre of woodblock prints and paintings that flourished in Japan from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century] from Tokyo are at times capable of depicting this wondrous beauty” (266). Ono Kozan remarks with respect to Scholar Yang’s final writing by which he mourns his beloved, “Character by character the heart is harmed and the eye is hurt, line by line the soul is taken aback and the spirit is moved” (282). With respect to the two protagonists of “Biography of Scholar Yi,” Ono Kozan says, “Their forms and faces are that of saishi kajin [C. caizi jiaren, K. chaeja kain, “scholar and beauties”]. Neither of them uses many words, but their spirits and appearances are so remarkable that in a thousand years from now it will be as if they were still alive” (284). Mishima Chūshū states with respect to the depiction of Miss Ch’oe in her garden, “This scenery, these people, a painter’s hand would not be able to portray them [as magnificently as this].” 244. The quotes in this note are from Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon.” Mishima Chūshū states with respect to Scholar Pak’s Discussion on the One Principle, “The discussion is fair by and large, but it cannot rid itself of the words of the Confucians” (329). Also concerning the Illi ron, Ono Kozan says in a somewhat derogatory manner, “He uses a lot of particles. It [the Illi ron] resembles our country’s Confucian writings from about two hundred years ago” (331). With respect to Buddhism, Ono Kozan makes the interesting remark that “the Buddhist stories are harmful for the customs, something they sigh over both there [Chosŏn] and in our country [Japan]” (342). 245. Kŭmo sinhwa served as one impetus for Otogibōko but certainly not to the same extent as Jiandeng xinhua. Jiandeng xinhua—partly channeled through Otogibōko—even had a definitive influence on a much later masterwork of traditional Japanese literature, namely, Ugetsu monogatari (Tales of moonlight and rain, 1776) by Ueda Akinari (1734–1809). Chambers, Ueda Akinari, 93. 246. An excellent academic translation of this Japanese collection of ghost stories is Dykstra, The “Otogibōko.” Interestingly, the tale “Ryugu no jōtō” has been said to be fundamentally based on “Shuigong qinghui lu,” the first tale of Jiandeng xinhua. See, e.g., Dykstra, Otogibōko, 12. Upon closer inspection, however, there is no doubt that Asai Ryōi primarily modeled his tale after the final tale of Kŭmo sinhwa. The influence of Kŭmo sinhwa on works of Japanese literature has been the object of discussion in North Korean literary studies, for instance in the recent journal article “Chungse Ilbon-ŭi munhak palchŏn-e mich’in Chosŏn kojŏn sosŏl Kŭmo sinhwa” (The Influence of the Korean premodern work Kŭmo sinhwa on the development of Japanese literature during the Middle Ages) by Pak Toyŏng, which was published in Minjok munhwa yusan, vol. 1, 2013. 247. Passages from Kŭmo sinhwa that served as models for equivalent ones in Otogibōko will be pointed out in the translation at hand.

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248. See, e.g., Dykstra, Otogibōko, 9, 173. Chosŏn printed editions of narrative literature were usually not illustrated. In Chosŏn Korea, books including pictures were mainly Buddhist or Confucian, and in a Confucian context especially the works from the genre of haengsildo, “illustrated guides,” such as the Samgang haengsildo (Illustrated guide to the Three Bonds) or the Oryun haengsildo (Illustrated guide to the Five Cardinal Relationships) have to be mentioned. 249. Born into a middle-class family and thus belonging to a social group that functioned as the engine of Korean modernity, Ch’oe received an education in Japan (as had many other influential figures of colonial modernity). Upon his return to Korea, Ch’oe Namsŏn became one of the most prominent figures of the Korean enlightenment, making a name for himself in various fields: as a publisher of journals such as Sonyŏn (Youth) and Ch’ŏngch’un (Adolescence); as a linguist, educator, historian, folklorist, literary critic, translator (he, for example, translated stories by Tolstoy in Sonyŏn), and, through vernacular Korean sinch’esi (new-form poetry) such as his “Hae-egesŏ sonyŏn-ege” (From the ocean to the youth), a pioneer of modern Korean literature. In the 1910s, Ch’oe supported the idea of gradualism, which advocated the theory of Korean independence through education and gradual elevation of the Korean people rather than through revolutionary actions against Japan. His nationalistic efforts continued deep into the colonial period, when he was chosen to pen the March 1st Declaration of Independence in 1919 (which, although he was the author, he was not among the thirty-three signatories). Hwang, Beyond Birth, 150–151. For Ch’oe Namsŏn’s role in the formation of modern Korean literature, see Heekyoung Cho, Translation’s Forgotten History. 250. It is so stated in Ch’oe Namsŏn’s article Kŭmo sinhwa haeje. Ch’oe Namsŏn furthermore mentions that he later found another copy in a market. Yuktang chŏnjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, Yuktang Ch’oe Namsŏn chŏnjip, 606. The text is also available from the digital library of Korean Assembly Library: http://dl​.nanet.go.kr. 251. Both his transcript of Yoshida Tōgo’s book and the copy he apparently discovered in a (most likely Korean) market could have served as the source for Kŭmo sinhwa haeje. 252. With regard to the appearance of Kŭmo sinhwa haeje, when Wada Tenmin published his translations of the tales from Kŭmo sinhwa (December 1926–April 1927) is interesting. This is because Ch’oe Namsŏn had obviously known Kŭmo sinhwa for more than twenty years but had neither published nor written about the work. Only after the Japanese translations were already circulating did he publish his article. 253. In 1928 Ch’oe heeded the call of the Japanese officials and joined the Chōsenshi henshūkai (Korean History Compilation Committee). His position in Korea was weakened hereafter. In the 1930s and 1940s Ch’oe publicly campaigned in support of Japanese war efforts, for which he was later branded and despised as a collaborator. 254. Ch’oe Namsŏn, for instance, geared his research activities in the field of historical scholarship toward a national agenda by propagating the theory that Tan’gun, the legendary founding father of the Korean people, was not a mythical entity but a historical figure who allegedly bore witness to the “chosen-ness” of Korea. Hence,



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the appearance of Tan’gun in the third tale of Kŭmo sinhwa was praised by Ch’oe Namsŏn as one of the truly great Korean features of the collection. 255. For a study on the members and activities of these societies, see, e.g., Ch’oe Hyeju, Ilche kangjŏmgi kojŏn-ŭi hyŏngsŏng-e taehan ilgoch’al. 256. Concerning the role of Kuunmong in the development and establishment of a national tradition of literature, see Myoungin Yu’s magnificent dissertation, “Kuunmong und die koreanische Literaturwissenschaft: Wissenschaftsgeschichte als Provokation (Kuunmong and Korean literary studies: A history of scholarship as provocation). 257. Yuktang chŏnjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, Yuktang Ch’oe Namsŏn chŏnjip, 605. 258. Yuktang chŏnjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 605. 259. Takahashi Tōru taught at Keijō Imperial University (KIU) from 1926 to 1939. He was an expert in Korean literature, especially Kuunmong, which he taught at KIU within the framework of a seminar entitled “Practicing Korean Literature” (K. “Chosŏn munhak yŏnsŭp,” J. “Chōsen bungaku rensyū”) around the year 1929. That Takahashi Tōru’s research and teaching was noticed and discussed by Korean intellectuals of that time can be seen in a text by colonial modernity’s intellectual giant Yi Kwangsu (1892–1950), who commented on this seminar in an article entitled “Chosŏn munhak-ŭi kaenyŏm” (The concept of Korean literature), which appeared in Sinsaeng 2, no. 1 (January 1929). Although he did not mention Takahashi Tōru by name, it is likely that Takahashi was meant: In comparison to previous years, the aforementioned Professor So-andSo appears to have made great progress. It is said that for [the seminar] “Chosŏn munhak yŏnsŭp” he uses Kuunmong. Naturally, this is much closer to the original aim than [the class on] Kyŏngmong yogyŏl, for Kuun­ mong is clearly a novel and consequently belongs to this line of literature. However, this professor seems to still be a long way from understanding the general principle that the national language is the most fundamental requirement for a national literature. . . . Say that in Korea there is a university, and at that university there is a Department of Korean Literature, then what ought to be taught there should neither be Kyŏngmong yogyŏl nor Kuunmong but hyangga of the Silla-dynasty, sijo, Ch’unhyang chŏn, and the works of modern Korean writers. Takahashi Tōru was also an expert on Korean Buddhism and Confucianism, and he published such works as Richō bukkyō (Buddhism during the Yi dynasty, 1929). It is likely that his research and teaching had a profound influence on Kim T’aejun’s understanding of Korean literature and his evaluation of the literary-historical significance of certain kojŏn. 260. Chosŏn sosŏlsa had appeared in sixty-eight articles in the newspaper Tonga ilbo from October 31, 1930, to February 25, 1931. There was also a Japanese version, entitled Chōsen shōsetsushi, which was printed in Chōsen tsūshin (Korea news) from November 1930 to March 1931. In Korea Chosŏn sosŏlsa was first published as a book

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in 1933 by the publishing house Ch’ŏngjin sŏgwan. The original article in Tonga ilbo can be viewed at db.history.go.kr. 261. Kim T’aejun, Chosŏn sosŏlsa, 42. Similarly, Kim T’aejun also called Kim Manjung, author of Kuunmong, a novelist; one of the sections of Chosŏn sosŏlsa is entitled “Sosŏlga-ro pon Sŏp’o Kim Manjung” (Sŏp’o Kim Manjung seen as a novelist). Kim, 80. The fact that Kim T’aejun called Kim Sisŭp a novelist and thus emphasized his role as a writer of fiction is noteworthy, because in premodern times Kim Sisŭp had been identified as a scholar, philosopher, and poet but not as a novelist. 262. Tonga ilbo, November 29, 1930; Kim T’aejun, Chosŏn sosŏlsa, 38–42. 263. Pointing to the research conducted by Ch’oe Namsŏn, Kim T’aejun here states, “Then, like Yuktang said, the one thing that put an end to the dark, chaotic era of [early] Korean literature—which constituted the prime of chuanqi-style literature and which, in the early phase of the Yi dynasty, brought out the purity and beauty in the literary circles that had almost passed into a state of blank desolation—if it was not Kŭmo sinhwa, what else could it have been?” Kim T’aejun, Chosŏn sosŏlsa, 42. 264. Kim T’aejun writes, “I say that Kŭmo sinhwa imitates Jiandeng xinhua because of the incredible resemblance of form and content [of the two works]. For, if one inserted one of the tales of Kŭmo sinhwa into Jiandeng xinhua, it would not be possible to quickly tell them apart. Furthermore, it seems as if the ‘flow’ of the extant five stories [of Kŭmo sinhwa] merges with eight stories of Jiandeng xinhua.” Kim, 40–42. 265. Kim T’aejun also says, “However, with respect to Kŭmo sinhwa there is one point that needs to be highlighted: Although the work was entirely composed in Chinese characters, it takes Korea as its background and depicts the people and customs of Korea simply the way they are. Thus, the reputation and evaluation of this work must even be higher, and the refined intention and thought of Maewŏltang cannot be discussed in the same breath with that of the other hidebound Confucian scholars.” Kim, 40. Hereafter, citing passages from “Kŭmo sinhwa” haeje, Kim T’aejun exclaims, “As in the case of ‘Ch’wiyu pubyŏngnu ki’ [meaning ‘Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki’], in which the opening line is ‘Pyŏngyang is the capital of Old Chosŏn’ and in which the daughter of the Ki family is likewise saved by the miraculous being Tongmyŏng and kept safe in the immortal’s palace, if the novel that unfolded the brightest local color and showed the most [Korean] independent spirit was not Kŭmo sinhwa, which one could it have been?” Kim, 42. 266. For a study on the subject of Kŭmo sinhwa as a work critical of contemporary political issues as well as its modern nationalistic interpretation, see Wuerthner, “The Kŭmo sinhwa.” 267. The Chōsen was published under this title beginning in July 1920. In the 1910s the bulletin was known under the title Chōsen ihō (Chōsen bulletin). 268. The Chōsen, vol. 140, January 1927; “Biography of Scholar Yi” in the present translation. 269. The Chōsen, vol. 141, February 1927; “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” in the present translation. 270. The Chōsen, vol. 142, March 1927; “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” in the present translation.



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271. Contained in The Chōsen, vol. 143, April 1927; “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” in the present translation. The Japanese translation of the first tale of Kŭmo sinhwa appeared in the December 1926 issue of The Chōsen; I was, unfortunately, unable to confirm the title. 272. “Strange tale” is here a translation of the term kidam, which in the early colonial period can be found referring to works of fiction that would generally be classified as adventure stories or science fiction. Today’s common term kwahak sosŏl was established as the direct Korean rendering for “science fiction” through works such as Yi Haejo’s Ch’ŏl segye (Iron world, 1908), a translation/adaptation of Jules Verne’s Les Cinq Cents Millions de la Bégum (1879), and Kim Kyoje’s Kwahak sosŏl Pihaengsŏn (Airship, a science fiction novel, 1912), a translation/adaptation of several issues of the American dime novel New Nick Carter Weekly (starting with “Facing an Unseen Terror, or Nick Carter’s Day of Blunders,” March 16, 1907). Yet the first literary work that can be truly claimed to belong to the genre of science fiction was Haejŏ yŏhaeng kidam (Journey to the bottom of the sea: A kidam). It is a Korean translation/adaptation of the initial Japanese translation of Jules Verne’s Vingt mille lieues sous les mers (1869–1870). Created in part by Pak Yonghŭi, a Korean student in Japan, it was serialized in volumes 8–21 (1907–1908) of the monthly T’aegŭk hakpo, a journal published by Korean students studying in Japan. In the original journal, kidam is printed in smaller letters than the main title of the story, which indicates that the term refers to the genre. The kidam in the subtitle of the translation of the tale from Kŭmo sinhwa could be understood as a reference to the chuanqi nature of Kim Sisŭp’s collection of tales. However, the translator of the Kŭmo sinhwa tale might have meant to establish a connection between Kŭmo sinhwa and the adventure and science fiction stories that were becoming increasingly popular in the 1920s and early 1930s in Korea. By labeling Kŭmo sinhwa a piece of kidam fiction, the translator (whose han’gŭl translation had in the first place made the work more accessible to people who were not fluent readers of hanmun) might have been trying to draw the attention of a younger readership, one that was perhaps less interested in “ancient” Chosŏn literature than in modern adventure stories, inspiring them to enjoy a work from the fifteenth century as if it were a work of modern kidam adventure fiction. 273. Han’gukhak munhŏn yŏn’guso, Tonggwang 4:56–61. 274. Han’gukhak munhŏn yŏn’guso, 4:47–49. 275. Kim Yun’gyŏng was the author of Chosŏn munja-kŭp ŏhaksa (A history of Korean script and language, 1938). 276. Kim Yun’gyŏng was clearly associated with the journal Tonggwang; he partly serialized his university thesis in this journal beginning in 1931 onward. 277. Although the translation is thorough, Han’gyŏl himself made the following comment regarding the allegedly rudimentary state of his rendering: “(Supplemental Note): This is a translation of ‘Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn’ from Kŭmo sinhwa by Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp. In the original there are manifold citations from complicated premodern works of hanmun literature, which are generally not used in the present day (the Book of Songs and the like). Since I prepared the translation quickly and without paying much attention to the individual sources, there might be insufficient

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parts as well as passages that are, perhaps, even entirely wrong. I hope that the reader understands and pardons this.” Han’gukhak munhŏn yŏn’guso, Tonggwang 4:61. 278. “Biography of Scholar Yi” is contained in more literature-related South Korean schoolbooks than any other premodern tale. Cf. Chang Kyŏngnam, “Ko­dŭng hakkyo kyogwasŏ-ro pon kojŏn sosŏl,” 188. 279. Such as the acclaimed translations created by Yi Kawŏn. In this context, the fully annotated translation of Kŭmo sinhwa by Sim Kyŏngho has to be highlighted as an outstanding scholarly achievement. 280. An example of a novel revolving around the process of the creation of Kŭmo sinhwa is Sarajin “Kŭmo sinhwa” (The vanished Kŭmo sinhwa) by Ŏm Kwangyong, while a work that fictionalizes the life of Kim Sisŭp is Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp by Yi Mun’gu. 281. A novelist, poet, playwright, and theorist, Ch’oe Inhun was one of the most versatile, innovative writers and intellectuals of twentieth-century South Korea. Ch’oe Inhun grew up in Wŏnsan, in present-day North Korea. He migrated to the South at the beginning of the Korean War and studied law at Seoul National University before entering the literary scene in 1959. The tumultuous period in Korea from the late 1950s to the mid-1970s—a time shaped by the clash of Western modernity and Korean tradition, the heavy burden of the colonial era, the disaster of war, the division along borders and ideologies, a deformed democracy, revolution, and autocracy—is reflected in Ch’oe Inhun’s complex, elusive literary works and his eclectic approach to writing. The title of Ch’oe Inhun’s “Kŭmo sinhwa,” which was published in the monthly journal Sasanggye (World of thought) in 1963, is written with the same four Chinese characters as the title of the original work by Kim Sisŭp. Ch’oe Inhun’s “Kŭmo sinhwa” narrates the story of a male protagonist simply named “A,” who, after having migrated to North Korea during the Korean War, is trained to become a North Korean spy, to be sent on a mission to postwar South Korea, ruled by President Yi Sŭngman. The reader learns that A secretly regrets his prior decision to go to the North and plans to surrender to ROK officials once he crosses the Imjin River. A is duly taken across the border and left there. While silently crawling southward and contemplating whether he ought to give himself up at an army base or a police station, he is shot by thieves, who take his money and throw his corpse into the river. In the final scene, A’s soul crawls out of the bullet hole in his skull and, squatting on the lifeless body that is floating downstream, wonders what might have gone wrong in the crucial situation of the border crossing as well as in his life in general. It is this final scene with the deceased A’s ghost that is often regarded as the link between the original Kŭmo sinhwa and Ch’oe Ihun’s parody. 282. For instance, the chapter “Kŭmo sinhwa-wa Kim Sisŭp” (Kŭmo sinhwa and Kim Sisŭp) of the North Korean high school textbook Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa inmul (Historical persons of Korea) says, “Kim Sisŭp was a novelist who embellished the literary history of our country in the latter half of the fifteenth century as well as a famous poet. . . . He had an advanced opinion of prose literature, and . . . while the literati of the time claimed that novels were ‘vulgar’ and only had passion for their own poetry, Kim Sisŭp believed that novels had educational value and that they



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could move readers emotionally. Thus, he took a pioneering role in the creation of [Korean] prose literature.” Ch’ae, Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa inmul, 93, 100. Yet it was not only Kim Sisŭp’s role as a creator of literature but also his position and significance in the realm of Korean philosophy that has been discussed in North Korea (where, within this framework, he appears to be viewed rather negatively). For a North Korean discussion of some of Kim Sisŭp’s philosophical writings, see Sahoekwahakpu munhakkwayong, Chosŏn ch’orhak sa (A history of Korean philosophy) (P’yŏngyang: Kim Ilsŏng chonghap taehakkyo ch’ulp’ansa, 2010), 73–78. 283. For detailed discussions of the translation, publication, and adaptation of premodern Korean literature in North Korea, see Häußler, “Revived Interest in Literary Heritage,” and Pucek, “New Editions of Korean Traditional Style Popular Novels.” 284. For example, Chosŏn kodae chungse sa (A history of Korean antiquity and the middle ages, 1983) says, “As the first works of narrative fiction, the tales contained in Kŭmo sinhwa occupy an important place in our country’s history of literature. However, these tales only deal with the lives of the yangban and often draw upon an unrealistic, illusionary world.” Chosŏn kodae chungse sa, 109. 285. In the 1950s, Yun Sep’yŏng edited and annotated many kodae sosŏl, i.e., “traditional-style popular novels,” published in the DPRK. They comprise Sim Ch’ŏng chŏn (1954), Ch’unhyang chŏn (1956), Hŭngbu chŏn (1954), Hong Kildong chŏn (1954), and Sa-ssi namjŏng ki (Record of Lady Sa’s journey to the south, 1955). He also wrote the preface to the Kim Manjung chakp’um sŏnjip (An anthology of Kim Manjung’s Works, 1958). Pucek, “New Editions of Korean Traditional Style Popular Novels,” 257. 286. Yun Sep’yŏng, Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak, 108. 287. Kim Hamyŏng, Chosŏn munhaksa, 200. 288. Kim Hamyŏng, 212. 289. Chosŏn munhak t’ongsa has been described as having had an enormous influence on later historiographies with respect to the depiction of genre evolution and the presentation of the history of literature as a collective endeavor in which the nation was the underlying subject. Häußler, “Revived Interest in Literary Heritage,” 94. 290. The poem is even translated in full in the 1964 work Uri nara kojŏn chakkadŭ­ l-ŭi mihak kyŏnhae charyo chip (Collected materials on the aesthetic views of our country’s writers of premodern literature). Ri and Ryu, Uri nara kojŏn chakka, 148–149. 291. Such as Uri nara kojŏn munhak (Our country’s premodern literature). Kim Hamyŏng, Uri nara kojŏn munhak, 175. 292. Today one actually does find North Korean articles on the influence of Jiandeng xinhua on Kim Sisŭp’s understanding of narrative literature as a whole— for example, “Kim Sisŭp mihakchŏk kyŏnhae-e taehan koch’al” (Considerations concerning the aesthetic views of Kim Sisŭp) by Han Inyŏng (in Chosŏn ŏnŏ, vol. 1, 2014)—but I was unable to find a current article on the specific influence of Chinese literature on Kŭmo sinhwa. On the other hand, the influence of Kŭmo sinhwa on the development of Japanese literature, especially on Otogibōko, is prominently treated

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in the aforementioned (n. 246 above) 2013 journal article “Chungse Ilbon-ŭi munhak palchŏn-e mich’in Chosŏn kojŏn sosŏl Kŭmo sinhwa.” For a South Korean academic article on the recent North Korean treatment of a tale from Kŭmo sinhwa, see Chŏng Yŏngsŏn, “Pukhan munhwa yesul-esŏ riŏllijŭm-kwa hwansang-ŭi chŏpchŏm: kojŏn munhak Sim Ch’ŏng chŏn-kwa Yonggung puyŏnrok-e taehan p’yŏngga-wa hwansang tamnon” (The junction between realism and fantasy in North Korean culture and arts: Evaluation and fantastic discourse about classic novels Sim Ch’ŏng chŏn and Yonggung puyŏn rok), in T’ongil inmunhak, vol. 59 (2014), 287–311. 293. Sources available to me that also discuss the other three tales are Haebangchŏn Chosŏn munhak and Chosŏn munhaksa. There is in the latter source a lengthy chapter dedicated to Kŭmo sinhwa (entitled “Kim Sisŭp-ŭi ch’angjak-kwa tanp’yŏn sosŏljip Kŭmo sinhwa” [The writing of Kim Sisŭp as well as his collection of short stories Kŭmo sinhwa]), where all five tales are not only discussed and evaluated but also retold in detail. Kim Hamyŏng, Chosŏn munhaksa, 166–215. 294. See, e.g., Chŏng Honggyo and Pak Chongwŏn, Chosŏn munhak kaegwan, 141. In Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa inmul the scenes in which Scholar Yi answers Lady Ch’oe’s poem without permission, or the one in which he climbs over the wall and enters into an amorous relationship with the girl, are said to symbolize the characters’ attempt to overcome the restrictions of the feudal premodern Korean society. Interestingly, however, the same Scholar Yi is also criticized as an unmanly feudal Confucian because he cannot give proper expression to his affection for Lady Ch’oe, because he silently, obediently does whatever his father tells him to do, and because he even abandons his parents during the Red Turban invasion in order to save his own skin. Ch’ae, Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa inmul, 100–101. 295. Cf. Yun Sep’yŏng, Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak, 106; Chosŏn kodae chungse sa, 108–109. Concerning the purported atheism in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” Chosŏn munhak kaegwan says, “In this tale, the protagonist Scholar Pak is a person who harbors doubts about the Buddhist tales of celestial palaces and underground purgatories, shamans, ghosts, and the like. Through his writing [Illi ron] as well as his questions and King Yama’s respective answers he exposes the absurdity of religious practices and superstitions such as the Buddhist preparation of food in front of the Buddha, the performing of rites for the souls of the dead, and the praying to the [ten] kings and the burning of paper money.” Chŏng and Pak, Chosŏn munhak kaegwan, 143. This musillon sasang of Kim Sisŭp also belongs to the topics treated in recent North Korean publications. Kim Suyŏng, “Kim Sisŭp musillon sasang” (On the atheist thought of Kim Sisŭp), Ch’ŏrhak yŏn’gu, vol. 2, 2005. 296. I would like to sincerely thank Dr. Vladimir Glomb (Free University Berlin/Charles University Prague) for having made the North Korean translations available to me. 297. Kim Ilsŏng chonghap taehak Chosŏn munhak kangjwa, Chosŏn munhak kangdok, 181–194. Other non-vernacular premodern Korean literary works contained in the first volume of Chosŏn munhak kangdok (texts originally written in han’gŭl feature in the second volume) comprise compositions by Pak Chiwŏn such as “Togang rok” (Report of crossing the river) and “Hojil” (The scolding of the tiger)



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from Yŏrha ilgi (The Jehol diary); biographies from Samguk sagi and Samguk yusa; and kasa by Songgang Chŏng Ch’ŏl (1536–1593). There are also sections on women’s literature and orally transmitted literature. For many of the featured translations the original is given as well. 298. For whatever reason, the tale’s final poem constitutes an exception, as it appears untranslated in Chinese. 299. According to the notes at the end of the different tales, Ch’oe Sihak served as translator of tales one and three, while Ryu Ch’angsŏn translated the second, fourth, and fifth tales. 300. Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 207. 301. Entitled “Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp-kwa Kŭmo sinhwa” (Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp and Kŭmo sinhwa). Ryu and Ch’oe, 3–16. 302.  Ryu and Ch’oe, 16. 303. The translation of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” is followed by a translation of the poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu” under the title “Ch’ŏtchae kwŏn twi-e ssŭnda” (Written at the end of the first volume). 304. “Manboksa-ŭi yunnori” is followed by nine annotations, “Ri-saeng-gwa Ch’oe-nang” features thirteen annotations, “Pubyŏkchŏng-ŭi talmaji” is followed by twenty-three annotations, “Kkum-e pon Namyŏmbuju” shows twenty-nine, and “Ryonggung-ŭi sangnyang chanch’i” has twenty-five. Furthermore, the poem “Sŏ kapchip-hu” also features two annotations. Ryu and Ch’oe, 46, 76, 103–105, 128–130, 164–166. 305. For instance, due to its manifold references to the Confucian Classics, “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” might be quite difficult to understand for contemporary readers in North Korea (which holds true for South Korea as well). There are forty-one annotations in the 1963 version of the translation and only nineteen in the 1990 version. Especially the annotations regarding philosophical terms or book titles were omitted in the newer version. In the 1990 version, it’s possible that the meaning of many passages have remained obscure to general readers. This reduction of notes and explanations, however, reflects the trend in North Korean editorial practice to not disturb the flow of reading. For this observation, see Pucek, “New Editions of Korean Traditional Style Popular Novels.” 306. One example for this can be found in the translation of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” At one point in the original tale, Scholar Yang and the female character (who just spent the night together at the monastery) lure one another and playfully recite parts of Shijing poems such as “Xinglu,” “Youhu,” and “Zaiqu.” While the ode “Xinglu” alludes to a woman being seduced by a man, “Youhu” and “Zaiqu” deal with the lascivious behavior of women who seduce men. The North Korean translations from 1957 and 1990 at this point merely say that the respective poems constitute some yet norae or yet si, respectively, i.e., some “songs or poems of old.” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 28; Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip, 150. The term kosi (ancient poems), i.e., the Sino-Korean equivalent of yet si, also appears in the main text of the 1963 version, but this translation features one annotation concerning the nature and source of the female charac-

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ter’s poem and another annotation concerning the Shijing origins of Scholar Yang’s poem. In these annotations, the Chinese characters of the poems from Shijing are also explained. Ryu Su, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip, 261, 268. 307. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 39–40. 308. Waley, Book of Songs, 35. In his Confucian Odes of 1954, Ezra Pound translates the passages as “Don’t break my sandalwood tree. The tree don’t matter, but the subsequent chatter!” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 125. 309. Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 63. 310. Ryu Su, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip, 297; Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip, 172. 311. For example, the passage in “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” in which Scholar Yang and the ghostly woman spend the night together in a small room in Manbok Temple is based on a scene from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” (Account of Teng Mu’s drunken sojourning in Jujing Garden). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong 1:156–157. In “Ssangnyŏ pun sŏlhwa” from Sui chŏn, Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn also shares the bed with the two sisters: “They spread one new blanket, and the three of them shared the blanket. The feelings of their deep attachment cannot be completely told.” Cho, Chaegusŏng Sui chŏn, 78. 312. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 39. 313. See, for example, Ryu Su, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip, 297. The 1957 translation, however, says, “In this room, Scholar Ri and Lady Ch’oe spent a few extremely pleasant days.” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 62. 314. “Ah, you, a man from the Eastern Country,” in Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 81. 315. “Our king likewise wants to see such a nobleman. Thus, he spread the word in the Eastern Region.” Ch’oe, 71. 316. Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip, 207. In the 1957 translation, Chosŏnttang reads as Chosŏn, as in “You, Scholar Pak, a man from Chosŏn.” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 126. 317. Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip, 198. In the 1957 translation, Chosŏn’guk is rendered as Chosŏnttang. Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 111. 318. For a detailed discussion of the treatment of Chinese names and terms in other North Korean translations and adaptations, see Pucek, “New Editions of Korean Traditional Style Popular Novels.” 319. Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 78. The original reads, “P’yŏngyang was once the capital of Old Chosŏn. After King Wu of Zhou had defeated the Shang, he visited Kija, who informed him about the laws of the ‘Hongfan jiuchou,’ the ‘Great Plan with its Nine Divisions.’ King Wu then enfeoffed him with this land and did not make him his subject.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon,” 50. 320. The annotation reads, “King Mu = His name was Pal [C. Fa], and he subdued the king of the state of Sang, the tyrant Chu [Zhou].” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 103.



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321. This annotation reads, “Hongbŏm kuju = A text in nine parts that appeared on the back of a turtle that emerged in the Naksu [Luo River] during the time of Emperor U [Yu the Great] of the Chinese state of Ha [Xia]. Kija is said to have told King Mu of Chu about this nine-fold great law to rule a country upon being asked about it by him.” Ryu and Ch’oe, 103. 322. Ryu and Ch’oe, 103. This note contains Chinese characters for all names and terms. Similar explanations can be found in North Korean scholarly works from this period such as Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak, where the appearance of Kija in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is mentioned in the following way (the text also includes Chinese characters): “In ‘Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki’ [the male protagonist] meets and talks with a fairy who is a descendant of a so-called Kija. . . . Moreover, connected to the fact that the fairy, a descendant of Kija, is saved by King Tongmyŏng, in ‘Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki’ the brilliant achievements of Koguryŏ as well as the beautiful landscape of our native country are praised on the one hand, while on the other hand the tale contains ultimate animosity toward the invaders.” Yun Sep‘yong, Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak, 106. Chosŏn munhak t’ongsa from 1959 even features quoted passages from the tale: In the same fashion, [Kim Sisŭp] in “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki” applauds the historical, cultural tradition [of Korea], with P’yŏngyang at its center, and narrates the achievements of our ancestors in an emotional way. For instance, the poem that Scholar Hong writes after having gone up to Pubyŏk Pavilion says in part, The moon rises above the eastern mountains, crows and magpies fly; as night deepens, cold dew wets my clothes. A thousand years of cultural achievements and eminent people have gone; against the everlasting landscape, the castle does not look as it did before. King Tongmyŏng has ascended to heaven and he will not come back; only legends spread, where did he go? The golden carriage and the wondrous horse have vanished without a trace; the road for the carriages is overgrown with grass, and a monk walks back on it alone. [Another passage] reads, “The soldiers of Sui follow rapids, crying; / the people’s vengeful spirits have turned into the sounds of cicadas.” Thus, with respect to the prosperity and national defense of Koguryŏ, the meritorious deeds of Ŭlchi Mundŏk and Yŏn Kaesomun [617–666] are all praised [in “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki”]. Furthermore, the invasion by Wiman is disparaged through the mouth of the main female figure, a Daoist immortal; she is a descendant of the so-called Kija [Chinese characters included], and there is a story of her being rescued by King Tongmyŏng—

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Notes to Pages 47–49 this, also, has to be strictly separated from the flunky-ist views of the Confucians of the time. Here, the author’s patriotic, autonomous standpoint shows. (Chosŏn minjujuŭi inmin konghwaguk kwahakwŏn, Chosŏn munhak t’ongsa, 1:199)

323. Young-woo Han, “Kija Worship,” 350–352. One reason for the founders of the Yi dynasty (such as Chŏng Tojŏn, 1342–1398) to name the new dynasty Chosŏn was that they considered it a successor to Kija Chosŏn. Han, 359. 324. Admiring his virtue and fidelity to Shang, King Wu of Zhou is believed to have enfeoffed Kija with the Korean Peninsula. Kija purportedly led five thousand people to Korea, all of whom brought along their books of poetry, their rituals and music, and their rules of divination. Kija taught the people of Chosŏn poetry and writing and instructed them in rites and rituals. The evidence of Kija’s rule over Old Chosŏn relies on fragmentary records in various classical Chinese sources. 325. For instance, in his study on Kija worship in Korea, Young-woo Han writes, “The accounts concerning Kija are based on legends and one can hardly accept them as facts.” Han, “Kija Worship,” 349. 326. Such proclamations by the North Korean leaders with regard to the Kija tongnae sŏl can be found, for example, under the eponymous entry in the official North Korean encyclopedia Chosŏn taebaekkwa sajŏn (Pyŏngyang: Paekkwa sajŏn ch’ulp’ansa, 1996), 4:39. In their rejection of the Kija tongnae sŏl, North Korean officials are in accord with nationalistic historians of colonial modernity who—in reaction to some Japanese historians’ claim that Kija Chosŏn was a Chinese colony and their assertion that this marked the beginning of colonialism in Korea—either denied the theory of Kija immigration or interpreted Kija Chosŏn as one of the feudal vassals of Tan’gun Chosŏn. Concering the early modern view of Kija, see Han, “Kija Worship,” 350. 327. A blank space in the table of contents clearly shows that the translators meant to indicate that one tale was missing. 328. Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um chip, 181. 329. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 53. 330. It says, “In front of Kija’s tomb there is a tall tree so old it bends over; / mistletoe tangles over the wall around Tan’gun’s shrine.” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 82. 331. Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa, 183. On the other hand, sentences featuring the “Korean” deity Tan’gun, whose grave was “discovered” in P’yŏngyang in the early 1990s on direct order of Kim Ilsŏng, were translated correctly. 332. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 81. 333. Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 123. 334. Ryu Su, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip, 349; Ryu Su and Kim Chuch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa, 205. From a North Korean perspective, this might be understood as a reference to the United Nations and South Korean forces during the Korean War, which had ended a little over a decade before the publication of the 1963 North Korean Kŭmo sinhwa translation.



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335. In a revised version of the North Korean constitution from 1992, MarxismLeninism was officially replaced by Juche as the state ideology. 336. Cf. Seth, Concise History of Modern Korea, 132–135. For a brilliant study on the progressive influence of the Juche ideology on literature and art in North Korea, see Pucek, “The Impact of Juche.” 337. See, e.g., Häußler, “Kŭmo sinhwa,” in Kindlers Literatur Lexikon; Hoyt, Soaring Phoenixes, 138–139; Tai-jin Kim, Bibliographical Guide, 166–169; Peter H. Lee, History of Korean Literature, 262–264. 338. For example, Cheung, “The ‘Ghost-wife’ Theme”; Chon, Weltmacht Poesie (Global power poetry); Evon, Kim Sisŭp; Frankl, “Our Country”; Huwe, “Zu den Geister- und Jenseitsvorstellungen bei Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp” (On the ideas of ghosts and the netherworld in the writings of Maewŏltang Kim Sisŭp); Hartmann, “From Translation to Adaptation,” 90–102; Janet Yoon-sun Lee, “Reinterpreting ‘Lovesickness’ ”; Nam, “Writing as Response and as Translation”; Wuerthner, “The Kŭmo sinhwa.” 339. See Husstad-Nedberg, “An Annotated Translation.” 340. For the Russian translation, see D. Voskresenskogo and V. Sorokina, trans., Kim Sisyp: Novye rasskazy, uslyšannye na gore Zolotoj čerepachi (Moscow: Nau­ka, 1972). 341. See Jaroslav Bařinka, trans., Vyprávění z hory Kumo (Prague: Odeon, 1983). 342. The translation is entitled “Student Yi Peers over the Wall.” Peter H. Lee, Anthology of Korean Literature, 79–91. 343. Pettid, Evon, and Park, Premodern Korean Literary Prose, 41–65. 344. There are many Western studies dealing with this well-known collection of tales. See, e.g., Franke, “Eine Novellensammlung der frühen Ming-Zeit”; Harmon, “Trimming the Lamp”; Nam, “Writing as Response and as Translation.” 345. In Yŏnsan’gun ilgi (Daily records of Yŏnsan’gun) the king issues a royal ordinance that says, “The gratitude envoy is to obtain and return with Jiandeng xinhua, Jiandeng yuhua, Xiaopin ji [Collection of imitating furrowed brows], Jiaohong ji [Story of Jiaoniang and Feihong], and other works.” Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, vol. 62, 12th year (1506), 4th month, 13th day, 4th article. Another entry states that the king issued a royal ordinance decreeing that “Jiandeng xinhua, [ Jiandeng] yuhua, and other writings are to be printed and brought forth.”Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 7th article. 346. The following is stated in the Yŏnsan’gun ilgi: “Putting down Jiandeng xinhua the king said, ‘In the preface it says, “An incorrect lord, he who merely likes music and sexual pleasure, song and dance, under whom high and low are in confusion, his reign will be weak and the strength of the country will be feeble.” But why would the country necessarily be ruined by music and sexual pleasure, song and dance? It is only when high and low delude one another that it would come to this. In the previous dynasty, was there any lord such as this?’ ” Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, vol. 62, 12th year, 4th month, 12th day, 6th article. 347. For a translation of the memorial to the throne from 1442 in which the official Li Shimian (1374–1450) calls for the destruction and indexing of works of narrative fiction, especially Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua, see Nienhauser, “Aspects of a Socio-Cultural Appraisal,” 558. This publication ban was, however, lifted after

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several decades. Lists of forbidden books were issued repeatedly over the course of the Ming and Qing dynasties, but they no longer included Jiandeng xinhua. Jōo, “The Peony Lantern,” 5. 348. In the eighteenth century, Yu Tŭkkong (1748–1807) wrote, “Residents of the streets and alleyways are enormously fond of Jiandeng xinhua, regarding it as [a tool of] assistance in their learning of imun [diplomatic documents].” Nam, “Writing as Response and as Translation,” 82. Yi Kyugyŏng (1788–1856, pen name Oju) wrote, “Alley residents nowadays all have Jiandeng xinhua as the book for their studies. They believe reading this book will make them skilled in imun. People say that this book is good practice for writing indictments.” Nam, 83–84. 349. Yi Hakkyu (1770–1835) stated, “Qu You of Shanyang composed Jiandeng xinhua, consisting of forty-one juan. The author of the currently circulated edition that records twenty-one stories is unknown. Schoolmasters in village schools now keep reciting it.” He wrote further, “This village unfortunately does not have any books. Villagers take Qu Cunzhai’s Jiandeng xinhua as something to be given an honored place for everyone and regard Sanguo yanyi as something to be clandestinely preserved under their pillows.” Nam, 83. 350. Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 383. Eleven tales are contained in the first volume, nine tales in the second, and “Qiuxiangting ji” is contained in an appendix. The Korean Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae also came into Japan, where it was printed with Japanese reading marks in 1648 as a four-volume edition (here, five tales are contained in each volume and “Qiuxiangting ji” is likewise contained in an appendix). This transcultural Korean-Japanese version of a Chinese work clearly served to heighten the popularity of Jiandeng xinhua in Japan. For an introduction and annotated modern Korean translation of Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, see Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu. In Chosŏn Korea there also existed vernacular Korean translations of Jiandeng xinhua, some of which are still extant. See Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl and Pak Chaeyŏn, Han’gŭl saenghwalsa charyo ch’ongsŏ. 351. See Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 720. 352. An Chŏngbok (1712–1791) identified Im Ki as the grandson of Yi Kae, one of the six martyred subjects, and states that he styled himself Suhoja because of his prominent double chin. An furthermore states that because Im Ki was related to Yi Kae, Im Ki was unable to hold high office and could only become an education official (K. hakkwan). SAC 13:5b. Apparently, Im Ki was frequently identified as Chinese (in fact he is still identified as a Chinese in Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 82), but Yi Kyugyŏng identified him as Korean. Yet in his “Chŏndŭng sinhwa pyŏnjŭngsŏl” (Dialectic words on Chŏndŭng sinhwa), in Oju yŏnmun changjŏn san’go (Scattered manuscripts of glosses and comments of Oju, 1837), Yi Kyugyŏng states that many people in his own time likewise believed Im Ki to have been Chinese. 353. The first volume was apparently annotated by Im and Yun together, while the second volume was annotated by Im Ki alone. Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 388.



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354. For this reason annotations from Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae on sentences or passages from Jiandeng xinhua reappearing or alluded to in Kŭmo sinhwa will be pointed out and translated in the book at hand. 355. Jōo, “Reading Annotations,” 162. 356. Shanyang junzi (K. Sanyang kunja), “nobleman of Shanyang,” refers to Qu You because he is known to have been from Shanyang (modern Huaian in Jiangsu). 357. The term jizhu (K. kijŏ), “loom shuttle,” alludes to someone who originally created an ingenious style of writing. This understanding of the term derives from a passage found in the biography of Zu Ying (adult name Yuanzhen), a Northern Wei and Eastern Wei literatus, contained in Weishu (Book of Wei, vol. 82). Zu Ying was famous for his literary skill and is known to have stressed the importance of originality in writing, stating that “literary writings have to be original in conception” and that it is important to “form one’s own style.” He criticized men of letters who plagiarized other people’s writings. Knechtges and Chang, Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature, 3:2374. Consequently, in this line of the poem the literary originality of the writer, Qu You, is stressed. 358. Lunxu (K. yunsŏ) here means a moral order that exists amid the “rambling and the jest” of Jiandeng xinhua. 359. This line alludes to something getting better and better as one moves forward or, in a literary sense, as one reads on. The “sweetness in the sugarcane roots” can be understood as a reference to Gu Kaizhi (ca. 349–410), an Eastern Jin painter and poet. A famous anecdote about Gu Kaizhi concerns his habit of eating sugarcane by starting at the top and working his way down to the root. When asked why he did this, he replied, “I gradually enter the realm of delight.” Knechtges and Chang, Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature, 1:285. 360. Long zhan (K. yong chŏn), “dragons fight,” can be understood as a reference to a passage from “Kun” of Yijing: “Dragons fight in the fields, their blood black and yellow.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 149. The passage is often understood as hinting at fights among warlords or rulers over issues of power. Jiandeng xinhua features many depictions of actual armed conflicts from Chinese history that affect the characters and influence the flow of narration. 361. In line with the previous note, this guiche (K. kwich’a), “ghost cart” or “demon cart,” could be understood as a reference to a line from the hexagram “Kui” of Yijing, which says, “He sees a pig covered with mud, a cart filled with demons.” Lynn, 372. This line from Yijing actually appears in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Taixu sifa zhuan” (Biography of the judge of the great vacuity). Yet guiche is also an alternate name for a monstrous phoenix-like creature usually known as jiutouniao (K. kudujo), “nine-headed bird,” which in volume 59 of the Ming encyclopedia Tian­ zhongji (Accounts from [Mount] Tianzhong) is described as follows: “The guiche flies and cries in the dark. It is able to enter the houses of people and take their souls and energy. One of its other names is “ghost bird.” A long time ago, this bird used to have ten heads, but one head was bitten off by a dog. Today it still has nine heads. Blood runs down from one of them constantly, and if it lands on people’s houses it

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is an inauspicious sign.” There is also a poem by the Song-dynasty poet Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072) entitled “Guiche.” 362. This “crowing pheasant” can be understood as a reference to “Gaozong rongri” (The Rong sacrifice to Gaozong) from the Shujing (Book of documents), in which such a crowing pheasant appears. This line by Kim Sisŭp may have been inspired by Qu You’s foreword to the Chinese collection. The fighting dragons and the crowing pheasant are mentioned by Qu Yu in his own foreword to Jiandeng xinhua as examples of strange and marvelous characters and tales that are nonetheless contained in the authoritative Confucian Classics. For the foreword, see Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:28. 363. Hejian zhuan (Biography of [a woman from] Hejian) is a tale about an immoral woman who is at first tricked into behaving in a lewd way and who eventually finds pleasure in a life of sex and alcohol. At the end of the story, her behavior leads to the death of her husband, after which she indulges in sexual relationships for a decade before her own death. The tale was penned by the Tang-dynasty writer Liu Zongyuan (773–819). Hejian zhuan, which essentially deals with the broken relationship between husband and wife, has been read as an allegory for a disturbed relationship between a ruler and his subjects. A translation of Hejian zhuan can be found in Nienhauser, “Female Sexuality,” 2–4. 364. Maoying zhuan (Biography of Mao Ying) is by the prominent Tang poet and prose writer Han Yu. Wushi, “no-such,” can here be understood as a reference to Lord No-Such (C. Wushi gong), a figure that appears in the Zixu fu (Fu of Sir Vacuous) by Sima Xiangru. In Zixu fu, Lord No-Such tells an elaborate, boastful tale of the emperor’s Shanglin Park. See Knechtges and Chang, Ancient and Early Medi­ eval Chinese Literature, 2:971. 365. The term qiyuan li, “official of the Laquered Garden,” refers to Zhuangzi. In Shiji (chap. “The Biography of Laozi and Hanfei”) by Sima Qian it says, “Zhuangzi was a person from Meng. His personal name was Zhou. Zhou was at one time an official of the Lacquer Garden of Meng.” The source alluded to at this point is a conversation between Zhuangzi and Huizi about a huge useless gourd. The conversation is found in “Xiaoyao yu” (Wandering far and unfetted), the first chapter of Zhuangzi: “Huizi said to Zhuangzi, ‘The King of Wei gave me the seed of a great gourd. I planted it, and when it matured it weighed over a hundred pounds. I filled it with liquid, but it was not firm enough to lift. I cut it in half to make it a dipper, but it was too large to scoop anything. It was big and all, but because it was so, useless, I finally just smashed it to pieces.’ ” Ziporyn, Zhuangzi, 7. 366. “Heavenly Questions” (“Tianwen”) is a section from Chuci (Songs of Chu). For a translation, see Hawkes, Songs of the South, 122ff. 367. The minister of the Three Lü Clans (C. Sanlü zi) is Qu Yuan (340–278 BCE), the famous poet of the Warring States period. The Chuci is in parts attributed to him. 368. Kim Sisŭp here seems to imply that, in his view, “these tales” (K. ch’a hwa), i.e., the tales in Jiandeng xinhua, do not merely constitute randomly constructed fictional narratives carrying some moral lessons. He says that, on the contrary, the tales derive from and build on partly Classical and partly other altogether authoritative



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literary and philosophical traditions that can be traced to Zhuangzi, Qu Yuan, Han Yu, and Liu Zhongyuan. 369. Kui and gang are two ancient mythological creatures. They also appear in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu.” 370. Kim Sisŭp might here be intending to create a contrast between the mythical and the ancient (kui and gang) and the recent and the playful (fish and dragon), i.e., the old styles and the new styles in Jiandeng xinhua. 371. A shuttle that Tao Kan (259–334), a man from the Jin dynasty, fished from the waters in Thunder Marsh and hung up on a wall. The shuttle later transformed into a dragon and flew away. Ri and Ryu, Uri nara kojŏn chakka, 149. 372. An allusion to the story of Wen Qiao, a high general and official of the Jin dynasty. Wen Qiao once held a burning rhinoceros horn over the Yangzi River, making visible strange creatures riding in carts and wearing crimson clothing. Sargent, The Poetry of He Zhu, 325; also see Anthony Yu, Journey to the West, 392. 373. This line can be understood as a reference to the tale “Baqiong ren” (A man from Baqiong [present-day Sichuan]) from the third volume of the Tang-dynasty collection of strange tales Xuanguai lu (Reports of the mysterious and odd) by Niu Sengru (778–847). The tale reads as follows: Once there was a Baqiong man whose name we do not know. He had an orchard of tangerine trees next to his house. When, on account of the frost, all of the tangerines had been harvested, there were two large tangerines remaining that were as big as pots. The Baqiong man thought this strange, and thus he climbed up the tangerine tree and brought them down. [Although they were huge,] their weight was that of regular tangerines. He cut them open [and saw that] in each of the tangerines were two old men. Their hair and eyebrows were white, their bodies ruddy, . . . and they talked and laughed cheerfully. [The old men] were not surprised in the least even after [their tangerines] had been cut open but instead played board games with one another. . . . One old man said, “The happiness inside the tangerines was not lower than Mount Shang, but since [tangerines] do not have deep roots or a strong stem, we were picked and brought down by that foolish man.” Another old man said, “I am hungry! I need to have some dragon-root jerky to eat.” Thereupon he took a grass-root from the pocket in his sleeve, . . . the shape of which was coiled and curling, just like a dragon. . . . He cut it into slices and ate it. . . . After he had eaten it, he spat it back out with water and [instantly] transformed into a dragon. The other three old men took [the dragon] and from below they rose up to the clouds. . . . It is not known where they are at. At this point, Kim Sisŭp seems to imply that Jiandeng xinhua was written in the tradition of classical Tang chuanqi tales. 374. Jin Ding and Liu Cuicui are the two lovers from the Jiandeng xinhua tale

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“Cuicui zhuan.” At the end of the tale, the ghost of Cuicui appears in her father’s dreams as he sleeps by her grave. When her father eventually wants to relocate her remains to the family tomb, Cuicui says that she wants to stay in her grave in the wilderness next to her lover Jin Ding. Here, Cuicui says, “Furthermore, the creeks and mountains [in front of our graves] are splendid and beautiful, grasses and trees are abundant. I am already at peace here, and [to have my grave moved away] is not what I wish.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:262. 375. This line is a reference to “Aiqing zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua. At one point in the tale, the male protagonist, Scholar Zhao, returns to his former home, which lies in ruins. Here, it says, “Owls were calling out in the trees, and all there was there was light-green moss and dark-green grass that set one another off on the stairs and in the courtyard.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, 1:237. 376. This line is a reference to “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. On the night when the protagonist, Scholar Teng Mu, moors his boat outside Jujing Garden at the beginning of the tale, “the light of the moon was as bright as day, and the fragrance of the lotus flowers enveloped his body.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl , 1:153. 377. This line is a reference to “Qiuxiangting ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. 378. This line appears to be a quotation from the poem “Guan Yuan Danqiu zuo Wushan pingfeng” (Looking at Yuan Danfeng sitting [in front] of a screen [with a painting] of Mount Wu) by Li Bai (701–762). The poem is also referenced in the poem that is written on the upper margin of the Painting of Dark Bamboo Groves and Ancient Trees in the tale “Biography of Scholar Yi.” See n. 51 of that tale. 379. Shantang (K. sandang), “mountain hall,” usually denotes a temple in the mountains or the place where a hermit dwells. It could here refer to the place where Kim Sisŭp stayed when he lived in the vicinity of Yongjang Monastery on Mount Kŭmo in Kyŏngju. Or it could refer to Plum Moon Hall on Mount Surak. 380. MWTC 4:34a–b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:345–347. 381. Cf. Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 87–88. In the preface, Gui Heng also calls Qu You the “talented man of Shanyang,”and the works Maoying zhuan and Hejian zhuan are likewise mentioned as possible precursor works of Ji­ andeng xinhua. 382. A detailed study concerning the influence of Jiandeng xinhua on “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” is Ŏm Taesik, “Chŏndŭng sinhwa.” 383. The tale, which is a ghost-wife story, has been translated by Paul W. Kroll under the title “The Golden Phoenix Hairpin” (in Ma and Lau, Traditional Chinese Stories, 400–403). German translations of six further tales are in Bauer and Franke, Die Goldene Truhe. 384. Maewŏltang chip, vol. 20, contains such texts as Sin’gwi sŏl (Explanation on spirits and ghosts), Saengsa sŏl (Explanations on life and death), and “Aemin ŭi” (Discussion on loving the people). 385. An initial closer comparison between Kŭmo sinhwa and Jiandeng xinhua was already made in Kŭmo sinhwa haeje by Ch’oe Namsŏn. The following table shows Ch’oe’s summary of Jiandeng xinhua tales that he identified as having served as models for the different tales from Kŭmo sinhwa.



Notes to Pages 55–57 kŭmo sinhwa “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple”

“Biography of Scholar Yi” “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace”

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jiandeng xinhua “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” “Fugui fajisi ji” (The Office for the Distribution of Riches and Honors) “Weitang qiyu ji” “Jianhu yefan ji” “Linghu-sheng mingmeng lu” “Taixu sifa zhuan” “Shuigong qinghui lu” “Longtang linghui lu”

Source: Yuktang chŏnjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, Yuktang Ch’oe Namsŏn chŏnjip, 605.

The same information can be found in Kim T’aejun, Chosŏn sosŏlsa, 40. A more detailed table showing further relationships between Kŭmo sinhwa and Jiandeng xinhua is in Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 107–108. 386. The joint edition—which included Jiandeng xinhua, Jiandeng yuhua, and Shao Jingzhan’s (fl. 1560) Mideng yinhua (Searching for lamps: Tales of ­retribution)— was entitled Jiandeng conghua (Joint collection of trimmed lampwick tales). Jiandeng conghua came out during the Wanli era (1573–1620) of the late Ming and was reprinted in the fifty-sixth year of the Qianlong era (1791) of Qing. Further support for the impression that the works were regarded as a set is the fact that when the chancellor of the National University, Li Shimian, banned vulgar fiction that he believed corrupted the public good, Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua were together put on the list of forbidden books. Jōo, “The Peony Lantern,” 5–6. 387. Possible model passages from Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua will be pointed out and translated in the translation at hand. However, since they are numerous, I make no claim of completeness. 388. The term “parody” is understood in this way, for instance, in King and Fulton, “Parody in Modern Korean Fiction.” 389. Muak, Han’guk kososŏl kwallyŏn charyojip, 181–182. 390. With respect to this poem, Mishima Chūshū wrote the following comment in the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa: “Each volume surpasses in elegance and it truly is a writing that mankind has not seen before.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 374. However, the well-known line referring to Kŭmo sinhwa in which Kim Sisŭp states that he “brought forth a writing that people have never seen” was in all likelihood modeled after a line in one of the epilogue-poems Qu You wrote at the end of Jiandeng xinhua. The relevant couplet in the Chinese work reads, “Trimming the lamp, moistening my brush, I did not sleep in the stillness, / and recorded stories in a collection which people had never seen.” Nam, “Writing as Response and as Translation,” 57. 391. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 252. 392. Ch’oe, 377. 393. Kim Ch’unt’aek, pen name Pukhŏn, was a relative of Kim Manjung. During

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the era of factional struggles, he was exiled and imprisoned several times. Kim Ch’unt’aek was for a long time mistakenly thought to have been the author of Kuunmong and Sa-ssi namjŏng ki, which are now known to have been penned by Kim Manjung. 394. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 521. 395. For instance, in the Cambridge History of Chinese Literature it says, “To disguise his criticisms of the Ming government, Qu You created in his stories the mirror images of the Underworld and the Dragon Kingdom, which are clearly allegorical representations of the governmental bureaucracy with which Qu You was painfully familiar. . . . In any case, stories with an insistent didactic message might have given pleasure to early Ming readers, aware as they were of the injustice in their own world.” Kang-I Sun Chang and Stephen Owen, Cambridge History, 8–9. 396.  Franke, “Eine Novellensammlung der frühen Ming-Zeit,” 380. 397. Criticism of corruption is, for instance, visible in the tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu.” In this tale, the family of the protagonist’s deceased neighbor bribes the gods of the underworld with offerings, after which the neighbor comes back to life. Scholar Linghu is appalled and writes a poem criticizing these corrupt underworld practices. The highest god of the underground purgatory eventually summons him and later determines that the scholar’s criticism was justified. The neighbor, then, has to die all over again. 398. The arrogance of high-level officials is criticized, for example, in the tale “Sanshan fudi zhi.” Here, the protagonist is told that the hardships he has to endure in his present life are all caused by the arrogance he showed when serving as a high official in his previous life. Another reason he is given for his suffering in this life is that in his previous life he did not take care of and support literati who were not in office. 399. See, e.g., So, “Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi munhakchŏk kach’i,” 193. 400. Sŏl Ch’ong was the son of the renowned Buddhist monk Wŏnhyo and a Silla princess. Sŏl Ch’ong, however, primarily studied and taught Confucianism. His Hwawang kye (Admonition for the Flower King), the earliest recorded parable of Korean literature, is contained in Samguk sagi. 401. The source says pangŏn, usually translated as “dialect” or “regional language.” At this point it can be taken to mean the Korean language and probably the Korean alphabet, han’gŭl. 402. The term xizhu li (K. sŏch’uk ri), “West Indian [Pā]li,” is here meant as a reference to the earliest canon of Indian Buddhism, which was written in Pāli. The couplet can be understood as an allusion to the period of the Three Kingdoms and Later Three Kingdoms in Korea, a time during which Buddhism was the state religion in all states on the Korean Peninsula. More specifically, the term could here perhaps be an allusion to Kungye (869–918) and Wang Kŏn, the founders of Koryŏ (or Hu Koguryŏ), i.e., the state to which the Silla dynasty surrendered. The rulers of Koryŏ used Buddhism to strengthen their rule. 403. The text says gaohuang (K. kohwang). Gao denotes the fat and the tip of the heart, while huang denotes the space between the heart and the diaphragm. In the Zuozhuan (The Zuo commentary), Tenth Year of Duke Cheng, a doctor decrees that



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an illness that is above the huang and below the gao is impossible to treat, as no medicine can reach it. Nienhauser, Tang Dynasty Tales, 68. 404. This line refers to the enormous temples built in the Korean Three Kingdoms; they were not only places of Buddhist worship but also functioned as seats of government. Examples would be the gigantic Hwangnyongsa (Imperial Dragon Temple, finished in 644) in the Silla capital of Kŭmsŏng (today’s Kyŏngju) and the massive Mirǔksa (Maitreya Temple, established in 602), the main temple of the Paekche Kingdom. 405. This line might be a reference to the battles between the states of Hu Paekche (Later Paekche) and Silla in Koul Prefecture (K. Koulchu, present-day Yech’ŏn in South Korea) in the years 926 and 927. When the Hu Paekche army invaded, the Silla king sent a request for military aid to Wang Kŏn (later known as T’aejo), ruler of Koryŏ in the north. It was Silla’s first step toward surrender to Koryŏ, which eventually took place in 935. The vicious “jackals and tigers” that the Silla people of Koul unknowingly let into their country thus could be taken as the soldiers and rulers of Koryŏ. 406. Meaning Yi Sŏnggye (r. 1392–1398), founder of the Chosŏn dynasty. His posthumous name is T’aejo. 407. A reference to Yongbi ŏch’ŏn ka (Songs of dragons flying to heaven, 1445– 1447), a eulogy cycle commissioned and published by King Sejong to praise the founders of the Chosŏn dynasty in a time of lingering resentments in the wake of the overthrow of the Koryŏ dynasty. 408. This line might be read as a reference to “Zhonghui zhi gao” (The proclamation of Zhonghui) from Shujing: “Exert yourself, O king, to make your great virtue illustrious, and set up the pattern of the Mean before the people. Order your affairs by righteousness; order your heart by propriety; so shall you transmit a great example to posterity.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:182. 409. The text says sanwu (K. samo), “three and five,” meaning the sagely Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, a group of possibly mythological rulers and emperors of ancient China. There are different interpretations of who these figures are. According to the Shiji, the Three Sovereigns are Fuxi, Nüwa, and Shennong, while the Five Emperors are the Yellow Emperor, Zhuanxu, Emperor Ku, Emperor Yao, and Emperor Shun. 410. Quite possibly a reference to a passage in “Qiushui” (Autumn floods) of Zhuangzi that deals with the unfathomable greatness of the sea—or in this case, time—and the pettiness of humans. 411. Cf. Mengzi 5A:5. 412. Cf. Eggert and Plassen, Kleine Geschichte Koreas, 16–17. 413. The image of Confucius floating to the east, i.e., to Korea, on a piece of driftwood is from Young-woo Han, “Kija Worship,” 354–355. The actual passages related to this image are Lunyu 5.7 and 9.14. Lunyu 5.7 reads, “The Master said, ‘The Way is not practiced. I shall go ride a raft on the ocean—and I imagine You would go with me.’ ” In Lunyu 9.14, Confucius proclaims that he intends to live with the Nine Barbarian Tribes in the east. Eastern Yi, i.e., Eastern Barbarians, was an early

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designation for the inhabitants of the Korean Peninsula. In the “Dili zhi” (Treatise on geography) of the Hanshu, these Lunyu passages are rendered as follows: “Yet the heavenly nature of the Eastern Barbarians is soft and obedient, and they do differ from [the barbarians] of the other three world directions. Therefore, when Confucius lamented that the Way is not put into practice, he intended to build a raft and float on the seas, where he wanted to settle among the Nine Yi Tribes.” 414.  Young-woo Han, “Kija Worship,” 363. 415.  Young-woo Han, 364. Interest in Kija reemerged under the Confucian king Sŏnjong in the late fifteenth century. 416. For an in-depth discussion of some of the poems in which Kim Sisŭp utilized Korean history to carve out the legitimacy and illegitimacy of rulers, see Häußler, “Perception of Korean History.” 417. Cf. Knechtges, “Ruin and Remembrance,” 55. 418. One of these poems is entitled “Songdo” (In Songdo). In the translation by Sonja Häußler the poem reads, The meritorious deeds of the past five hundred years   already appear an allusion. Fragrant grass in the glow of the evening sun,   what shall I do about my grief? Whose home is here fallen into ruins,   with flowerbeds abandoned? How many places with collapsed ledges,   where one can catch sparrows? On the king’s sedan road fragrance has disappeared,   only thin rain drifts by. On the terrace of song the sounds have been muted,   only a chilly cloud settles down. But the children in the market do not know   the resentment of the previous dynasty. Contently they sing   of the unique splendor of the flowerbeds. Häußler goes on to explain, “It does not seem too far-fetched to assume that Kim Sisŭp has inserted an ambiguous meaning into the final lines of his poem. The character cho does not only have the meaning of ‘dynasty,’ but also of ‘reign or court of a (single) king.’ Thus he could in fact be championing the cause of the overthrown King Tanjong and be critically remarking that, unlike himself, many people do not care about the bloody enthronement of the actual king.” Häußler, “Kaesŏng,”41–42. 419. A huaigu-style poem on the city of P’yŏngyang contained in T’angyu Kwansŏ rok is “Kosŏng hoego.” MWTC 9:14a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip 2:74. 420. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 64. 421. Also, however, in the quoted passage from the third tale, for instance, in the sentence when the female protagonist says that Wiman stole her father’s “trea-



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sure, his position.” This can be understood as a reference to Yijing, for in the second part of the “Xici zhuan” of Yijing it says, “The great treasure of the sage is called his ‘position.’ ” The allusion to Yijing underpins the sage-like character of her father and the legitimacy of his rule. Lynn, Classic of Changes, 77. 422. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 82. 423. Ch’oe, 82–83. 424. King Yama’s words thus hint at a ruler even worse than the one described in Daxue, for the king mentioned by Yama not only deviates to a mean selfishness, but actually violently suppresses the people. 425.  Lynn, Classic of Changes, 145–146. This notion we find, of course, also in Mengzi. Mengzi 1B:8 says, King Xuan of Qi asked, “Is it the case that, when they were their subjects, Tang banished Jie, and Wu struck down Tyrant Zhou?” Mengzi replied, “That is what has been passed down in ancient texts.” The king said, “Is it acceptable for subjects to assassinate their rulers?” Mengzi said, “One who mutilates benevolence should be called a ‘mutilator.’ One who mutilates righteousness should be called a ‘crippler.’ A crippler and mutilator is called a mere ‘fellow.’ I have indeed heard of the execution of this one fellow Zhou, but I have not heard of it as the assassination of one’s ruler.” (van Norden, Mengzi, 26) 426. In the source, Mengzi 5A:5, it says, “ ‘Heaven does not speak, but simply reveals the Mandate through actions and affairs.’ [Heaven grants a Mandate to those with Virtue, giving them the authority to found a dynasty and rule.]” Translation and commentary in van Norden, 123. 427. Naturally this is not a unique feature of Kŭmo sinhwa but rather an established method to substantiate certain claims by means of authoritative works. For instance, at the beginning of the text “Aemin ŭi,” which in large part resembles the words spoken by King Yama with respect to the correct relationship between the people and a ruler, Kim Sisŭp quotes a passage from the Book of Documents: “The Shu[ jing] states: ‘The people are the root of the country; The root firm, the country is tranquil.’ ” Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:158; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 3:193. 428. Peter H. Lee, History of Korean Literature, 262. 429. Pyŏng-uk Chŏng, “Kim Si-sŭp,”39. 430. In the same passage in Taedong unbu kunok, Kwŏn Munhae states that Kim Sisŭp penned another work of narrative fiction entitled Imch’ŏn kahwa (Beautiful tales of forests and springs). Unfortunately this work has been lost. Sim, Kŭmo sinhwa, 34, 50. In the biography of Kim Sisŭp by Scholar Han’gyŏl from 1931, Kŭmo sinhwa is at one point (probably mistakenly) even called Kŭmosan sinhwa. Han’gukhak munhŏn yŏn’guso, Tonggwang, 4:49. 431. This theory that he might have written the work at a later time is already voiced in Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 269. 432. Upon returning home to his native Silla after an official stay in Tang China,

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Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn continued to correspond with Gu Yun and other Chinese officials and poets. 433. The use of kŭmo in this poem was already noticed by Ch’oe Namsŏn in Kŭmo sinhwa haeje. 434. The islands are Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou. For a detailed discussion, see Bauer, China und die Hoffnung auf Glück, 104. 435. Sim, Kim Sisŭp p’yŏngjŏn, 205. 436. Cf. Eggert, Rede vom Traum, 17. Richard Strassberg writes, “During the Five Dynasties, Liu Zan, who was slow-witted when it came to literary imagination, prayed to the heavenly bodies for talent. He dreamt one night that he swallowed a little golden turtle. After that, he found that he possessed a great deal of literary imagination. Then, he dreamt one day that he spit out the golden turtle into the water. He died not long afterward.” Strassberg, Wandering Spirits, 141. 437. The CMPP and Jōō editions here say p’ilto (C. bidao), “brush and sword,” or perhaps “sharpness of the brush”; the Meiji edition says p’illyŏk (C. bili), “power of the brush.” “Power of the brush” makes more sense at this point in the narrative; p’ilto is most likely a printing mistake. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 99, 227, 365. 438. Ch’oe, 99. 439. Oral communication, June 25, 2014, and introduced here for the first time. 440. Sun Joo Kim, Wrongful Deaths, 14. For a detailed study on the Ŭigŭmbu, see Kim Yŏngsŏk, “Ŭigŭmbu-ŭi chojik-kwa ch’uguk-e kwanhan yŏn’gu.” 441. Kyŏngse yup’yo, vol. 2, “Ch’ugwan hyŏngjo.” Concerning the Chinese imperial guards, which functioned as a sort of police force, cf. Thilo, Chang’an, 157. Yet in line with what Tasan states, the Ŭigŭmbu was no ordinary police force but rather the most powerful judicial institution in Chosŏn Korea, a court of justice convened on royal orders for the most important affairs.

Chapter 1: Biography of Master Maewŏltang 1. In the Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition of Kŭmo sinhwa this biography, penned by Yun Ch’unnyŏn, is incomplete. The extant version of Yun Ch’unnyŏn’s compilation of Kŭmo sinhwa contains only roughly the latter half of the biography. 2. Kim Sisŭp was born in the capital, but his family’s ancestral seat was Kangnŭng. 3. Kim T’aehyŏn (1261–1330). His courtesy name was Pulgi, his pen name K’waehŏn. 4. The source says Anju moksa. The term moksa refers to a magistrate of a district or county. 5. The Xuande Emperor of Ming reigned from 1425 to 1435. 6. A reference to Lunyu 16.9: “Confucius said, ‘Those who are born understanding it are the best, those who come to understand it through learning are second.’ ” Slingerland, Analects, 196. 7. Regarding the nickname ose, in the introduction of a North Korean translation of Kŭmo sinhwa different Chinese characters are given; there, it does not say ose,



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“five-year-old,” but rather ose (C. aoshi), “he who despises the world.” Ryu Ch’angsŏn and Ch’oe Sihak, Kŭmo sinhwa, 3. 8. The Jingtai Emperor of Ming reigned from 1450 to 1456. 9. From this point on the biography is contained in the CMMP edition of Kŭmo sinhwa. 10. The source says unsu (C. yunshui), “clouds and water,” which might here refer to roaming monks of the Chan school, known as Unsu sŭng (C. Yunshui seng), “cloud and water monks.” Cf. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 11. Similar accounts of such utterly eccentric, quite repulsive behavior can be found in the biographical sketch of Kim Sisŭp in the yadam collection Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki, in which the author, Kim Allo, recounts the following incident: “Kwangmyo early on held a Buddhist service at the Inner Palace, and Sŏlcham was yet again selected to appear [at the venue]. [He came to the palace, but] suddenly, in the wee hours, he ran away and nobody knew where he had gone. [Sejo] dispatched a number of people to follow and find him. They discovered that he had plunged into the excrement in a roadside village’s latrine, and only half of his face sticking out from [the muck] was all [they could see].” HRTG 8:438b. 12. Sŏnhaeng, literally, “practice of good deeds.” 13. Sihak (C. shixue), “studies of poetry.” 14. The fact that he let his hair grow and performed the Confucian ancestral rites shows that, during this phase of his life, Kim Sisŭp had ceased living as a monk. The writing he is said to have produced for his ancestors is cited in “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” by Nam Hyo’on. Here, he allegedly wrote the following with regard to his Buddhist past: Humbly I venture to think: This foolish little child who carries on the ancestral line, in his youth plunged into the unorthodox doctrines [of Buddhism]. Ah, I was confused, ignorant, and without any understanding. I thought if I practiced the [Buddhist] Way I might nourish and fetch [the souls of my ancestors], but now I have come to realize that in terms of deceitfulness and fabrication there is nothing like saṃsāra, the flow of cyclical existence. The prime years of my life I squandered in that same old routine, and at the end of the road I was full of regret. Then I consulted the canon of rites and went through the sages’ Classics, after which I contemplated the great rituals of revering ones parents after they are long gone, deliberated on making the livelihood of a pure and poor one, made an effort to be neat and tidy, and went about the preparation of sacrificial offerings with sincerity. (CGC 7:24b) 15. As one of the leading officials of early Chosŏn, Chŏng Ch’angson (1402– 1487) served as chief state councilor under King Sejo. He is said to have informed Sejo of the plans devised by several officials to reinstate Tanjong, which then led to the execution of the six martyred subjects and the eventual assassination of Prince Nosan. Chŏng Ch’angson is often portrayed as Kim Sisŭp’s adversary.

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16. The severe consequences brought about by this incident, which Yun Ch’unnyŏn simply omitted, are described in more detail in “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” by Nam Hyo’on: “One day, after he [Kim Sisŭp] had drunk some wine, he passed by a market. There, he saw Chief State Councilor Chŏng Ch’angson and called out to him: ‘You, slave! You ought to take a rest!’ But Chŏng acted as if he had not heard him. Due to this [incident] people thought [Kim Sisŭp] dangerous, and those who had been his friends all disassociated themselves from him and stopped visiting him. Only the servant boys from the market as well as the crazy people still roamed around with him, and they would fall over drunk and lie around by the side of the road, laughing stupidly.” CGC 7:25a. 17. The “Lisao” (generally known in English as “Encountering Trouble”) is the main poem of the Chuci by Qu Yuan, the most ancient anthology of Chinese poetry next to the Shijing. “Lisao” is a narrative poem that tells how its hero, slandered by political enemies and dismissed from court by his sovereign, undertakes a mystical journey to find a truly virtuous lord. The hero, in long dramatic monologues, laments the villainy of his opponents, the duplicity of his erstwhile allies, and the failings of his sovereign. Nienhauser, Indiana Companion, 347. It is certainly no coincidence that at this point in the biography (in which Yun Ch’unnyŏn has just described Kim Sisŭp’s difficult relationship with Chŏng Ch’angson, a high-ranking official in Sejo’s government) Kim Sisŭp is said to recite no poem but the “Lisao,” for in the closing lines the poet cries out in despair that there is no one “worthy to work with in making good government” and that he intends to abandon the corrupt world that is incapable of understanding him and retire to anchoritic seclusion or death. David Hawkes’s translation of the “Lisao” can be found in his Songs of the South, 66–95. 18. The Hongzhi Emperor of Ming reigned from 1487 to 1505. 19.  Hangmae is known to have been the master of the monk Yŏnggwan (1485–1571). 20. Five hundred saints headed by Mahākāśyapa, who assembled at the First Council held immediately after the death of the Buddha. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism.

Chapter 2: Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple 1. In the CMPP the title “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” contains the character chŏ (C. chu), “to gamble,” while both the Japanese Jōō and Meiji editions have chŏ (C. chu), “tree of heaven.” This is a character variant in the name of this specific game. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 9, 145, 262. Like the CMPP, the SDCP features chŏ, “to gamble,” but here the title of the tale is actually written incorrectly to read “Manboksa p’ojŏ ki.” Ch’oe, 111. 2. Namwŏn is located in present-day Northern Chŏlla Province, South Korea. In the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa the annotation regarding Namwŏn and Manbok Temple reads, “Namwŏn is in Chŏlla Province. Manbok Temple is an ancient temple from the period of the Three Han.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 262.



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3. The term “scholar” (K. saeng, C.sheng), as in “Scholar Yang,” refers to a student of Confucianism. It was commonly used to designate literate men who did not possess degrees. All of the Kŭmo sinhwa’s male figures are saeng: Scholar Yang (Yang saeng), Scholar Yi (Yi saeng), Scholar Hong (Hong saeng), Scholar Pak (Pak saeng) and Scholar Han (Han saeng). Hence, they are Confucian scholars who are exceptionally learned but who are neither in office nor yet been earned any official title. Cf. Nienhauser, Tang Dynasty Tales, 74. Many tales from the chuanqi genre feature male protagonists who are literati without office. 4. CMPP and all of the Japanese editions say sang (C. sang), the SDCP says sil (C. shi), “lose.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 9, 111. 5. These opening lines echo the initial sentences of the tale “Lüyiren zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua: “In Tianshui [there was a man called] Zhao Yuan who had early on lost both his father and mother. He was as yet unmarried.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:333. 6. The CMPP here has tongbang (C. dongfang), “eastern room” or “room to the east,” while the SDCP has tongbang pang (C. dongfang fang), “room in an eastern direction.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 9, 111. 7. Manboksa, the Temple of Ten Thousand Blessings, which no longer exists, was located in Namwŏn County. The Sejong sillok chiriji (Veritable record of King Sejong: Geographical survey), completed in 1454, states, “Manbok Temple: it lies in the southwestern part of the district [of Namwŏn]. In its eastern part there is a fivestory prayer hall, in its western part there is a two-story prayer hall. Inside the hall there is an iron [statue of the] Buddha, which is thirty-five chŏk [one chŏk equals about 30 centimeters] in length and weighs 13,000 kŭn [one kŭn equals about 600 grams]. The prayer hall’s construction is extraordinary and different, and one cannot know when it was built.” Sejong sillok chiriji, “Namwŏn tohobu.” According to an entry in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, Manbok Temple was constructed during the reign of King Munjong (r. 1046–1083) of Koryŏ and was located east of Mount Kirin (K. Kirinsan). It served long as the region’s main monastery and is said to have been especially famous for its monks, who used to parade out of the temple in the morning to collect donations and then return at night. These “returning monks of Manbok Temple” (K. Manboksa kwisŭng) belonged to the “eight beautiful sights” (K. p’algyŏng) of the Namwŏn region. The temple was almost completely destroyed in 1597, during the Imjin Wars. However, in the tale at hand, the monastery is portrayed as already being in a fairly ruinous state. 8. The source here says kyŏngsu (C. qiongshu), which can mean a beautiful tree that looks as if covered by a first snow, resembling exquisite jade. In this sense it is used in Xie Huilian’s (407–433) “Xuefu” (Rhapsody on snow) as well as in Li Shang­yin’s (813–853) poem “Duixue” (Facing snow). The term can also refer to a noble and dignified person. It used in this sense in “Wang Rong zhuan” (Biography of Wang Rong) in Jinshu (History of the Jin Dynasty) as well as in the poem “Ji Liu Xiazhou Bohua shijun sishi yun” (Forty rhymes sent to Liu Bohua of Xiazhou) by the major Tang poet Du Fu. The reference in Du Fu’s poem is, “Bedridden, I think of you, an alabaster tree.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 5:213. At this point in

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the narrative, kyŏngsu might refer to the marvelous beauty of the pear tree, but it could likewise be understood as a hint about the nobility of Scholar Yang, who is directly linked to the tree. 9. The character wŏl, “moon,” is missing in the SDCP, which only says “every night.” 10. In the SDCP, the final two characters of this line are reversed. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 111. 11. CMPP and SDCP say ryŏn (C. lian), “to pity” or “to commiserate.” The Jōō edition features the character rin (C. lin), “neighborhood.” The Meiji edition has ryŏn. Ch’oe, 9, 111, 145, 262. 12. This line might be based on the final line of a poem that the male character Jin Ding writes for his love, Cuicui, in the tale “Cuicui zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua. It reads, “How pitiful to let down a moon so round.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:257. In the Chinese tale, Cuicui is imprisoned and forced to serve as the concubine of a powerful lord while Jin Ding serves this same lord as a secretary. In the poem, Jin Ding laments the fact that he was allowed to see his love only a single time. This longing for a partner can also be sensed in Scholar Yang’s poem. 13. This line can be understood as a reference to the legend of the two lovers Nongyu and Xiao Shi. Xiao Shi, a “master of the pipes,” was able to summon peacocks and cranes to the courtyard with his music. Nongyu, one of the daughters of Duke Mu of Qin, fell in love with him and became his wife. He taught her to imitate bird calls on the flute, and after several years she could imitate the cry of the phoenix. She drew these auspicious birds to her in flocks, and Xiao built a dais for the birds where the couple lived. After a time, Xiao Shi and Nongyu flew away on the backs of the phoenixes. The line at hand is also reminiscent of a line in the poem “Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan” (To judge Han Chuo at Yangzhou) by the prominent Tang poet Du Mu (803–852), which reads, “Where are you teaching a jade girl to blow tunes on your flute?” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 915. Yet the line might also be understood as a reference to the girl in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Weitang qiyu ji” who blows on a flute of blue jade for her lover, the tale’s protagonist. 14. This couplet might have been inspired by two lines from “Sutai zhuzhi qu” (Song of bamboo branches over the grassy terrace), the first poem in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji.” The “Sutai zhuzhi qu” couplet reads, “Kingfishers fly in pairs, they do not wait for one to call the other; / mandarin ducks live together side by side, they are never alone.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:108. In the present tale, the situation of the birds is the opposite from that in the presumed model couplet from “Lianfanglou ji.” 15. “Chess pieces” here translates qizi (K. kija), i.e., the stones of a Paduk (or Go) game. This line might be understood as an allusion to the tale “Lüyiren zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua, in which the female character, the “Lady in Green” (who is the ghost of a deceased woman), tells the male character, Zhao Yuan (a living man), that before she was killed, she was a courtesan renowned for her skills in playing Paduk, the East Asian form of chess. At the beginning of the Chinese tale, Zhao Yuan sees her pass by his house every night and wonders where she might be headed, where



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she might have an appointment, while he secretly longs for her to join him. This longing for a woman is reflected in the line at hand. Importantly, the woman who Scholar Yang eventually meets is introduced to the reader with a description most likely also taken from “Lüyiren zhuan.” 16. The first part of this line is a quotation from a poem featured in “Aiqing zhuan” of Jiandeng xinhua: “At night I divine with the candlewick, in the morning I divine with the magpie.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:238. Parts of the annotation to this sentence in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae reads, The Xijing zaji [Miscellaneous records of the western capital; from the Former Han period] features the following account: Fan Kuai [d. 189] asked Liu Jia [d. 170], “Since times of old, when the lord of men receives the mandate from heaven, there necessarily have to be auspicious re­sponses. Why is there such a thing?” [Liu] Jia replied, “When the eye winks he will obtain food and drink; [when he sees the spark of the] wick flower he will obtain wealth; [when he hears] the screeching of the magpie, a traveler will arrive; when spiders assemble, there will be all kinds of happy events. (Chŏng, 559) Yet the expression “divine with the wick flower” (K. pok tŭnghwa) also refers to a method of divination in which a lit wick producing a flower-like spark is regarded as a favorable omen with respect to an approaching love relationship. In turn, if such a flower/flame does not appear, this is viewed as a sign of bad luck in love. It is in this sense that the candlewick is used in Xixiang ji (The story of the western wing) by Wang Shifu (ca. 1250–1300), where it reads, “Yesterday it was announced by the sputtering lamp; today the happy magpie screeches.” West and Idema, Story of the Western Wing, 255. The accompanying footnote says, “Conventional auspicious portents of a lover’s return.” 17. The entire final couplet could also be read as an allusion to the poem “Yue ke” (Appointment with a guest) by Zhao Shixiu (1170–1220), which also tells of the longing reflected in the poem by Scholar Yang. The poem by Zhao Shixiu reads In the season of the yellow plum, it’s raining at every house; at the pond among green grasses, frogs are everywhere. The appointment broken; no one comes. It has past midnight; idling I tap the game pieces aboard, dropping candlewick snuff.” (Luo, Concise History, 548) 18. The source here says hogu (C. haoqiu), a term that appears in the Shijing’s first poem “Guanju.” Legge translates this term as “good mate”: “For our prince a good mate she.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:1. The term hogu will again appear in “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” At that later point in the narrative, hogu does not refer to a woman (as is the case in the tale at hand) but rather to the future husband of the dragon king’s daughter.

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19. The phrase “men and women” (K. sanyŏ) is missing in the SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 111. 20. This refers to the annual Buddhist lantern-lighting ceremonies (K. yŏndŭng hoe). There are no extant records suggesting that the twenty-fourth day of the third month was of any significance concerning the lantern festivals in the Namwŏn region, but in the wake of his far-ranging travels, Kim Sisŭp might have become acquainted with certain local customs. One must note, however, that the ghost-wife tale “Mudandeng ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, which clearly served as one inspiration for the tale at hand, is likewise initially set at the time of a lantern festival: “It was during the time when Mr. Fang [Guozhen] had taken control over eastern Zhe[jiang]. From the first night of every year, in Mingzhou [now Yin Prefecture of Zhejiang Province] it was the custom to light lanterns for five nights, and the entire city, men and women, used to look at the spectacle.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:169. 21. Chŏp’o (C. chupu) originally was a game in which wooden pieces resembling dice were thrown to determine victory or defeat. The name of this game might have been a variant of that of the Indian dice-and-board racetrack game called Chaupar. In Korea, chŏp’o had been known since the time of the Paekche kingdom. By the time of the Chosŏn dynasty it is thought that the dice had been eliminated and the game had come to resemble present-day Yunnori, a game of chance in which the participants toss sticks and points are assigned depending on how the sticks land. Frankl, “Our Country,” 72. Many references to the game can be found both in Chinese and Korean sources, one being a line in a poem by Yi Kyubo from Tongguk Yi Sangguk chip (Collected writings of Minister Yi [Kyubo] of the Eastern Country [Korea]): “When tossing the chŏp’o a hundred times, you can accidentally win once.” TYSC 11:6a. In the poem “Chesŏk” (On the last day of the year; vol. 4 of T’aektang chip) by Yi Sik (1584–1647), is the line, “At their leisure, boys and girls play, then sit down and watch a game of chŏp’o.” 22. Pŏbyŏn (C. fayan) means a “venue for a Dharma lecture,” a “Dharma assembly,” or a “teaching assembly.” Pŏbyŏn is an alternative term for pŏpsŏk (C. faxi), a place where monks gather to practice. 23. The sentence “Karma has already been determined” complies with the Buddhist idea of chŏngŏp (C. dingye), which means a “fixed and determined karma,” or “life determined by the good and bad actions of the past.” Scholar Yang here believes that the positive outcome of the chŏp’o game is proof of a karmic affinity in this life that has been determined in a favorable way by his good actions in a previous existence. 24. Tianfei, “Celestial Consort” (also known as Tianhou, “Celestial Empress”), is the title granted by imperial decree in 1281 to the Daoist goddess Mazu. Mazu is often compared to the bodhisattva Guanyin of the South Sea (Nanhai Guanyin). Pregadio, Encyclopedia of Taoism, 741. This initial description of the female protagonist is founded on the respective first depiction of the ghostly lady in green from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lüyiren zhuan”: “One day at dusk, he [the male protagonist Zhao Yuan] was lingering outside the gate when he saw a woman coming toward him from the east. She wore green clothes, her hair was arranged in a knot, and she



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might have been fifteen, sixteen years of age. Although she was not overly dressed up and did not wear heavy make-up, her beauty surpassed that of all other ordinary people.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:333. 25. CMPP here has changsa (C. zhuangci), while SDCP merely says sa (C. ci), “writ.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 112. 26. “Japanese marauders” here translates waegu (J. wakō). The raids of these seaborne marauders were especially fierce during the fourteenth century, and they not only affected the Korean Peninsula but also many coastal regions of China. In Korea, the attacks had begun as early as the reign of King Kojong (r. 1213–1259), but they became rampant after 1350. Yi Sŏnggye, one of the Koryŏ generals who rose to fame in the struggle against these marauders, would go on to found the new dynasty, Chosŏn, in 1392. For further information, see, e.g., Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 162–163. The 1963 North Korean translation of Kŭmo sinhwa features the following insightful annotation at this point in the narrative: “[This passage] refers to a historical fact: especially in the year 1380, when the waegu brought about five hundred warships and still suffered serious losses on account of the firearm [gunpowder] attacks of General Ch’oe Musŏn [1325–1395], they dispersed in Namwŏn, Unbong, and other areas of the Honam region.” Ryu Su, Kim Sisŭp chakp’um sŏnjip, 267. As for possible models from Chinese chuanqi collections, “Mudandeng ji” from Jiandeng xinhua is set against the backdrop of a similar episode from Chinese history involving marauders seizing coastal regions; in this case the story takes place during the time when the pirate Fang Guozhen (1319–1374) rebelled against the Yuan dynasty and occupied the region of Zhejiang Province. Of note, however, is that the tale “Wuping lingguai lu” from Jiandeng yuhua actually features the Japanese marauders themselves. It says, “After a while, Xiang Guike became provincial graduate and received the office of vice prefect in [the coastal region of] Jiaxing Prefecture. Yet when the Japanese [C. woyi, “dwarf barbarians”] landed on the coast, he failed to report this incident in time [and so] was convicted of that crime and [eventually] died in the prisons of the Autumn Office [the Ministry of Justice].” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:272. 27. In the poem “Xinglu” from Shijing the first stanza reads as follows: “The paths are drenched with dew. / True, I said ‘Early in the night’; / but I fear to walk in so much dew.” Waley, Book of Songs, 65. In a very influential collection of commentaries on Shijing written by Zhu Xi (1130–1200), a part of the interpretation of this poem reads as follows: “Usually, when a woman walks alone at dawn or at night, there might be the anxiety of suffering vicious attacks by a violent person. Thus, [the woman] pretends that there is too much dew [on the path, saying] that she fears being drenched by it.” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 10. At this point, the reference to the Shijing poem shows that the female figure maintained her chastity and did not give herself away to the soldiers. 28. The source here says hoengyŏk (C. hengni), a term that can be found in Mengzi 4B:28. Legge translates the term as “perverse and unreasonable manners.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 2:333. 29. The opening of her petition appears to be modeled after the first sentences of the letter that the woman Caicai sends to Scholar Shang in the Jiandeng xinhua tale

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“Qiuxiangting ji.” She writes, “Due to misgovernment during the previous dynasty, all the counties have suffered from armed conflicts. The great were injured, the small were killed, the weak were the meat and the strong gobbled them up. [The time] when we met such disaster and chaos has already been ten years ago now. It is by chance that I am still alive, but this body of mine is not what it once was. To the east and to the west people ran to seek shelter; to the left and to the right they fled to escape. . . . I worried that I would be drenched by the dew on the path, but I wanted to protect our previous vows until the very end.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:348. 30. These sentences are based on words spoken by the two sisters in “Lianfang­ lou ji” from Jiandeng xinhua: “However, the autumn moon or the springtime flowers, it always hurt that we vacantly passed them by, or that we could not control the cloud-feelings and the water-nature.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:112. 31. This line can be understood as a quotation of the second line of the poem “Jiaren” (The fair lady) by Du Fu: “There is a fair lady, the fairest of the age, who lives hidden away in a bare valley.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 2:113. The female figure from “Jiaren,” whose family has been wiped out in a rebellion and whose husband has deserted her, might (to an extent) have served as a model for the female figure in the tale at hand. 32. Cailuan (K. ch’aeran) could refer to a legendary Taoist immortal of this name, which will reappear in a later poem in this tale (see n. 157). Yet cailuan could likewise simply mean a “colorful Luan,” since in Chinese mythology the Luan is a divine, auspicious bird. Strassberg, Chinese Bestiary, 102. The colorful Luan bird appears in several tales in Jiandeng xinhua (e.g., in “Qiuxiangting ji”; see Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:349), but this line seems to have been inspired by a line from the poem in the tale “Cuicui zhuan” (the poem already referred to in Scholar Yang’s first poem). The line goes, “Tonight, in the middle of the courtyard, the Luan bird is dancing alone.” Ch’oe, 257. The annotation regarding this sentence in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae reads, “The king of Jibin [a certain country in the western regions mentioned in the Hanshu] owned a Luan bird. For three years it would not cry. His wife said, ‘I heard that the Luan cries when it sees one of its own kind.’ [Thus the king] hung up a mirror in which [the bird] could reflect itself. The Luan saw the reflection and cried bitterly. In the middle of the night it spread its wings one time and disappeared.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 545. The reference to the Luan thus underlines her loneliness and her desperate longing for a partner. 33. The source here has ilgŏ wŏlche (C. riju yuezhu), an expression that appears in two different poems in Shijing. It is first mentioned in the last stanza of the poem “Bo zhou”: “O sun, ah, moon, why are you changed and dim? / Sorrows cling to me like an unwashed dress. / In the still of night I brood upon it, long to take wing and fly away.” Waley, Book of Songs, 71. The expression is likewise the opening sentence of each stanza of the poem “Riyue,” the first stanza of which reads: “O sun, ah, moon, that shine on the earth below, / A man like this will not stand firm to the end. / How can such a one be true? / Better if he had never noticed me.” Waley, 63. The Shi jizhuan comments on the above-quoted last stanza of the poem “Baizhou” as follows: “The sun is naturally always bright, while the moon has its time and



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wanes. Accordingly, one’s legal wife must naturally be high, while the secondary wife naturally must be low. Now when the secondary wife instead wins over the legal wife, it is as if sun and moon changed places and [both] were out of joint.” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 16. The first stanza of the poem “Riyue” is interpreted by Zhu Xi as dealing with a woman’s longing for a man who has abandoned her: “Seeing abandonment like this, but with the sense of still hoping for him.” Zhu Xi, 17. The longing for a lover after abandonment can likewise be detected in the tale at hand. Hence, it appears reasonable to assume that Kim Sisŭp meant to refer to the poem “Riyue” with the line in question. 34.  As the annotation on this term in the Meiji edition says, Kakhwang, “Emperor of Enlightenment” (also found as Kagwang, “King of Enlightenment”), is an epithet of the Buddha. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 265. 35. The source here says yŏn, an abbreviation of the term inyŏn (C. yinyuan), which likewise appears frequently in Kŭmo sinhwa. Inyŏn refers to a causal situation, a concatenation of cause and effect. It is the idea that certain events are “bound to happen,” sometimes even in a specifically good or bad way, because they are the result of actions taken or relationships fostered in previous existences. It would also be possible to translate the term as “consequences,” “destiny,” “fate,” or “relationships governed by fate.” Yet in Kŭmo sinhwa, yŏn/inyŏn refers to a couple’s “predestined” or “fated relationship,” i.e., “karmic affinity.” 36. The term myŏng (C. ming) can here be understood as ch’ŏnmyŏng (C. tian­ ming), “Mandate of Heaven.” 37. CMPP says ŭiha sa ya while the SDCP says haŭi sa ya. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 12, 113. 38. “Coming here alone” is missing in the SDCP, which says only “What sort of person are you?” Ch’oe, 113. 39. Munmyŏng (C. wenming), “inquire about the name” (which in the source with the addition of song [C. xing] means “surname”), usually alludes to a custom associated with a marriage proposal. Its use, and the implied reference to the taboo against direct contact prior to marriage, at this point suggests that the female character feels uneasy about the sudden direct contact with Scholar Yang. 40. In the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lüyiren zhuan,” the lady in green says something similar in order to avoid revealing her ghostly nature to the human Zhao Yuan. Here, it says, “Yuan asked her about her surname and her home, but the girl said, ‘It should be enough for you to obtain a beautiful wife. Why force me to let you know?’ But when he kept on asking her about it, she said, ‘Since I always wear green clothes, simply calling me ‘Lady in Green’ should be sufficient.’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:333. 41. In a temple, a so-called nangmu (C. langwu) is a long, narrow corridor that is roofed and half-enclosed, i.e., the outer half is closed while the inner half is usually open. The SDCP at this point says, “Below [K. ha] the prayer hall there were the corridors.” The characters chŏn (in front of), chi (merely), and yu (exist) are all missing. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 113. 42. The character to (C. tiao), which is here translated as “to coax,” in the sense

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of “to stir up,” or “to excite” in a sexual way, can also mean “to carry a load on one’s shoulders.” The sentence could thus also be translated as “Scholar Yang carried the girl on his shoulders and entered [the room].” 43. This passage echoes the first meeting of the ghostly lady and Scholar Qiao from “Mudandeng ji.” When Scholar Qiao, mesmerized by the lady’s beauty, invites her to his house, the passage goes on to say that the “girl has no intention of making it difficult [for him],” meaning that she feels at ease with regard to his sexual advances. Later they “lower the curtain and share the pillow in ultimate joy and love.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:169. Yet the passage could also be based on a similar one in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji.” Here, Scholar Teng Mu and the ghost-wife Wei Fanghua likewise physically express their feelings to one another, an exchange also said to be “the same as in the world of the living” (or “among humans”). The relevant passage reads, “The beauty said, ‘My home is secluded and ruinous; it is not a place for you to stay.’ Eventually, she took him by the hand and entered [the building], and so they slept without taking their clothes off underneath the balcony. The event of their intimate meeting was the same as in the world of the living. At dawn, they wiped away their tears and parted.” Ch’oe, 1:156–157. At this point, the reference to “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” might be slightly misplaced, for in the case of the Chinese tale, Wei Fenghua has already informed Scholar Teng Mu of the fact that she is not a human being but the ghost of a dead woman. Yet Teng Mu still chooses to sleep with her. Thus, in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji,” the fact that their intimate meeting was “the same as in the world of the living” is in fact extraordinary, because both figures are aware that theirs is not the amorous meeting of two living human beings. In the case of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” Scholar Yang is not yet, at this point in the narrative, aware of the woman’s true nature. Hence, while the sentence fits well in the Chinese model, it appears a bit out of place in the Korean text. 44. In the tale “Mudandeng ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, a very similar sentence is uttered by the ghostly lady with regard to her relationship with a human: “Now there is this meeting underneath the moon, and it seems as if this is not a coincidence.” Ch’oe, 1:169. 45. This sentence might be read as an extension of a sentence in “Xici zhuan” (Commentary on the appended phrases; also known as “Dazhuan,” “Great Commentary”) from Yijing. Here it reads, “The Master said: You [numinous help] means ‘help.’ One whom heaven helps is someone who is in accord with it.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 67. Read against this backdrop, an interesting fusion of Confucianism and Buddhism might be reflected in this sentence. 46. The term ch’anja (C. canzhe), “lovely one,” appears in the third stanza of the Shijing poem “Choumou”: Fast bundled is the wild-thorn; the Three Stars are at the door. It is to-night or which night that I see that lovely one? Oh, masters, my masters, what will that lovely one be like?” (Waley, Book of Songs, 87)



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47. This can also be read against the backdrop of Shijing, for in the third stanza of the ode “Nanshan” it reads, “When one takes a wife, how is it done? / The man must talk with her father and mother.” Waley, 67. This passage from Shijing is also mentioned in Mengzi 5A:2: “But why did Emperor Yao betroth his daughters without informing Shun’s parents? Mengzi said, ‘The Emperor also knew that if he informed them Shun could not wed them.’ ” Van Norden, Mengzi, 118. The term myŏnggyo (C. mingjiao), “bright teachings,” would thus be understood as a reference to Confucianism. 48. This is a slightly abbreviated quotation from the second stanza of the Shi­ jing’s poem “Luming”: “I have good wine; / Let my lucky guests now feast and play.” Waley, Book of Songs, 192. 49. As will become clear in the further course of the narrative, her eerie home— here euphemistically referred to as a “thatched hut”—is actually quite far away, at least by human standards. The fact that the maid can fetch the mentioned objects so quickly underlines her otherworldly nature. 50. A similar passage can be found in “Lüyiren zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua. Although the male protagonist Zhao Yuan repeatedly questions the lady in green about her place of dwelling, she refuses to tell him where she lives: “Until the very end she did not tell him where her place of dwelling was located at. Yuan thought she had to be a concubine of some distinguished family who had left [her house] at night to run away. Perhaps she feared that the deed would be disclosed, and for that reason she would not agree to tell him [her name]. Thus, he trusted her and did not doubt her any further.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:333. 51. “Man’ganghong” (C. “Manjianghong”), a tune popular in China from the Yuan dynasty onward. 52. The overall scene is based on the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji.” A number of sentences are even quoted directly. The model scene from the Chinese collection reads, Qiaoqiao! You may go to the thatched hut. Fetch mats, cushions, wine, and fruit and then come back here! Since tonight the moonlight is as [beautiful as] this, and since you, Sir, have come [to me], we may not waste this night. . . .” Qiaoqiao responded to the order and left. Shortly thereafter she returned carrying a purple woolen blanket. [She spread it out and] placed on it a bottle of white jade engraved with flower patterns as well as cups made of dark-green glass. The scents arising from the wines and liquors were like nothing that existed in the human world. Together with the scholar she laughed, joked, and recited. . . . Again she ordered [her maidservant] Qiaoqiao to sing to accompany their drinking. Qiaoqiao asked to sing “Wang haichao” [Watching the tide] by Liu Qiqing [the Northern Song poet Liu Yong (987–1053)], but the beauty said, “When facing a new person it is inappropriate to sing an ancient tune.” Thus, right then and there she herself wrote the lyric “Mulanhua man” [Magnolia, slow] and ordered Qiaoqiao to sing it.” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:155)

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53. This line could be read as another allusion to “Jiaren,” for the final couplet of Du Fu’s poem reads, “The weather is cold, her azure sleeves are thin, / at twilight she rests by tall bamboo.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 2:115. 54. This couplet could also be understood as having been inspired by the opening lines of the poem “Jueju” (Poem in the jueju form) by Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322): “In the cold of spring I am grief-stricken, shut the heavy doors; / the gold-duck incense burner still has leftover warmth.” It might also, however, have been inspired by the poem “Chunyuan” (Resentment in spring) by the Tang poet Dai Shulun (732–789): “The [golden] duck-shaped incense burner’s fragrances spread, my soul seems to be cut into pieces; / the pear flowers cover stern doors in the spring rain.” This poem by Dai Shulun is actually referenced by Qu You in the epilogue poems of Jiandeng xinhua. Nam, “Writing as Response and as Translation,” 57. Another poem that this couplet might have been inspired by is “Zhai’erling, shiti” by the Yuan poet Zhang Kejiu (1280– 1338), which says in part, “Walking over deep-green moss, a chill passes through my silken socks; / close the vermillion doors as incense cools down in a golden duck.” 55. CMPP here features man, “shine,” while the SDCP, Jōō, and Meiji editions have man, “dusk.” Considering the beginning of the following line, “dusk” seems to be correct. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 14, 114, 149, 267. 56. This couplet is filled with sexual innuendoes, such as the flute she wants to blow and the pin she imagines falling out of her hair if only she meets the right partner to keep her company behind the brocade curtain. 57. The quick passing of a human lifetime being compared to the bouncing of a ball (K. tohwan, C. tiaowan) can also, e.g., be found in the ninth poem of Han Yu’s (786–824) Qiuhuai shi (Autumn thoughts). The term appears in other premodern Korean poetic works as well, for example in two poems by Yi Saek, “Pyŏnghak ŭm” (Recitations of an ailing crane) and “Sinhŭng” (Rising at dawn). “Sinhŭng” says, “Flowing time [K. yugwang] is like a bouncing ball.” MŬG 15:4a. 58. A similar line appears in the poem “Wen Letian shou Jiangzhou Sima” (Upon hearing of Letian’s exile and relegation to the post of district officer at Jiujiang) by Yuan Zhen (779–831). The dark, hollow atmosphere would be underlined by the possible allusion to Yuan Zhen’s poem. This line could also, however, be a reference to a similar one appearing in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:147. The lamp mentioned here may be a “lacquered lamp” (K. ch‘iltŭng, C. qideng), which is a grave lamp. For this, see n. 90 of the present tale. In the SDCP, the final two characters of this line are reversed. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 111. 59. The Bielu (Separate records) by Liu Xiang (79–8 BCE) contains the following anecdote about Zou Yan (ca. 350–270 BCE), who is considered the founder of the school of yin and yang (C. yinyang jia): “When Zou Yan was in Yan, there was a valley area that was beautiful but cold. It would not grow the five grains. Master Zou lived there. When he blew the pitch pipes, warmth came and the millet grew. Now it is called Millet Valley.” Knechtges and Xiao, Wen Xuan, 476. The story of how Zou Yan played his pipes to make the warmth return is also referenced in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji.” Ch’oe, 1:155.



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60. The term kasŏng (C. jiacheng), “beautiful castle,” is a euphemism for a person’s own grave. The term might have derived from a legend about the Duke of Teng (Teng gong, d. 172 BCE) from Xijing zaji. According to this legend, the Duke of Teng once rode out on his horse in search of a proper future burial ground. When he passed Dongdu Gate, his horse suddenly halted, neighing and stomping the ground beneath its hooves. So the Duke of Teng made his men dig a deep hole in the ground at this very spot. After awhile they discovered a stone coffin inscribed with the following words: “The beautiful castle is gloomy, first seeing the bright sun again in three thousand years. Ah, Duke of Teng, live in this house!” The Duke of Teng is said to have selected this place for his own grave. Yet “beautiful castle,” as an expression for someone’s grave, is also explained in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae. See n. 90 of the present tale. 61. “Kŭmnu kok” (C. “Jinlü qu”) is a song associated with happy meetings. Kang-I Sun Chang and Haun Saussy, Women Writers of Traditional China, 385. 62. CMPP here says hoe (C. hui) while the SDCP says han (C. hen), both with the meaning “regret.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 14, 115. 63. Kogwan (C. guguan), “guest house,” a place where one stays until one is able to move on, can here be understood as an allusion to her makeshift grave. 64. Pengdao refers to one of the three mystical paradise islands of the immortals in the Eastern Sea; the islands are synonymous with purest, otherworldly bliss. Bauer, China und die Hoffnung auf Glück, 144–147. 65. Xiaoxiang refers to the river Xiang. The sage-king Shun is said to have died at this place, far from his home, while on a tour of inspection. His two wives, who went in search of him, drowned themselves in the Xiang upon hearing of Shun’s death. 66. This could be read as a reference to the poem “Rufen” from Shijing: “At last I have seen my lord; he has not left me forever.” Waley, Book of Songs, 152. 67. This sentence might be understood as an allusion to the Tang tale “Renshi zhuan” (Biography of Miss Ren) by Shen Jiji (ca. 740–800), which is about a fox spirit that metamorphoses into a beautiful woman and has an intimate relationship with the male protagonist Zheng Liu. After their initial encounter, Zheng Liu learns the true nature of his beloved but wishes to meet her again anyway. In the scene when he tells her so, Miss Ren utters a sentence resembling the one in the tale at hand: “If you do not detest me, I shall be willing to serve as your handmaid the rest of my life.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 1026. In “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua the female protagonist is the ghost of a dead woman, who utters similar words: “[I], a person who has passed away, have long since become dust and earth. But if you let me serve you with towel and comb, I will not perish even in death.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:156. The annotations for this passage read, “Kŏnjŭl [C. jinzhi], ‘towel and comb,’ are tools for combing one’s hair and washing one’s face. They are of use to maids and concubines. . . . In the ‘Cheng [gong]’ [chapter] of Zuo[zhuan], Zhi Ying [of Jin] said, ‘I will not perish even in death.’ ” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 625. The entry about the captured Jin commander Zhi Ying from Zuozhuan says, “If by my lord’s blessing this

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captive subject’s bones are returned to Jin, and if our unworthy ruler then put me to death, I will not perish even in death.” Durant and Li, Zuo Tradition, 741. 68. While the CMPP here says myŏng (C. ming), “darkness,” the SDCP has myŏng (C. ming), “brightness.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 15, 115. 69. This sentence is missing in the SDCP. Ch’oe, 115. 70. In the SDCP, the character ka (C. ke), “possible” or “appropriate,” is missing. 71. Unlike the human inhabitants of the village, the animals appear to sense the presence of an otherworldly being. 72. The term kou (C. guyou) has the double meaning of “old friend” and “deceased friend.” On the one hand, Scholar Yang’s words imply that he is apparently unaware of the fact that the people he encounters on the road are unable to see the girl (that is, depending on whether he speaks only for himself or for the two of them). On the other hand, they seem to reflect Scholar Yang’s doubts about her nature as a human being. The same ambiguity might be read into the term ch’onhŏ (C. cunxu), meaning “village”; it contains the character hŏ (C. xu), which can mean “wasteland,” and could thus allude to the wilderness where the female figure “lives.” 73. This sentence can be understood as a quotation from the ode “Ye you mancao” from Shijing. The translation by Legge reads, On the moor is the creeping grass, heavily covered with dew. There was a beautiful man, lovely, with clear eyes and fine forehead! We met together accidentally, and he and I were happy together. (Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:147) The core of the Shijing poem echoes in the present passage. 74. The text says sangbu (C. shuangfu), which usually means “widow.” The term can also, however, refer to a married woman living by herself. In this sense it is used, for instance, in the poem “Meng huanxian” (Dreaming of returning home) by Bao Zhao (414–466). The female figure in our tale, however, is likely not previously married but simply a solitary woman. 75. A quotation of the first lines of the ode “Xinglu” from Shijing. In the CMPP and SDCP editions, the Chinese original is quoted literally. In the Jōō and Meiji editions, haengno, “walking on dew,” was exchanged for the identically sounding (Korean and Chinese) but incorrect haengno, “walking on the road.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 15, 116, 150, 269. It is thus not a play on words but simply a printing mistake. 76. Quotation of the first two lines of the Shijing poem “Youhu.” Waley, Book of Songs, 46. 77. A quotation of the final two lines of the third stanza of the Shijing poem “Zaiqu.” Waley, 67. Hence, the poem that Scholar Yang recites at this point in the narrative consists of quotations of two different poems from Shijing. The commentary in Shi jizhuan on the poem “Youhu” is as follows: “The country is in chaos and the people have dispersed, one has lost [either] a wife or a husband. A widow sees a widower and wants to marry him.” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 40.The second poem quoted



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in Scholar Yang’s verse, the “Zaiqu,” is commented upon by Zhu Xi as follows: “The people of Qi chided Wen Jiang for taking this chariot and coming to meet Duke Xiang.” Zhu Xi, 62. Wen Jiang was the wife of Duke Huan of Lu and the daughter of the Marquis of Qi. She is said to have had an incestuous relationship with her elder brother, Duke Xiang of Qi, prior to her marriage. Once, Duke Huan allowed his wife to accompany him on a trip to Qi, where she resumed the liaison with her brother. After Duke Huan found out about the liaison, the brother arranged a feast in which Duke Huan was murdered by a half-brother, who was later executed to satisfy the people’s demand for punishment for the Duke Huan’s murder. After her husband’s death, Wen Jiang flagrantly continued to return to Qi to meet with her brother. Raphals, Sharing the Light, 68. Thus, while the female figure’s poem alludes to a man taking a woman, both Shijing poems from which Scholar Yang quotes deal with women luring and seducing men. 78. The place-name Kaenyŏng tong, Kaenyŏng Valley, appears neither in Sejong sillok chiriji nor in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam’s entry on “Namwŏn tohobu” merely features a place called Kŏnyŏng hyŏn, or Kŏnyŏng County. It might be possible that Kaenyŏng was an alternative (yet not transmitted) name for Kŏnyŏng and that the valley was located there. The Meiji edition features the following annotation to Kaenyŏng tong: “Kaenyŏng Valley is the name of a small piece of land in Namwŏn.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 269. 79. A similar expression appears in the third poem of the series Zani shishou (Diverse imitations, ten verses) by the Jin-dynasty poet Zhao Bingwen (1159–1232). Here, it reads, “Weeds and brambles cover everything as far as the eye can see; / humans are little, tigers and wolves are many.” The expression thus refers to the wilderness. “Weeds and brambles” is a translation of penghao (K. pongho). HusstadNedberg notes that since the character peng is the same as that in Pengdao, the fabled island and abode of immortals, penghao might be an allusion to the otherworldly realm where her place of dwelling is located. Husstad-Nedberg, “An Annotated Translation,” 64. 80. The source says qianquan yi (K. kyŏn’gwŏn ŭi), which means the intention to embrace in deep affection. The term appears, for example, in a poem in the Tang tale “Yingying zhuan” (Biography of Yingying) by Yuan Zhen (779–831). In the translation by J. R. Hightower the relevant line reads, “It is hard to give up the wish to embrace.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 1055. 81. CMPP has hwan’ga, “go back home,” while the SDCP has hwan’gŏ, “go back.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 16, 116. 82. The source here says saengŏp (C. shengye), which could be read as “duties,” “business,” or “property.” In a Buddhist sense, it could also mean “particularizing karma,” i.e., the karma that determines precise conditions in one’s rebirth. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 83. In “Mudandeng ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, the scholar also calls his house a biju (K. p’yegŏ), a “lowly dwelling,” when he invites the ghostly lady to follow him there.

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84. The term sugyŏn (C. suyuan) means karmic connections inherited from previous lifetimes. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 85. I have chosen to render ssi (C. shi), the suffix attached to the names of these characters (as in Chŏng-ssi, etc.), as “Miss,” in the style of translations of characters’ names from certain Tang-dynasty chuanqi works such as Renshi huan, which has been translated as Miss Ren, or the Fox Lady (Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Lit­ erature, 1024). The same suffix also appears in the name of the female protagonist of the second tale, “Biography of Scholar Yi.” 86. These four—all of them ghosts of murdered women who were buried in the wild somewhere close to the makeshift grave of the female protagonist—may well have been inspired by the four ghostly sisters who enter into an intimate relationship with Xie Lian, the protagonist of “Jiangmiao nishen ji” from Jiandeng yuhua. In the Chinese tale, the four ghosts claim to be the daughters of the famous poet Madame Huirui (C. Huarui furen, ca. 940–976), the concubine of Meng Chang (919–965), emperor of the Later Shu (943–963) during the Five Dynasties period. After Xie Lian stumbles on them in a garden, they visit him one after the other night by night, creating poetic works with an erotic undertone that function as a sort of foreplay for the ensuing sexual intercourse. The poems that follow in the tale at hand likewise show such erotic undercurrents. 87. Yunhuan (K. unhwan) as an expression for the soft, coiled hairdo of a beautiful woman appears, for example, in the poem “Yueye” (Moonlit night) by Du Fu: “Fragrant fog, her coils of hair damp, clear glow, her jade-white arms are cold.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 1:247. 88. Chunchou (K. ch’unsu), the anxious feelings of longing arising in spring. 89. The “shared-wing birds” (C. biyiniao, K. piikcho) are legendary birds that have only a single eye and a single wing. Only by forming a pair and sharing their wings are they able to fly. This legendary bird appears, for instance, at the end of “Changhen ge” (Song of everlasting regret) by Bai Juyi (772–846): “I swear that we will ever fly like the one-winged birds.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Litera­ ture, 890. 90. A “lacquered lamp” is a grave lamp. A similar line appears in the poem “Mulanhua man” in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji”: “Facing the lacquered lamp without a flame, a night is like a year.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:156. The appended annotation on this line in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae refers to the tale of Shen Bin, who desired to be buried beneath a tree in his garden. He passed away, and when a hole was dug underneath the tree, an old grave was discovered there. In the grave was a lacquered lamp and a tablet onto which the following was written: “The beautiful castle has already been opened today. . . . The lacquered lamp has not yet gone out. It waits for Shen Bin to come.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 626. This grave lamp is referred to in quite a number of premodern Korean poems, one example being “Kim Chinan nae man” (Letter of condolence for the wife of Kim Chinan) by Pak Sedang, in which the second line reads, “The lacquered lamp for all times seals the gates of the grave.” SGC 4:6b. 91. The expression ya yŏha (C. ye ruhe), “how is the night,” may be understood



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as a quotation from “Ting liao” of Shijing. In the translation by Legge, the third stanza of this ode reads, How goes the night? It is getting towards morning. The torch is smoking in the court-yard. My princely men are arriving; I see their banners. (Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:294) Waley translates the stanza as What of the night? The night nears dawn. The torches in the courtyard gleam. My lord has come; I can see his banners. (Waley, Book of Songs, 191) The futile waiting (for a lord or, in the case of the poem at hand, a lover) and the anxiety that can be sensed in the Shijing ode likewise reverberate in this stanza sung by the figure of Miss Chŏng. 92. A similar line appears in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Weitang qiyu ji”: “The Milky Way is flowing toward the west, the moon is half aslant.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:185. Thus, the night is getting toward morning, which is in line with the aforementioned final stanza of the Shijing poem “Ting liao.” 93. The term yugung (C. yougong), “dark palace,” appears in “Hou Chibi fu” (Latter Red Cliff rhapsody) by the master poet Su Shi (Su Dongpo, 1037–1101) as the water palace of Feng Yi, i.e., Hebo, the Earl of the Yellow River. Yet the term can also refer to a person’s grave. In this sense it appears in the poem “Guo shihuang mu” (Passing the tomb of the [Qin] Shi Huang) by Wang Wei (699–759). Yugung at this point can be understood as a reference to Miss Chŏng’s own grave. 94. The expression biao mei (K. p’yo mae) is a reference to the poem “Biao you mei” from Shijing. The poem alludes to an unmarried woman missing the right time for marriage. The last stanza reads, “Plop fall the plums; in shallow baskets we lay them. /Any gentleman who would court me had better speak while there is time.” Waley, Book of Songs, 30. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions say p’yo (C. biao), “to strike” or “to fall”; the Meiji edition has p’yo (C. biao), “to express.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 17, 117, 152, 271. 95. CMPP here says kyŏng (C. jing), “finally,” while the SDCP features the ­similar-looking character ŭi (C. yi), “meaning.” Ch’oe, 17, 117. 96. Ch’unp’ung (C. chunfeng), “springtime breezes,” could mean ch’unp’ung myŏn (C. chunfeng mian), “face of springtime breezes,” which alludes to the beautiful appearance of a woman. In this sense the term appears in “Yonghuai guji” (Reciting and reminiscing on ancient sites) by Du Fu. It can also, however, refer to a sexual relationship between a man and a woman.

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97. In the SDCP, the characters san (mountain) and chŏng (garden) are reversed. Ch’oe, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 117. 98. A similar line reading “When [I hear] mountain rains pelt down on a pear tree’s blossoms, I close the door panels even during the day” appears in a poem recited by Scholar Zhao in the tale “Aiqing zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:238. 99. Ch’unsim (C. cunxin), “springtime heart,” here means amorous feelings between two lovers. 100. Lanqiao (K. Namgyo), “Blue Bridge,” derives from a Tang tale by Pei Xing (fl. 860) that is transmitted, for example, in Pei Xing’s collection Chuanqi as well as Taiping guangji (Extensive records of the Taiping era). The bridge serves as a symbol of a lovers’ trysting place. In the tale, the human, Pei Hang, meets the love of his life, Yun Ying, there. Their eventual encounter is predicted by a Lady Yun Qiao. At this point, Miss Chŏng asks when she, now the spirit of a dead woman, will meet and fall in love with a human. 101. Besides alluding to the present tale’s opening, in which the female protagonist prays for a love relationship at Manbok Temple, this line can also be understood as a reference to the play Jinqian ji (The golden coins) by Qiao Jifu (1280–1345, courtesy name Mengfu). In the first act the female protagonist secretly tosses fifty golden coins beneath her carriage, which are then picked up by the male protagonist, Han Feiqing, and serve as a token of love and a subsequent marriage, which in the end is arranged by the poet Li Bai. For a complete translation of the play, see Johnson, “The Golden Coins.” 102. The term yugok (C. yougu), “dark valley,” appears, e.g., in the ode “Famu” from Shijing: “Ying, ying cry the birds, leave the dark valley, mount to the high tree. / ‘Ying’ they cry, each searching its mate’s voice. . . . / How much the more must man need search out friends and kin.” Waley, Book of Songs, 204. 103. The expression “bronze mirror united” (K. tonggyŏng hap, C. tongjing he) alludes to a destined couple being reunited after a temporary separation. The proverb derives from a tale about the scholar Xu Deyan of the Chen dynasty (557–589) and his beloved Princess Lechang. Before being separated in the wake of the dynasty’s fall, the two lovers split a mirror, each one keeping a half. After the end of the war, Xu Deyan and Princess Lechang are reunited by means of the two pieces of the mirror. 104. The second part of this line is taken from “Juan’er” of Shijing, an ode that has been understood as alluding to the longing for a partner: “I will now pour a cup from that gilded vase, hoping I may not have to think of him long.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:8. This drinking vessel was made from wood carved so as to represent clouds and variously gilded and ornamented. Legge, 4:8. The quotation thus also hints at a woman longing for a man. 105. A similar line can be found in the poem “Jin ting” (Going ahead in my skiff) by Du Fu: “Butterflies flying together, always they follow each other, lotuses sharing a single stalk, by nature form pairs.” Owen. The Poetry of Du Fu, 10:29. Another translation is included in Barnstone and Ping, Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry, 147. 106. Yŏlliji (C. lianlizhi), “trees with branches that twine together,” often appear



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as a symbol of an eternal, inseparable union of lovers. Trees feature in the poem “Changhen ge,” in the couplet following the one about the aforementioned “sharedwing birds.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 890. In “Lian­fang­lou ji” from Jiandeng xinhua we find the line “At the top of the tree with ­branches that twine together, flowers share a single stem.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:111. These trees also appear prominently in the sixth tale of Jiandeng yuhua, “Lianlishu ji,” which even features them in its title. In the tale, the two lovers, Cui and Penglai, are separated in the wake of the civil wars at the end of the Yuan dynasty. Cui is killed by rebels while Penglai is forced to become the wife of one of the bandits. Eventually Penglai commits suicide, whereupon the enraged rebel leader buries her twenty paces away from her husband so as to prevent them from reuniting in death. After peace is restored, the new provincial governor hears about their story and decides to bury the couple in accordance with the rites, next to one another. Here, it says, “When [the officials] arrived, [they saw that] two trees had grown on each grave, facing one another. Their branches were entwined and their stalks embraced; they were intertwined so firmly that it would have been impossible to separate them.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:155. 107. This line was taken from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Qiuxiangting ji.” Ch’oe, 1:346. 108. As could already be sensed in the previous poem by Miss Chŏng, Miss O, too, admires, perhaps even envies, the female protagonist for having had the opportunity to enter into an amorous relationship with the human, Scholar Yang. Their yearning, in turn, is chided by Miss Kim in the following poem. 109. The expression sil ki chŏl could mean “violate your chastity,” but it has here been understood as “overstep your position” or “lose propriety.” 110. CMPP here says tugyŏn (C. dujuan), while SDCP has tuu (C. duyu). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 19, 118. 111. As mentioned above, flutes can be understood as symbols of sexual intercourse. In this line, Miss Kim seems to warn her friends not to arouse sexual desire in themselves or in Scholar Yang. 112. The term fengqing (K. p’ungjŏng), literally “wind force,” can be read as “amorous feelings” or “flirtatious expressions.” It is an abbreviation of fengliuqing (K. p‘ungnyujŏng), i.e., “sexual stimuli” or “feelings of love.” Yasushi and Santangelo, Shan’ge, 558. Miss Kim here refers to the sexual innuendoes in the previous two poems. 113. The text says wucheng (K. ojŏng), which is the name of an exquisite Chinese alcoholic beverage. This drink is also mentioned, for instance, in the poem “Chŏn’ga hŭiu” by Yi Ik: “As congratulatory wine for the one thousand houses one uses wucheng.” 114. Jin poluo (K. kŭm p’ara) are ancient golden wine bowls. These bowls are, for instance, mentioned in the poem “Dui jiu” (Take wine) by Li Bai. For a translation, see Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 729. Li Bai’s poem is referenced again a bit later in the poem by Scholar Yang (see n. 149 of the present tale). The SDCP here features the character p’il (C. pi) instead of p’a. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 19, 118. 115. This line is a direct quotation from the poem “Yueye yu ke yin xinghua

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xia” (Moonlit night, drinking wine with guests underneath the apricot blossoms) by Su Shi. The poem depicts a scene very similar to the one described in this stanza by Miss Kim. Su Shi’s poem reads, The wine of the mountain town is weak, not worth drinking— So I urge you to drink the moon in the goblet. The sound of the dongxiao flute broke off in the moon’s brightness. I just regret that the moon sinks and the wine goblets are empty. Tomorrow morning the spring wind whirling across the ground will be hateful— one will see only ragtag pink perched on green leaves. (Fuller, Road to East Slope, 236) 116. The character rae (C. lai), “come,” is missing in the SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 118. 117. In the SDCP, the characters ka, “possible,” and kaeng (C. geng), “again,” are reversed. Ch’oe, 118. 118. While the CMPP says ya (C. re), “vex,” the SDCP says hap (C. he), “combine.” Ch’oe, 118. I have followed the SDCP at this point. 119. I understand these lines as referring to the female protagonist. They could, however, also refer to Miss Kim herself: “But today I have met other people, and for once I smiled.” 120. This line refers to the events described in the “Gaotang fu” (Gaotang rhapsody) attributed to Song Yu (290–223 BCE), in which King Xiang (r. 298–263 BCE) of Chu has an amorous meeting with the goddess of Mount Wu (commonly translated as “Witches Mountain”) in Gaotang. The tale about this legendary meeting between King Xiang and the goddess, i.e., between a human and a ghost, is frequently referred to in Kŭmo sinhwa. 121. The CMPP here says byŏng (C. bing), while the SDCP says kŭn (C. gen), “root.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 118. 122. These sobok (C. sufu), “plain white clothes,” might be understood as clothes worn during mourning rituals or even as Lady Yu’s own burial garments. 123. The expression xianghun yugu (K. hyanghon okkol), “fragrant soul and jade bones,” appears in the tale “Lianfanglou ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, where it refers to the peerless beauty Xi Shi. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:107. Here, it most likely refers to the beautiful female protagonist, or perhaps Lady Yu herself. Xiang­ hun yugu also appears in other poems by Kim Sisŭp, for instance in “Hwa maehwa” (On a painting of plum blossoms). MWTC 4:30a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:337. 124. “Deep Springs” (C. Chongquan, K. Chungch’ŏn) is an alternative term for the abode of the dead, which is often referred to as the “Nine Springs” (C. Jiuquan, K. Kuch’ŏn). This entire line is based on a model line from the poem “Sutai zhu­zhi qu,” which features in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji”: “Fragrant soul and jade bones, to which place have they returned?” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:107.



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125. Heng’e, also known as Chang’e, is a mythological figure commonly called the Goddess of the Moon. In Huainanzi (Masters of Huainan; 2nd c. BCE, a Chinese philosophical classic) it says that Heng’e stole the elixir of immortality from the Queen Mother of the West (Xi wangmu) and fled to the moon. Major, Heaven and Earth, 152. 126. According to legend there is a great cassia tree on the moon that is a source of longevity and that no amount of chopping can fell. 127. Similar lines appear in the poem “Dai bei baitouweng” (Lament for a white-haired old man) by Liu Xiyi (651– ca. 678): To the east of Luoyang castle are blossoms of peach and plum, they fly here and they fly there, but which house will they fall down upon? The girls of Luoyang like their countenance, they sit and look at the falling blossoms, and long are their sighs. 128. The term ch’ŏngsŭng (C. qingying) means “blue bottle fly” or “blow fly.” This animal usually appears as a metaphor for something dirty defiling something exceptionally clean. For instance, a blow fly’s excrement defiling precious jade or cleanest silk was often used as a metaphor for someone slandering and thus harming, i.e., “defiling,” a nobleman (mostly in terms of love relationships). This usage derives from the Shijing’s eponymous poem “Jingying,” which reads as follows: Buzz, buzz the bluebottles that have settled on the hedge. Oh, my blessed lord, do not believe the slanders that are said. Buzz, buzz the bluebottles that have settled on the thorns. Slanderers are very wicked; they disturb the whole land. Buzz, buzz the bluebottles that have settled on the hazel-bush. Slanderers are very wicked; they have joined us two men.” (Waley, Book of Songs, 322) 129. Kun here means Mount Kunlun, which is commonly considered the place where the Queen Mother of the West dwells. Mount Kunlun is said to produce very fine jade. In the “Shidi” chapter of the Erya, the earliest Chinese glossary, it says, “A fine place in the northwest is the range of Mount Kunlun, in which there is qiulin [fine jade of a dark color] and langgan [pearl-shaped jade].” The “Quan yan” chapter of Huainanzi contains, for example, the line “Plug one’s ears with jade from Mount Kun[lun], / and dust and filth cannot dirty them.” Warner, A Wild Deer, 168. This couplet by Miss Yu might mean that a small fault or misbehavior, which she perhaps committed when she was still alive, ought not to be considered too grave a mistake. 130. A similar line can be found in a poem in the Jiandeng xinhua tale, “Weitang qiyu ji,” where it says, “Needle and thread languish between the fingers, the time of noon drips away tardily.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:184. 131. Here again we find the character peng, which was rendered as “weeds”

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before (see n. 79 of the present tale). It is here translated as “artemisia” because it is understood as a reference to the second stanza of the poem “Bo xi” from Shijing: Since my husband went to the east, my head has been like the flying (pappus of the) Artemisia [peng]. It is not that I could not anoint and wash it, but for whom should I adorn myself? Legge’s footnote reads, “[Peng]—It is here called ‘the flying fung,’ with reference to its bristly or feathery pappus, through which its seeds are dispersed by the wind. Such had the lady’s hair become.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:105. 132. In her plain white burial clothes, wearing little make-up, and with her hair wild like “the flying fung,” Miss Yu seems to be embarrassed in front of the gorgeously dressed female protagonist. 133. The CMPP has nangnang (C. niangniang), “young lady,” while the SDCP has hongnang (C. hongniang), “red lady.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 119. The final character of the previous line is hong, “red,” which might have led to this mistake. Hongniang, however, is also a character in Xixiang ji. 134. A “white-faced youth” (K. paengmyŏn rang, C. baimian lang) refers to a pale young scholar who spends his days inside the study reading books. It is an alternate term for paengmyŏn sŏsaeng, a “white-faced scholar.” 135. The source here says qikuo (K. kyŏlhwal), a term that appears in the fourth stanza of the Shijing poem “Jigu.” In Arthur Waley’s translation the term is rendered as “for good or ill”: “For good or ill, in death as in life; / this is the oath I swear with you. / I take your hand as token that I will grow old along with you.” Waley, Book of Songs, 113. In Shi jizhuan, the term is explained by Zhu Xi as follows: “[The term] qikuo has the meaning of being separated from one another for a long time. . . . They promised that in death and in life, or when they were separated from one another for a long time, they would not forget each other, that they would again hold each other’s hands, and that they would grow old together.” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 19. 136. According to legend, Yue Lao, or Yuexia laoren, the “Old Man in the Moon,” binds the feet of fated lovers with red threads to indicate and fix lasting relationships. 137. This is a reference to an exemplary love relationship mentioned in the Hou Hanshou (Latter Han chronicles), a tale centering on Liang Hong and his wife, Meng Guang. The two were famous for their virtuous natures and outstanding morality. They are the synonym for an ideal couple who treat one another with utmost respect. For the entire tale, see Lily Lee and A. D. Stefanowska, Biographical Diction­ ary of Chinese Women, 182–183. 138. The second part of this line could be understood as a reference to the poem “Tu yuan” from Shijing, the second stanza of which says in part, “In my later days I have met these hundred griefs. / Would that I might sleep and wake no more!” Waley, Book of Songs, 307. 139. The female protagonist here recites from the perspective of the goddess



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of Mount Wu, whom King Xiang of Chu is said to have encountered in a dream in the vicinity of Wu Gorge. 140. The precious “mottled bamboo” (C. banzhu, K. panjuk) that grew by the Xiang River is said to have been mottled by the tears of the two daughters of Emperor Yao, who mourned the death of their husband, Emperor Shun. 141. This couplet can be read as a counterpart of the verse sung by Scholar Yang at the very beginning of the present tale, which reads, “A kingfisher flies alone, unable to make a pair; / a mandarin duck has lost its partner, bathes in a clear river.” 142. The “thin silken fan” (C. wanshan, K. hwansŏn), an object designed for the hot days of summer, is discarded with the coming of autumn. (The term used in the source is ch’ŏngch’u [C. qingqiu], which literally means “pure autumn” but which is an alternate expression for the eighth month of the lunar calendar.) Thus, it is a metaphor for the satisfaction of being in favor in season, and the fear of abandonment out of season. The female protagonist here compares herself to that fan made of finest silk, which resents the cold of autumn for making it useless. This can be understood as a plea directed at Scholar Yang not to abandon or forget her after their inevitable parting. The proverb derives from a poem entitled “Yuanshi” (Complaint), which is attributed to Ban Jieyu, a concubine of Liu Ao (Emperor Cheng of the Han dynasty, r. 32–37 BCE). Slandered by her rivals and eventually discarded by the ruler, she gloomily took up a life of seclusion. Ban Jieyu later became a stock figure for poets writing abandonment complaints. “Yuanshi” reads as follows: A newly torn piece of plain Qi silk, fresh and pure as frost and snow, cut to make a “joy-of-union” fan, round, as the bright moon is round. In and out of my lord’s sleeve I go, swaying and turning, I rouse a light wind. But always I fear the arrival of autumn, when the cool breeze steals away summer’s heat, and I am abandoned in a bamboo case, affection broken off midway.” (Samei, Gendered Persona and Poetic Voice, 54) The term “thin silken fan” reappears in Scholar Yang’s funeral oration at the end of the present tale. 143. This couplet is a slightly altered quotation of two lines from the last stanza of the Shijing poem “Choumou.” Kim Sisŭp here merely exchanged the term ch’anja, which he already used at an earlier point in the narrative (see n. 46 of the present tale), with the term sŏnju (C. xianshu), “immortal beauty.” Cf. Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:179. 144. The source here says fengsao (K. p’ungso), which literally means “wind sorrow” but which in fact refers to the main sections of the Shijing and the Chuci, i.e., the “Guofeng” (Airs of the states) from Shijing and the “Lisao” from Chuci. It thus means the style of ancient poetry. 145. Yi’an here refers to Li Qingzhao (1084–ca.1151), whose style name was

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Yi’an jushi. Li Qingzhao is considered one of the most influential female poets in Chinese literary history. Kang-I Sun Chang and Haun Saussy, Women Writers of Traditional China, 89. 146. Hanhu (K. hamho) usually means “ambiguous” or “unintelligible,” but here it appears to be used in the sense of “struck speechless.” 147. Refers to the Chinese legend of Niulang (the Herdsman) and Zhinü (the Weaver Maid), i.e., the stars Altair and Vega. When the two got married, the Weaver Maid was so overjoyed that she neglected her duties of weaving the celestial cloth with its pattern of clouds. Her father, the Emperor of Heaven, grew angry and concluded that the husband was the cause. Thus, he separated the couple and ordered Zhinü’s husband to move to the other side of the Milky Way. Afterward the two were only allowed to meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. When the time comes, myriads of magpies flock together and form a bridge over the flood of stars to assist the two lovers in making their way to each other. 148. Tianjin can mean the Milky Way. It appears, for instance, in “Lisao” from Chuci, which Kim Sisŭp is said to have liked so much: “I set off at morning from the Ford of Heaven.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 77. 149. Taemo yŏn (C. daimao yan), a banquet at a place adorned with objects made from the precious shells of sea turtles. This line can be understood as a reference to the aforementioned poem “Dui jiu” by Li Bai (see n. 114 of the present tale), in which the relevant line reads, “At the feast on tortoise-shell mats she gets drunk in your arms.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 729. 150. These cups are mentioned in the poem “Zhao hun” (Summons of the soul) from Chuci: “Jade-like wine, honey-flavored, fills the winged cups.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 228. 151. Similar lines appear in “Cuicui zhuan” and “Lianfanglou ji” from Jian­ deng xinhua. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:254, 1:110. Yet a very similar line already appears in Xixiang ji: “This will dry out your heart entangled in clouds and enmeshed in rain.” West and Idema, Story of the Western Wing, 215. The line can be understood as a reference to the dream encounter and sexual relationship between King Xiang and the goddess of Mount Wu. Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Lit­ erature, 272–278. 152. The source here says yojang (C. yaojiang), which refers to a delicious, precious sort of wine. It is mentioned in “Zhao hun” from Chuci. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 228. 153. This line might be read as an allusion to a poem by Li Qingzhao to the tune of “Zui huayin” (Drunk in the shadow of flowers). In Li’s poem, ambergris likewise dissolves in a golden censer formed like a beast. However, the atmosphere in Li Qingzhao’s poem is gloomy and melancholic, which stands in contrast to the atmosphere conveyed in this line. 154. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions here say p’i (C. bi), “that”; the Meiji edition says p’a (C. bo), “wave.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 22, 121, 157, 277. 155. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions here say sa (C. sha), “grass”; the Meiji edition says sa (C. sha), “silk gauze.” Ch’oe, 22, 121, 157, 277.



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156. Joining to sip from the same cup is a marriage vow described in “Hun Yi” (The meaning of marriage) from Lieji (Book of rites). 157. This line refers to the tale of the Daoist immortal Cailuan and her human lover, the young scholar Wen Xiao. On the night of the mid-autumn festivities, Cailuan fell in love with the impoverished Wen Xiao. When she revealed her true identity to him, she was sentenced to a life as a mortal in the mundane world. To support their family, Cailuan took up the writing brush and sought to earn some money by selling her masterful poetic works. She is said to have returned to the immortals’ realm in the end. 158. Du Lanxiang is said to have been a female immortal during the time of the Latter Han who helped her lover Zhang Shuo to likewise become an immortal. 159. CMPP and SDCP here say ŏm (C. yan), “suddenly”; the Jōō and Meiji editions here say ŏm (C. yan), “to hide.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 22, 121, 157, 277. 160. Sese saengsaeng (C. shishi shengsheng) means “transmigration after transmigration through the realms.” Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 161. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam does not feature a temple called Poryŏn Monastery in the vicinity of Namwŏn, but in its entry on “Namwŏn tohobu” it lists a mountain named Poryŏn, which is said to have been located forty miles west of Namwŏn. Hence, it likely that Poryŏn Temple was situated on or close to this mountain. In the Meiji edition, the name Poryŏn Temple is annotated as follows: “Poryŏn Temple: An ancient temple in Namwŏn. It does not exist anymore.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 277. 162. CMPP says chi (C. chi) while SDCP says chin (C. jin), “move forward.” Ch’oe, 121. 163. CMPP here merely says Poryŏn, while SDCP says Poryŏnsa, i.e., Poryŏn Monastery. The sentence would thus read in part, “as they walked up to Poryŏn Monastery.” Ch’oe, 121. 164. In this scene, Scholar Yang is carrying an object that the girl’s parents believe should be inside their daughter’s grave. We find a very similar scene in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Jinfengchai ji,” in which the object given to the male figure by his ghost-wife is a golden phoenix hairpin. It reads, “[The girl’s father] Wu angrily rebuked Cui for his false story, but Cui took the golden phoenix hairpin out of his sleeve and showed it to Wu. Seeing it, the Commandant was terribly shocked, saying, ‘This was the token buried with my deceased daughter Xingniang. How could it turn up here?’ ” Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 469. But comparable scenes can already be found in very early tales of the marvelous, such as the story of Scholar Tan (C. Tan sheng) from Lieyi zhuan (Biographies of the arrayed marvelous; attributed to Cao Pi, 187–226). In this classic tale, the ghost-wife presents Scholar Tan with a pearl-sewn robe, which he eventually sells to King Suiyang. The king recognizes the robe as an item from his daughter’s grave and consequently believes that Scholar Tan is a grave robber. For an English translation of this tale, see Ma and Lau, Traditional Chinese Stories, 385. 165. The annotation in the Meiji edition at this point reads, “Kaenyŏngsa is an ancient temple in Namwŏn. It does not exist anymore today.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo

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sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 278. CMPP and SDCP here say tong (C. dong), “valley”; the Jōō and Meiji editions feature the similar-looking character kan (C. jian), “in between.” Ch’oe, 24, 122, 158, 278. In the Japanese versions, the character kan would suggest that the girl’s parents laid her to rest in Kaeryŏng Temple itself, yet it is mentioned several times in the tale that she was buried somewhere out in the wilderness. The girl in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Mudandeng ji” suffers a similar fate: “[Looking at the corpse] the monk said, ‘This is the daughter of the judge of Fenghua County. She was only seventeen years old when she died. Her coffin was provisionally put in the ground at this place, but her entire family moved up north, and in the end we never heard from them again. It has been twelve years now.’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:171. 166. It can be assumed that a coffin or altar is set up inside this white curtain or tent for the ceremony that is about to unfold. 167. CMPP says pul chi sin; SDCP has pul sin chi. Ch’oe, 122. It could also be “all did not believe him,” meaning that Scholar Yang told them about her arrival, and no one wanted to believe him. 168. At this point we can see that there exist obvious differences in the various characters’ abilities to detect and deal with the presence of ghosts and spirits. While Scholar Yang is naturally able to see and interact with the ghost of the girl, her parents (and perhaps the monks of the monastery) are only able to hear the ghost. Moreover, while the ordinary villagers who passed them by earlier were not at all able to perceive Scholar Yang’s ghostly partner, the dogs, which are said to have “barked vigorously behind fences,” obviously sensed her otherworldly presence. 169. SDCP here additionally features the inserted character che (C. zhu), “all.” Hence, those who mean to listen in on their conversation are her parents and the monks of the monastery. 170. The source says pŏmnyul (C. fanlü), “violation of the rules.” Ryul (C. lü) could here be understood as an abbreviation of kyeyul (C. jielü), i.e., the set of rules and disciplines observed by Buddhist practitioners, whether they be monks, nuns, or householders. The observance of these rules prevents dissipation, allowing the practitioner to have the spiritual energy to pursue the path to enlightenment. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. If understood in this way, the sentence is interesting in connection with the ones following because here the female protagonist clearly points out that she was aware of the fact that her conduct in the love relationship with Scholar Yang went against the norms for virtuous, dignified behavior as defined by the Confucian moral code. This passage can be read as an example of how some of the Kŭmo sinhwa’s leading figures are shown to know both Buddhism and Confucianism. 171. The poem “Qianchang” from Shijing. The translation by Waley reads in part as follows: If you tenderly love me, gird your loins and wade across the Chen; but if you do not love me—



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there are plenty of other men, of madcaps maddest, oh! If you tenderly love me, gird your loins and wade across the Wei; but if you do not love me— there are plenty of other knights, of madcaps maddest, oh! (Waley, Book of Songs, 45) Concerning this poem, the Shi jizhuan says, “A lewd woman says this to the one with whom she is on private terms: ‘If you tenderly love and think of me, then I will hold up my skirt and wade across the Qin river in order to follow you. If you do not think of me, then why should there be no other men whom I could follow? [Why should I] necessarily stick with you?’ ” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 53. As can be seen, in his translation Waley altered the perspectives, writing that the man should follow the woman. In Zhu Xi’s commentary it is the other way around. In the framework of the tale at hand it is important to note that Zhu Xi interpreted the poem as words spoken by a woman who falls victim to her passions and follows any number of men. It is this understanding of the poem that is reflected in the female protagonist’s words. 172. The poem “Xiangshu” is likewise from Shijing. It reads, Look at the rat; he has a skin. A man without dignity, a man without dignity, what is he doing, that he does not die? Look at the rat; he has teeth. A man without poise, a man without poise, what is he waiting for, that he does not die? Look at the rat; he has limbs. A man without manners, a man without manners, had best quickly die. (Waley, Book of Songs, 299) The commentary by Zhu Xi in Shi jizhuan says, “Saying: ‘Look at the rat, it necessarily has skin.’ How can you then take a man [and say] that he has no dignity? If a man is without dignity, then, really, what is he doing that he does not die?” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 32. Hence, Zhu Xi interprets the poem as passing judgment on people who live without dignity. 173. The source says pŏmgung (C. fangong), “Brahma’s palace,” which here refers to Manbok Temple. 174. The CMPP and Jōō editions say tŭng (C. deng), “lantern” or “candle”; the

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SDCP and Meiji editions say so (C. shao), “to burn.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwaŭi p’anbon, 25, 122, 159, 279. 175. In a Buddhist sense, “three times” (K. samse) means the past, the present, and the future. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 176. This sentence may be understood as a reference to the fourteenth-century work Jingchai ji (Records of a thorn hairpin), in which a lady accepts a poor scholar’s engagement gift of a thorn hairpin. It might also, however, be a reference to the aforementioned tale of Liang Hong and his wife, Meng Guang (see n. 137 of the present tale). Meng Guang was from a wealthy family, and when she went to marry Liang Hong, she wore her finest wedding clothes. Nevertheless, when Liang Hong saw her, he refused to speak to her. She asked if she had done anything wrong, and Liang replied that he had been seeking a wife who “used a thorn as a hairpin and wore a cloth skirt and would accompany me in retreat to a remote area.” Meng Guang replied that she had been testing him and had already prepared simple clothes for their retreat. The pair went to live in the mountainous area in Shuangling and supported themselves by farming and weaving. Lily Lee and A. D. Stefanowsky, Bio­ graphical Dictionary of Chinese Women, 183. 177. CMPP says ilsaeng (C. yisheng), “entire life,” while SDCP says samsaeng (C. sansheng), “three lives,” i.e., the past life, the present life, and the future life. 178. Myŏngdo (C. mingdao), “dark realms” or “negative destinies,” can allude to the negative rebirths of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals. 179. Here, the female protagonist might be alluding to a Tang-dynasty tale contained in Youyang zazu (Miscellaneous morsels from Youyang) compiled by Duan Chengshi (803–863). In the tale, an anonymous scholar is lying in his room inebriated when he suddenly sees the female figures painted on an ancient folding screen step out of the screen to sing a song in front of his bed as if they were real women. Terrified by the ghostly spectacle the scholar shouts at them after the end of their performance, whereupon the women step back and reenter the folding screen. And all is as before. Cf. Lin Wang, “Celebration of the Strange,” 95. 180. A reference to the tale of an immortal by the name of A Xiang, who is said to push and steer the thunder chariot for the God of Thunder. 181. When clouds and rain clear over Yangtai, the Sunlit Terrace, the goddess of Mount Wu and King Xiang must part. 182. With the disbursal of the myriads of crows and magpies—which on the seventh day of the seventh month flew together to form a bridge over the flood of stars—the Herdsman and the Weaver Maid must part as well. 183. This sentence might imply that, since her parents failed to make her a wife, she simply chose a husband for herself. 184. The burning of paper resembling money was meant as an offering to the dead. It was believed that the paper would transform into real money, which the dead could then use in the netherworld. 185. The model for this passage is the final scene of “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujing­ yuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, in which the male figure likewise composes a sacrificial essay to mourn his wife. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:158.



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186. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions say sun (C. chun), “simple” or “unspoiled”; the Meiji edition says chŏng (C. ting), “still standing water.” Ch’oe Yong­ ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 26, 124, 161, 281. 187. Xi Shi (ca. 503–473 BCE) is traditionally considered a symbol of peerless beauty. Lily Lee and A. D. Stefanowsky, Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women, 84–86. 188. Zhu Shuzhen (1063–ca.1106), a renowned female poet of the Song dynasty. 189. The source here says liting (K. ijŏng), which means “learning one’s father’s teachings while passing the courtyard.” The proverb derives from Lunyu 16.13. Slingerland, Analects, 197. 190. Meaning that she protected her chastity. 191. Meaning that she would rather die than live in dishonor. 192. The characters ch’unp’ung, “spring winds,” are reversed in SDCP. Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 124. 193. This can be understood as a reference to the poem “Pipa xing” (Song of the lute) by Bai Juyi. The cuckoo, which sings incessantly until he coughs up blood, can be heard in a far-off, remote region. In the poem by Bai Juyi, it is the land of exile: Since last year when I left the capital, I’ve lived in exile, sick in bed, in Xunyang town. Xunyang is a far-off region—there is no music here; all year long I never heard the sound of strings or woodwinds. I live near the Pen River, an area low and damp, with yellow reeds and bitter bamboo growing all around my house. And there, morning and evening, what do I hear? The cuckoo singing his heart out, the mournful cry of monkeys. (Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 893) 194. The term xiehou (K. haehu), “meeting accidentally” or “meeting free of conventions,” could here be understood as another reference to the ode “Ye you mancao” from Shijing. See. n. 73 to the present tale. 195. The source here says yumyŏng (C. youming), i.e., “darkness” or “the dark realms of the netherworld.” In the sentence at hand, however, the term should be understood as yumyŏng (C. youming), “darkness and light,” i.e., the world of the dead and the world of the living, which, as the texts says, are separate. Yumyŏng might be a misspelling. All of the premodern Japanese editions of Kŭmo sinhwa at this point have “the dark realms of the netherworld,” but the SDCP has “darkness and light.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 124. 196.  The term ŏsu (C. yushui), “fish and water,” alludes to an intimate relationship. 197. In CMPP, the characters read holhwang (C. huhuang), while in the other editions they are reversed, reading hwanghol. Ch’oe, 27. 198. Zengshang (K. chŭngsang), meaning “the pain grows greater,” might be understood as a reference to “Chou si” (The outpouring of sad thoughts) from Chuci:

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“My heart is clouded over with melancholy thoughts. / Long and alone I sigh, but the pain grows only greater.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 166. 199. A cry uttered as an expression of deeply felt grief. The CMPP, Jōō, and Meiji editions say oho, while the SDCP edition uses different characters for oho. Ch’oe, 27, 124, 162, 282. 200. A reference to the Liji chapter “Jiyi” (The meaning of sacrifices). In the translation by James Legge this passage reads, “All living things must die, and dying, return to the ground. The bones and flesh, molder below, and, hidden away, become the earth of the fields. But the spirit issues forth, and is displayed on high in a condition of glorious brightness. The vapors and odors which produce a feeling of sadness, (and arise from the decay of their substance), are the subtle essences of all things.” Legge, Sacred Books of China, 4:220. 201. CMPP here says chŏnsa (C. tianshe), “farmland and house,” while SDCP says chŏndap (C. tianduo), “farmland and rice fields.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwaŭi p’anbon, 125. 202. CMPP here says sŏk (C. xi), while SDCP has ilsŏk (C. yixi), “one night.” Ch’oe, 125. 203. Again, a difference between the two terms yumyŏng in CMPP and SDCP. Ch’oe, 28, 124. I have followed SDCP. 204. The sentence might also be read as, “You [Scholar Yang] ought to again cultivate a pure karma yourself.” The female protagonist, however, was wronged and, having been killed by marauders, she was forced to roam the earth as a hungry ghost, unable to achieve liberation and salvation in death. Through the relationship with Scholar Yang, which was initiated by the Buddha, as well as the subsequent ritual service he held in her honor, the girl was freed and reborn. 205. On the one hand, this passage is based on the words spoken by the female protagonist from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Jinfengchai ji” after she has finally passed over into the realm of the dead: “She once more made herself visible in a dream and spoke to the scholar: ‘As you have made offerings on my behalf, there still are feelings. Although there is separation between darkness and light, I am truly deeply grateful to you.’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:98; for a translation by Paul W. Kroll, see Ma and Lau, Traditional Chinese Stories, 403. On the other hand, there is also the textual influence of “Aiqing zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua, at the end of which the ghost of Aiqing states, “After my death, the head of the underworld considered me chaste, and he ordered that I be brought to the house of someone by the name of Song in Wuxi and be reborn as a boy.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:240. Moreover, at the end of the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Fengweicao ji,” the female protagonist, who committed suicide when the parents of her beloved, Scholar Long, oppose their marriage, appears in a dream of Scholar Long, explaining, It has been more than twenty years since I passed away. When they examined my register in the abode of the dead, it was observed that I ought to have given birth to three sons and lived a life of sixty years. Yet my life was ended early, and since I died a violent death, I was made a woman a



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second time to finish my previous karma. Yesterday, however, I received the transcendent master’s Daoist powers, and heavenly complements suddenly descended, and now I will go to a city in Luoyang County in Henan Prefecture to the house of a Mr. Hu, where I will be reborn as a boy! I am moved by your deep affection, which I will not forget in life or death, and it only grieves me that there are no means by which I could repay it. (Ch’oe, 2:258). Interestingly, in the case of “Aiqing zhuan,” the main male figure, Scholar Zhao, actually visits Mr. Song in Wuxi and finds out that the woman of the house has just given birth to a boy after twenty months of pregnancy. He is then told that since the day of his birth, the boy has cried incessantly. Yet when the newborn child eventually sees Scholar Zhao, he immediately stops crying. In the end, Scholar Zhao and the Song family become close friends and thus the relationship between Scholar Zhao and Aiqing (in her reincarnated state as a male) continues. In the case of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple,” the girl is not only born again as a boy, but she is even reborn in a completely different country, which implies that Scholar Yang has no opportunity to ever see her again. Hence, contrary to the parting described in “Aiqing zhuan,” the separation of Scholar Yang and the girl is final. 206. The annotation in the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa reads, “Chirisan lies in Chŏlla Province.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 283. 207. The final sentences in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji,” which clearly served as a literary model, read, “Hereafter, the scholar did not take a wife for the rest of his life. He entered the Yangdang Mountains where he picked herbs. He never returned.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:159. The tale “Lüyiren zhuan” ends on a similar note: “He did not marry again but sought refuge in Lingyin Temple, where he became a monk. This is how he ended his life.” Ch’oe, 1:337.

Chapter 3: Biography of Scholar Yi Who Peered over the Wall 1. Camel Bridge (K. Nakt’agyo), also called T’akt’agyo, Yagyo, and Manbugyo, refers to a bridge that was located in Kaesŏng. According to Koryŏsa chŏryo (vol. 1, King T’aejo, 25th year [925], 10th month), “In the time of our King T’aejo, the Khitan sent camels, but [T’aejo] tied them up underneath a bridge. He did not give them fodder, so that they starved and died. For this reason the bridge is called Camel Bridge.” 2. Ch’ŏnja (C. tianzi) are “innate talents” or “heavenly endowed gifts.” 3. The original reads Kukhak, denoting the National Academy in Kaesŏng, which was renamed Sŏnggyun’gwan in the early fourteenth century. After the founding of the Sŏnggyun’gwan in Hanyang (Seoul) at the beginning of the Chosŏn dynasty, the National Academy in Kaesŏng lost its importance. The fact that the exceptionally gifted Scholar Yi studies there makes it clear that the story is set during the middle-to-late Koryŏ dynasty. On a related note, Kim Sisŭp’s T’angyu Kwansŏ

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rok contains a poem entitled “Yu ko Kukhak” (Sojourning by the old National Academy). MWTC 9:5a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:54. The poem is translated in Häußler, “Kaesŏng,” 48. 4. In SDCP, the character sŏ (C. shu), “writings,” is written next to the character for poetry, perhaps implying that Scholar Yi was thought to read “poetry and books,” or maybe the Shijing and the Shujing. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 126. 5. Sŏnjuk Village was located in the vicinity of Sŏnjuk Bridge in Kaesŏng. The place-names in this opening passage are explained in the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa as follows: “Songdo is one designation for the Western Capital, i.e., the old capital of the royal family. Nakt’agyo is the name of a bridge located inside Songdo City. Sŏnjungni is the name of a village in Songdo. In the village there exists Sŏnjuk Bridge.” Ch’oe, 283. 6. Yaotiao (K. yojo), “sweet” or “lovely,” appears in the first stanza of “Guanju,” the first poem of Shijing. The translation by Legge in part reads, “Kwan-kwan go the ospreys, on the islet in the river. / The modest, retiring, virtuous, young lady— For our prince a good mate she.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:1. Waley translates it as “Lovely is this noble lady, / fit bride for our lord.” Waley, Book of Songs, 81. 7. The final line could be read as an allusion to the Shijing poem “Hengmen.” In the first stanza it says, “Where the spring flows by, it is easy to satisfy one’s desires.” Waley, 27. 8. The first two characters of this line are missing in SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 127. 9. Tongp’ung (C. dongfeng), “eastern winds,” means “spring winds” or “spring fever.” The term refers to a desire for romance. 10. Paengmyŏn rang, “pale-faced youth” or “white-faced youth,” refers to a scholar who spends his time indoors reading books. The term already appeared in the first tale (see n. 134 of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple”). 11. The expression “blue collar and great girdle” (K. ch’ŏnggŭm taedae) refers to the kind of clothes traditionally worn by scholars and officials. Ch’ŏnggŭm (C. jingjin), “blue collar,” was used as a metonym for students of Confucianism. The National Academy’s register of names was accordingly called Ch’ŏnggŭm rok (Blue collar records). Taedae (C. dadai), “great girdle,” as a reference to a belt worn by an official, is mentioned in, e.g., Liji. 12. These two lines can be understood as a reference to the poem “Cailian qu” (Picking lotuses song) by Li Bai. The poem shows a young girl picking lotuses by Ruoye Brook when she sees a group of men pass by on the embankment set off against the background of weeping willows. She wonders who these young men might be. Eventually, their horses gallop off and the girl is left behind, still yearning for the men. This yearning and the flirtatious atmosphere of Li Bai’s poem echo in the lines of the poem at hand. 13. The source says yungyuk, “six six,” which could mean “thirty-six” peaks. However, as becomes clear, for instance in P’ahan chip 2.23, it is “six plus six,” i.e., twelve peaks. In the P’ahan chip entry, which deals with Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn, it says that Ch’oe himself wrote that he went to Tang China when he was “of the age cor-



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responding to the number of layered peaks of Wu Gorge.” Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn went to China at the age of twelve. 14. This is another reference to King Xiang’s dream encounter with the goddess of Mount Wu described in Gaotang fu. Here, the reference to King Xiang’s dream implies that Scholar Yi hopes for a sexual relationship with Miss Ch’oe. 15. This is a reference to the tale of the poet Sima Xiangru and his wife, Zhuo Wenjun, which, for example, appears in Hanshu (History of the Former Han dynasty). Zhuo Wenjun had been married, but when her husband died, she returned to the home of her wealthy father, Zhuo Wangsun, in the western commandery of Shu. At the same time, Sima Xangru, a member of the literati who had just lost his patron, likewise stayed in Shu. Zhuo Wangsun hosted a banquet at which Sima Xiangru agreed to play the qin (a seven-stringed instrument similar to a zither). Sima Xiangru had apparently heard how beautiful and talented Zhuo Wenjun was and thus he used the banquet to gain access to the house. Zhuo Wenjun was quickly seduced by the sound of the zither and, secretly watching from her room, instantly fell in love with Sima Xiangru. Sima Xiangru then bribed a servant to declare on his behalf his love to Zhuo Wenjun, who responded by running off with Sima Xiangru. Infuriated, her father swore to cut them off. The couple lived in poverty and later opened a wine shop. When her father heard of their standard of living, he pardoned them and they were able to marry. Lily Lee and A. D. Stefanowska, Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women, 257–258. The song that Sima Xiangru is said to have played to seduce Zhuo Wenjun is “Feng qiu huang” (The phoenix seeks its mate). The Chosŏn scholar and writer Kim Manjung also utilized this song and the implied tale of Sima Xiangru and Zhuo Wenjun in Kuunmong in a scene in which the protagonist, Yang Soyu, seduces his second predestined woman, Chŏng Kyŏngp’ae, by playing the zither. 16. At this point, Scholar Yang brings up Sima Xiangru and Zhuo Wenjun in order to allude to a love relationship between a poor scholar and the daughter of a high and wealthy house, essentially intending them as stand-ins for himself and the daughter of the high house of Ch’oe. 17. CMPP, SDCP, and the Meiji edition here say pun (C. fen), “dizzy” or “many,” the Jōō edition says pun (C. fen), “powder.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 30, 127, 164, 285. 18. This line is based on a line from a poem in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Qiu­xiang­ ting ji”: “Unfavorable consequences are favorable consequences.” Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:349. The line from “Qiuxiangting ji” is quoted again in the tale at hand a bit further on. See n. 105. 19. Each stanza of the poem consists of twenty-eight characters. 20. While CMPP says sibi (C. shibi) SDCP says sia (C. shier), “maid-child.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 127. 21. In the Japanese tale “Making a Pledge through Poems” from Otogibōko, the scene modeled after the one at hand reads, One day, with his books at his breast, Nagatani went out to Madenokōji. He rested by the earthen wall of Makiko’s house and looked into the

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Notes to Pages 89–90 garden through a hole in the broken wall. It was a spring day when he saw the garden’s thread-like willow branches mixed with cherry blossoms, and the hiwa and kogara birds rivaling each other with their singing. The daughter was seated near the edge of the sitting room (by the garden), where she was sewing a kosode. She stopped sewing as she tilted her head and recited a poem. . . . As soon as he saw her and listened to her poem, he was completely infatuated. He was so enthralled that he could hardly walk, and kept staring while filled with unbearable yearning. . . . Unable to suppress his feelings, Nagatani took out his portable writing kit, wrote two poems on a sheet of rough paper, and threw it into the garden with a stone. . . . After reading his poems a few times, Makiko’s yearning for him increased, and she took out a tanzaku [an oblong card], wrote a poem on it, and tossed it [to him] with a stone. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 173–176)

22. We find a similar scene in “Lianlishu ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, in which the lovers Cui and Penglai likewise cannot meet one another at the beginning of the tale: “One day, Penglai wrapped a Xiangqi [Chinese chess] piece in a kerchief of white silk and threw it [across the street] to Cui. Cui caught and took a look at it. On [the silk] she had painted a dark red peach and written a poem. . . . Cui understood her intention, but when he thought it over quietly [he realized] that the other business [of her marriage to a different man] had already been decided! There was nothing he could do. Thus, he likewise painted a single branch of a plum tree and wrote a poem. . . . He used a colored rope to tie [the piece of silk] around three tuning pegs of a zither, which he threw back over to Penglai.” Ch’oe, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:150. 23. CMPP here says saeng yŏ ki ŏn, “Scholar [Yi] did as her words [had told him],” while SDCP apparently mistakenly has saeng mun ki ŏn, “Scholar [Yi] heard her words.” Ch’oe, 128. 24. The branch of a blossoming peach tree (C. taohua) beckoning him to climb over the wall can be understood as an allusion to the peach trees that bloom at the entrance to the cave leading to the wondrous utopia described in the famous “Taohua yuan ji” (Peach blossom spring) by the Eastern Jin poet Tao Yuanming. “Taohua yuan” is again mentioned in Scholar Yi’s ensuing poem. The term taohua can also allude to a love affair. 25. This passage appears to be modeled after the following scene from the Jian­ deng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji”: “Suddenly he heard from the window in the tower the sound of whispering, and when he looked up at it, the two girls let down a litter and, tied to woolen ropes, [they] let down a bamboo chair, lowering it until it was right in front of him. The scholar took it and ascended.” Ch’oe, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:110. In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae this bamboo chair from Jiandeng xinhua, i.e., the same which Scholar Yi uses to climb the wall in the tale at hand, is annotated as follows: “Ch’uch’ŏn [C. qiuqian]: the Shanrong [nomadic tribes] of the northern regions took it to practice lightness and nimbleness. Emperor Wu of Han considered it an amusement of his imperial harem. It is tied to woolen ropes or colored silk cords. It is a ‘bamboo chair’ [K. chukdu], and Wu Na [1372–1457] called it zhujiao [K. chukkyo],



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‘bamboo sedan chair.’ ” Chŏng, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 666. Note that we find a similar scene in the very popular Tang tale “Yingying zhuan”: Chang was delighted and on the spot composed two stanzas of spring verses, which he handed over to her. That evening Hung-niang came back with a note on colored paper for him, saying, “By Miss Ts’ui’s instructions.” The title of her poem was “Bright Moon on the Night of the Fifteenth”: I await the moon in the western chamber where the breeze comes through the half-open door. / Sweeping the wall the flower shadows move: / I imagine it is my lover who comes. Chang understood the message: that day was the fourteenth of the second month, and an apricot tree was next to the wall east of the Ts’ui’s courtyard. It would be possible to climb it. On the night of the fifteenth Chang used the tree as a ladder to get over the wall. (Ma and Lau, Traditional Chinese Stories, 140–141 [italics in the original]) 26. The parodically transformed passage in the tale in Otogibōko reads, “In the evening, he went to the daughter’s (house) and walked around the wall. A branch of cherry blossoms was protruding over the wall with a blue sash hanging down like a rope. Getting the idea, he climbed over the wall with the help of the sash and stood (in the garden). The soft spring moon rising over the eastern mountain cast shadows of flowers into the garden. As the flowers’ wafting fragrance filled the air, he felt as if he were outside the human world, like in tales of the Three and Ten Hermits’ Islands. Just like a man facing a secret meeting, he felt terribly anxious. [Dykstra’s annotation reads, “Minoke yodachite, ‘bodily hair standing up,’ is usually used to indicate feelings of fear].” Dykstra, Otogibōko, 176. 27. The “mandarin duck pillow” (K. wŏnang ch’im, C. yuanyang zhen) is a symbol of an intimate love relationship. 28. Ch’un sosik (C. chun xiaoxi), “tidings of spring,” here stands for the two figures’ amorous relationship. 29. The “heartlessness of wind and rain” (K. p‘ungu mujŏng, C. fengyu wuqing) here most likely stands for the protagonists’ parents’ certain opposition to their premarital love relationship, which is not in accordance with the rites. 30. SDCP here says paengnyŏn (C. bainian), “a hundred years.” Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 128. 31. In SDCP the character kŏ (C. ju), “why then,” is missing. Ch’oe, 128. 32. CMPP says kyŏnch’aek (C. qianze), while SDCP says kyŏnch’aek (C. jianze), “look to blame [me].” 33. This passage is modeled after the conversation between the female protagonists and Scholar Zheng that appears at the end of the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji”: “It was already past midnight when the scholar suddenly grew sad, saying, Essentially I am just a wanderer who came to settle down in your house. Your father does not know about the events of the past few days [and of our amorous relationship]. Yet these events could be revealed overnight

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Notes to Pages 90–91 and our relationship would come to an end. Thus, Princess Lechang’s mirror I fear from now on that it will be broken forevermore [and that we will have to part].”. . . The two girls said, “Although the six rites [of marriage] have not yet been performed, . . . we want to share the joy of the conjugal bed with you and eternally honor you with shirt and towel. But why do you utter these words in a rush and alone raise doubts and obstacles? Lord Zheng, Lord Zheng, we are only women, but we have planned it meticulously! If, on another day, the secret matter should be brought to light, our parents will scold us harshly. If you follow our wish, we will look after you with dustpan and broom until the very end.” (Ch’oe Yong­ ch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:113)

34. The Japanese tale “Making a Pledge through Poems” from Otogibōko says, “He replied with his poem: ‘Not knowing of our future pledge of the new pillow, it may be limited to only this evening.’ At this, Makiko said to him grudgingly, ‘Having been so close, I thought that our pledge tonight would last for a thousand years. How can you feel so indecisive? . . . Even if my parents were to pressure me with their warnings, I would not regret even losing my life for you.’ ” Dykstra, Oto­gi­bōko, 177. 35. This sentence echoes a passage from “Sanshan fudi zhi” of Jiandeng xinhua in which the protagonist enters the realm of a Daoist immortal, namely, the Blessed Land of the Three Mountains. Here, it reads, “Pacing up and down, he took a look around, but there were no human traces far and wide, and he only heard the sounds of bells and chimes coming down faintly from behind the clouds.” Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:72. 36. The character yŏk (C. yi), “still” or “yet again,” is missing in SDCP. Ch’oe Yong­­ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 129. 37. CMPP, Jōō, and Meiji editions here say ran (C. lan), “balustrade,” while SDCP says ran (C. lan), “banister.” Ch’oe, 32, 129, 166, 288. 38. “Paekchŏ ka” is “Baizhu ge” in Chinese. Poetry cycles by renowned Chinese poets such as Li Bai were written to this tune. 39. The female protagonist here appears to sing about the tale of Jia Wu, daughter of Jia Chong (217–282), which is recorded in the story collection Shishou xinyu (A new account of tales of the world) by Liu Yiqing (403–444). According to the tale, Jia Wu had a secret relationship with a boy called Han Shou. For a translation by Richard B. Mather, see Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 672–673. 40. A very similar line is sung by the ghostly women who step out of the folding screen in the tale from Youyang zazu, previously referred to in n. 179 of “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” Cf. Lin Wang, Celebration of the Strange, 96. 41. Taoyuan, “Peach Spring,” is the aforementioned beautiful, marvelous place hidden and sealed off from the outside world, a wondrous utopia where people live in harmony with each other, free from the interference of outsiders. When Scholar Yi states that he “accidentally” entered the land of the Peach Blossom Spring, he alludes to the fact that in the story by Tao Yuanming, the protagonist, a fisherman, also accidentally discovered a cave behind which the mystical enclave lay hidden.



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For J. R. Hightower’s translation of the “Taohua yuan ji,” see Minford and Lau, Clas­ sical Chinese Literature, 515–517. 42. This opening couplet appears to be loosely based on the first lines of the poem that Scholar Zheng writes for the two sisters in “Lianfanglou ji”: “Accidentally I entered Mount Peng[lai] and came up to the top [of the tower]; / lotus and peony bloom on both sides.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:111. 43. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions say p’asa (C. posuo), while the Meiji edition twice features the character p’a (C. po). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 33, 130, 167, 289. 44. The source says Su’e, which is an alternate name for Heng’e, Goddess of the Moon, or here perhaps for the moon itself. 45. CMPP has i (C. yi), “in order to,” while SDCP has i (C. er), “and.” Ch’oe, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 130. 46. The Yŏn’gang ch’ŏpchang to (C. Yanjiang diezhang tu) was originally painted by the late Northern Song artist Wang Shen. The renowned Song poet Su Shi then inscribed a poem on the painting. Both painting and poem became widely known as the embodiment of a literati tradition in which verbal and pictorial images interact and thereby enrich the meaning of the artwork. The painting alongside the poem served as a vital inspiration for later landscape painters. For a detailed discussion, see Murck, Poetry and Painting, 126ff. 47. This Yuhwang komok to (C. Youhuang gumu tu) might allude to the painting Gumu youhuang tu, Painting of Ancient Trees and Dark Bamboo Groves, by the painter Ni Zan (1301–1374), one of the four masters of the Yuan dynasty. 48. “The first of them” (K. ki il) is missing in SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 130. 49. The source says zhang (K. chang). The units of measurement zhang and chi (K. ch’ŏk) are roughly “fathoms” and “feet,” respectively. 50. In SDCP it says kyŏn kohyang, “looking [from afar] onto my home.” Ch’oe, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 131. 51. These lines are likely to have been inspired by the poem “Guan Yuan Danqiu zuo Wushan pingfeng” by Li Bais: “Cold pines rustle bleakly—as if there were voices; / the sunlit terrace hazy and blurred—as if there were feelings.” Kim Sisŭp used this poem in “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu.” See n. 378 of the translator’s introduction. 52. The Tang painter Wei Yen (fl. late 7th to early 8th c.) was famous especially for his paintings of horses and trees. 53. Yuke is the sobriquet of the Northern Song painter Wen Tong (1018–1079), who was renowned for his ink bamboo paintings. 54. This poem closely resembles another by Kim Sisŭp entitled “Che yuhwang komok to,” (Inscribed on the Painting of Dark Bamboo Groves and Ancient Trees): Now I look at this painting and my thoughts grow gloomy and remote . . . In dark bamboo groves the whistling of the autumn wind and the leaves fight each other; ancient trees’ withered, bony branches coiling around each other.

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Notes to Pages 92–93 Maze-like roots and seared trunks—as if there were feelings! Half-broken, icy branches—as if there were sounds! . . .  Wei Yen and Wen Tong have already turned into ghosts, who lowered his brush to transmit the high traces? (MWTC 4:31b–32a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:339–341)

55. Songxue is the pen name of the Yuan painter Zhao Mengfu. His distinctive style of calligraphy had, for instance, a profound influence on his Korean contemporary Yi Am (1297–1364), one of the outstanding calligraphers of the Koryŏ dynasty. Pratt and Rutt, Korea, 514. 56. An almost identical passage, even including poems on the scenery of the four seasons, appears in the tale “Weitang qiyu ji” from Jiandeng xinhua: “Then he came to the girl’s room, a small pavilion. . . . On a desk stood an ancient bronze vase in which were stuck some peacock feathers. Next to it lay a brush, an ink stone, and the like, and everything was extremely neat and tidy. Atop a board was a jasper flute, on which the girl used to play. Scrolls, made of paper with a gold-flower pattern, were pasted to the walls, and poems had been written on them. With respect to poetic form, they were modeled after [Su] Dongpo’s ci on the four seasons, and concerning the calligraphic style, [the poet] had imitated Zhao Songxue. One could not know who had created them.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:184. There followed the four poems, one for each season, from which Kim Sisŭp likewise borrowed. The attendant annotations on the relevant terms in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae read, “[Emperor] Shun created a flute. Its form was uneven so as to resemble the wing of a phoenix. . . . Ch’ŏp [C. tie, ‘to paste’] means ‘to stick something to a spot.’ Kŭmhwajŏn [C. jinhuajian] is the name of a [certain kind of] paper. In the Yang fei weizhuan [Unofficial biography of Consort Yang] it says, ‘Emperor [Xuan­zong] and the consort were appreciating [the beauty of] a peony. They ordered Li Guinian to hang up gold-flower-patterned paper and bestowed upon Li Bai the grace of creating a . . . verse.’. . . [Zhao Songxue is] Zhao Mengfu.” Chŏng, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 602. 57. The opening of this line can be found in Bai Juyi’s “Changhen ge”: “Warmth under a lotus-pattern canopy, where she passed the nights of spring.” For another translation, see Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 884. 58. This line is a quotation from the poem “Yulou chu, Chun hen” (Jade tower spring, spring grief) by the Song poet Yan Shu (991–1055). 59. Xinyi wu, “magnolia slope,” is also the title of a famous poem by the Tang poet Wang Wei. The poem likewise tells of blossoms adrift in the winds of spring. 60. In the second of the poems on the four seasons in “Weitang qiyu ji” it similarly says, “People are plagued by the time of heat and days that are long, / needle and thread held languidly, the time of noon drips away.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:184. 61. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions here say chin (C. chen), “to follow”; the Meiji edition says i (C. er). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 36, 132, 169, 291. 62. This line was inspired by the first couplet of the sixth quatrain of the poem



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“Jiangpan dubu xunhua” (Strolling alone by the riverside, looking for flowers) by Du Fu: “At the home of Miss Huang Four flowers fill the lane, / a thousand buds, ten thousand buds press the branches low.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 3:29. 63. CMPP says no (C. lao), “old,” while SDCP says ho (C. hao), “good.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 36, 132. 64. The summer poem in “Weitang qiyu ji” says, “Playfully I pick up a plum to [throw it at and] hit the oriole.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:184. 65. The wutong tree, i.e., the phoenix tree or Chinese parasol, is famous for its large leaves, which are said to produce mournful sounds in the rain. It functions as a symbol for a sad parting in autumn and frequently appears in Chinese poetry. A line similar to the one above features in a poem by Wei Zhuang (ca. 836–910): “The bells and drums lie cold. The tower stands in darkness. The moon shines on wutong trees by a golden well.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 1121. The line in the poem at hand could also have been inspired by similar lines in the poem “Changxin qiu ci” (An autumn song for the Palace of Eternal Trust) by Wang Changling (698?–757?): By the golden well the autumn leaves on paulownia (wutong) turn yellow, the beaded curtain is not rolled up—the night frost. Censer for robes, pillow of jade lack all loveliness, she lies, listens to the clear dripping of the water clock stretch on. (Knechtges and Vance, Rhetoric, 223) 66. The ancient Yumen Pass (Jade Gate Pass), located on the Chinese frontier about a hundred kilometers northwest of Dunhuang in the Gobi Desert, was established in the Western Han dynasty and was a vital gateway on the northern route of the Silk Road. The couplet here could be regarded as a reference to the “Ziye wuge— Qiuge” (Midnight song of Wu—autumn song) by Li Bai, which reads, A thin moon over Chang’an, sounds of the pounding of clothes arise from ten thousand homes. The autumn winds blow without cease, always this feeling of the Yumen [Pass]. On which day will the barbarians be pacified, so that my lover may end his campaign afar. Yumen Pass (Yumen Guan) here functions as the place where the female narrator’s partner has gone to wage war. 67. CMPP says chŏndo (C. jiandao), “scissors”; SDCP has chŏndŭng (C. jiandeng), “trimmed wick,” i.e., “the trimmed wick has grown cold.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 37, 133. 68. The “zither of Qin” (C. Qin zheng) refers to a Qin-dynasty model of a zheng (K. chaeng), a twelve-stringed zither. 69. A similar line is contained in the “Changhen ge” by Bai Juyi: “Cold settles

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upon the duck-and-drake tiles, and thick hoarfrost.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 887. 70. This line might be a reference to the Shijing ode “Xishuai.” The first stanza reads, The cricket is in the hall, the year is drawing to a close. If we do not enjoy ourselves now, the days and months will have slipped by. (Waley, Book of Songs, 199) Yet the poem “Qiangtou hua” (Flowers atop the wall), contained in volume 27 of the Quan Tangshi (Complete Tang poems), could also have served as a model. Here, it reads, The cricket cries in the deep chamber, wutong leaves fall by the golden well. For my lord I will tailor dancing clothes, heaven is cold and the scissors are cool. I have silken clothes I made during the time of King Qin. Danced when the spring winds were manifold, but autumn has come and I cannot bring them forth anymore. (Qing, Quan Tangshi, 1:386) This poem from Quan Tangshi contains several lines that appear to echo in certain lines of poems in Kŭmo sinhwa. Another extant poem by Kim Sisŭp, entitled “Suk Wŏnsŏng sŏgwan” (Lodging at a western building in Wŏnsŏng), also contains the line from the poem “Qiangtou hua”: “Sounds of mountain rains pelting down, the cricket cries in the deep chamber.” MWTC 12:24a–b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:290. 71. CMPP has wal (C. yue), while SDCP has un (C. yun). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 37, 133. 72. CMPP has p’yo (C. piao), while SDCP features the character p’yo (C. piao), “whirl.” Ch’oe, 37, 133. 73. The first part of this line, “filling the window is the red sun,” can also be found in another extant poem by Kim Sisŭp entitled “Ch’ang il” (The sun in the window). MWTC 2:19b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:168. 74. The cry of a crow that “troubles the heart” can also be found in Kim Sisŭp’s poem “Chao che” (A crow cries). MWTC 5:4b. 75. A slightly abbreviated quotation from Lunyu 4.19. The son may not travel or go abroad while his parents are alive because a journey would entail neglecting his filial duties. Slingerland, Analects, 36. Yet the passage might also be understood as a reference to Liji, “Quli, shang” 17, which in the translation by Legge reads, “A son, when he is going abroad, must inform [his parents where he is going]; when he returns, he must present himself before them. Where he travels must be in some fixed [region]; what he engages in must be some [reputable] occupation.” Legge, Sacred Books of China, 68 (bracketed information in the original).



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76. The character i, “and” or “but,” is missing in SDCP. 77. A reference to Liji, 1.15: “For all sons it is the rule: In winter, to warm (the bed for their parents), and to cool it in summer; in the evening, to adjust everything (for their repose), and to inquire (about their health) in the morning; and, when with their companions, not to quarrel.” Legge, Sacred Books of China, 67. 78. The parents’ anxious waiting for their son can at this point be understood as a reference to “Wangsun shi mu” (The mother of the Wangsun lineage) from Lienü zhuan (Biographies of exemplary women) by Liu Xiang of the Han dynasty: “The mother of the Wangsun lineage was the mother of the Qi grandee Wangsun Jia. When Jia was fifteen, he went to serve King Min of Qi. [At the time], the country was in great disorder. King Min fled and was killed, but the people of his kingdom did not seek out the culprit. Wangsun’s mother told him, ‘If you go out in the morning and come back late, I stand by the door and watch for you. In the evening, if you go out and don’t return, I stand by the village gate and watch for you.’ ” Kinney, Exemplary Women, 159. 79. A reference to the third stanza of the Shijing poem “Jiang Zhongzi”: I beg of you, Chung Tzu, do not climb into our garden, do not break the hard-wood we have planted. Not that I mind about the hard-wood, but I am afraid of what people will say. Chung Tzu I dearly love; but of all that people will say, indeed I am afraid. (Waley, Book of Songs, 35) The specific reference to the poem’s third stanza shows that Scholar Yi’s father is most afraid of what people might say about him and the way he raised his son. Interestingly, the sentence “break the hard-wood” is actually missing in SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 134. 80. Yŏngnam is a region in the southeast of the Korean Peninsula. 81. The Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa here features the following annotation: “Yŏngnam is in Kyŏngsang Province. Ulchu is today’s Ulsanbu.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 296. Scholar Yang is thus sent to the harbor town of Ulsan. In the Japanese tale in Otogibōko, Nagatani’s father also scolds his son: “One day Nagatani’s father said to him, ‘I wonder if you have become tired of studying. Leaving home in the morning and returning in the evening is the right way to pursue studies. But these days you leave home in the evening and return in the morning. I am afraid you have been doing frivolous things, like breaking through someone’s wall, jumping over a hedge, and behaving improperly. If you are exposed to the world, your life will sink into the mud, your name will be spoilt by the dirt, and you will be completely ignored by the world. If the woman you are seeing is of high birth, her family will be shamed by you. . . . This is most grave. From now on, you cannot go outside.’ Saying this, his father confined him to a room as punishment.” Dykstra, Otogibōko, 180.

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82. CMPP says Yi-rang, “Young Master Yi,” while SDCP says Yi-saeng, “Student Yi.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 40, 135. 83. The characters for “daughter,” yŏja, are reversed in SDCP. Ch’oe, 296. 84. The relationship between the scholar and the two girls in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji” is brought to light in a similar fashion: “One day, [her father] climbed up the tower and from within a writing casket he obtained the poems that the scholar had written previously. He was greatly shocked, but since the matter had already developed to this degree, there was nothing he could do.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:112. 85. Another reference to the Shijing poem “Biao you mei” from “Zhounan” (Duke Zhou’s south), which reads, Plop fall the plums; but there are still seven. Let those gentlemen that would court me come while it is lucky! Plop fall the plums; there are still three. Let any gentleman that would court me come before it is too late! Plop fall the plums. In shallow baskets we lay them. Any gentleman who would court me had better speak while there is time.” (Waley, Book of Songs, 30) The Shijing ode was already quoted in the first tale (see n. 94). 86. A reference to the “Second Yin” of the hexagram “Xian” of the Yijing. It reads, “Reciprocity is in the calf of the leg, which means misfortune, but if one stays still, he will have good fortune. . . . {The substance of the calf is such that its movement is impetuous, but to act impetuously when stimulated by something is a dao of misfortune. So to follow impetuosity here would result in misfortune, but to stay still would mean good fortune.}” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 331. The female protagonist here implies that she knows she should not have acted on an impulse. 87. Xi Yi refers to the first arrangement of the Yijing by the mythical Fuxi. The work referred to in this sentence is the Yijing. 88. This is a reference to the poem “Meng” from Shijing, stanzas three and four of which read, Before the mulberry-tree sheds its leaves, how soft and glossy they are! O dove, turtle dove, do not eat the mulberries. O ladies, ladies, do not take your pleasure with men. For a man to take his pleasure is a thing that may be condoned. That a girl should take her pleasure cannot be condoned.



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The mulberry leaves have fallen all yellow and seared. Since I came to you, three years I have eaten poverty. The waters of the Ch’i were in flood; they wetted the curtains of the carriage. It was not I who was at fault; it is you who have altered your ways, it is you who are unfaithful, whose favors are cast this way and that. (Waley, Book of Songs, 96–97) SDCP at this point does not say sang rak, “mulberry tree [leaves] falling,” but ro rak, “dew falling.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 135. 89. SDCP here says haeng ro, “walking on the road,” instead of haeng ro, “dew on the path.” Ch’oe, 135. 90. Another reference to the Shijing ode “Xinglu.” Waley, Book of Songs, 65. 91. The image of dodder clinging to trees as a metaphor for love and marriage can be traced back to the Shijing poem “Kuibian”: “Do not the mistletoe and the dodder, twine themselves on cypress and pine? / Before I saw my lord, my sad heart had no rest; / but now that I have seen my lord, what happiness is mine!” The metaphor of mistletoe and dodder can likewise be found in the “Ranran gu sheng zhu” (Frail, frail lone growing bamboo), the eighth poem of the Gushi shijiu shou (Nineteen old poems), first collected in the Wen xuan (Selection of refined literature) compiled by Xiao Tong (501–531). The poem reads, “I made a new marriage with you, sir, / just as mistletoe and dodder attach themselves [to trees].” Nienhauser, Tang Dynasty Tales, 194. The image also appears in the Tang chuanqi tale “Quiran Ke Zhuan” (The tale of the curly-bearded guest): “The dodder cannot live by itself and wishes to cling to a tall tree.” Nienhauser, 193. In the tale at hand, the image of an ideal marriage is placed in opposition to the girl’s actual behavior and the secret, extramarital relationship with Scholar Yi. 92. The CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions here say ch’ang (C. chang), “prostitute”; the Meiji edition says wi (C. wei), “little sister.” Ch’ang and wi are both followed by the character for “child.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 41, 135, 174, 297. In Peter H. Lee’s translation “Student Yi Peers over the Wall” this sentence reads, “I have behaved like a girl in a Chinese romance.” The accompanying explanatory note states that this line ought to be understood as an allusion to “Weitang qiyu ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. Peter H. Lee, Anthology of Korean Literature, 86. Yet the character wi (C. wei, as in “Wei River”) from the Chinese tale’s title is not the character wi (wei) that appears at this point in the narrative in the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa. Hence (apart from the fact the CMPP, SDCP, and Jōō editions all feature an altogether different Chinese character), it appears unlikely that even the creators of the 1884 Japanese edition here meant to establish a connection between the girl from the Ch’oe family and the female protagonist from “Weitang qiyu ji.”

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93. The term “mad boy” here stands for a dishonest young man who stays away from the woman with whom he is in a relationship. It is a term borrowed from the Shijing poem “Jiaotong” (Mad boy): That mad boy! Will not speak with me. Yes, all because of you I leave my rice untouched. That mad boy! Will not eat with me! Yes, it is all because of you that I cannot take my rest.” (Waley, Book of Songs, 43) 94. Another reference to the tale of the daughter of Jia Chong. According to the tale in Shishou xinyu, the boy Han Shou worked as an aide for Jia Chong but soon entered into a romantic relationship with his daughter Jia Wu. In order to keep his nightly visits to Jia Chong’s house a secret, Han Shou gained entrance to the estate by leaping over the wall. However, Jia Chong eventually finds out about their affair when he notices on Han Shou the scent of an exotic perfume, one that Jia Chong had received earlier as tribute from a foreign country. By smelling the fragrance, Jia Chong concludes that his daughter had given Han Shou the perfume and that the two of them had been intimate. To keep the matter secret, he married his daughter to Han Shou. The beginning of this story’s plot resembles the one of the tale at hand. 95. The source at this point says qiao yuan (K. kyo wŏn), the “grudge against Qiao.” This could be taken as a reference to the tale “Mudandeng ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, which features a certain Scholar Qiao as its protagonist. After having entered into an amorous relationship with a beautiful woman named Fu Shufang, whose courtesy name is Liqing, Scholar Qiao finds out that his beloved is not a human being but the ghost of a deceased woman from ancient times. Shocked and frightened by this revelation, he asks a Daoist master to protect him from her evil spirit, after which the girl stops visiting him at night. When they meet again Liqing (Fu Shufang) bears a grudge against Scholar Qiao and eventually drags him into the land of the dead. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:171. 96. Her speech is partly based on the words spoken by the two girls of the Jian­ deng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji”: “We know very well that we are shallow and superficial, but we have lived in the bedchamber for a long time now. Yet we do have some rough understanding of the Classics and the histories, and it is not that we do not know about the possible shamefulness of boring holes [a reference to Mengzi 3B:5 or the possible beauty of laying [the pearl] up in a case [a reference to Lunyu 9.13]. However, the autumn moon or the springtime flowers, it always hurt that we vacantly passed them by, or that we could not control the cloud-feelings and the water-nature. . . . If it eventually does not go the way we designed it, you will have to look for us down in the [underworld of the] Yellow Springs, for we will not again be married into a different house!” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:112–113. The overall passage, however, appears to have been inspired by the opening of the tale “Cuicui zhuan.” Here, the girl Cuicui falls in love with her schoolmate Jin Ding, but on her sixteenth birthday her parents want to marry her to another man, whereupon



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the tale says, “She grew sad, cried, and would not eat. With sensitivity [her parents] asked her about [the reasons for this behavior]. At first she was not willing to tell them, but at last she said, ‘I have already promised myself to Jin Ding, who lives in a house west of here, and if we cannot be together, there will only be death and that will be all. I have made the promise not to be married into a different house!’ Her mother and father had no choice but to consent to this.” Ch’oe 1:253–254. 97. The original reads ton’gyŏn, which can also be rendered as “pup.” In SDCP, the character for “child” is written next to the term. 98. The source here says longtou (K. yongdu), “dragon head,” which is an alternate expression for zhuangyuan (K. changwŏn), “principal graduate,” that is, the winner of the civil service examinations. 99. The singing of the phoenix here symbolizes a man being awarded a high office and him receiving the love of an emperor or king. This originates from the Shijing poem “Juan’e,” parts of which read, The phoenix is in flight, clip, clip go its wings; it is here that it alights. In their multitude swarm the king’s good men; but it is our lord that is chosen to serve, for by the Son of Heaven he is loved.” (Waley, Book of Songs, 184) 100. A “creature in a pool” means a hibernating dragon. 101. CMPP here says kahoe (C. jiahui), “excellent gathering”; SDCP features the characters kahoe, “beautiful gathering,” i.e., the term that will reappear as the name of the new palace that the dragon king wishes to build in “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 42, 136. 102. This scene is also based on models from “Lianfanglou ji” and especially “Cuicui zhuan.” The relevant passage in “Cuicui zhuan” reads, The Liu family was rich, however, while the Jin family was poor. Although their son was intelligent and talented, [the Jin] family could in no way compare. When the matchmaker arrived at their house, he [the father] indeed thought that he was too poor and was so ashamed that he did not dare give his consent [to the marriage]. The matchmaker said, “The young daughter of the house of Liu by all means wants to obtain [your son], Scholar Jin, [as her husband], and her parents, too, have agreed to it. If you now decline because of your poverty, it would go against their sincere wish, and they would lose this singular well-fated relationship. . . . With respect to the rites [and gifts] [associated with] marriage, you may in the end fear that there is no way for you to present them, but since that [family] cares so much for their daughter, they will not quibble over it.” And so Scholar Jin’s family consented. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:254)

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103. The parodically transformed scene in “Making a Pledge through Poems” from the Japanese Otogibōko reads, She sent a child to find out about him and finally learned of his situation. . . . At the news, she became seriously ill in bed and would not even take water. At times, her thoughts and speech were deranged. Her looks and complexion soon deteriorated, as she constantly was sad and tearful. . . . Finally finding Nagatani’s poems (written on the pieces of paper) at the bottom of her box, the surprised parents questioned the child, who told them everything. “No matter who it may be, when our dear daughter is in love, nothing is impossible,” said the parents. They selected a go-between, who explained everything to Nagatani’s father. The father said, “My son is talented. He could master his studies, serve as a government official, and succeed me. He should not degrade himself by taking just any woman as his wife. It is not yet too late.” Makiko’s parents further insisted, saying, “As we only heard lately about your son, he may still be unknown (in the world), but he will be a successful man in the future. If he marries our only daughter, whom else would we seek for our successor? As our son, he will inherit everything we have.” They immediately selected a suitable day and received Nagatani as their sonin-law. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 181) 104. The same line appears in a poem contained in “Liangchuan douxiayuan zhi,” the fifth tale of Jiandeng yuhua. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:134. In the case of the poem at hand, Scholar Yi appears to argue that he should not be held responsible for their relationship ending so abruptly. 105. This line is a direct quotation from Jiandeng xinhua tale “Qiuxiangting ji.” Ch’oe, 1:349. 106. The Hou Hanshou tells the story of Bao Xuan, an upright censor in the third century, who married Huan Shaojun, the daughter of a wealthy scholar who had been his teacher. As her trousseau, Shaojun’s father provided her with a great amount of money and goods, but Bao Xuan was embarrassed and said that he was too poor to accept such precious gifts. Huan Shaojun thus took off her stately attire, changed into poor, rough clothes, and helped her husband pull a barrow (C. luche) to his home village in the countryside. Huan Shaojun later became a paradigm of how an upper-class woman should behave when married to a lower-class husband. Mou, Gentlemen’s Prescriptions, 89–90. 107. This line might be read as an allusion to a line from Changhen ge, which features a passage about a flowery headdress that falls to the ground after the beauty with the moth eyebrows drops dead in front of the horses. Miss Ch’oe here might be implying that, though on the verge of death, she can rise again and put the fallen flowery headdress back in place now that her lover has returned to her. 108. The year sinch’uk corresponds to the tenth year of the reign of King Kongmin of Koryŏ. During the final decades of Koryŏ rule, the dynasty was on



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several occasions faced with attacks from abroad. In the turmoil surrounding the decline of the Mongolian Yuan dynasty, a Han Chinese brigade, which due to its distinctive headgear became known as the Red Turbans (K. Honggŏn chŏk, also known as Hongdu chŏk, but referred to in this sentence merely as hongjŏk, i.e., “red enemy”), arose and twice attacked, in 1359 and again in 1361, the north of the Korean Peninsula. The passage at hand refers to the second invasion, during which the Red Turbans swept down across the Yalu River and briefly occupied the Koryŏ capital, Kaesŏng, before being driven back. Eckert et al., Korea Old and New, 100. These attacks by the Han Chinese Red Turbans, who essentially plundered Korea’s north to gather supplies for their struggle in China, weakened the position in Koryŏ of King Kongmin, who had striven to break ties with the Mongol Yuan rulers and had meant to build ties with the rising Ming. King Kongmin was killed in 1374. 109. The Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa here features the following annotation: “They [the Red Turbans] were several tens of thousands of men strong. They came eastward [from China] and invaded [the Korean Peninsula]. Eventually they seized the capital, and the [Koryŏ] king fled to Pokchu. Pokchu is today’s Andong.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 301. A turn of events brought about by actual armed conflicts from Chinese history is a generic feature of chuanqi fiction. Quite a number of tales from Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua feature the depiction of actual historical uprisings, invasions, or pacifications that affect the actions of characters and influence the flow of the narrative. The caesura in the tale at hand, which occurs after the two socially unequal lovers have managed to marry, seems to be modeled after the one that occurs in “Cuicui zhuan.” In the Chinese tale, an armed rebellion arises only a year after the marriage of the two main figures: A year had not yet passed when Zhang Shicheng [1321–1367] and his brothers raised an armed revolt in Gaoyou and brought all of the counties along the Huai River under their control. The woman [Cuicui] was captured by one of his [Zhang’s] officers, a certain General Li. By the end of the Zhizheng reign [1341–1370], [Zhang] Shicheng had extended his territory, as he had taken possession of the territory both to the south and to the north of the Yangzi River. . . . He sent secret messages to the Yuan court, wishing to honor the [emperor’s] calendar [by surrendering]. It was then that the roads began to clear and one could travel unobstructed. Thus, the scholar said farewell to his parents and parents-in-law and set out to find his wife. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:255) The depictions of the raids of the waegu in “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple” or the invasion of the Red Turbans in the present tale can be read as “Koreanized” versions of this generic feature of chuanqi fiction, although (as has been shown) both conflicts also appear from a Chinese perspective in Jiandeng xinhua and Jian­ deng yuhua. 110. The source here says hogwi (C. hugui), “ghost of a tiger.” This could refer to ghosts generally known as ch’ang (C. chang). According to lore, the spirits of men

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devoured by tigers are thereafter condemned to accompany the tiger and help him seek out prey. Such desperate ghosts are usually referred to as ch’ang. 111. The dismembering of the female protagonist’s body can be understood as an act of utter humiliation after death. Similar accounts of the deaths of such virtuous women can be found in Koryŏsa or Tongmunsŏn (for instance a tale entitled “Pae yŏlbu chŏn” [Biography of the virtuous wife Pae], in volume 101 of Tongmunsŏn). Yet the passage at hand was likely modeled after the opening of the tale “Yueye tanqin ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, at the beginning of which a newly appointed magistrate notices a stain in the shape of a woman on the floor of a local school. When he inquires about this oddly formed stain, he is told the following tale: The Confucian scholar He Zhongshan stepped forth, saying, “This is the shadow of Mrs. Zhao, the chaste wife of Mr. Tan of the [Southern] Song. When the [Mongol] Yuan [led by Kublai Khan] came down to the south of the river [and invaded the dynasty], this land once more had to realign its alliance. Prime Minister Wen Tianxiang [1236–1283] thus raised an army to rescue the king [of the Southern Song] and recaptured the land. Shortly thereafter, Liu Pan led the Yuan army to take the city, and inside the city more than half of the population died. The Tan family hurriedly took refuge in the school, and the chaste wife hid inside the Hall of Great Completion. A rebel soldier caught up with her, and when he saw that she was young and beautiful he wanted to violate her. The wife scolded him severely, screaming, “I am the daughter of noble ancestors, the wife of a renowned family. How could a dog, a swine like you pair with me? Moreover, my uncle has been killed by you, and my aunt has been killed by you. I regret that I cannot tear your flesh into ten-thousand little ­pieces and feed them to the ravens and buzzards. But for me there is nothing but death. How could I pair with a dog, a swine like you?” The soldier became enraged and killed her along with the one-year-old child she was holding in her arms.” (Ch’oe, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:93) 112. This overall scene was inspired by one in “Aiqing zhuan” that is also set against the backdrop of the rebellion of Zhang Shicheng and his Red Turbans in the middle of the fourteenth century: In the Zhizheng reign [1341–1370], Zhang Shicheng brought Pingjiang under his control . . . Scholar Zhao’s home was occupied by a brigade leader [named] Liu, who saw Aiqing’s beautiful appearance and wanted to take her by force. Aiqing used sweet words to fool him [into believing that she would give herself to him]. She bathed herself and entered the bedchamber but then strangled herself with a silken towel and died. Brigade leader Liu ran to save her, but it was already too late! He wrapped her dead body in embroidered blankets and buried her underneath a ginkgo tree in the rear garden. Not long thereafter, Zhang [Shicheng] made peace [with the



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Yuan dynasty]. . . . It was then that the son of Zhao started on a difficult journey on roads by the ocean. He turned at Taicang, went up the coast, and straightaway returned to Jiaxing. But the city walls and the inhabitants were altogether not the way they had been in the old days. He ran to his former house, but it had been laid waste and nobody was living there anymore. He merely saw rats running around the ridgepole and [heard] owls calling in the trees, and there was light-green moss and dark-green grass setting each other off on the stairs and in the courtyard, and that was all. He looked for his mother and his wife, but he did not know where they had gone. (Ch’oe, 1:236–237) This scene from “Aiqing zhuan” was also alluded to by Kim Sisŭp in the poem “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu.” 113. While CMPP says tŭng u soru, “ascend the small tower,” SDCP says tŭng ru, “ascend the tower.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 44, 138. 114. In the Japanese tale in Otogibōko it is the Ōnin War of the late fifteenth century that leads to the couple’s separation, the female figure’s violent death, and the male protagonist’s lone return to their former home: Meanwhile, the Ōnin War broke out because of power struggles between the Hosokawa and Yamana clans. Numerous houses, big and small, were burnt down in the city of Kyoto. Many samurai soldiers came up to the capital, Kyoto, where the atrocities committed by them were beyond description. Nagatani’s wife was captured by the soldiers of Yoichi of Yakushiji. Since she was beautiful, some of them tried to violate her. At that time, she called out, “Just kill me. I would never surrender to the dirty men of the countryside!” The angry soldiers stabbed her to death. Meanwhile, Nagatani escaped and hid himself [outside Kyoto]. When he returned to the city after conditions became quiet during the winter, he found that his house was burnt down. He went to his wife’s place, and found no one. His wife’s father, who had belonged to the Yamana clan, had died in battle, while robbers had killed the mother. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 183) 115. A model passage can be found in “Aiqing zhuan”: “One evening, when the moon [could be seen only] vaguely, Scholar Zhao sat alone in the hall, unable to fall asleep. Suddenly he heard the sound of crying from amid the darkness, first from afar, then coming closer. . . . ‘It’s me, Miss Luo.’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:238. 116. CMPP says t’ong (C. tong), “great grief,” while SDCP has t’ong (C. tong), “pain.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 45, 139. 117. CMPP here features the character sa (C. sha), “sand,” while SDCP says sin (C. shen), “body.” Ch’oe, 45, 139. 118. A reference to the Yuan-dynasty drama Qiannü lihun (Qiannü’s detached

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soul) by Zheng Guangzu (fl. 1294), which is based on the tale “Lihun ji” (Record of the detached soul) by Chen Xuanyou (fl. 779), one of the most notable “detachedsoul stories” of the Tang dynasty. “Lihun ji” narrates the story of an official by the name of Zhang Yi. He has two daughters, the elder of whom dies at an early age; his younger daughter, Qianniang, is incredibly beautiful. Zhang Yi promises his daughter that he will allow her to marry her handsome cousin Wang Zhou when she is of age. The two grow up together and eventually fall madly in love. However, when a newly appointed official seeks a marriage alliance, Zhang Yi approves and breaks his promise to marry Qianniang to Wang Zhou. Heartbroken, Wang Zhou flees to the capital by boat. On his way, at midnight he sees Qianniang walking along the riverbank barefoot. He takes her with him, and they live together in conjugal bliss and have several children. One day, Qianniang grows homesick and wants to visit her father. Wang Zhou goes along. Upon seeing him, Zhang Yi (improbably) tells him that his daughter has been ill and confined to her bedchamber for the past five years. Hearing that Wang Zhou has returned, the girl inside the bedchamber makes herself up, steps out of her room, and becomes one with the Qianniang who had been living with Wang Zhou for the past five years. Compared to the original tale, minor changes were made in the drama Qiannü lihun: Qianniang is renamed Qiannü, her cousin’s name is changed from Wang Zhou to Wang Wenju, and the one interfering with the two lover’s relationship is Qiannü’s mother, not her father. Qiannü’s soul, just like that of Scholar Yi’s deceased wife in the tale at hand, acts like a natural, living human being. For the Tang-dynasty tale, see West and Idema, Monks, Bandits, Lovers, 196–198. 119. The Continent of Concentrated Grottos (C. Juku or Juku zhou) is a mystical island of Daoist immortals. 120. The source here says qikuo (K. kyŏlhwal). As was explained with respect to the first tale, the term derives from the fourth stanza of the Shijing poem “Jigu” and refers to lovers being separated for a long time. 121. “Love you until the very end” (K. chong iwi ho) alludes to a line in the Shijing poem “Mugua,” where it says yŏng iwi ho (C. yong yiwei hao), which in Waley’s words is “love her forever”: “She threw a tree-peach to me; / as requital I gave her a bright greenstone. / No, not just as requital; / But meaning I would love her forever.” Waley, Book of Songs, 31. 122. The character hŭi (C. xi), “happy,” is missing in SDCP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 140. 123. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam states that Mount Ogwan is located east of Mount Songak. The respective annotation in the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa reads: “Ogwansan lies in Hwanghae Province.” Ch’oe, 304. Kim Sisŭp visited Mount Ogwan during his travels through the northwest of the Korean Peninsula. His T’angyu Kwansŏ rok contains a poem entitled “Yu Ogwansan kan” (Sojourning in the valley of Mount Ogwan). MWTC 9:7a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:59. 124. Choejang (C. zuizhang), “hindrance of harmful behavior,” means a barrier of sin that hinders the accumulation of good karma. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism.



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125. There are several passages in Jiandeng xinhua that could have served as a basis for the words spoken by Miss Ch’oe, such as the speech by the ghostly woman who comes back from the realm of the dead to live with her former lover in the tale “Jinfengchai ji.” For a translation see Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 470. Yet it is most likely the final words spoken by the ghost-wife in “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” that Kim Sisŭp used as a model for this scene: [Qiaoqiao] said, “That the lady has waited on her husband and roamed around in the city has been for three years now overall. . . . ” The beauty suddenly shed tears as she said to Scholar [Teng], “. . . We have not yet been able to achieve deepest happiness and yet we will have to part forevermore.” The scholar said, “What is the reason for that?” She replied, “By nature I belong to the [realm of the] dark yin, and [for someone like me] to stay for a long time in the world of yang brilliance is utterly inappropriate. Only because there existed karmic affinity with you from a previous life was I able to break the law to follow you. Yet today that karmic affinity is exhausted, and I will have to respectfully bid you farewell.” “But when is that going to happen?” Scholar [Teng] asked, startled. “It will happen tonight,” she replied. Scholar [Teng] was so distraught, he almost could not bear it. The beauty said, “It is not that I did not want to serve you until the very end, to eternally wait upon you and bring [you] joy and happiness, but there is a limit to the mandate granted to me, and it is not possible to violate or exceed it. If I hesitated and stayed around, I would be held as an offender. And it is not only I who would come to harm, but it would not be advantageous for you, either.” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:157–158) 126. “Ongnu ch’un” (C. “Yulou chun”), “Jade Tower Spring,” is the title of a cipai, a piece of poetry that was matched with a certain melody to be sung. The term “jade tower spring” derives from a ci by Gu Xiong (fl. 928) contained in Huajian ji (Collection from amid the flowers). 127. This line is a slightly altered quotation of a line contained in the final poem of “Aiqing zhuan.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:238. 128. This is a direct quotation of another line from the same poem in “Aiqing zhuan.” It reads, “Beneath the fragrant silken towel, jade bursts and petals fly.” Ch’oe, 1:238. In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae this line is annotated as follows: “Jing Hao from the royal family of the state of Wei [220–265] said, ‘A great man becomes a jade stone that bursts rather than an intact roof tile.’ In the Nanshi, Wang Sengda [423–458] of the [Former] Song [420–479] said, ‘A great man becomes a jade stone that bursts; how could he sink to seeking to prolong his life?’ The poem “Yuanzhu” [Green pearl] by Du Yuezhu says, ‘Gentlemen in armor are in disorder like the snow; / now is the time for petals to fly and jade to burst.’ ” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 558. 129. In “Aiqing zhuan,” after the female protagonist has finished her above-

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mentioned poem, it says, “Every time she had been about to sing a verse, she had sighed in sadness and chocked up in distress so as to be almost unable to complete the verse.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:239. 130. This is a quote from Lunyu 2.5: “Meng Yizi asked about filial piety. The Master replied, ‘Do not disobey.’ Later, Fan Chi was driving the Master’s chariot. The Master said to him, ‘Just now Meng Yizi asked me about filial piety, and I answered, “Do not disobey.” Fan Chi said, ‘What did you mean by that?’ The Master replied, ‘When your parents are alive, serve them in accordance with the rites; when they pass away, bury them in accordance with the rites and sacrifice to them in accordance to the rites.’ ” Slingerland, Analects, 9. 131. Scholar Yi feels ashamed of himself for abandoning Miss Ch’oe and both of their parents during their escape to the remote cliff and for not intervening when they were captured and slaughtered by the invading Red Turbans. 132. One ji (K. ki) equals twelve years. 133. Guilu (K. kwirok) denotes the records of the souls of the deceased. Similar records of souls appear in the fourth tale of Kŭmo sinhwa when Scholar Pak visits the underworld. 134. In “Aiqing zhuan,” Lady Ai likewise says to Scholar Zhao, “Master Zhao, please take good care of yourself. From now on we have to part forever.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:240. 135. In the Japanese tale “Making a pledge through poems” from Otogibōko, the human and his ghost-wife also get to meet again but are not allowed to spend any more time with each other. Their final conversation is yet again modeled after passages from the tale at hand: “That night, as in a dream, Makiko returned home. ‘What happened?’ Calling out to one other, they took each other’s hands tearfully. The wife said, ‘After we were separated, I was caught by the soldiers and lost my life. It was most pitiful that my body was left alone by the roadside with no one to take care of it. The Heavenly Emperor pitied me, who had lost my life on account of my chastity, and was much moved by your feelings for me. He allowed me to come here tonight to see you.’ ” The ending of the tale reads, “She tearfully bade her farewell and disappeared like a shadow. After that, Nagatani became more pious and confined himself to a temple on Higashiyama. But soon he became ill and finally passed away. All the people who heard this (story) thought it most pitiful and extraordinary.” Dykstra, Otogibōko, 183–184.

Chapter 4: Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion 1. Old Chosŏn is regarded as the “first dynasty” on the Korean Peninsula. It is traditionally divided into three phases: Tan’gun Chosŏn (2333 BCE–1122 BCE), Kija Chosŏn (1122 BCE–194 BCE), and Wiman Chosŏn (194 BCE–108 BCE). For further information, see, e.g., Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 13–14. The opening of this tale resembles the first sentences of P’ahan chip 3.30, an entry dealing with the P’yŏngyang poet Chŏng Chisang (?–1135), which reads, “The Western Capital



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[P’yŏngyang] was once the capital of Koguryŏ. It is embraced by mountains and rivers, the scenery is outstanding, and from times of old many unusual people and extraordinary scholars have come from here.” 2. King Wu of Zhou (r. ca. 1049–1043 BCE) finished the conquest of the Shang dynasty that had been started by his father, King Wen of Zhou, by defeating the Shang in the battle of Muye in 1046 BCE. 3. Following convention in Korean studies, the present translation generally refers to Jizi (also Ji zi, Vicount of Ji) in the Korean reading, Kija. Though originally from China, Kija is a major figure in Korean history and mythology. Kija himself had served the Shang but had been imprisoned by their last ruler, a relative of his, after he opposed the emperor’s corrupt practices. When the Zhou overthrew the Shang, Kija was released by King Wu of Zhou, but he nonetheless refused to serve the new rulers. Admiring his virtue and loyalty to Shang, King Wu is believed to have enfeoffed him with the Korean Peninsula. Kija is said to have led five thousand people to Korea who brought along their books of poetry and their laws, rituals, and music. In short, he was (and partly still is) believed to have brought Chinese culture to the Korean Peninsula. The evidence of Kija’s rule during Old Chosŏn relies on records in Chinese historiographies such as the Shiji, and the story of how Kija came to the east was often repeated in Koryŏ and Chosŏn historical writings. Whether Kija’s eastward migration really reached the Korean Peninsula and whether he ruled over a “Korean” people is much debated among modern scholars. For a collection of the Chinese sources on Kija, see Peter H. Lee et al., Sourcebook of Korean Civilization, 237–239; see also Oh, Engraving Virtue, 271. 4. “Nine Divisions,” “Nine Sections,” or “Nine Categories” (C. Jiuchou) of the “Hongfan” (Great Model or Great Plan) chapter of Shujing. “Hongfan jiuchou” was considered a model for good government associated with the legendary Emperor Yu, founder of the Xia dynasty (ca. 2070–1600 BCE), and was believed to have been presented to the Zhou court by Kija. de Bary and Bloom, Sources of Chinese Tradi­ tion, 31–32. For James Legge’s translation of “The Great Plan,” see Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:320–344. 5. The original sentence could also be understood as “[Kija] did not become his subject,” in the sense that he refused to become the king’s subject and specifically chose to go to Korea. For a detailed discussion of Kija veneration in early Chosŏn Korea, see Young-woo Han, “Kija ] 6.  The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 51, sec. “P’yŏngando,” subsec. “P’yŏngyangbu”) states that Mount Kŭmsu (K. Kŭmsusan), “Embroidered Silk Mountain,” lies five miles north of P’yŏngyang. Mount Kŭmsu is an alternate name for a mountain originally referred to as Mount Chin (K. Chinsan). 7. Ponghwang Terrace (K. Ponghwangdae), “Phoenix Terrace,” is located ten miles outside of P’yŏngyang in a southwesterly direction. Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, “P’yŏngyangbu.” 8. Nŭngna Island (K. Nŭngnado), “Gauze Island,” is an isle in the Taedong River, located four miles outside of P’yŏngyang. It is said to be twelve miles in circumference. Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, “P’yŏngyangbu.”The T’angyu Kwansŏ

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rok by Kim Sisŭp features a poem entitled “Nŭngnado.” MWTC 9:16a; Kugyŏk Mae­ wŏl­tang chip, 2:79. According to legend, Nŭngnado was an island originally located in a subsidiary stream of the Taedong River during Koguryŏ dynasty. The island was inundated by raging storm waters and carried away during a great flood. It resurfaced in the Taedong River proper, and it was from then on that it was called Nŭngnado. For the legend, see Brochlos, Pjongjanger Legenden, 93–98. 9. Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 51, sec. “P’yŏngando,” subsec. “P’yŏng­ yang­bu”) states that Kirin Cave (K. Kirin’gul), “Unicorn Cave” or “Unicorn Grotto,” is a cave inside Kuje Palace (K. Kujegung) and underneath Pubyŏk Pavilion. King Tongmyŏng (K. Tongmyŏng wang) of Koguryŏ is said to have bred a wondrous horse (usually referred to as a kirin, a sort of unicorn) inside this cave. A memorial stone was later erected, and the people came to commemorate King Tongmyŏng at Kirin Cave. Kim Sisŭp’s T’angyu Kwansŏ rok also contains a poem entitled “Kirin’gul.” MWTC 9:15b–16a. 10. Choch’ŏn Rock (K. Choch’ŏnsŏk), the “Morning Ritual for Heaven Rock,” is said to be the place where King Tongmyŏng held his morning rituals to heaven. The place was an altar where his rebirth celebration was held. Presumed to have been located south of Kirin Cave, it is a rock that appears and disappears according to the ebb and flow of the tide. As legend has it, Choch’ŏn Rock shot forth from the ground when King Tongmyŏng entered Kirin Cave astride his wondrous horse. King Tongmyŏng’s entering the cave was a symbolic expression of ritual death; he attained his ritual rebirth by appearing on Choch’ŏn Rock. By the time the Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam was created in the sixteenth century, the prints of the marvelous animal’s hooves were allegedly still visible on the stone. T’angyu Kwansŏ rok also contains a poem entitled “Choch’ŏnsŏk,” which shows that Kim Sisŭp visited this place during his travels through the Korean Peninsula’s northwest region. MWTC 9:15a. 11. I was unable to find any information on the location of Ch’unamhŏ, “Ch’unam’s Hill.” Ch’unam is the name of a fortune-teller from the Koguryŏ period. As legend has it, after unjustly having been sentenced to death by the king, Ch’unam vowed to bring about the fall of the dynasty from beyond the grave. 12. T’angyu Kwansŏ rok features a poem entitled “Yŏngmyŏngsa yaban sŏ hoe” (Writing a huaigu at midnight in Yŏngmyŏng Temple). MWTC 9:16a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:79. 13. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam states that Pubyŏk Tower is located beneath Ŭlmil Rock (K. Ŭlmiltae) and east of Yŏngmyŏng Temple. Pubyŏk Pavilion, the “Pavilion of Floating Greenery” or “Pavilion of Floating Jade Green,” which was built in 393, appears as Pubyŏkchŏng at this point in the text as well as in the tale’s title. Yet in later sources such as the Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam it is referred to as Pubyŏngnu, “Pubyŏk Tower.” In T’angyu Kwansŏ rok we also find a poem entitled “Pubyŏngnu.” MWTC 9:15b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:78. In the early modern historiography of Korean literature Chosŏn sosŏlsa, Kim T’aejun likewise referred to the present tale under the title “Ch’wiyu pubyŏngnu ki.” However, according to P’ahan chip 2.22, the original name of this building was in fact Pubyŏngnyo, “Hut of Floating Jade Green.” The entry in P’ahan chip reads,



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The southern pavilion of Yŏngmyŏng Monastery in the Western Capital [K. Sŏgyŏng, meaning P’yŏngyang] is a superb site under heaven. [The temple was] originally constructed by Master Hŭng. To the south it overlooks the Tae[dong] River; beyond the river lie broad plains, remote and faint, the borders of which cannot be made out. Only to their eastern edges is there the shore, and far in the distance small peaks rise and sink as if they were both there and not there. When in the past [Koryŏ] King Yejong [r. 1105–1122] went on a royal tour of the western region, he held a feast there together with several of his ministers; they drank, chanted, and entertained themselves. The poems they created were vast in number, yet each was carved on a golden stone or played as silk-bamboo music to be transmitted to the Music Bureau. Just at that time, my ancestor, the executive of the Royal Secretariat Yi O [1042–1110; Yi Illo’s great-grandfather], was staying at the Jade Hall [the Hallimwŏn], and he was a member of the retinue following the [king] when he went up to this scenic spot. He ordered [the building] to be called Pubyŏngnyo, “Hut of Floating Jade Green,” and created a poem and recorded [the event] from beginning to end in great detail. The grandeur of the mountains and streams [embracing Pubyŏngnyo] is apt to vie with that of Dishu Pavilion in China, but in terms of beauty [Pubyŏngnyo] even surpasses it. When haksa Kim Hwangwŏn [1045–1117] made a stop in the Western Capital, he climbed to the top [of Pubyŏngnyo] and ordered the petty officials to collect and burn all of the writing tablets left behind by the county’s wise men of old and new. Then he leaned against the railing and indulged in reciting poems. By sunset his voice was properly strained—he sounded like a monkey crying out to the moon—but was only able to come up with a single couplet: “Like one long wall the gently flowing water; / at the eastern rim of the great plain dots of mountains.” Then his imagination dried up and he did not get to write anything else. Crying bitterly, he descended. A few days later he finished a piece, which even to this day is considered the peak of poetic perfection. At the time the people said, “In the past we heard that Song Yu’ was saddened by the qi of autumn [a reference to the first lines of Song Yu’s ‘Jiubian’ in Chuci], and now we see that [Kim] Hwangwŏn wailed at the evening sun.” Pubyŏk Pavilion is mentioned in an abundance of premodern Korean sources, one example being the Pubyŏngnu ch’aun (Matching rhymes on Pubyŏk Tower) by Kwŏn Han’gong (?–1349; in Tongmunsŏn, vol. 7), another one being “Pubyŏngnu” (Pubyŏk Tower) by Yi Saek. The poem “Pubyŏngnu” reads as follows: Yesterday I passed by Yŏngmyŏng Monastery, and temporarily ascended to Pubyŏk Tower. The castle was empty, the moon a slice; stones were old and the clouds have seen a thousand autumns.

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Notes to Page 103 The wondrous horse has gone and will not return, where might the Descendant of Heaven [King Tongmyŏng] sojourn? Whistling long notes while leaning on a windswept flight of stone stairs, mountains are green and the river flows along by itself. (MŬG 2:14b)

The forlorn picture of P’yŏngyang painted in this poem very much resembles that of the tale at hand. Pubyŏk Pavilion is also mentioned (again as Pubyŏngnu) in another classic of Korean literature, namely, Yŏrha ilgi by Pak Chiwŏn. In reference to the passage from P’ahan chip quoted above, in the fourth chapter of Pak’s famous travelogue it says, Outside the city wall at Yongping, a large river flows in curves, embracing the city. The geographical situation is similar to that of P’yŏngyang, but much more majestic and expansive, only that Yongping does not have the clear river Taedong. An old story tells of how haksa Kim Hwangwŏn ascended Pubyŏk Tower, where he thought up the couplet “like one long wall the gently flowing water; / at the eastern rim of the great plain dots of mountains,” but after he had laboriously sung these lines, his imagination dried up and he left the place in tears. Those who tell the story mean to say that the beauty of the P’yŏngyang landscape is fully expressed by these two lines, and for a thousand years nobody has been able to add a verse. But I never thought of it as a successful verse. (The translation of the fourth, fifth, and sixth chapters of Yŏrha ilgi by Marion Eggert of Ruhr University Bochum is forthcoming in the Korean Classics Library series.) 14. Ko Chumong, founder of Koguryŏ, was also known as King Tongmyŏng. Kujegung, “Nine Stepladder Palace,” was his legendary palace. It likewise appears in many other Korean lyrical works, for example in the poem “Kujegung” by Kwŏn Kŭn. Yŏngmyŏnsa, “Eternal Light Temple,” was allegedly built at the site of this Kujegung, west of both Mount Kŭmsu and Pubyŏk Pavilion and above Kirin Cave. It would become famous for lodging Ado, the monk who transmitted Buddhism to Koguryŏ. During the Koryŏ dynasty, monarchs would frequently visit it whenever they came to the Western Capital. Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 73–74. 15. In the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa the annotation to this opening paragraph reads, Chŏng [in Pubyŏkchŏng] today reads nu [i.e., Pubyŏngnu]. P’yŏngyang is located in P’yŏngan Province. Kŭmsusan is the name of a mountain in the north of P’yŏngyangbu. Ponghwangdae is south of P’yŏngyangbu. Nŭngnado lies below P’yŏngyangbu in the middle of the Taedong River. Above, there is Kirin’gul. Choch’ŏnsŏk is above that. It is an ancient trace of Chumong, the first ancestor of Koguryŏ. Ch’unamhŏ is above that. Yŏngmyŏngsa lies in a corner of P’yŏngyang City. Pubyŏngnu is in



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front of Yŏngmyŏngsa. King Tongmyŏng is a king of Koguryŏ, namely, Chumong. [He reigned] in the sixty-first year of our [Japanese] Emperor Sujin. Kujegung is the palace where Chumong lived. Taedongmun is the southern gate of P’yŏngyangbu City. Willow Landing [K. ryugi] is located below P’yŏngyang City, right by the shores of the Taedong River. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 307–309) 16. Ch’ŏngunje, “Blue Cloud Stepladders,” and Paegunje, “White Cloud Stepladders.” In the subsection on P’yŏngyang in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 51) these rock formations are called Ch’ŏngun’gyo (Blue Cloud Bridge) and Paegun’gyo (White Cloud Bridge); this, however, is also the case in the final stanza of the present tale’s protagonist’s first poem, where its says, “The Blue Cloud Bridge faces the White Cloud Bridge.” The entry in Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam concerning these stepladders or staircases reads, “Ch’ŏngun’gyo and Paegun’gyo, together they existed inside of Kuje Palace, and they are stepladders from the time of King Tongmyŏng. They emerged naturally by heaven’s grace and did not borrow manpower [to come into being].” 17. Emperor Tianshun of Ming reigned from 1457 to 1464, that is, (from a Chosŏn Korean perspective) from the third to tenth year of the reign of King Sejo. This implies that the tale “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” is set around the time Kŭmo sinhwa is believed to have been created. 18. Songgyŏng, “Pine Capital,” is an alternative name for the city of Kaesŏng (or Songdo). As the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa explains, “Songgyŏng is the same as Songdo.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 309. 19. “Bringing cloth to exchange for thread” stands for a man seducing a woman. It is a quotation from the Shijing poem “Mang,” the first lines of which read, “We thought you were a simple peasant bringing cloth to exchange for thread. / But you had not come to buy thread; you had come to arrange about me.” Waley, Book of Songs, 96. 20. Kisŏng is yet another name for the city of P’yŏngyang. It derives from the city’s purported function as the capital of Kija Chosŏn. Similar names are Kiyang and Kiyŏng. 21. Not much is known about the Tang poet Zhang Ji (mid-8th c.). He is generally considered a minor poet of the golden age of Tang poetry. He is said to have passed the highest state examinations in 753. Though several dozen of his poems were transmitted over time, his lasting fame was founded predominantly on the poem “Fengqiao yebo.” Klöpsch, “Um Mitternacht der Glocke Ton,” 65. A translation of this poem by Stephen Owen reads, The moon is setting, crows cry out, and frost fills the sky. River maples and fishermen’s fires face someone who lies here melancholy. Beyond the walls of Ku-Su, Cold Mountain Temple: At midnight the sounds of its bell reach the traveler’s boat. (Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 424)

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One of many other translations is “A Night-Mooring near Maple Bridge” by Wittner Bynner, in Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 852. 22. This entire introductory passage can be viewed as a “Koreanized” version of the opening of “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. Just as the sights of P’yŏngyang are listed and named in the tale at hand, the scenic spots of Lin’an (present-day Hangzhou) are presented at the beginning of the Chinese model tale. Moreover, Scholar Teng Mu, who comes to Lin’an from another city and is eventually so drunk and worked up that he cannot fall asleep, appears to have served as a model for the figure of Scholar Hong. This opening of “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” reads, At the beginning of the reign of Yanyou [Emperor Renzong of Yuan, r. 1311–1320], in Yongjia there lived a Scholar Teng, whose given name was Mu. He was twenty-six years of age, handsome and elegant, and excelled in reciting poetry. Everybody held him in high esteem. He had always heard about the marvelous scenic beauty of Lin’an and had [often] thought about traveling there. In the year jiayin [1314] . . . he was finally able to go, having been recommended for what he had written in the provincial examinations. When he got there, he took up residence outside of Yongjin Gate. Not a day went by that he did not go to the two mountains in the south and the north or to the monasteries above the [western] lake. From [temples such as] Lingyin, Tianzhu, Jingci, and Baoshi to [clear springs such as] Yuquan and Hupanquan, [lofty peaks such as] Tianlong and [mountain ridges such as] Lingjiu, [scenic spots such as] Shiwu Grotto and Lengquan Pavilion, secluded mountain brooks and deep forests, sheer cliffs and precipitous rocks—he left his footprints everywhere. It was the time of the full moon in the seventh month. Scholar Teng had marveled at the beauty of the lotus flowers in Quyuan Garden, and since he meant to spend the night by the lake, he moored his boat underneath Leifeng Pagoda. That night, the light of the moon resembled daylight and the smell of the lotus flowers enveloped his body. At the time he heard large fish leaping forth from amid the waves and drowsing birds flying up cawing by the shores of the lake. Scholar Teng was already very drunk, and when he lay down he could not fall asleep. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:152–153) 23. The “pure void” (C. qingxu, K. ch’ŏnghŏ) here means the moon palace (K. wŏlgung, C. yuegong). 24. Zifu (K. Chabu), “Purple Palace,” is the name of the dwelling place of Daoist transcendents, the immortals’ residence in heaven. 25. The proverb “sigh over barley in ear covering the grounds of Yin” (K. maeksu ŭnhŏ-ji t’an, C. maixiu yinxu zhi tan) refers to the lamenting of the demise and fall of one’s native land. When Kija went to appear at the Zhou court, he traveled through his native country of Yin (or Shang) and saw unharvested barley covering the ruins



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of the ruler’s crumbled palace. Lamenting the fall of his native dynasty, Kija purportedly sighed and wrote a song entitled “Maeksu ka” (C. “Maixiu ge,” “Song of Barley in Bloom”) in order to express his sorrow. Cf. Knechtges, Ruin and Remembrance, 57. Just like the “Maixiu ge,” the following poem by Scholar Hong is a huaigu, a “meditation on the past,” a type of Chinese poem in which the poet depicts his visit to an ancient site that has been abandoned and now lies in ruins. The poet then reflects on the scene, moved by the thought that what had once been a place of glory and prosperity has now become a site of decay and destruction. The poet reflects on the past and expresses his sadness with respect to the current state of things. Knechtges, 55. At this point in the narrative, Scholar Hong gazes at the ruinous state of the ancient capital P’yŏngyang and laments the fact that the cultural center of ancient Korea now lies in ruins. If one reads Kŭmo sinhwa as a piece of literature critical of contemporary issues written by an author unable to openly voice his critical attitude toward the reigning king and government of Chosŏn, the huaigu poems in this tale can be understood as a celebration of past glory (i.e., the reign of Tanjong) and a lament of the current state of things (i.e., the reign of Sejo). Although these huaigu poems and their focus on Korean history are highly original, Kim Sisŭp was indoubtedly inspired by model works from “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji.” In the tale from Jian­ deng xinhua, the first huaigu is sung by the ghost of the palace lady, who laments the fall of the Song dynasty. Before she intones her poem, she says, The [western] lake and the mountains are just the way they were in the past, the scenery is not different at all. Only the times have shifted, and the era has changed— it makes one feel the sadness of the [ode on ruin] “Shuli” [“The broomcorn millet hangs heavy” from Shijing].” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:154) After she has recited her nostalgic poem, the male protagonist matches it and the two become lovers. 26. P’ae River denotes the Taedong River, which runs through P’yŏngyang. 27. The phrase “dragons and tigers” alludes to kings or rulers. In this case it can be assumed that, while looking down on the once majestic capital, Scholar Hong refers to the fallen rulers of the previous Korean dynasties who had made P’yŏng­ yang their capital. 28. Hanshansi, Cold Mountain Temple, is located in the vicinity of Fengqiao in Suzhou, China. On the one hand, this line, which underlines the forlorn and bleak atmosphere, can certainly be understood as an allusion to the final line of the aforementioned poem “Fengqiao yebo” by Zhang Ji. On the other hand, it might constitute a slightly altered quotation of the third line from the fourth stanza of “Sutai zhuzhi qu,” the first poem in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji.” The couplet reads, “From inside Cold Mountain Temple I hear the bell in the morning; / fishermen’s fires and river maples afflict a traveler’s sleep.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:107–108. The accompanying annotation in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae reads, “Cold Mountain Temple lies in the west of Wu County in Suzhou. It is referred to in the

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poem ‘Fengqiao yebo’ by Zhang Ji of the Tang dynasty.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 671. Moreover, the first two lines of Kim Sisŭp’s aforementioned poem “Yŏngmyŏngsa yaban sŏ hoe” from T’angyu Kwansŏ rok read, “Once I spent the night at Cold Mountain Temple, / and a bell rang out at midnight.” MWTC 9:16a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:79. Cold Mountain Temple could thus also be understood as a reference to Yŏngmyŏng Temple, the bell of which Scholar Hong might be hearing at this point in the story. 29. This line might be taken as an allusion to the first line of Xunzi (Writings of Xunzi): “Blue [K. ch’ŏng] comes from the indigo plant but is bluer than the plant itself.” As generally understood, the reference here is to something being better than the original. 30. The shrine in honor of Kija was located in the vicinity of P’yŏngyang. In 1102 the Koryŏ Board of Rites requested that the rites for Kija be recorded in the ritual manuals, his tomb be located, and a shrine be built. This request was subsequently sanctioned by King Sukchong (r. 1095–1105). The importance of Kija for the leaders of the Koryŏ dynasty was once more confirmed when in 1178 the allocation of land to state institutions and to the different shrines in P’yŏngyang was revised. The large amount of land the Kija shrine received at that time was more than three times the amount the shrine for Confucius received. Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 101. Kim Sisŭp’s T’angyu Kwansŏ rok contains a poem entitled “Kija myo.” MWTC 9:12a; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:70. 31. According to the Sejong sillok chiriji (sec. “P’yŏngando,” subsec. “P’yŏng­ yang­bu”), the shrine of Tan’gun was built in the eleventh year of the reign of King Sejong (1429) and located south of the shrine of Kija. It at first served as a place of veneration for both Tan’gun and King Tongmyŏng; Tan’gun’s shrine was to the west, King Tongmyŏng’s to the east. Ritual services were held every year in spring and autumn. Kim Sisŭp’s T’angyu Kwansŏ rok also contains a poem entitled “Tan’gun myo.” MWTC 9:12a-b. 32. Kim Sisŭp’s poem “Yŏngmyŏngsa yaban sŏ hoe” from T’angyu Kwansŏ rok features a similar line: “Heroes are all silent, I realize they are no longer alive.” MWTC 9:16a. 33. This line may have been inspired by lines from the previously quoted poem “Pubyŏngnu” by Yi Saek. See n. 13 of the present tale. 34. This line alludes to the innumerable fallen Sui dynasty (569–618) soldiers who died on the shores of the Ch’ŏngch’ŏn River (Salsu River) during the all-out wars with Koguryŏ in the early seventh century. For an account of events, see Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 47. 35. Dizi jingling (K. cheja chŏngyŏng), meaning the “spirit of the dead son of the emperor.” The son of the emperor at this point is Emperor Yang of Sui (569–618), second son of Emperor Wen of Sui. Yang was primarily responsible for the disastrous campaigns against Koguryŏ that led to the fall of the Sui dynasty. The term jingling means “spirit of the dead.” 36. The source says ch’ido (C. chidao). The middle path of the widest and most level “highway,” the ch’ido, was reserved for the sole use of the emperor or king.



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These roads were tamped down absolutely smooth with wooden or metal pestles, faced with dressed stone, and about seventy meters wide. The sides of the ch’ido were lined at regular intervals with pine trees. Purportedly, in China these imperial roads extended far into the areas now known as Shandong and Zhejiang. Alcock and Bolden, Highways, 39. 37. This line might have been inspired by a very similar one in the poem “Guo Xiulinggong” (Passing by Xiuling Palace) by the Tang poet Cui Tu, which reads, “The garden road dark and vague, beautiful sedans have ceased to come.” 38. This passage was taken from the opening of the first “Chibi fu” (Red Cliff rhapsody) by Su Shi, which reads, In the fall of the year jen-hsü [renxu, 1082] in the seventh month on the day after the full moon, I traveled in a boat with some guests to the foot of the Red Cliff. A light wind wafted by, and not a ripple was stirred. I poured wine for my guests as we chanted the poem about the bright moon and sang the song about the graceful maiden. . . . Then we drank more wine and reached the height of joy. I beat out a rhythm against the side of the boat and sang: “Cassia-wood oars, magnolia-wood rudder, stroke the moon’s pure reflection as we glide upstream on its shimmering light. Ever distant, the object of my longings. I gaze at the beautiful one in a faraway corner of heaven.” One of the guests could play the flute and accompanied my song. Yet his sounds—wu-wu—were plaintive, yearning, weeping, accusing. The lingering notes meandered through the air, drawn out like silken threads. They would have aroused a submerged chiao-dragon to whirl around in the cavernous depths, and caused a widow to weep in her lonely boat. (Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 185–186) 39. The reference to “a demon of the flowers and the moon” (C. huayue yao, K. hwawŏl yo) appears in a tale from Jiyi zhi (Records of anomalies compiled). There, she is a demon that transforms into a beautiful woman to become the concubine of the Tang official Wu Sansi. Wu Sansi once held a feast that was attended by the celebrated official Di Renji (630–700). Seeing Di Renji, the beautiful demon fled, later to be discovered hiding in a gap in the wall. Questioned about the reason for her escape, she answered that as a demon she could not face the upright Di Renjie. The term huayue yao also appears in the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Jiangmiao nishen ji,” which had already served as one source of inspiration for the first tale of Kŭmo sinhwa. In “Jiangmiao nishen ji,” after the uncle of the male protagonist, Xie Lian, has seen his nephew with the four ghostly sisters, he says the following to his wife: “The garden is wide and vast, with all kinds of dense bamboo forests, so of course there ought to be demons of the flowers and the moon there.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:372. 40. This “beauty who walks on lotus flowers” (C. bulian shu, K. poryŏn chu) can be understood as a reference to Pan Yunu (d. 501), a concubine of the Southern Qi emperor Xiao Baojuan (483–501). Consort Pan was described as an extraordinarily

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beautiful woman. Her walk was said to have been so elegant that Xiao Baojuan made tiles covered with golden lotus patterns for her to walk on. The young woman’s declaration earlier in this passage that she is “neither a demon of the flowers and the moon” implies that she is not a maleficent being that brings disaster upon people, but the allusion to Pan Yunu might mean that there is no difference in status between the herself and Scholar Hong. Thus, she invites him to approach her. 41. Binglun (K. bingnyun), “icy wheel,” here refers to the bright moon. 42. The term qionglou (K. kyŏngnu), “jade tower,” refers to a realm of Daoist immortals and can here be taken as an alternative expression for the moon palace. 43. Zhumu (K. chumo), “principal mother,” hints at a mother-child-like relationship between the servant girls and the lady. 44.  A very similar scenario of a wealthy young man coming to a foreign city, visiting an ancient site, and meeting an extraordinary, otherworldly woman with whom he exchanges poems can be found in the tale “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji” from Jiandeng yuhua. The scene in which the young man, Shen Shao, first meets the ghostly female protagonist—a palace lady who had served as a concubine of the warlord Chen Youliang (1320–1362) but was killed in the battles attendant on the fall of the Yuan dynasty—strongly resembles the scene at hand. “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji” says, Suddenly there were peculiar fragrances in the air enveloping him like mist. Shao thought this strange and stood still to wait [and see what would happen]. After about the time it would take to drink a cup of tea, a beautiful palace lady appeared, nicely adorned, looking like a heavenly immortal. Two palace maids led the way ahead, one carrying a [small] hanging heater made of gold, the other carrying an embroidered mat of purple silk. When they slowly came up the stairs, [Shen Shao] thought to himself that she must necessarily be a woman from a noble family . . . and thus he hid behind a wall to avoid her. The girls spread out the mat in the middle of the yard, and the beautiful woman sat down on the ground. Looking back at her maids she said, “How is it that there is the qi of a living person here? It can’t be that those wild fellows from yesterday are still here, can it?” Shao feared that she might send somebody out to search for him, so he jumped forth, prostrated himself, and apologized for his rude behavior. The beauty said, “Our dynasties are not the same, and also there is no status distinction [between the two of us], so how could there have been any rude behavior?” . . . When he inquired about her name, the beauty said, “I want to explain to you everything from beginning to end, but I fear that I might frighten you if you hear [what I have to say]. However, I am not someone who brings disaster upon people, so don’t be astounded! I am Zheng Wane, handmaiden of Chen Youliang of the false Han [the insurgent state Dahan]. I died when I was twenty years of age, and I was buried in the vicinity of [Pipa] Pavilion.” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:216–217)



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This scene from Jiandeng yuhua is likely to have served as an inspiration for the scene at hand. 45. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam states that Sinho Monastery was located on Mount Ch’anggwan, which itself lies southwest of P’yŏngyang. In the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa the annotation at this point says, “Sinhosa is an ancient temple in P’yŏngyang.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 312. 46. Luohan is an abbreviation of aluohan and refers to an arhat, i.e., a venerable, worthy, enlightened man who has attained nirvana, the final goal of Buddhist practice. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 47. Chuam, “Wine Rock,” lies ten miles northeast of P’yŏngyang. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam says the source of the name is that in days of old, wine flowed forth from inside its fissures, the traces of which are said to still be visible. In the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa the annotation at this point says, “Chuam lies outside of P’yŏngyang city by the shores of the river [Taedong].” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 314. According to the legend surrounding this rock: During the days of the Koguryŏ kingdom there lived a filial son and his elderly, ailing father. The father loved to drink wine, but since they were mere woodcutters, they were too poor to afford such an expensive beverage. One day, the son was leaning against a rock lamenting the fact that he could not make his father happy by providing him liquor when suddenly the finest wine began to flow forth from a fissure in the rock. Overjoyed, the son brought a cup of it to his father, whose condition instantly improved and who eventually became young and healthy again. When the greedy magistrate who owned the land on which Wine Rock stood heard of this, he wanted to make rivers—not drops—of wine flow forth from the stone. And so he started digging a hole in the rock, whereupon Chuam crumbled, burying the greedy landlord. The people in the P’yŏngyang area came to refer to the rock as Wine Rock, or as Hyojaam, the “Rock of the Filial Son.” Brochlos, Pjongjanger Legenden, 30–36. 48. The sentences in this passage in parentheses are in fact interlinear comments printed in smaller characters in the source, the CMPP. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 56. The two interlinear explanations on Sinho Monastery and Wine Rock are also included in the Jōō and Meiji editions. Ch’oe, 188, 313–314. It is unclear whether they were inserted by Kim Sisŭp himself or added later, for example by Yun Ch’unnyŏn. 49. It has been noted in the scholarship that in similar tales from Chinese literary history, such as “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua or “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, it is usually the lady who initiates the poetic exchange with a huaigu-style poem, while the man’s poetic response primarily expresses his amorous interest in her. Zeitlin, The Phantom Heroine, 95–96. In this respect, the tale at hand clearly differs from the Chinese models. 50. The term tongjŏng, “eastern pavilion,” refers to Pubyŏk Pavilion. Its western counterpart was a pavilion called Yŏn’gwangjŏng. 51. The CMPP and Jōō editions here say ryŏmyŏm (C. lianyan); the Meiji edition says ryŏmryŏm (C. lianlian). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 57, 188, 314. 52. This line is a reference to Suo Jing (239–303), a Western Jin writer and cal-

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ligrapher who was a person of great foresight, according to his biography, “Suo Jing zhuan,” in the Jinshu (History of the Jin dynasty). Knowing that the Jin dynasty would eventually fall, he pointed at a bronze statue of a camel situated at the entrance to the imperial palace in Luoyang. Sighing, he said, “I shall soon see you in thorns and brambles.” Knechtges and Chang, Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature, 2:1064. The “bronze camel buried in thorns and brambles” thus symbolizes dynastic fall. 53. In the poem “Uya” (Dwelling at night), the third poem of the cycle “Chuya” (Day and night), we find a similar line: “By the grass roots a noisily crying cricket; happy to hear the bell [sounding] from inside Hŭngch’ŏn Temple.” MWTC 4:1b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:279. 54. This is a play on words with the expression kŭmsu, “embroidered silk,” which reappears in the name of Mount Kŭmsu. 55. This line could be a reference to the poem “Yuweng” (The old fisherman) by Liu Zongyuan (773–819), which also features the first four characters of the line at hand. The lyrical depiction of evanescence and the illusory nature of human life, reflected in our poem, can likewise be found in “Yuweng.” Yet the line might also allude to the “Ainai ge” (Creaking oars song) by Yuan Jie (719–772). In this case, it could mean that a fisherman can be heard singing the “Ainai ge” while his boat is returning. 56. In Daoism, yujing (K. okkyŏng), the “jade capital,” is the upper of the Three Passes. It is located at the occiput and sometimes referred to as “jade pillow.” Komjathy, Cultivating Perfection, 486. The term here means the universe. 57. The term sanchi (K. samch’ŏk) is here understood as being short for sanchifa (K. samch’ŏkpŏp), “three-foot laws,” i.e., laws and statutes of Chinese antiquity that were written on three-foot-long bamboo strips. In this context it might refer to the laws and regulations of the mundane world that have no impact on the otherworldly relationship of the characters in this tale. 58. This most likely refers to legendary peaches usually said to grow on trees on Mount Kunlun, the abode of the Queen Mother of the West. These peaches purportedly only ripen every three thousand years. 59. Meaning that she is a direct descendant of Kija. Her speech might have been inspired by the self-introduction of the Weaver Maid in the tale “Jianhu yefan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, which begins with the words “I am a descendant of the Heavenly Emperor, a daughter of the Ling Star.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:319. 60. Refers to Cheng Tang, the first king of Shang, who overthrew the Xia dynasty. 61. Of these fundamental Eight Rules (K. P’alcho), which purportedly constituted an initial basic canon of law and which were most likely founded on the “Hongfan,” three have survived. According to the Hanshu: the first rule says that those who commit murder must pay with their own lives; the second states that those who injure others must compensate their victims; the third says that those who steal must become the slaves of those they stole from. In the Sanguozhi (Record of the Three Kingdoms) it says: “In the olden days . . . Kija proceeded to Chosŏn and



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composed his teachings in eight articles to instruct them; as a result, the people did not steal though doors and gates were not closed.” Peter H. Lee and Theodore de Bary, Sources of Korean Tradition, 1:11. 62. A quotation from “Baihua” of Shijing. The translation by Legge reads, “The way of Heaven is hard and difficult; this man does not conform to [good principle].” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4: 416. 63. Her father is King Chun, the last king of Kija Chosŏn. 64. The source here says p’ilbu (C. pifu), a term that usually refers to an insignificant man of low social status. At this point in the narrative, however, p’ilbu is a reference to the usurper Wiman, who is introduced in the following translation and n. 66 below. 65. The term chongsa, “ancestral temples and altars,” can also be understood as the “state.” 66. Wiman (C. Wei-man) was the founder and first king of Wiman Chosŏn, which is traditionally viewed as the third successive state of Ko Chosŏn. Wiman, originally from the Chinese state of Yen, was asked by King Chun to secure the Korean-Chinese border region but turned against and overthrew his Korean lord. After Wiman’s usurpation of the throne, King Chun is said to have fled southward to the state of Chin, where he called himself the “Han king.” See, e.g., Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 16, and Pratt and Rutt, Korea, 507. 67. The term baowei (K. bowi), “precious position,” can be taken as a reference to Yijing. In the second part of the “Xici zhuan” it says, “The great treasure of the sage is called his ‘position.’ ” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 77. The allusion to Yijing highlights the sage-like character of her father and the legitimacy of his rule. 68. CMPP here says nangp’ae (C. langbei), “state of confusion”; the Jōō and Meiji editions say nangja (C. langji), “state of dismay and danger.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 59, 190, 317. 69. This sinin (C. shenren), “divine being” or “spiritual person,” who saves the female protagonist from harm has been interpreted as King Tongmyŏng, the founder of Koguryŏ. Judging, however, from his words, which are about to follow, it is clear that he is not Chumong but none other than the most legitimate ruler of all, Tan’gun wanggŏm, the mythical founding father of the first Korean state, Tan’gun Chosŏn, and original ancestor of the Korean people. (In Tan’gun’s speech he refers to himself as the pijo [C. bizu] of Korea, i.e., the entire country’s “earliest ancestor”). This passage in Kŭmo sinhwa might be based on the foundation myth of Tan’gun as found in Samguk yusa, parts of which read, As there was no one with whom the woman Ungnyŏ could marry, she went daily to the base of the tree by the altar to pray for a child. Hwanung changed [his form] and married her. She became pregnant and had a son. He was called Tan’gun wanggŏm. In the fiftieth year of Emperor Yao, in the reign of Kyŏngin . . . ,Tan’gun established a city at P’yŏngyang (this is now Sŏgyŏng, the Western Capital) and called the nation Chosŏn. He later moved his city to Asadal on Paegaksan, which was also known as

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Notes to Pages 109–110 Kungholsan and also as Kŭmmidal. He governed [the nation] for 1,500 years. King Hu of Chou, in the reign year of Chi-mao, enfeoffed Kija with [the state of] Chosŏn. Tan’gun then transferred to Changdang-gyŏng. Later, he returned to Asadal, hid himself, and became the Mountain God. [At this time,] he was 1,908 years of age. (Grayson, Myths and Legends, 31)

70. Xuandu (K. hyŏndo), “mysterious capital,” is an abode of the immortals. 71. Xuanzhou (K. hyŏnju), “mysterious continent,” refers to one of the ten continents of esoteric cosmography. According to the Hainei shizhou ji (Records of the ten continents within the sea), it was an abode of transcendents and a source of “golden fungi and jade plants.” It was imagined to be situated in the northwest of the Northern Sea. Cf. Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth, 367. A possible model for these sentences about the medicine of immortality can be found in “Yueye tanqin ji” from Jiandeng yuhua: “Thus he said, ‘Now I have already heard that the chaste wife [of Mr. Tan] resides with the immortals, but her uncle, aunt, and husband, what happened to them?’ The [servant] girl said, ‘The Celestial Physician [C. Tianyi] handed them the grease of immortality from the Mysterious Continent and gave them the tally for the completion of the form and the restoration of the body. The entire family went to Ladder Immortal Country.’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:105. 72. The source here says ch’aekch’aek yŏn (C. zhezhe ran). The character ch’aek usually means the “tearing off of limbs as punishment.” Ch’aekch’aek also appears in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Taixu sifa zhuan,” though in the Chinese tale it is specifically the “sound of the tearing apart of bones and joints.” In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae the expression is annotated as resembling “the sound of splitting something open” (K. kaeyŏl sŏng). Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 509. In the tale at hand the term likely relates to the gruesome feeling, not so much the sound. 73. Jiugai (K. kuhae), the “nine borders,” is a term for China proper. 74. The term liuhe (K. yukhap), the “six domains,” refers to heaven, earth, and the four directions. 75. The term tongtian fudi (K. tongch’ŏn pokchi), “grotto heavens and blissful lands,” refers to earthly paradises for immortals, which in Daoism are believed to exist hidden within famous mountains and beautiful places. There are said to be thirty-six grotto heavens and seventy-two blissful lands. Pregadio, Encyclopedia of Taoism, 368–373. 76. Chan (K. sŏm), the toad, and gui (K. kye), the cassia tree, are both symbols for the moon. 77. According to a popular Chinese legend, Emperor Xuanzong of Tang (r. 712–756) in a dream was summoned by the Goddess of the Moon. When he arrived at the moon palace, he is said to have seen a plaque reading “residence of broad cold and pure emptiness” (K. kwanghan ch’ŏnghŏ-ji pu). While at the moon palace, he was taught a piece of music, which will be mentioned in the following (see n. 85 of the present tale). 78. An altar or incense burner table (C. xiang’an, K. hyangan) in honor of Shangdi, the highest deity. 79. “Piles of dirt and brushwood” refers to the mundane human world and



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derives from the expression rugoe chŏkso (C. leikuai jisu), “pile of dirt or a stack of brushwood,” which itself can be found in the chapter “King Mu of Zhou” of the Liezi. Here, after being invited to an immortal’s place of dwelling, King Mu of Zhao looks back at his own palace in the mundane world and considers it ruinous and dirty. My translation follows that of Thomas Cleary. See Cleary, The Book of Master Lie, Lieh Tzu, Kindle edition. In the translation by Lionel Giles the passage reads, “He gazed at his own palace on the earth below, and it seemed to him no better than a rude pile of clods and brushwood.” Giles, Taoist Teachings, 60. 80. A model passage can be found in the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Yueye tanqin ji,” in which the servant girl is asked the following about her lady: “The chaste wife dwells in the realm of the immortals by the Southern Peak, but does she also come to the shrine often or not?” She replies, “She does not come at all. . . . She descended [down to earth] once for a short while. That night, there was not a sound far or wide and the moonlight was as [bright as the light of] day. My principal mother caught a glimpse of her old home. Humans [from her age] were not there, while things [such as mountains and streams] were [still] there.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:95. 81. These words are likely based on very similar ones in the tale “Jianhu yefan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua. At one point in the Chinese tale, the protagonist, a hermit named Cheng Lingyan, learns that he has been brought to the Milky Way and is being received by the Weaver Maid. At this point he says, “I am a foolish person from the world below who will gladly wither with the grass and the trees. Tonight, how fortunate that I get to sojourn in the Heavenly Hall, to set my foot down in the immortals’ palace.” Ch’oe, 1:319. The statement that someone will “gladly wither with the grass and the trees” reappears in the final tale of the collection when Scholar Han addresses the dragon king. 82. The term “four beauties” (K. sami, C. simei) refers to the four elements of a salutary event, namely, a good season, beautiful scenery, a joyful heart, and pleasurable matters. 83. Samch’ŏn kye (C. sanqian jie) refers to a world system consisting of a triplethousand worlds, i.e., the universe. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 84. According to legend, five towers of gold and twelve towers of jade were built during the reign of the Yellow Emperor in order to serve as dwelling places for the immortals. 85. The source has “Yesang.” It refers to the “Yesang uŭi kok” (C. “Nishang yuyi qu”), the “Melody of the Rainbow Gown and Feathered Robe,” a piece of Tangdynasty music, which is said to have been created by Tang Emperor Xuanzong. He purportedly memorized the music during a journey to the moon. The song is, for example, mentioned in “Changhen ge” by Bai Juyi: “But suddenly comes the roll of the fish-skin war-drums, breaking rudely upon the air of the ‘Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket.’ ” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 885. 86. According to legend, during the reign of Tang Emperor Wenzong (r. 826– 840) there lived a man who climbed up Mount Song and saw a person sleeping on a bundle of cloth. Upon asking him where he was from, the man laughingly replied, “Do you know that the moon is composed of the Seven Treasures? Always there are eighty-two thousand men who mend it. And I am one of them.” He then opened the

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bundle of cloth and brought forth an ax made of jade and an adze. This legend is also referred to in Tongmunsŏn, vol. 7, “Ch’irŏn kosi,” “Changga haeng Hŏ Uhyŏn un.” The saying “mending the moon with an axe of jade” also alludes to someone capable of writing literature. 87. The term p’aegwŏl (C. beique), “sea shell tower,” refers to a palace or a palace’s gate towers richly ornamented with purple cowrie shells. It usually alludes to the palace of a water deity. The term originates from the poem “Hebo” (The river Earl) contained in the Chuci’s “Jiuge” (Nine songs). Here, the palace of the god of the Yellow River is described as follows: “Of fish-scales his palace is, with a dragon-scale hall; / Purple cowrie gate-towers; rooms of pearl.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 114. The oyster pearl, which can be read as a symbol for the moon, in the tale at hand is said to carry a palace, most likely the moon palace of the moon goddess. 88. “Human world” here translates yŏmbu, which can mean the Southern Continent Yŏmbu (the main setting of the Kŭmo sinhwa tale “Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu”). Gregory N. Evon writes that this line is a reference to the story of the hat salesman in Zhuangzi. Pettid, Evon, and Park, Premodern Korean Literary Prose, 58. Yet yŏmbu is the transliteration of the Sanskrit jambu, the rose apple, eugenia jambolana, described as a lofty tree giving its name to Jambudvīpa, the human world. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 89. On a rainy night, the Tang-dynasty Daoist Zhao Zhiwei is said to have spoken to his followers: “Tonight we shall climb up to the Peak of the Celestial Pillar and look at the moon.” Skeptical, they followed him and saw that ahead of them the rain had ceased, after which they climbed to the peak, looked at the moon in the clear sky, and held a feast. When they returned to the foot of the mountain, the rain fell as it had before. Zhao Zhiwei had used his Daoist powers to make the rain stop so as to take pleasure in the moon. This story is referred to in the “Pusang illok,” contained in the Pusang rok by Nam Yongik (1628–1692). “Pusang illok”, 15th day. 90. Like Zhao Zhiwei, Luo Gongyuan was a Tang-dynasty Daoist. The line at hand refers to the tale in which he is said to have taken Tang Emperor Xuanzong on a voyage to the moon, where the emperor memorized the music for the aforementioned “Melody of the Rainbow Gown and Feathered Robe.” Pregadio, Encyclopedia of Taoism, 721–722. 91. This line might be understood as a reference to the poem “Duan ge xing”by Cao Cao (155–220, Emperor Wu of Wei), wherein it says, The moon is bright, the stars few; Crows and magpies fly south. Thrice circling the forest, On what branch can they roost? (Chang and Saussy, Women Writers of Tradi­ tional China, 71.) The poem has been interpreted as alluding to a wartime situation, as a metaphor for scorched battlefields from which the crows and magpies flee. In the Red Cliff Rhap­ sody it has this meaning. See Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 186. 92. This might refer to a saying in Shishuo xinyu about a cow afraid of the heat.



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The cow lived in the state of Wu, a territory with an extraordinarily hot climate. One night, when it looked at the bright moon, the animal mistook it for the sun and gasped in surprise. The gasping cow of Wu is typically used as a metaphor for someone who fears one thing and is frightened by something else that merely resembles the object of his horrors. 93. Lizi, “Master Li,” refers to the Tang poet Li Bai. This line can be read as an allusion to Li Bai’s poem “Bajiu wenyue” (Questioning the moon with wine cup in hand), in which the first lines reads, “Since when has the moon been in the blue heaven? I will now put down the wine cup and ask him once.” 94. Scholar Wu refers to the legendary figure Wu Gang (also known as Wu Zhi). Wu was exiled to the moon and condemned to cut down the mystical cassia tree that grows there. But he could not keep pace with its rapid growth; however much he cut, he had to ascend to the moon again the following night to start anew. 95. Baojing (K. bogyŏng), the “precious mirror,” and binglun, the “icy wheel,” are both expressions for the bright moon. 96. The “wicked toad” (K. yoma, C. yaoma) purportedly lives on the moon. The Goddess of the Moon is said to have metamorphosed into this toad after she consumed the elixir of immortality and escaped to the moon. Her transformation into an ugly toad is usually interpreted as her punishment for stealing the elixir from the Queen Mother of the West. In Han iconography a toad often appears in the moon, standing on its hind legs, holding a pestle, and pounding the elixir of immortality in a mortar. Lihui Yang and Deming An, Handbook of Chinese Mythology, 88. 97. The “cunning rabbit” (K. chunt’o) is another animal often associated with the moon or the Goddess of the Moon. In some versions of the myth of the Goddess of the Moon (discussed in n. 96 above), the creature pounding the elixir of immortality is a rabbit. Since it is pure white, it is commonly called the “jade rabbit.” Yang and An, 88. At this point, the female protagonist appears to imply that she would rather stay a bit longer with Scholar Hong before having to return to the moon. 98. Especially in combination with the term zhangmu (K. changmok), “herbage and trees,” the term guanhe (K. kwanha), “passes and streams,” might here possibly be read as an allusion to “Song yuan” (Distant farewell) by Du Fu, a poem that deals with a sad parting. In the poem’s second stanza it says, “Herbage and trees age through years and months, / on mountains and rivers the frost and snow are clear.” Bryant, The Great Recreation, 183. 99. This line alludes to the Shijing poem “Mugua,” the second and third stanzas of which read, She threw a tree-peach to me; as requital I gave her a bright greenstone. No, not just as requital; but meaning I would love her forever. She threw a tree-plum to me; in requital I gave her a bright jet-stone. No, not just as requital, but meaning I would love her foever.” (Waley, Book of Songs, 31) In the Shi jizhuan, this poem is interpreted as describing the loving exchange of gifts between a man and a woman. Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 41.

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100. In poetry contests, candles were often marked to indicate the time allowed to the poets to finish their lyrical works. 101. The source here says chu (C. chou), which refers to sticks or arrows used as counters, or to a drinking game where arrows were thrown into the mouth of a bottle. The term here indicates that there is enough wine left for a few more cups. 102. Wuyin (K. oŭn), “black silver,” means charcoal. 103. This refers to an incense burner shaped in the form of a drowsing duck. 104. The CMPP and Jōō editions here say kyŏng (C. jing), “to awaken”; the Meiji edition says kyŏng (C. jing), “to startle.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 63, 194, 321. 105. “Yin and Yu” refers to Yin Hao (306–356), a scholar and politician of the Jin dynasty, and Yu Liang (289–340), a high official of the Jin dynasty who, as the brother-in-law of Emperor Ming, was one of the most powerful political figures of his time. Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest of China, 96. The “Yu Liang zhuan” (Biography of Yu Liang), contained in the Jinshu, says that when Yu Liang was at Wuchang, Yin Hao, Wang Huzhi (ca. 320–349), and other minor local officials went up to the top of the southern pavilion to marvel at the moon. After they were coincidentally joined by Yu Liang, the men conversed and created poetry all night long. This incident is also alluded to, for instance, in the poem “Sang Yŏju Ch’ŏngsimnu yu kam” (Atop Ch’ŏngsim Pavilion in Yŏju there are feelings) by Yi Hyŏnil (1627–1704, pen name Karam), contained in the first volume of Karam chip. The relationship between the worldly Scholar Hong and the otherworldly female protagonist is, in terms of hierarchy, here said to resemble that of the minor official Yin Hao and the powerful political figure Yu Liang. 106. The source here says xie yuan (K. sa wŏn), which can be understood as a reference to the influential Eastern Jin general Xie Shang and the poet Yuan Hong (328–376), who was young and unknown at the time. While rowing on the Yangzi River, Xie is said to have heard Yuan reciting poems from a nearby boat. Liking what he heard, Xie purportedly invited Yuan onto his boat, where the two men created lyrical works and talked about poetry. Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 762. Hence, just like the preceding line, this line also alludes to an influential figure taking notice of a talented but unknown one, which, in turn, can be transferred to the relationship between the female protagonist, a descendant of kings as well as protégé of Tan’gun and the Goddess of the Moon, and a simple human, Scholar Hong. It has been suggested that the figures referred to in this line are not Xie Shang and Yuan Hong but rather the poet Xie Lingyun (385–433) and the Pure Land master Huiyuan (334–416), under whom Xie studied. Yi Kawŏn and Hŏ Kyŏngjin, Ch’ŏngsonyŏn-ŭl wihan “Kŭmo sinhwa,” 87. However, the source clearly says yuan as in Yuan Hong and not yuan as in Huiyuan. The influential Buddhist monk Huiyuan is nevertheless mentioned at the beginning of the following tale, “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” (see “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” n. 12). 107. This line can be read as an allusion to the “Maixiu ge,” by means of which Kija lamented the fall of his native dynasty. The original poem reads, “Barley in ear is peaked and pinnacled, / foxtail and broomcorn millet are sleek and shiny. / That cunning boy, he was not friendly to me.” Knechtges, Ruin and Remembrance, 57.



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108. Xian’e, the “Charioteer of the Moon,” is the name of the legendary lady driver of the moon who appears in Huainanzi. Another name for this figure is Wang Shu. Cf. Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 247. Xian’e here refers to the moon itself. 109. This line can be understood as a reference to King Helü, who reigned the state of Wu from 514 to 496 BCE and who was buried at a place called Tiger Hill (C. Huqiu, K. Hogu), also known as Tiger Hill Mountain (C. Huqiushan). When he was still Prince Guang, he had King Liao of Wu assassinated, then ascended the throne as Helü. Thus, he was a usurper. At this point, one could establish a connection to King Sejo of Chosŏn, for, through the reference to the burial place of King Helü, Kim Sisŭp might have meant to hint at the transience of a usurper’s rule. Tiger Hill also appears in a poem in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Lianfanglou ji.” The same couplet from the Chinese tale is quoted by Kim Sisŭp in the second line of Miss Yu’s poem in “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” The Chinese original reads, Fragrant soul and jade bones, to which place have they returned? Fail to reach Zhenniang [also known as Huqiu zhenniang, “True Lady of Tiger Hill”], who was buried at Tiger Hill. Atop Tiger Hill Mountain lies a tower with many stories; the night is quiet and clearly I see the Buddha light. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:107) The annotations of this passage in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae support the hypothesis that this line alludes to King Helü: “Zhenniang was a musician and courtesan from Wuzhong. Her grave lies inside a temple at the foot of Tiger Hill. There are poems by Li Shangyin and Bai Letian [means Bai Juyi] [on her gravestone]. . . . Tiger Hill Mountain lies in the northwest of Suzhou. Another name for it is Haiyongshan. At the foot of the mountain there is Jianchi [Sword Lake]. In the Yuejueshu [Book on the Glory of the Yue] it says, ‘Three days after Helü had been buried at the foot of this mountain, the essence of gold and jade transformed into a white tiger that then crouched on top of it. This is where the name derives from. ” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 671. 110. This couplet may have been inspired by the poem “Yinghuo” (Fireflies) by Du Fu, which reads, “Going with the wind, tiny beyond the curtain, rain-soaked, faint beside the grove.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 2:173. 111. Mount Mongmyŏk (K. Mongmyŏksan) lies four miles east of P’yŏngyang. It appears to have been the site of the Tan’gun shrine in P’yŏngyang. 112. The original says kuru, which in the language of Koguryŏ means “castle.” 113. The Suksin (C. Sushen) are the first recorded inhabitants of Manchuria, a nomadic tribe of eastern Manchuria, supposedly contemporary with Old Chosŏn. Late in the third century CE some of them submitted to Koguryŏ, and in ca. 400 CE they were wholly amalgamated. The Suksin are said to have presented their arrows to King Wu of Zhou upon his conquest of Shang, thereby acknowledging and accepting his rule. This line might thus hint at the legitimacy of the rule of Kija, who came to Korea upon the order of King Wu.

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114. Yuhuang shangdi (K. Okhwang sangje), the “Jade Sovereign Highest Emperor,” who is also often referred to simply as Yudi (K. Okche), “Jade Emperor.” He is the highest deity in Daoism. 115. This sentence echoes the famous butterfly parable from Zhuangzi, which raises the question of what is dream and what reality. 116. This line alludes to the following story: When Wei Gao, a high-ranking official and acclaimed general of the Tang dynasty, was a young man, he traveled through Jiangxia District and came to stay at the house of Governor Jiang. There, he fell in love with one of the housemaids, a girl by the name of Yu Xiao. Before Wei Gao went back to his parents’ home, he promised to Yu Xiao that he would return within seven years to marry her. He left Yu Xiao a jade bracelet and a poem as tokens of his pledge. But, bound by his office, Wei Gao could not return as promised. Stricken by grief, the woman starved herself to death. Yu Xiao was, however, reborn as a girl and returned to Wei Gao sixteen years later, eventually becoming one of his secondary wives. 117. This sentence echoes sentences from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Longtang linghui lu”: “One only heard the morning rooster cry out wo-wo in a village by the river, and the bell of dawn being hit long-long in a mountain temple.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong,1:285. 118. The Meiji edition features the following annotation: “The gate of the city of P’yŏngyang is called Changgyŏng.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 324. 119. Chongsa[gwan], chief administrative officer. 120. The fifteenth day of a lunar month is a full-moon day.

Chapter 5: Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu 1. The Chenghua Emperor of the Ming dynasty reigned from 1465 to 1487. Kŭmo sinhwa is believed to have been written in the mid-to-late 1460s. Hence, the tale at hand as well as the previous tale, “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” are both set in a time approximately contemporaneous with the collection’s supposed time of creation and during the reign of King Sejo of Chosŏn. 2. The annotation in the Meiji edition reads, “Chenghua is the name of the years of Xianzong of Ming. [He reigned during the time of] our [Japanese emperor] Go-Tsuchimikado [r. 1465–1500], during the years of Bunshō. Kyŏngju is in Kyŏngsangdo, today it is Kyŏngjubu. It was the capital of the ancient Silla dynasty, which was also known as Kyerim.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 328. 3. T’aehakkwan, the Academy of Great Learning, means the Sŏnggyun’gwan, the National Confucian Academy in the capital. 4. In chuanqi fiction, the male protagonists are often failed civil service candidates. 5. “Ghosts and spirits” is a translation of kwisin (C. guishen). 6. The term youyu (K. yuye), “to falter,” appears, e.g., in “Lisao” from Chuci: “I wanted to follow Ling Fen’s auspicious oracle, but I faltered and could not make my mind up.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 76.



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7. In the fifth volume of Ch’ugang chip we find an entry entitled “Kwisin ron” (Discussion on ghosts and spirits). Here, Nam Hyo’on recalls an alleged conversation with Kim Sisŭp on the question of the existence of ghosts, which is of interest in the context of this tale and the depiction of the beliefs of its protagonist, Scholar Pak. The passage reads, That day, Tongbong Kim Sisŭp said the following to me: “Long ago, there was a Chan monk. One night he meant to go to the outhouse, but when he climbed down from the porch of the hall [he heard] a crunching sound and [thought he] had stepped on and killed a living creature. The monk remembered that during the day [he had seen] a toad hiding underneath the stairs and thus thought that what he had stepped on and killed had to have been the toad. So he believed that he would have to go to the underground purgatory for [that act] and that he would certainly become the object of the murdered toad’s revenge. He was so scared and worried that he was not able to fall asleep again. When just before dawn he finally did manage to fall asleep, he dreamed that the toad had filed charges against him with a netherworld official, that an envoy with the head of a cow came to arrest him and tie him up in front of the Ten Kings, and that he was sentenced to the hot pillar punishment and eventually thrown into the prison of ceaseless pain. When the monk awoke from his dream, he was thoroughly convinced that [what he had dreamt] was about to happen to him. He sat down and waited for morning to come. [At daybreak] he rose and went out to check underneath the stairs. There was no toad, however; all that was there were merely melon seeds scattered below the stairs at the place where he had stepped on and crushed them. Also, there once was a Confucian scholar. On a dark night as he walked through the mountains he [suddenly] heard a wailing sound. He set out to find the place where it came from, and the closer he got, the louder the sound became. When he reached the opening of a gorge, he listened quietly and realized that the sound emanated from a space between rocks in a mountain stream. He advanced, took a closer look, and saw that there was the leaf of an oak tree blocking the stream. He pulled the leaf out and the sound immediately ceased. When he then put the leaf back in its place, he could hear the sound again. Once he quieted his spirit, all he could hear was the sound of water, not the sound of wailing [ghosts]. He went back to the spot where he had first heard the wailing, and it was as before.” These two stories [told to me by my friend Kim Sisŭp] show that such things as the earthen purgatory and the wailing of ghosts are not real. (CGC 5:49a–50a) 8. The source here says yi ci (K. yŏk sa), which can be understood as an allusion to the “Xici zhuan,” one of the appendixes (shiyi, “ten wings”) of the Yijing. “Xici zhuan” dates from the late Zhou to early Han dynasties.

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9. This introduction of the character Scholar Pak might have been inspired by passages in Jiandeng xinhua. On the one hand, it is reminiscent of the initial description of the Confucian protagonist from the tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu,” which reads, “Linghu Zhuan was an upright and straight scholar. From birth he did not believe in spirits or numinous beings; he was proud, haughty, and self-satisfied. When there was talk about matters concerning ghosts and spirits, changes and transformations, the dark realms and retribution, he would always speak up in a loud voice and interrupt.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:120. On the other hand, the protagonist of the tale “Taixu sifa zhuan” also despises ghosts. We also need to consider the opening of the Jiandeng yuhua tale “He Siming you Fengdu lu” as a source of inspiration, which reads, He Siming was a person of the great Song dynasty. His pen name was Lanke qiaozhe, “Wood Gatherer of [Mount] Lanke” [refering to the legend of a man who spent centuries on this mountain]. He understood the Five [Confucian] Classics and was particularly excellent at reading the Yijing. He had made the [Neo-Confucian] study of nature [C. xingxue] his mission, and he bitterly disliked Laozi and the Buddha. Whenever he met any of their followers on the road, he would at once chide them, saying, “Of the four classes [scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants], even if one does not become a scholar, one [ought to] become a farmer, an artisan, or a merchant. . . . How is it that you became [something like] this, [Daoist or Buddhist priests]?” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:120) 10. In 819, the high Tang-dynasty official and arch-Confucian Han Yu wrote a memorial to the throne in which he opposed Emperor Xianzong’s public veneration of a Buddhist relic, a finger bone of the Buddha. Xianzong found his minister’s criticism intolerable and called for Han Yu’s immediate execution. Only the intervention of Han Yu’s friends persuaded the emperor to instead exile him to Chaozhou. Deeply troubled, Han Yu consulted the Chan Monk Dadian Baotong (732–824). Their conversation is recorded in the biography of Dadian Baotong in the earliest Chan text, Zutang ji (Collection of ancestral halls, 952). Han Yu, though a thorough Confucian, is said to have thought of Dadian as a knowledgeable friend. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 11. Liu Zongyuan is considered one of the finest prose writers of the Tang dynasty. Next to his friend Han Yu he was included as one of the “Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song.” 12. Huiyuan was an influential monk of the Eastern Jin. He was briefly mentioned in the previous tale. See “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” n. 106. 13. Zong Bing (375–443), styled Shaowen, was a layman from a noble family of Nanyang, in modern Henan. He avoided official service. Walter Liebenthal says that “there is no doubt he met Huiyuan personally on Lushan where he spent some weeks,” and argues that “it is evident that [he] got his picture from Huiyuan.” Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism.



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14. Lei Cizong (386–448) was a Buddhist layman who spent most of his life at Mount Lu during the time of Huiyuan. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 15. Zhidun (314–366), styled Daolin, was likewise an influential monk and is considered an important linking figure in early Buddhist thought. He worked toward an understanding of the doctrine of emptiness tinged with native Chinese thought and was the first thinker on record to use the word li (principle) to refer to a numenal reality underlying the transient phenomenal world. For further information, see Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 16. The name Wang at this point in the narrative is usually believed to refer to Wang Tanzhi (330–375), a high official of the Eastern Jin. Though he was not antiBuddhist, he detested Zhidun. Knechtges, Medieval Chinese Literature, 1243. His personal antipathy toward Zhidun was strengthened by the fact that the Buddhist monk Zhidun was known as one of the great Zhuangzi specialists of his time. Wang Tanzhi was a staunch Confucian, an admirer of Xunzi and Yang Xiong, and he shared the opinion prevalent among traditionalists that the study of Zhuangzi and the pursuit of the ideals of untrammeled freedom and individualism advocated by this philosopher were directly responsible for the moral and political decay of his age. Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest of China, 119. Since the sentence at this point of the narrative hints at the monk Zhidun’s friendly relations with a certain Confucian or layman, it is doubtful that the person referred to here is actually Wang Tanzhi. It might be possible that the person in question is the famous calligrapher Wang Xizhi (321–379), whose esteem Zhidun had won and to whom he entertained close relations. Yet the person referred to here could also be Wang Meng (ca. 309–347), who was among Zhidun’s acquaintances in the highest gentry and who is said to have admired the young monk excessively. Zürcher, 116–117. 17. Xie here probably refers to the statesman Xie An (320–385), who is likewise said to have praised and supported the novice Zhidun. Zürcher, 116–117. 18. Ch’ŏndang (C. tiantang), the “celestial palace,” means the heavenly realm where one may be reborn as a result of one’s good actions. 19. Chiok (C. diyu) indicates a prison in the bowels of the earth where prisoners are subject to all kinds of torture due to their evil actions in their prior human life. It is a kind of hell, although—due to the temporary nature of suffering there and the possibility of alleviating it through the actions of the living—it is better translated as purgatory. Cf. Santangelo, Zibuyu, 1:102. 20. The term bici (K. p’isa) appears in Mengzi 2A:2. Van Norden (Mengzi, 41) translates it as “one-sided expressions.” Charles Muller translates the term as “deceptive speech.” http://www.acmuller.net/con-dao/mencius.html. 21. The term li (K. ri) is conventionally glossed as “principle,” “structure,” or “pattern.” Li denotes the basic tendency of the cosmos to embody and express harmonious order. Originally the word signified the striations that could be seen in a piece of jade. Major et al., Huainanzi, 879. 22. Such a statement can, for instance, be found in “Yakho pu” (Rhapsody on the medicine jar) by Nam Hyo’on (in Ch’ugang chip, vol. 1). 23. Xing (K. sŏng), “inner essence” or “nature.”

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24. Wuxing, the “five agents” or “five phases”: water, fire, wood, metal, and earth. The wuxing are the basic categories of vital energy (qi) of which all phenomena are manifestations. In a Mencian context the term can also refer to “five conducts”: humanity, rightness, propriety, wisdom, and sageliness. Major et al., Huainanzi, 899–900. 25. Possibly a reference to a sentence from “Xian” of Yijing: “It is by the mutual stimulation of Heaven and Earth that the myriad things are created.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 329. 26. These lines are direct quotations from Zhongyong zhangju (Doctrine of the Mean in chapters and verses) by Zhu Xi. 27. The source here says qiongli jinxing (K. kungni chinsŏng), “exhausting principle by studying and fulfilling nature.” The phrase derives from the Yijing commentary Shuo gua (Explaining the trigrams): “In the distant past, the way the sage made the Changes is as follows: . . . He was in complete accord with the Dao and with Virtue, and the principles involved conform to rightness. He exhausted principles and to the utmost and dealt thoroughly with human nature, and in doing so arrived at the workings of fate.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 119–120. The phrase qiongli jinxing hence refers to how the sages investigated natural patterns and principles in order to arrive at an understanding of fate. 28. This is a slightly altered quotation from the Great Learning: “Wanting to make their wills sincere, they first extended their knowledge. Extension of knowledge consists of the investigation of things.” http://www.acmuller.net/con-dao​ /­greatlearning.html. 29. These sentences are an allusion to Doctrine of the Mean 29. In the translation by Legge, the relevant source reads, “Therefore the institutions of the Ruler are rooted in his own character and conduct, and sufficient attestation of them is given by the masses of the people. He examines them by comparison with those of the three kings, and finds them without mistake. He sets them up before Heaven and Earth, and finds nothing in them contrary to their mode of operation. He presents himself with them before spiritual beings, and no doubts about them arise. He is prepared to wait for the rise of a sage a hundred ages after, and has no misgivings.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 1:425–426. 30. This sentence echoes Confucius’ well-known statement from “Fangji” (Record of the embankment dams) of the Book of Rites that there are neither two suns in heaven (or, as it says in this tale, two principles in the world) nor two kings in a territory. It is referred to again at a later point in the narrative (see n. 92 of the present tale). 31. The Confucian scholar He Siming from the Jiandeng yuhua tale “He Siming you Fengdu lu” writes very similar texts. At the beginning of the Chinese tale it reads, “He had written three pieces of jinglun [admonitions]. In each piece, over and over in several thousands of words, he ventured to explain the principle of heaven, analyze the unorthodox doctrines, correct the hearts of the people, and foster the worldly teaching.” The text then goes on to summarize the first piece through the words of “a Confucian from previous times, who says,



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Heaven, it is the principle. When speaking about its form, one calls it tian, “heaven”; when speaking about its ruler, one calls it di, “emperor.” The emperor, he is heaven; heaven, it is the emperor. It is not that above the azure on azure [heaven] there separately existed yet another heaven. That [the emperor] resides in a palace . . . just like the emperors and kings of the human world, these are only the discussions [among] Buddhists and Daoists. . . . Also there is what they call the Three Celestials [Śiva, Visnu, and Brahmā], the Nine Heavens [in Buddhism the nine stars that circle the earth], the Thirty-three Celestials, the Three Emperors, the Nine Emperors, the Emperors of the Ten Directions; but how could the heavens be so numerous and how could there be emperors in such multitudes? Ergo, speaking about it from this angle, heaven unavoidably must take on the form of the social classes, and with regard to the emperors, unavoidably they will vie with each other to set up their own regime. In a very serious case, they honored Zhang Daoling of the Han dynasty and made him a celestial master—in heaven, though, how could there be a master? [Also], they took the daughter of Mr. Lin of the Song dynasty and made her into Tianfei, the Celestial Consort [Mazu]—in heaven, though, can there really be a consort? Heaven is the place from which the principle comes forth, and the sage imitates heaven. Even though [Zhang] Daoling is considered a sage [by the Daoists], he yet again is only the ghost of a human. . . . The daughter of Mr. Lin has already died; she is nothing but a wandering soul. If heaven made her a consort, that would imply that heaven had not yet forgotten feelings and desires—oh, how then could it be heaven? . . . [The Daoists’ and Buddhists’] slandering of heaven, [their] cheating of heaven—these are crimes that cannot be tolerated and that must be punished! (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:120–121) 32. In the dream-journey tale “Wŏn-saeng mongyu rok,” which for a long time was believed to have been penned by Kim Sisŭp, the protagonist Wŏn Hŏ (one of the “six surviving subjects” who in the story gets to meet Tanjong and the six martyred subjects) experiences something similar: “In the world there lived Wŏn Chahŏ, an undaunted scholar. . . . One evening in mid-autumn he followed the moonlight and pored over a book, but late that night his spirit grew weary and he leaned on a couch and dozed off. Suddenly his body rose up gently, . . . he was floating in the air; it was as if he had wings and had become an immortal. He came to a halt on the shores of a long and winding river.” CGC 8:23b–24a. 33. CMPP here says ryŏl (C. lie), “to burst” or “to tear apart”; the Jōō and Meiji editions say ryŏl (C. lie), “fierce” or “hard.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 70, 200, 332. 34. Cuji (K. ch’ukchŏk), “the feet moving uneasily,” can here be understood as a reference to Lunyu 10.2: “When the ruler was present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 1:227.

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35. The source here says qingzhe (K. kyŏngjŏl), “as bent as a chiming stone,” i.e., “greet or apologize in a very courteous and submissive way.” The same expression can be found in “Yufu” (The old fisherman) from Zhuangzi, in which Confucius bows to an old fisherman in this way: Zilu, following by the side of the carriage, said, “I have been permitted to serve you for a long time, Master, but I have never seen you encounter anyone who filled you with such awe. The rulers of ten thousand chariots, the lords of a thousand chariots, when they received you, invariably seat you on the same level as themselves and treat you with the etiquette due to an equal, and still you maintain a stiff and haughty air. But now this old fisherman, pole in hand, presents himself in front of you, and you double up at the waist, as bent as a chiming stone, and bow every time you reply to his words.” (Watson, Zhuangzi; another translation of this passage can be found in Legge, The Texts of Taosim, 640). Chiming stones were shaped like an inverted V. 36. Like Tongguk, “Eastern Country,” Tongbang (C. Dongfang), “Eastern Region,” was a common Chinese appellation for the Korean Peninsula. For a discussion of the different appellations, see Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 30–44. 37. Shili (Rites of the gentlemen) is an alternative title of the Yili (Rites and ceremonies), one of the Confucian Classics. It consists of seventeen chapters dealing with ritual ceremonies. Knechtges and Chang, Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature, 3:1896. 38. Yŏnjwa (C. lianzuo), also written yŏnhwajwa (C. lianhuazuo), is usually a lotus-shaped seat or dais where a buddha or bodhisattva sits. Muller, Digital Dic­ tionary of Buddhism. 39. The source here says cainü (K. ch’aenyŏ), which was the title of a rank of a palace lady during the Han dynasty. 40. Hat for the Communication with Heaven (C. Tongtian guan, K. T’ongch’ŏn gwan) is an elaborate and prestigious headdress or crown worn by emperors during the Tang, Song, and Ming periods. In “Shuigong qinghui lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, the dragon king Guangli wears the same hat when he welcomes the spirits of the ocean to the banquet in the Dragon Palace. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:53. In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, the hat is annotated as follows: “Princes and kings [each] put on a hat called the Rhinoceros Horn for the Communication with Heaven. It belongs to the same category as the Imperial Belt for the Communication with Heaven of Emperor Xianzong of Tang.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 713. 41. This sentence, which implies that a Confucian superior man never bends to awe and might, can be read as an allusion to Mengzi 3B:2: “In contrast, to dwell in the broadest place on earth; to stand in one’s proper place in the world; to put into effect the great Way of the world; to follow it with the people when one obtains one’s goal; to practice the way by oneself when one does not obtain one’s goal; wealth and prestige are incapable of seducing him; poverty and low status are incapable of



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moving him; awe and military might cannot bend him—it is this that is called being a great man.” Van Norden, Mengzi, 78. 42. Yŏmbuju (C. Yanfuzhou), which appears in the present tale’s title as Namyŏmbuju, “Southern Continent Yŏmbu,” is the Chinese transliteration for the Sanskrit Jambudvīpa. In Indian mythical cosmology, Jambudvīpa is the great continent or the great island south of Mount Sumeru. The implications of this name are various, but one of the most important is that of Jambudvīpa as the locus of human existence. For Buddhists it is the southern of the four continents. Shaped like a triangle resembling the triangular leaves of the Jambu tree, it is named after a forest of such trees on Sumeru or after the fine gold that is found below the trees. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. In the present tale, however, Yŏmbuju is a Buddhist hell. 43. Wojiaoshan (K. Okch’osan), also known as Wojiaoshi (K. Okch’osŏk), which in Sanskrit is Pātāla, constitutes a rock or mountain on the bottom of the ocean. Just above the hot purgatory, it absorbs the water and thus keeps the sea from increasing and overflowing. Muller, Digital Dictionary. 44. In the Jiandeng yuhua tale “He Siming yu Fengdu lu,” when the protagonist is shown around the different dungeons and torture chambers of Fengdu, the abode of the dead, he first sees the prison for men who only cared about treasure and profit. His guides then show him a prison for women who acted in a lewd manner in the world of the living. Thereafter the tales says, “Southeast lay another prison that was even a little bigger [than the ones before]. They called it Yanfu General Prison [C. Yanfu zongyu; K. Yŏmbu ch’ongok]. The people of the nine currents [C. jiuliu; i.e., Confucians, Daoists, the Ying Yang School, Legalists, logicians, Mohists, diplomats, the miscellaneous, and agriculturalists] and all classes were mixed in there. They did not allow me to go in [and have a look around].” Later, He Siming writes a text, in which he states, “In Nanyanfuti, time changes, flickering, it comes and goes.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:124–125. Furthermore, the first lines of a poem in the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Wuping lingguai lu” read, “Hate to see conflagration of Yanfu [burn] in deepest red; / the barren mountain alone protects the practitioner’s palace. / The great chiliocosm is all an illusion.” Ch’oe, 2:276. Jambudvīpa, or Namyŏmbuje [C. Nanyanfuti], thus already appears as a gruesome, hellish place in this tale from Jiandeng yuhua. It is possible that Kim Sisŭp was inspired by this passage when titling the present tale “Namyŏmbuju chi.” 45. The figure that appears at this point in the narrative is the Buddhist god Yama, or Yamarāja, the king of the world of the dead who judges the deceased, the ruler of the fifth court of purgatory in Chinese Buddhism. Yamarāja ruled the land of the dead in the pre-Buddhist mythology of India. Yama in Indian texts is usually understood as a personal name, although its actual meaning of “twin” is not without significance, since in fact the brother-sister pair of Yama and Yamī were believed to rule separate prisons, segregated by sex, in the Vedic afterlife. The sound, but not the sense, of Yama is properly transliterated into Chinese as Yanmo (K. Yŏmma). The meaning of the Chinese transliteration “Yanmo,” “he who flames penetrate,” is of significance for the tale at hand because Yama explains his name’s meaning to Scholar Pak in the following sentence. For further information, see Teiser, Scripture on

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the Ten Kings. In line with a self-description of this tale’s King Yama, which appears in the further course of narration, Ernest J. Eitel writes, “In Buddhist mythology, the regent of the Narakas, residing South (yamas) of Djambudvipa (Jambudvīpa), outside the Tchakravalas, in a palace of copper and iron. He was originally a king of Vais’alt, who, when engaged in a bloody war, wished he were master of hell, and was accordingly reborn as Yama in hell, together with his 18 generals and his army of 80,000 men, who now serve him in hell as assistant judges, jailors and executioners. . . . But three times (yama) in every 24 hours a demon pours into Yama’s mouth boiling copper (by way of punishment), his subordinates receiving the same dose at the same time, until their sins are expiated, when he will be reborn as Samanta­ radja.” Eitel, Handbook of Chinese Buddhism, 207. 46. In the tale “Jianhu yefan ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, when the hermit meets the Weaver Maid, the goddess addresses the human in a very similar way: “She asked Lingyan to sit down on the mat facing her, after which she said to him, ‘Sir, do you know this land? It is what in the human world is called Tianhe, “Milky Way.” I am the spirit of the Weaver Maid. It is some eighty-thousand miles from here to the dust-like world.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:319. 47. Cang Jie is said to have invented the Chinese script upon watching the prints of birds’ talons on sand. Cang Jie’s legendary invention is mentioned in Lüshi chunqiu (Master Lü’s spring and autumn annals). In Huainanzi, Cang Jie’s creation of the Chinese script is said to have been marked by a rain of grain from heaven and the wailing of ghosts at night. Ge, Out of the Margins, 201. At this point in the narrative, the sentence can be understood as a reference to Huainanzi 8.5: “In ancient times, when Cang Jie created (zuo) writing, Heaven rained grain and the ghosts cried all night. When Bo Yi created (zuo) wells, the dragon ascended to the dark clouds and the spirits perched on Kun Lun. As wisdom and intelligence progressively grew, virtue became scarcer.” Hence, the history of the world—and particularly the inventions of the sages that drove such a history—resulted in a loss of original unity.” Queen and Puett, The “Huainanzi” and Textual Production, 270. This loss of virtue and unity is perhaps cried over by the ghosts, which are here said to have been sent by King Yama. 48. Jutan is one Chinese transliteration for Gautama or Gotama, the surname of the historical Buddha. He was a member of the Sakya tribe in what is today southern Nepal, hence his epithet Sakyamuni, Sage of the Sakyas. Within that group, his family or clan was Gautama. Buswell and Lopez, Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism, 316. 49. The Duke of Zhou (ca. 11th c. BCE) is a Chinese cultural hero revered for stabilizing the (idealized) Zhou dynasty and credited with perfect moral behavior and political skill. Among other things, the Yijing was attributed to him. 50. Xiyu (K. Sŏyŏk), the Western Regions, here refers to India and Central Asia. Xiyu as a term for India can for instance be found in the title Datang xiyu ji (The great Tang record of [travels to] the Western Regions), the travelogue of the Chinese translator and exegete Xuanzang, who went from China to the Buddhist homeland of India. Buswell and Lopez, Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism, 224. 51. The term liangneng (K. yangnŭng), “genuine capability,” appears in Mengzi 7A:15: “Mengzi said, ‘That which people are capable of without learning is their



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genuine capability. That which they know without pondering is their genuine knowledge.’ ” van Norden, Mengzi, 174. 52. Erqi, “two generative forces” or “two qi,” usually refers to the two cosmic forces yin and yang. These are explanations of ghosts and spirits by the philosopher Cheng Yi (1033–1107), who said that ghosts and spirits are “traces of transformative creation” (C. zaohua zhi ji), and Zhang Zai (1020–1077), who was of the opinion that “ghosts and spirits are genuine capability of the two generative forces [ yin and yang]” (C. erqi zhi liangneng). These two statements are mentioned in Zhongyong zhangju 15. This passage in Zhongyong zhangju also says that “ghosts are the numinousness of yin, while spirits are the numinousness of yang.” 53. According to Han Yu’s essay “Yuan gui,” “Of the myriad things the earth and stones have shape but no sound; the wind and thunder have sound but no shape; men and beasts have both sound and shape; ghosts have neither shape nor sound.” Leo Tak-hung Chan, Discourse on Foxes and Ghosts, 90. In “Yuan gui” Han Yu accepts the idea of ghosts as a natural phenomenon but claims that they cannot manifest themselves to the living. For him, a ghost is not only invisible but also inaudible, a being without form and sound. Zeitlin, The Phantom Heroine, 54. 54. Another quotation from Zhongyong zhangju 15. It is from Zhu Xi’s commentary on the short Doctrine of the Mean passage “Looking for them, they cannot be seen. Listening for them, they cannot be heard. There is nothing that they do not embody.” http://www.acmuller.net/con-dao/docofmean.html. Hence, the “Confucian from previous times” mentioned here is Zhu Xi. 55. It is not quite clear to what “six deities” or “six spirits” (K. yuksin) the sentence refers. The term might allude to the deities said to protect the five spatial domains, i.e., the vermilion bird of the south, the black warrior of the north, the white tiger of the west, the blue dragon of the east, and the flying snake, as well as a deity called kujin that protects the center. Yet the term could also refer to the concept of “six venerable ones,” though here it is likewise not definite which objects are included. One possibility would be heaven, earth, and the four seasons, while another would be the earth’s six elementary objects, i.e., water, fire, thunder, wind, mountains, and lakes. 56. Quotation from Liji, chapter “Jiyi,” which reads as follows: Zai Wo said, “I have heard of the names of gui and shen, but I don’t know what they refer to.” The Master said, “Now qi is the fullest expression of the spirit [shen], and the po [soul] is the fullest expression of the gui. The union of gui and shen constitutes the ultimate of doctrine. All living creatures must die, and all the dead must return to earth. This is what is called gui [i.e., “return”; was the Master resorting to definition by punning, a device he used frequently in the Analects?]. Flesh and bones deteriorate below and, sheltered there, become the earth of the wilds; but their qi rises up to become resplendent luminosity, odiferous fumes, and sad feelings. This is the emanation of all things, the concrete manifestation of spirit.’ ” (Anthony Yu, Comparative Journeys, 208)

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57. Reference to Zhongyong 16: “The Master said how abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to them! We look for them, but do not see them; we listen to, but do not hear them; yet they enter into all things, and there is nothing without them. . . . Then, like overflowing water, they seem to be over the heads, and to the right and left of their worshippers.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 1:397–398. 58. Quotation from Lunyu 6.22: “Fan Chi asked about wisdom. The Master said, ‘Working to ensure social harmony among the common people, respecting the ghosts and spirits while keeping them at a distance—this might be called wisdom.’ ” Slingerland, Analects, 60. 59. In “Taixu sifa zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua we find a similar passage in which a character quotes from authoritative Confucian texts dealing with ghosts. After the protagonist, a ghost hunter by the name of Ki (C. qi, “strange”), has fallen into a ghost pit, he is captured and dragged in front of the ghost king (K. kwiwang). The tale goes on to say that the ghosts reported to the ghost king that the ghost hunter did not believe in ghosts or spirits when he was alive; he was, they said, “that mad scholar who used to bully us!” At this, the ghost king angrily reproaches Ki, saying, You are equipped with an [intact and able] body and you have knowledge, so how can you never have heard [the exclamation] “How abundantly do spiritual beings display the powers that belong to them” [Zhongyong 16.1]? Confucius was a sage, and it was he who said to “respect [ghosts and spirits] while keeping them at a distance.” In the great Yi[ jing] it is stated that “[he sees] a cart filled with ghosts,” and I have heard that in the [ode “Herensi” contained in] “Xiaoya” [of Shijing] it says, “if you were a ghost or a gremlin.” In other [texts] such as Zuozhuan there are records such as that of the dream of Master Jing of the Jin dynasty or that of the matter of Boyou [Liang Xiao], and these are all of the same material. What kind of person are you that you alone [are so ignorant as to] speak of the nonexistence [of ghosts]? (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:294–295) 60. “Deviant qi” here translates liqi, a qi energy that was believed to cause diseases. 61. In another one of his writings on ghosts, a text entitled Kwisin chep’al (Ghosts and spirits, the eighth [entry]), Kim Sisŭp states the following with regard to these “demonic creatures” (K. yomul, C. yaowu): “Those petty demonic creatures dwell in shrines in deep forests. They demand sacrificial animals and wine from the people, frighten and overpower them, and deceive and confuse the world of the living. Nobody can restrain them, and if there is not a surpassing person [capable of recognizing them for what they are], how is one to know their falseness?” MWTC 17:28a– b. Since Scholar Pak has obviously already made out these demonic creatures in the world of the living, he can be viewed as such a “surpassing person” or “perfect man” (K. chiin, C. zhiren). 62. For the passages on ghosts and spirits in this tale, Kim Sisŭp might have drawn inspiration from very similar discussions of kwi (C. gui), “ghosts” or “negative



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spiritual forces,” and sin (C. shen), “spirits” or “positive spiritual forces,” contained in fascicle 3 (“Guishen”) of Zhuzi yulei (Classified conversations of Master Zhu) as well as fascicle 25 (“Guishen”) of Beixi ziyi (Chen Chun’s correct meaning of terms) by Chen Chun (1159–1223). For instance, the sentence that “ghosts are bent and spirits are straight” also features in Zhuzi yulei, while in Beixi ziyi it reads, “The material force that is in the process of expanding and coming belongs to yang and constitutes the positive spiritual force, while the spiritual force that has already contracted and gone belongs to yin and constitutes the negative spiritual force. . . . Whenever spiritual force expands, it constitutes yang and belongs to the positive spiritual force, and whenever it contracts, it constitutes yin and belongs to the negative spiritual force.” Wing-tsit Chan, Neo-Confucian Terms Explained, 143–144. 63. Xiao (K. so), usually referred to as shanxiao (K. sanso), is a changeling spirit said to inhabit the wild mountains and forests, a sort of mountain specter or mountain goblin. Von Glahn, The Sinister Way, 78ff. 64. Yu (K. yŏk) has been understood as a three-legged tortoise that causes malaria and blows poisonous sand into people’s faces. It is a specter of the water, although it has also been described as the ghost of a deceased child. 65. A long (K. ryong) is a dragon. 66. A wangxiang is a prodigy of the water. Both Guoyu (Discourses on states), an ancient Chinese text that consists of a collection of speeches attributed to rulers from the Spring and Autumn period (771–476 BCE), and the Zhuangzi chapter “Dasheng” (Mastering life) say that the wangxiang lives in the water. A comment on the passage in Guoyu says, “The wangxiang eats people. One name for it is muzhong.” Knechtges and Xiao, Wen Xuan, 294. Huainanzi, too, says that water gives birth to the wang­xiang: “[Likewise,] when water gives birth to waterbugs and clams, or mountains give birth to gold and jade, people do not find it strange. . . . But when mountains give off Xiaoyang, water gives birth to Wangxiang, wood gives birth to Bifang, and wells give birth to Fenyang, people find it strange.” Major et al., Huainanzi, 522. 67. According to an annotation by Wei Zhao (ca. 200–273) in the Guoyu on an episode about Confucius being asked about the spirit world (see n. 69 of the present tale), “trees and stones” (C. mushi) should be read as a microcosm for mountain wilderness. Von Glahn, The Sinister Way, 87. 68. Kui (K. ki) is a specter of the mountain forests believed to resemble a dragon. It is mentioned in Shanhaijing (Classic of mountains and seas), a classic compilation of myth and mythic geography, where it is said to be one-legged. In Zhuangzi the one-legged kui is said to have once asked the millipede how it managed to handle its thousands of legs, since dealing with a single leg was troublesome enough. Zhiyi Yang, Dialectics of Spontaneity, 113. 69. The wangliang (K. mangnyang) is said to be a noxious monster that dwells in woodlands, lying in wait for its human victims. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Bud­ dhism. It is also portrayed as a kind of corpse monster that feeds on the brains of the buried dead. Major et al., Huainanzi, 225. It has also been described as a ghost that bewitches people and causes mutism. Mollier, Buddhism and Taoism, 97. In the chapter “Bianwu” (Identifying things) from Kongzi jiayu (Family sayings of Confucius), the

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one-legged wangliang is said to be a strange creature of the woods and stones while the dragons and wangxiang are strange creatures of the waters. Something similar is stated in the Guoyu, which contains an episode featuring Confucius and a nobleman named Ji Huanzi. In this story, Ji Huanzi’s men, while digging a well, unearth a clay jar containing a sheep. To test Confucius’ knowledge of the spirit world, Ji instead reported to Confucius that he found a dog in the jar. Unfazed, Confucius replied, “From what I have heard, it was a sheep. Prodigies of trees and stones [C. mushi zhi guai] are known as kui and wangliang. Prodigies of water are known as wangxiang. Prodigies of earth are known as fenyang.” Von Glahn, The Sinister Way, 86–87. The wangliang might be the same as the demon fangliang, a monstrous being hiding inside a grave mentioned in Zhouli (for a translation of the Zhouli passage, see Lagerwey and Kalinowski, Early Chinese Religion, 287). The second-century Chinese dictionary Shuowen jiezi (Explaining graphs and analyzing characters) cites the aforementioned Guoyu passage, to which it affixes the following explanation: “It is a spectral creature of mountains and rivers. The King of Huainan . . . says, ‘The appearance of the wangliang is like that of a three-year-old child, with red-black color, red eyes, long ears, and beautiful hair.’ ” Other sources claim the wangliang is the son of a legendary ruler, Zhuanxu. He became a demon of pestilence and dwelled in the Luo River. Knechtges and Xiao, Wen Xuan, 216. 70. Li (K. ryŏ), simply refers to an evil ghost. 71. Mo (K. ma) might be understood as a goblin or ogre. However, mo is also the abbreviation of moluo, the standard Chinese transliteration of the Sanskrit māra, Māra being the god of death, the deva that destroys and kills, the evil one. 72. Yao (K. yo) here refers to monstrous demon. The term can also refer to a sort of sorcerer. 73. A mei is a demon of the marshes that casts a spell over those it encounters, usually depicted with the head of a pig and the body of a human. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. The term can also be found as a part of the word mumei (K. mongmae), a tree sprite said to harm humans. Nienhauser, Tang Dynasty Tales, 154. Mei could also be short for chimei, a vicious demon (see n. 123 of the present tale). 74. When speaking about these kinds of ghosts and bewitching beings in the aforementioned text, Kwisin chep’al, Kim Sisŭp cites an interesting passage from Xu­ anzhongji (Records from amid the obscure), a collection of strange stories attributed to Guo Pu (276–324), of which only a reconstructed version has survived. According to the Kwisin chep’al passage, the Xuanzhongji says, Those that call themselves spirits of the mountains and peaks are necessarily serpents and snakes; those that call themselves spirits of the rivers and oceans are necessarily tortoises, alligators, fish, or turtles; those that call themselves spirits of heaven and earth or spirits of the parents are necessarily cats, foxes, or wild beasts; those that call themselves spirits of military generals are necessarily bears, tigers, or leopards; those that call themselves spirits of scholars are necessarily apes or monkeys; those that call themselves spirits of the house are necessarily dogs, sheep, pigs,



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or calves. Even such things as doors, wells, kitchen stoves, and broken dishes can borrow a form and turn into bewitching beings. They all call themselves spirits and frightening ordinary people. It really is weird! (MWTC 17:28b) The original Xuanzhongji passage does not seem to have been transmitted, for in available versions it merely says that when specific animals such as the rat or the bat reach a certain age, they can transform into spirits. Another entry in volume 17 of the Maewŏltang chip, entitled “Sangjang chesip” (Funerals, the tenth [entry]), also features a passage on these demonic ghosts: As for those shamanistic ghosts [K. mugwi], they are the demonic and bewitching creatures of the trees and stones. They hide in grasses and cling to trees. In life they did not get to be straight, in death they do not get to return. Always they demand sacrificial animals and wine from the living and capriciously create both disaster and blessings in a degenerate age. He who is considered someone’s son, how could he ever offer food for his [deceased] father at the same [place where others make offerings to] the demonic and bewitching creatures of the trees and the stones? (MWTC 17:37b) 75. This sentence is a quotation from the fifth section of the first part of the “Xici zhuan.” Lynn’s translation reads, “What the yin and the yang do not allow us to plumb we call ‘the numinous.’ ” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 54. 76. The earliest Chinese glossary, the Erya, probably compiled around the third century BCE, offers the following definition: “The character ‘ghost’ ( gui) means ‘to return’ ( gui).” The Liji declares, “All living things must die; once dead they must return to the earth: this is what is referred to as a ghost.” The Liezi says, “When spirit and body separate [in death], each returns to its true [place or nature]. This is therefore what is referred to as a ghost. A ghost means to return, that is, to return to its true home.” Zeitlin, The Phantom Heroine, 4. According to the Beixi ziyi, “Kuei [kwi] (negative spiritual force) means to return (kuei) [kwi], and returning means the material force has already receded.” Wing-tsit Chan, Neo-Confucian Terms Explained, 143. 77. A reference to Daodejing 16: “The myriad creatures all rise together and I watch their return. The teeming creatures all return to their separate roots. Returning to one’s roots is known as stillness. This is what is meant by returning to one’s destiny. Returning to one’s destiny is known as the constant.” Lau, Chinese Classics, 23–24. 78. As was shown in some of the previous notes, e.g., n. 74 above, Kim Sisŭp’s thoughts on ghosts and spirits, which are reflected in this part of the conversation between Scholar Pak and King Yama, can also be discovered in further writings contained in the Maewŏltang chip. Especially the section “Sŏl” (Explanations), contained in volume 20 of his collected writings, is of significance in this respect, for it includes texts such as Sin’gwi sŏl (Explanation on spirits and ghosts) and Saengsa sŏl (Explanations on life and death). In line with the words of King Yama, a passage

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in Sin’gwi sŏl says, “Between heaven and earth, the one qi is nothing but a bellows. In this principle there is being bent and being straight, being full and being empty. Being bent and then being straight is the marvelous [function]. Being full and then being empty is the Way. Being straight is being full, being bent is being empty. Being full is advancing, being empty is returning. Advancing is what is called ‘spirit,’ and returning is what is called ‘ghost.’ But their true principle is one.” MWTC 20:19b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 3:174–177. 79. A direct quotation from Zhongyong 16.1, partly given in n. 57 above, is from Legge, Chinese Classics, 1:397. This quote has also appeared in the above-quoted (n. 59) words spoken by the ghost king in the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Taixu sifa zhuan.” 80. The term mingfu (K. myŏngbu) refers to underground tribunals, the counterpart of the mundane world’s court of justice. Santangelo, Zibuyu, 102. 81. In Buddhism, the Ten Kings (C. Shiwang, K. Siwang) are the ten rulers of the netherworld as listed in the Shiwangjing, the Sūtra of the Ten Kings. For a translation and discussion of this text, see Teiser, Scripture on the Ten Kings. The Ten Kings serve as a panel of judges who preside over the ten departments of purgatory and the judgment of dead souls. The kings decide—according to the respective karma of the deceased—how the dead will appear in their next incarnation. The Ten Kings are Qinguang wang, Chujiang wang, Songdi wang, Wuguan wang, Yama wang, Biancheng wang, Taishan wang, Pingdeng wang, Dushi wang, and Wudaozhuanlun wang. Xiaochao Wang, Christianity and Imperial Culture, 124. 82. In the tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, the protagonist’s malicious neighbor is brought back from the land of the dead because his relatives make excessive offerings and bribe the officials of the underworld. Appalled by these practices, Scholar Linghu writes a poem in which he criticizes the corrupt gods of the netherworld. He is thereupon dragged to hell to explain himself. 83. Quotation is from the fifth section of the “Xici zhuan.” Lynn’s translation reads, “The reciprocal process of yin and yang is called the Dao.” Lynn, Classics of Changes, 53. 84. Paraphrased from the eleventh section of the first part of “Xici zhuan.” Lynn’s translation of the same section reads, “This is why closing the gate is called Kun, {the Dao of Kun [Pure Yin, Hexagram 2] enfolds things.} and opening the gate is called Qian. {The Dao of Qian [Pure Yang, Hexagram 1] stirs things into life.} One such closing and one such opening is referred to as a change [bian, K. pyŏn], and the inexhaustibility of their alteration is called their free flow.” Lynn, 65; bracketed information in the original. 85. Quotation from the fifth section of the “Xici zhuan.” Lynn’s translation reads, “It is because the Dao brings renewal day after day that we refer to it here as ‘replete virtue.’ . . . In its capacity to produce and reproduce we call it ‘change’ [ yi, K. yŏk]. {Yin and yang change from one to the other and, in doing so, bring about life as transformation.}” Lynn, 54; bracketed information in the original. 86. Cheng, “sincerity,” appears prominently in The Doctrine of the Mean 20.18, where it says, “Sincerity is the Way of Heaven. To think how to be sincere is the way of man. He who is sincere is one who hits upon what is right without effort and ap-



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prehends without thinking. He is naturally and easily in harmony with the Way. Such a man is a sage.” Wing-Tsit Chan, Source Book in Chinese Philosophy, 107. The sentence at this point in the narrative, which says that cheng means the “nonexistence of falsity” (C. wuwang), can be understood as a reference to a passage from Zhongyong huowen (Answers to questions on the Doctrine of the Mean) by Zhu Xi. Zhu Xi here discusses chapter 20 of the Doctrine of the Mean and says that cheng means “true reality and the nonexistence of falsity” (C. zhenshi wuwang, K. chinsil mumang). For a discussion of the passage from Zhongyong huowen, see Junghwan Lee, “Jiaohua,” 204. Lee here translates wuwang as “freedom from [the state of] insincerity.” 87. The Chunqiu (Spring and autumn annals) is one of the core Chinese Classics. It is a chronicle of the state of Lu for the period from 722 to 481 BCE. 88. Tianwang (K. ch’ŏnwang), “heaven-appointed king” or “king by heaven’s grace.” In the early Western Zhou period (1046–771 BCE), wang was synonymous with “Son of Heaven,” a designation of prestige that however was lost during the Eastern Zhou period (770–256 BCE), when more and more feudal lords, beginning with the king of the state of Chu (704–223 BCE), usurped the title, forcing Confucius in Chunqiu to introduce tian, “heaven,” to distinguish the tianwang, meaning the nominal Zhou “Son of Heaven,” from all other undeserving and sometimes upstart rulers who had also styled themselves “king.” Chen, Multicultural China, 131. 89. A reference to the Warring States period (475–221 BCE). After a long period of civil wars, only seven states survived. The seven states that checked and balanced one another were Qi, Chu, Yan, Han, Zhao, Wei, and Qin. Upon his ascension to the throne, Ying Zheng (259–210 BCE), king of Qin, embarked on a conquest of other kingdoms. He successively annexed and terminated Han, Zhao, Wei, Chu, Yan, and Qi. In 221 BCE, China was unified under the Qin, which became the Qin dynasty (221–207 BCE), the first of its kind in Chinese history. Li, China at War, 483–484. 90. For his greatly expanded regime, Yang Zheng of Qin adopted the new title huangdi, to replace wang, the title under which his predecessors had reigned; the new title was intended to emphasize the superiority of his authority over theirs. While the Qin empire itself had ended within a mere fifteen years, the title huangdi survived until 1910, until early modernity. Loewe, Government of the Qin and Han, 2. 91. Weiliang (Wei/Liang) and Jingchu are the Warring States kingdoms Wei (403 BCE–225 BCE) and Chu. 92. This statement can perhaps serve to support the interpretation of Kŭmo sinhwa as a work critical of contemporary issues. It is a slightly altered quotation from a passage in the chapter “Fangji” of the Book of Rites that reads, “Confucius said: ‘There are not two suns in the Heavens, nor two kings in a territory, nor two masters in a family, nor two superiors of equal honor; and the people are shown how the distinction between ruler and subject should be maintained.’ ” Joseph Chan, Confu­ cian Perfectionism, 60. In Kŭmo sinhwa the original sentence from the Book of Rites is misquoted in that the Korean work specifically says that there cannot be two kings in a country (K. kuk) instead of in a territory (K. t’o). The slight alteration in the quote at this point in the narrative puts an emphasis on the country, which could mean the country of Chosŏn. By stating that there cannot be two kings in a country, Kim

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Sisŭp might have meant to hint at Tanjong’s legitimacy and, conversely, Sejo’s illegitimacy as king of the country Chosŏn. 93. As part of a Buddhist ceremony for the deceased, seven days of offerings are made over a special period of seven weeks. The merit acquired by making offerings is transferred to the deceased while he or she is still in an intermediate state between death and rebirth. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 94. The source here says ch’uch’ŏn (C. zhuijian), “pursue the making of offerings,” i.e., make offerings on behalf of a deceased person and his or her well-being in the netherworld. A similar term would be ch’usŏn (C. zhuishan), the “pursuit of goodness,” an abbreviation for ch’ubok susŏn (C. zhuifu xiushan), the “pursuit of merit and cultivation of goodness.” This refers to the cultivation of “good roots” on behalf of a deceased person. The merit acquired is then conferred upon the deceased as a means of reducing or eradicating his or her evil karma. There are many scriptures that mention children cultivating merit in order to save their parents from suffering in hell or from “evil rebirths” (K. akch’wi, C. equ). Muller, Digital Dictionary. 95. Pokchŏn (C. futian), “field of merit” or “field of blessing.” The term refers to the recipient of any gift or offering, here likened to a field that is cultivated. The planting of seeds is a stock metaphor in Buddhism for performing actions (karma), all of which will necessarily have some result in the future. The act of giving away bears positive karmic fruit or merit, but the yield of merit is said to be greater or lesser depending on the worthiness of the recipient, just as seeds planted in fertile soil will yield a more bountiful crop than the same seeds planted in a field with poor soil. The two richest fields of merit are the Buddha and the sangha (the community of Buddhist lay followers, monks, and nuns), offerings and donations to which are said to produce the most merit for worshipers and donors. The reasoning behind this idea is that the Buddha and the monks who follow his teachings are the primary sources of merit, which they produce by the good deeds of maintaining moral precepts, practicing meditation, and developing wisdom. Lay followers who make donations of food, clothing, or shelter in support of these activities can gain a share of the merit accumulated by the monks. Muller, Digital Dictionary. 96. The text here says tosa (C. daoshi), a term that can refer to the Buddha or a bodhisattva but also to a high-ranking Buddhist monk who leads the rituals during which offerings are presented to beings enshrined in altars. It is the monk who is referred to here. Muller, Digital Dictionary. 97. The source reads chŏngt’o (C. jingtu), a pure, paradisiac place inhabited by buddhas and bodhisattvas, who have thoroughly destroyed their afflictions. Muller, Digital Dictionary. 98.  The source says chŏk chang (C. jichang), which is an abbreviation for chŏngmyŏl tojang (C. jimie daochang), the place where a buddha attains the truth of nirvana, especially where Śākyamuni attained it. Muller, Digital Dictionary. 99. Wudian (K. ojŏn) here refers to the “five relationships” or “five cardinal moral codes.” Zhu Xi’s disciple Cai Shen (1167–1230) identified wudian in Shu jizhuan (Collected commentaries on the Book of Documents) in the sense it is used at this point in the narrative: “The Five Cardinal Moral Codes are the [moral virtue of the] five



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regular relations: between a father and his son is love; between a ruler and his minister is righteousness; between a husband and his wife is differentiation; between senior and junior [siblings] is hierarchical order; and between friends is trust.” Oh, Engraving Virtue, 88. 100. Sangang (K. samgang), the “three bonds” or “three relationships.” These are the binary relationships of ruler and subject, father and son, and husband and wife. 101. The text here says jingqi (K. chŏnggi). This term appears in the first part of the Xici commentary of Yijing: “We trace things back to their origins then turn back to their ends. Thus we understand the axiom of life and death. . . . With the consolidation of material force into essence [ jingqi], a person comes into being, but with the dissipation of one’s spirit [ youhun], change comes about.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 51–52. 102. In line with this statement, in Beixi ziyi it says, In terms of life and death, life is the expansion of the material force and death is the contraction of the material force. With reference to death, the heavenly component of the soul that rises is positive spiritual force and the earthly component of the soul that descends is negative spiritual force. The vital power of the heavenly component of the soul is based on heaven and therefore rises. The physical body of the earthly component of the soul is based on earth and therefore descends. The saying in the Book of History, “The Lord rises and descends,” means precisely this. To rise means that the heavenly component of the soul goes up and to descend means that the earthly component of the soul goes down. (Wing-tsit Chan, Neo-Confucian Terms Explained, 147) 103. Huangsha (K. hwangsa), the “yellow sands” or the “desert.” The desert is the “border” par excellence in traditional Chinese culture, a sign of the land outside civilization and human life. The netherworld is sometimes represented as a “vast and boundless expanse of yellow sand.” Santangelo, Zibuyu, 1:102. 104. With regard to these sorts of ghosts, Beixi ziyi says, “There are in the world stagnant souls of people who did not die according to their correct fate. These souls cannot dissipate and sometimes can do monstrous things. However, in time they will naturally dissipate. There are also those who have grudges that have not been avenged. They will do monstrous things repeatedly. However, when the matter is exposed, everything is quiet.” Wing-tsit Chan, Neo-Confucian Terms Explained, 163. 105. Zhai fo (K. chae pul), the purification ceremonies for the Buddha. CMPP at this point does not say zhai (K. chae), “to fast,” “to cleanse,” “to purify,” but rather qi (K. che), “to adjust,” “to equalize,” “to even out.” Following CMPP the sentence would read, “Chae means to purify, that by adjusting what is not adjusted one arrives at its adjustment.” However, this statement deals with the purification ceremonies and with the Buddha as the epitome of purity that cannot be further purified. The Jōō and Meiji editions here say chae. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 81, 209, 344. I have chosen to follow the Japanese editions at this point. 106. In Chunqiu, “Huan gong” (Duke of Qi), fifteenth year, the following is

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stated: “In the Duke’s fifteenth year. In spring, in the second month, tianwang sent Jiafu to come and demand chariots.” This sentence in the tale at hand, which clearly states that a king acts contrary to propriety when he craves riches, alludes to the Zuozhuan, in which the above-quoted Chunqiu entry is commented upon as follows: “In the spring of the fifteenth year, tianwang sent Jiafu to come and demand chariots. That was not in accordance with the rites. The many lords [of the various states] do not pay tribute in chariots or clothing, and tianwang does not privately demand riches.” In Legge’s translation: “Tso-she says here: ‘This mission was contrary to propriety. It did not belong to the princes to contribute carriages or dresses to the king; and it was not for the son of Heaven privately to ask for money or valuables.’ ” Legge, Chinese Classics, 5:64. 107. CMPP here says mun (C. wen), “to hear”; the Jōō and Meiji editions say mun (C. wen), “to inquire.” In the Japanese editions the sentence thus reads, “May I inquire about the meaning of this?” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 81, 210, 344. 108. The source here says jing pu (K. hyŏng pak), which means the “jade stone of [Mount] Jing.” The term derives from a tale from Han Feizi (Writings of Master Han Fei), chapter “Heshi” (Mr. He). The story about a certain Bian He, a native of the state of Chu, who is said to have discovered a fabulous jade stone at Mount Jing. He attempts to present the object to Kings Wu, Wen, and Cheng of Chu. The first two are doubtful, and their jewelers opine that it is an ordinary stone and not fine jade. Regarding Bian He as a liar, they first have his left and then his right foot cut off in punishment for attempting to deceive the king. Finally, King Chen, hearing of Bian’s lamentation of the libel of his fine stone and of his own reputation, has the stone polished and discovers that it is indeed a fabulous treasure. The stone is used to show that the natural attributes of a treasure must be “polished” before its merits are obvious. Knoblock, Xunzi, 206–207. Bian He’s story became the standard allusion to a talented and upright person whose true worth, symbolized by the precious jade, is unrecognized by his ruler and the world at large. Tian, Tao Yuanming, 164. 109. Mingyuezhu (K. myŏngwŏlchu), “bright-moon pearl,” usually is an emblem of the Buddha. The term reappears at the end of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” 110. This might be understood as a reference to a passage from the chapter “Lie Yukou” of Zhuangzi, 32.14, which in Legge’s translation reads, “Zhuangzi said to him, ‘Near the He there was a poor man who supported his family by weaving rushes (to form screens). His son, when diving in a deep pool, found a pearl worth a thousand ounces of silver. The father said, “Bring a stone, and break it in pieces. A pearl of this value must have been in a pool nine zhong deep, and under the chin of the Black Dragon. That you were able to get it must have been owing to your finding him asleep. Let him awake, and the consequences to you will not be small!” ’ ” Legge, The Texts of Taoism, 651. 111. Meaning that his sins will soon be expiated, that he will be allowed to leave hell to be reborn as Samantaradja, the “universal king” (K. powang, C. puwang). 112. During the Koryŏ dynasty, Samhan, “Three Han,” became a popular general appellation for the Korean Peninsula and its inhabitants. For a detailed discussion, see Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 30–44.



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113. Koryŏ was originally founded by Kungye (869–918) in 901. Kungye had used the names Hu-Koguryŏ, Koryŏ, Majin, and T’aebong for his state, which he had founded in the wake of local rebellions against the Silla government in the northern region of Silla. The name Koryŏ, however, was only firmly established in 918, after Wang Kŏn (877–943) had ousted Kungye and taken the throne himself. Kungye is nowadays viewed as a tyrant. Eventually, Kungye was driven from his throne by his own generals and killed as he fled by the people over whom he had ruled. Wang Kŏn then followed Kungye as king of the northern region, and it was he who later became known as T’aejo, founder of the Koryŏ dynasty, which endured until 1392. Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 99–100. The discussion that follows between King Yama and Scholar Pak about the abuse of power and the righteous overthrow of a tyrant can, on the surface, be understood as referring to Kungye’s rule and Wang Kŏn’s usurpation of power. 114. This line is reminiscent of a statement in Confucius’ commentary to Daxue concerning the behavior of a virtuous ruler. Here, it reads, “Rulers of states may not neglect to be careful. If they deviate to a mean selfishness, they will be a disgrace in the kingdom.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 1:374. In the words of Charles Muller, this passage reads, “He who possesses the country must be prudent. If he errs, he will be the embarrassment of the realm.” http://www.acmuller.net​/­con-dao​/­greatlearning​.html. 115. The source here says jianbing (K. kyŏnbing), “solid ice,” which in the sense of something building up slowly but steadily before reaching ultimate strength appears in the “First Yin” of the hexagram “Kun” (Pure Yin) of the Yijing: “The frost one treads on reaches its ultimate stage as solid ice. . . . What starts out as frost that one might tread on ultimately becomes hard ice. . . . A family that accumulates goodness will be sure to have an excess of blessings, but one that accumulates evil will be sure to have an excess of disasters. When a subject kills his lord or a son kills his father, it is never because of what happens between the morning and the evening of the same day but because of something that has been building up for a long time and that should have been dealt with early—but was not.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 145–146. 116. This is a reference to Mengzi 5A:5: “Wan Zhang said, ‘Is it the case that Yao gave the world to Shun?’ Mengzi said, ‘It is not. The Son of Heaven cannot give the world to another person.’ [As Zhu Xi explains, “The world belongs to the world. It is not the private possession of any one person.”] Wang Zhang asked, ‘In that case, when Shun had the world, who gave it to him?’ Mengzi said, ‘Heaven gave it to him.’ Wan Zhang said, ‘When Heaven gave it to him, did it openly decree it?’ Mengzi said, ‘It did not. Heaven does not speak, but simply reveals the Mandate through actions and affairs.’ [Heaven grants a Mandate to those with Virtue, giving them the authority to found a dynasty and rule.]” Van Norden, Mengzi, 123; brackets and italics indicating commentary in the original are part of van Norden’s translation. Hence, a mandate cannot be taken, only granted by heaven. This passage can likewise be read as a clear reference to the illegitimate usurpation of the throne of Chosŏn by Sejo. 117. The section “Ŭi” (Discussions) in volume 20 of Maewŏltang chip contains writings that treat similar topics as those debated by King Yama and Scholar Pak in these passages. For instance, one may note a discussion entitled “Aemin ŭi,” which

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begins with a quote from Shu[ jing], stating, “The people are the root of the country; if the is root firm, the country is tranquil.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:158. The discussion goes on to say, “If the hearts of the people turn and adhere to [a ruler], it is possible for him to be considered their ruler for ten-thousand generations. If the hearts of the people depart and scatter, he cannot stay a single night [in his position] before he becomes a mere commoner. . . . Because of this, when the ruler governs the country, [it is] only the love for the people that must be considered the root; the technique of loving the people is no more than what is called ‘benevolent governance.’ ” Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip. 3:193–195. 118. Yidao (K. ido) means the “different Way” or “deviant Way.” From a Buddhist perspective, yidao would refer to the followers or students of non-Buddhist traditions or philosophies. Yet, because at this point in the narrative it is a Confucian scholar who talks about the yidao, the term can be understood as marking Buddhism as the “different” or “wrong” Way. Kungye made use of the mystique of Buddhism to support his rule, claiming himself to be Maitreya Buddha and designating his eldest and second sons bodhisattvas. Ki-baik Lee, New History of Korea, 99. One should note, however, that King Sejo was also one of the few Chosŏn-dynasty rulers who was openly in favor of Buddhism. 119. Such criticism of ministers who menace and betray the people can likewise be found in the Jiandeng yuhua tale “He Siming yu Fengdu lu.” When the protagonist is given a “guided tour” through the different dungeons of hell, he sees that the most gruesome one is reserved for corrupt, evil high officials. According to the tale, There was a large prison. About ten people lay on the ground naked, while a group of yecha [spirits of the dead], looking fierce and evil, dragged in eight or nine hungry ghosts on iron leashes. The yecha drew their swords, pointed them at the naked [inmates], and cut away lumps of flesh from their breasts and thighs, which [the yecha] then fried in a pan. Thereupon they took [the lumps of fried flesh] and fed them to the hungry ghosts. When [the ghosts] had gobbled everything up, [the yecha] began to cut away again, and this went on until nothing but tendons and bones remained. Shortly thereafter, the wind of karma [K. ŏpp’ung] blew a single time and [the culprits’] bodies were restored to the way they had been before. There were also a metal snake and a copper dog who feasted on human blood and bone marrow. Screams of agony shook the earth. All of the [inmates] had held high, important offices in the human world but had wielded their powers to take bribes. They had deceived the world and stolen names. Some of them, while at their posts, had behaved with integrity on the outside but had taken gifts and bribes on the inside. Others, while in their home villages, had believed in their official powers and had handled public matters as they pleased. Those who had cheated the people and merely acted in their own interest were all detained inside. Also, there were one or two of them whom I knew personally. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:124–125)



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120. These are the eight horses that were, according to the Mu Tianzi zhuan (Biography of Emperor Mu), harnessed to the carriage of King Mu of Zhou during his travels to the West. The Mu Tianzi zhuan is a rather fantastical account of King Mu’s travels, authored in the third century BCE and rediscovered in a tomb in the third century CE. 121. The creature called yecha (K. yach’a, Sanskrit yakṣa) was mentioned in the quote from “He Siming yu Fengdu lu” given in n. 119 just above. Yecha are spirits of the dead who fly around at night or demons who inhabit the earth, air, and lower heavens. They are said to be malignant, violent, and devourers of human flesh. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. A terrifying yecha features prominently in the tale “Taixu sifa zhuan” from Jiandeng xinhua: “Soon thereafter the clouds gathered; the rain stopped and the moon shone brightly. . . . Then he saw a yecha, far away, but coming closer. It had two horns on its head; its erect body was of a bluish color. It screeched loudly as it took huge strides and within moments it had arrived beneath the trees. With its hands it grabbed the corpses, ripped off their heads, and devoured them. It looked like it was gobbling up gourds.” Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:293. 122. The term luocha (K. nach’al, Sanskrit rākṣasa) refers to a kind of ogre, a malignant demon spirit that resides in the heavenly realms. It has the power to influence and seduce humans and, having done so, it eats them. The term is also translated as “man-eating devil.” Described as terrifying, with black bodies, red hair, and green eyes, they are sometimes considered inferior to yecha, sometimes similar. Their abode is an island in the south, often interpreted to be Sri Lanka, where they are described as the original inhabitants, anthropophagi, at one time the terror of shipwrecked mariners. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 123. Chimei (K. imae) are evil mountain or forest demons said to look like fourfooted beasts with human faces. 124. The source here says hanzhang (K. hamjang), which is a term that alludes to Scholar Pak’s extraordinary personal qualities. It derives from the “Third Yin” of the hexagram “Kun” of Yijing: “One who effaces his own prominent qualities here will be able to practice constancy. He might attend to his sovereign’s business, and if he were to make no claim for its success, he should bring about a successful conclusion. {. . . He brings things to a successful conclusion by obeying orders . . .} . . . Commentary on the Words of the Text: Although a yin person has excellence, he effaces it in order to attend to his sovereign’s business and does not dare take credit for its success.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 147–148. By the application of hanzhang, Scholar Pak is thus praised as a person who works for the success of his ruler. 125. The source here says fameng (K. palmong), “dispel ignorance,” which is also a term that appears in Yijing, in the “First Yin” of the hexagram “Meng”: “The first SIX, divided, (has respect to) the dispelling of ignorance.” James Legge, The Yi King (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1882), Kindle. 126. Xianrong (K. hyŏnyŏng), “illustriousness and glory” or “high reputation,” usually refers to a high government office. 127. Zhishan (K. chisŏn), “highest good.” Wang Yangming writes, “The highest

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good . . . is the nature. The nature, in its original state, is without the slightest trace of wickedness. Therefore, we call it the ‘highest good.’ To abide in the highest good is to return to the nature’s original state.” Ivanhoe, Ethics in the Confucian Tradition, 50. 128. The “Shun dian” (Canon of Shun) from Shujing says, The emperor said, “Point out some one among the illustrious, or set forth one from among the poor and mean.” All in the court said to the emperor, “There is an unmarried man among the lower people, called Shun of Yu.” The emperor said, “Yes, I have heard of him. What is his character?” His Eminence said, “He is the son of a blind man. His father was obstinately unprincipled; his step-mother was insincere; his half-brother Seang was arrogant. He has been able, however, by his filial piety to live in harmony with them, and to lead them gradually to self-government, so that they no longer proceed to great wickedness.” The emperor said, “I will try him!’’ (Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:26) 129. This might be understood as a reference to Mengzi 7B:33: “When all the movements, in the countenance and every turn of the body, are exactly what is proper, that shows the extreme degree of the complete virtue.” Legge, 2:495. 130. The tale “Yongzhou yemiao ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, which also prominently features the figure King Yama, ends in a similar way with the protagonist waking from a dream. In the Jiandeng yuhua tale “He Siming you Fengdu lu,” which undoubtedly served as a model for the tale at hand, the protagonist He Siming does not wake from a dream but from death. He later explains, “By the second watch I arrived at my home, and only then did I properly understand that my [dead] body was lying flat on the ground. A lamp illuminated the side of my head, and my wife, children, and [you], my students, were all crying and wailing in sadness. The [envoys with the] yellow turbans [suddenly] gave me a fierce push, and before I knew what was happening, I tumbled over and fell onto [my own] corpse. And then, in a flash, I woke up!” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:125. 131. A possible model for this description of Scholar Pak’s death is contained in the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Wuping lingguai lu,” where the protagonist Qi Zhonghe meets the ghosts of several items (such as a brush, an inkstone, a steamer, a coffin) inside a ruined temple. When they eventually recite poetry together, the ghost of a blanket informs Qi that before long he will die. At the end of the tale, after Qi has left the haunted temple behind. The tale goes on, “That day he returned back home, but indeed he contracted a serious illness. He thought about [the blanket ghost] having said that soon he would be with the high official [in the netherworld], and since he guessed that, necessarily, he would not rise again, he declined all doctors and shamans. His son and wife tried their best to talk him into [receiving treatment], but Zhonghe said, ‘Life and death have been determined, and the [ghosts of the different] items have already let me know. Taking medicine and consulting doctors, only pain will come from that.’ Half a month later, he finally passed away. Ah! A person such as Zhonghe, can’t he be called a broad-minded scholar?!” Ch’oe, 2:278.



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At the end of the story at hand, Scholar Pak is likewise characterized by this “broadmindedness” (K. kwangdal, C. kuangda).

Chapter 6: Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace 1. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏjisŭngnam (vol. 4, sec. “Kaesŏngbu”) states that Mount Ch’ŏnma (K. Ch’ŏnmasan) stands to the north of Mount Songak. Its numerous peaks are said to rise high into the sky so that they pierce the heavens. Seen from afar a a kingfisher blue purportedly colors everything above and around the mountain. Ch’ŏnmasan was treated in Korean literature written before Kŭmo sinhwa. In P’ahan chip Yi Illo describes a visit to this mountain in his youth. The entry reads, When I was a child I ascended Mount Ch’ŏnma, which lies north of the capital [Kaesŏng]. There [I wandered around], seeking the odd and choosing the strange without omission. I spotted a poem someone had left on a wall of a Buddhist temple. It read, Who ever named it Ch’ŏnma Ridge? Towering into the void, a mass of kingfisher blue floats [above and around it]. Only a hand’s width apart from heaven; the hanging moon, how many autumns has it passed through? The road is dangerous, drooping like a monkey’s arm; the poem is aslant, leaning like a crane’s head. At the bottom was another line, but it was so washed out that it was impossible to decipher. There was no name of an author, but it necessarily must have been someone who had left the mundane world behind to cultivate the Way amid crags and valleys, for the words he had written were pure and bitter. (P’ahan chip 3.5) Also, Kim Sisŭp’s poetry collection T’angyu Kwansŏ rok contains a poem entitled “Yu Ch’ŏnmasan” (Sojourning on Mount Ch’ŏnma). MWTC 9:6b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:57–58. MWTC is the source only for T’angyu Kwansŏ rok. 2. Yongch’u (C. longqiu), “dragon pond,” refers to a deep pool located at the top of a tall waterfall. 3. Pagyŏn is a deep pool located between Mount Ch’ŏnma and Mount Sŏnggŏ (Sŏnggŏsan). It is renowned for the scenic waterfall that gushes forth from it. Pagyŏn is here written with the character pak (C. piao), “gourd.” The name of the pond, however, is usually written with the character for the surname Pak (C. piao), thus meaning “Pak’s abyss” or “Pak’s deep pool.” This appellation derives from a Korean legend about a literary licentiate named Pak. In a poem entitled “Che Pagyŏn” (On Pagyŏn) by the Koryŏ poet Yi Kyubo, this folktale is treated in a lyrical way. An ex-

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planatory comment by Yi Kyubo dealing with the poem’s background reads, “In the past, there was a literary licentiate [named] Pak who blew his bamboo flute beside the deep pool. Moved [by the sound], the dragon daughter killed her husband and dragged [Literary Licentiate Pak] [down to the bottom of the lake], where she made him her spouse. For this reason [the pond] is called Pagyŏn.” Yi Kyubo’s poem reads, The dragon lady was moved by the [sound of the] flute, then married the scholar; for a hundred years they shared pleasures and conformed to their feelings; yet it was better than the newly widowed woman from Linqiong, who gave away her body upon hearing the sounds of the zither. (TYSC 14:18a) The last couplet of the poem alludes to Zhao Wenjun, who fell in love with Sima Xiangru when she heard him play the zither. This story was already referred to in “Biography of Scholar Yi.” Hence, in Korea, the deep pool Pagyŏn was renowned as the place where a dragon deity dwelled. Kim Sisŭp’s T’angyu Kwansŏ rok also contains a poem entitled “Pagyŏn.” MWTC 9:6b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 2:58. 4. The tale at hand is primarily modeled on “Shuigong qinghui lu” from Jian­ deng xinhua. But likewise influential was “Longtang linghui lu,” the second tale from the Chinese collection dealing with a scholarly gathering and the writing of poetry in the dragon king’s palace. The opening passage of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace” is a “Koreanized” version of the opening of “Longtang linghui lu,” which itself reads: “In Wujiang there is Dragon King Hall. The hall itself is a shrine. . . . It lies left of Wusong and to the right of Taihu, where winds and waves are dangerous and vicious and where many streams come together. Those who pass by necessarily come here to pay their respects in the yard of the shrine and only then do they travel on. [Tales that this place] early on brought forth a numinous, different [being] are contained in the Wujun zhi [Gazetteer of the Commandery of Wu], which was compiled by Fan Shihu [i.e., the Song poet Fan Chengda, 1126–1193].” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:275. Qu You here names the actual local gazetteer Wujun zhi (50 juan, finished ca. 1192), while Kim Sisŭp merely states that the legend of the dragon deity of Pagyŏn is located in some undefined “transmitted records” (K. chŏn’gi). 5. Written from a Chosŏn-dynasty perspective, “previous dynasty” (K. chŏnjo) refers to the Koryŏ dynasty. 6. The sentence “He had been brought forth at court,” meaning “He was known at court” or “He had become popular at court,” seems to be connected to the earlier sentence introducing the divine dragon of Pagyŏn, for the dragon is likewise said to be “brought forth” by the lake. The double usage of the character chŏ (C. zhu), “bring forth,” might have served as an early hint for readers about the connection between the main protagonist, Scholar Han, and the dragon king. 7. Considering the aforementioned theory that all male protagonists in Kŭmo sinhwa are impersonations of the author, the figure of Scholar Han might have been inspired by the experiences Kim Sisŭp had when he was called to the Royal Secretariat by King Sejong as a child to display his skills in writing.



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8. These figures wear futou (K. poktu), the winged hats of officials. A futou was a double-crowned headdress with bent wings. Mei, Chinese Clothing, 58. 9. This conversation between Scholar Han and the two messengers seems to be loosely based on the one from “Longtang linghui lu,” as follows: When the writing was finished he returned to his boat and lay down underneath the sail. Suddenly there were two people who had the heads of fish and the bodies of ghosts. They came from the shrine, greeted him in accordance with the rites, and said, “The dragon king cordially invites you.” Zishu said, “The dragon king resides in the water realm and I sojourn in the dust-like world. Even on a horse or an ox as swift as the wind one could not reach the other. Even on the stern order [of the dragon king], how could I ever get to [the water realm safe and sound]?” Those with the fish heads said, “Do not worry. We only ask you to close your eyes; we will get there in a moment’s time.” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:276) In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae the annotation on the “water realm” [K. subu, C. shuifu], which also appears in the tale at hand, reads, The Xuhai fu [Rhapsody on the empty sea] by Mu Xuan says, “Inside the water realm there is an extremely deep courtyard.”. . . Also, in the Wu­ daishi [History of the Five Dynasties] it says, “Yang Xingmi [852–905] established Madang as the upper water realm, Caishi as the middle water realm, and Jinshan as the lower water realm.” (Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 532) The opening of the tale “Dongtian huazhu ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, likewise a story dealing with a scholar’s visit to an otherworldly realm, might also have served as a source of inspiration for Kim Sisŭp at this point. “Dongtian huazhu ji” begins in the following way: In the second year of the reign of Tianli [of the Yuan dynasty], the year jisi [1329], there lived in Yuqian a talented scholar by the name of Wen Xinmei. One day he went out for a stroll and had walked about half the way when suddenly two envoys, wearing long gowns made of cloth and straw shoes, came up to him side by side. Giving a deep bow [they] spoke: “The elder of Huayang [Grotto] has bathed and cordially asks for you.” Wen, hurriedly declining, stepped back, saying, “I am a humble person from [Mount] Tianmu, and Huayang [Grotto] is the numinous region of [Mount] Difei. [The realm of] the immortals and that of ordinary people are separated from one another. How could such a visit ever be possible?” The two envoys said, “We have already prepared a curtained carriage, so please do not decline too often.” Eventually he went along with them,

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Notes to Pages 128–129 and indeed there was a carriage made of bamboo waiting by the side of the road. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:333–334)

10. This appears to be a horse like the congma (K. ch’ongma), the legendary “dappled-gray steeds” of antiquity. A poem by Du Fu is entitled “Congma xing” (Ballad of the dappled gray). 11. These are hu (K. hol), i.e., bamboo tablets that officials usually held in their hands during audiences with an emperor or king. 12. The introduction of Makami Akina, the protagonist of the Japanese tale “Ryugu no jōtō” from Otogibōko, is fundamentally based on this description of the encounter between Scholar Han and the divine messengers. The Japanese parody reads, In the Eishō-era [1504–1521], during the reign of Emperor Gokashiwa­ bara [r. 1500–1526], Makami Akina lived in Matsumoto in Shiga district. He had been a student at court, but since retiring from that position to avoid worldly affairs, he spent peaceful days and months in Matsumoto. One evening, two men dressed in hunting clothes and eboshi hats visited him. Kneeling in his garden, they announced, “We have come to invite you to the Dragon Palace at the bottom of the sea.” Surprised, Makami asked, “How would we travel there? The human world and the Dragon Palace are far apart. I heard there was a way to get there in the old days, but it has since disappeared [this is a reference to the tale of Tawara Tōda Hidesato who is said to have killed a dragon].” The messengers replied, “A fine horse with a saddle is waiting for you outside the gate. If you ride the horse, you will have no trouble, no matter how high the waves or how deep the water.” Makami, still skeptical, stood up and went outside, where he was greeted by a strong, black horse standing eleven feet high with a saddle trimmed in gold, stirrups decorated with raden blue shells, and a silver bit. A score of attendants in white stood by the horse. As soon as they helped Makami mount, the horse rose and flew into the sky with two escorts riding ahead. When Makami looked down, he saw nothing but clouds of waves and rising spray. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 4) 13. The gatekeepers’ armor is said to be partly made of the shells of p’aenggi (C. pengqi), sesarmid crabs, small crabs with bright-red claws and a greenish carapace. 14. In “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, one can also find such monstrous gatekeepers: “Guards were blocking the way in groups; they all had the heads of cows and the faces of ghosts, blue bodies and greenish hair. Each one of them held a weapon such as a spear or a halberd. Some of them sat and some of them stood at both the left and the right of the gate.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:123. 15. Interestingly, a very similar passage appears in a late Chosŏn masterwork of prose fiction, Kuunmong by Kim Manjung. In Kuunmong, a scene depicting the protagonist Yang Soyu’s entrapment in Coiled Serpent Valley (K. Pansagok) by the



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shores of the poisonous White Dragon Lake (K. Paengnyongdam) is followed by the appearance of two child messengers who have been sent by the dragon king’s daughter Paek Nŭngp’a (one of the women with whom Yang Soyu has to establish a relationship) to pick up Yang Soyu and bring him to her palace. This scene reads as follows: Suddenly there was an otherworldly fragrance permeating the camp as two girls stepped forth and stood in front of High Minister Yang. Their faces were strange; if they were not immortals, surely they were ghosts. They reported the following to High Minister Yang: “Our mistress would like a word with Your Excellency; please, might Your Excellency not condescend to come with us to our dirty, ugly land?” High Minister Yang asked, “What kind of person is your mistress, and where is she?” They answered, “Our mistress is the youngest daughter of the Dragon Lord of Dongting Lake. Not long ago she left the palace for a short time and has come to live here [in the vicinity].” Yang [Soyu] replied, “The place where the dragon deity lives is the water realm. I am a human from the human world. By what possible means could I reach [the dragon’s realm] with my [mortal] body?” The girls replied, “A supernatural horse is tethered right outside the gates. If Your Excellency mounts it, you will arrive there by yourself without any trouble. The water realm is not far from here, so what difficulties could there be?” When Yang followed the two girls and stepped outside the military camp’s entrance gate, [he saw] dozens of servants whose dresses were made in a fashion different [from what Yang was used to] and whose appearance was out of the ordinary. Yang [Soyu] got onto the horse. The horse’s movements were like flowing, like flying, and the dust never rose from underneath its hooves. A little later they arrived at the palace beneath the water. It was as big and massive as the dwelling place of a king. The gatekeepers all had fish heads and shrimp beards. (Chŏng Kyubok, Kuunmong charyo chipsŏng, 520–521) As can be seen, in Kuunmong we find clear allusions to chuanqi fiction: a wondrous flying horse, monstrous gatekeepers, and the hero pointing out that as a human he might not be capable of entering the dragon’s otherworldly realm. Kŭmo sinhwa was (as far as is currently known) not available in Chosŏn Korea at the time that Kuun­ mong was created, yet the similarities between these two scenes are quite stunning. For further information on Kuunmong as a parodic text, see the chapter “Secondary Hypotexts in Kuullu/Kuun’gi Suggesting Possible Hypotexts of Kuunmong,” in Wuerthner, A Study of Hypertexts. 16. The opening passage of the present tale is fundamentally based on the one of “Shuigong qinghui lu,” which reads, In the fourth year [ jiashen] of the reign of Emperor Zhizheng [last emperor of the Yuan dynasty, r. 1341–1368], in Chaozhou there was a scholar by the

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Notes to Page 129 name of Yu Shanwen [which can be translated as “I excel in literature”]. [One day] at noon at the place where he lived, he was sitting at ease when all of a sudden there were two strongmen wearing yellow turbans and embroidered silken jackets who entered from outside. Facing him, they paid their respects and spoke: “King Guangli [‘King of Great Benefits,’ the deity of the southern sea] cordially invites you.” Startled, Shanwen said, “Guangli is the spirit of the vast sea and I am just a scholar from the dust-like world. The ways of darkness and light are different, how could they ever reach one another?” The two [visitors] said, “You are merely requested to go, so please do not refuse.” Eventually, he went outside with them and through the southern gate. It was then that he saw a big red ship moored on the banks of the river. Atop the ship and firmly holding onto it were two yellow dragons. [Once Shanwen had boarded, the ship] was on its way, as fast as wind and rain. They arrived in the blink of an eye and stopped beneath the [palace] gate. The two people [Shanwen’s escorts] went inside to report his arrival. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:47)

In the tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, Scholar Linghu Zhuan is likewise brought to the underground purgatory by two officials from the underworld (though one has to note that Scholar Linghu is not invited by a deity but rather arrested by King Yama for having written a poem in which he criticizes bribery). 17. Gate of Cherished Benevolence (K. Hamin-ji mun). The term hamin (C. hanren) may be a reference to a passage on the greatness of the Duke of Zhou in the chapter “Weitong” of volume 3 of Yantie lun (Discourses on salt and iron; ascribed to Huan Kuan of the Former Han dynasty). The passage in question reads, “When the Duke of Zhou held the baby Cheng Wang in his arms in attendance on the affairs of the Empire, his favors filled the Four Seas, and his bounties extended to the Four Directions. How much more should one who reigns in his own right follow this example? All mankind cherished his benevolence [hamin] and virtue, and everyone was properly occupied.” Thesaurus Linguae Sericae, http://tls.uni-hd.de. The dragon king and his benevolent, virtuous reign thus appear to be likened to the Duke of Zhou through the sign above the gate to his palace. Scholars have hypothesized that, when naming the gate of the dragon palace in this tale, Kim Sisŭp may have been inspired by the name of the eastern main gate of Hansŏng (Seoul), namely, Hŭngin-ji mun, the Gate of Flourishing Benevolence (today primarily referred to as Tongdaemun, “Eastern Great Gate”). 18. The source here says sinwang (C. shenwang), “spiritual king” or “divine king,” but what is meant is the dragon king (K. yongwang, C. longwang). The dragon, or nāga, is usually considered to be a serpent-like demigod who controls clouds and rain. The title “dragon king” is used for a tutelary deity of a lake, a river, or an ocean. The dragon king is a guardian deity in Buddhism and one of the eight spiritual beings who appear in Mahāyāna scriptures. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. Many premodern East Asian works of narrative fiction feature a dragon king. The deity appears, for example, in Xiyou ji (Journey to the west). He also makes an ap-



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pearance at the beginning of the framing narrative of Kuunmong in the guise of an old man who takes part in Master Yukkwan’s Dharma lectures. This then functions as the opening part of the dream journey of the monk Sŏngjin. Later, in the dream narrative of Kuunmong, the hero, Yang Soyu (Sŏngjin’s dream alter ego), eventually marries the daughter of the dragon king of Dongting Lake (the aforementioned Paek Nŭngp’a) and battles the son of the dragon king of the southern sea. For an authoritative translation of Kuunmong, see Gale, The Cloud Dream of the Nine. In premodern Korean Buddhism, the dragon king plays a role in the legendary acquisition of the Vajrasamādhisūtra (K. Kŭmgang sammae kyŏng, C. Jingang sanmei jing) by the eminent exegete Wŏnhyo (617–686). Buswell, Formation of Ch’an Ideology, 45. 19. A ch’ŏrun’gwan (C. qieyun guan), “cleave-cloud hat,” is a tall hat. This hat appears in the poem “She jiang” (Crossing the river) included in “Jiu zhang” (Nine pieces) of Chuci: When I was young I loved this rare apparel; and now I am old in years, the passion has not abated. At my belt a long sword swinging, on my head a ‘cleave-cloud’ hat up-towering, round my neck moon-bright pearls, and a precious jade at my girdle. (Hawkes, Songs of the South, 159–160) 20. In “Shuigong qinghui lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, King Guangli likewise says to the human, Yu Shanwen, “I have long since respectfully heard of your good reputation, and I bow to your scholarly excellence. Please, do not look at it in a skeptical manner.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:48. 21. A throne made out of the qibao (K. ch’ilbo), the “seven treasures” or “seven precious materials,” commonly considered to be gold, silver, lapis lazuli, crystal, agate, rubies or red pearls, and cornelian. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 22. The dragon king from the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Longtang linghui lu” is likewise visited by a number of guests: “He had not completely taken his seat when a gateman announced, ‘The guests have arrived!’ The king again stepped outside the gates to receive them. He looked up and saw three people who entered together. . . . The king said to Zishu, ‘Sir, do you not know these three guests? This is Minister of State Fan of Yue [i.e., Fan Li, b. 517 BCE], that is Prefect Zhang [Han] of Jin, and this is the hermit Liu of Tang [i.e., Liu Guimeg, d. 881]. What the world calls the “Three Greats from the State of Wu,” it is them!’. . . A eunuch entered hurriedly and exclaimed, ‘The grand master of the state of Wu, Lord Wu [i.e., Wu Zixu, d. 484], is at the gates!’ ” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:277. 23. In the Japanese tale “Ryugu no jōtō” from Otogibōko the description of the arrival of Makami Akina at the dragon palace differs only marginally from the Korean model: After a while, he arrived at the gate of the Dragon Palace, which was carefully guarded by men with spears and long swords. They wore helmets

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Notes to Page 130 of shrimp, crab, turban, and clam shells and tied their helmet strings tightly (under their chins). As soon as they saw Makami, they kneeled and touched their heads to the ground in respect. The two escorts went through the gate, and soon two officials in green came out to lead Makami inside. He saw the three Chinese characters for “Ganjinmon” [Dykstra’s annotation reads, “Gate of Including Mercy.” The characters in the Japanese text are the same as in the Korean original, i.e., Hamin-ji mun, “Gate of Cherished Benevolence”] in a frame above the gate. After walking for half a chō, Makami ascended steps to the front hall of the palace, where he saw the dragon king sitting. The king wore a crown decorated with a five-colored cloud, and a flying snow sword at his waist and held a shaku [a bamboo-tally] in his hand. He rose and led Makami to a white seat in the hall. Bowing deeply, Makami introduced himself: “I am a humble subject from the great country of Japan. I will decay and perish like a plant. How can I receive courtesy fit for a high-ranking guest from a divine king who lowers himself (by treating me so highly)?” The king replied, “I have heard of you for a long time and now I see your noble face. There is no use declining my offer.” The king urged Makami to take the seat offered him and took his own, which was decorated with seven jewels and faced south [Dykstra’s annotation at this point reads, “Rulers traditionally sat facing south”]. After a while, an announcement was made: “Honorable guests have arrived.” The king rose from his seat and descended the stairs to welcome three new guests, who appeared very noble, unlike anyone in this world. Wearing jeweled crowns and straightening their brocade sleeves, they solemnly emerged from a litter decorated with the seven jewels. They quietly climbed the steps and took their places. Makami left his seat and hid himself, crouching by a golden screen. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 5–6; information in parentheses are Dykstra’s)

24. The CMPP and Jōō editions here say chwau (C. zuoyou), “left and right”; the Meiji edition says chae u (C. zai you), “exist on the right-hand side.” The translation of the sentence in the Meiji edition reads, “He ordered [the servants] standing on his right-hand side to bring Scholar Han inside.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 88, 216, 352. 25. Yin and yang, darkness and light, here stand for the juxtaposition of the otherworldly realm of spirits and deities and the mundane world. In “Shuigong qinghui lu,” the same sentence appears, but with the two characters you and xian, “darkness and brightness.” Ch’oe, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:47. 26. The relevant passage in “Ryugu no jōtō” reads, When everyone was seated, the king said to his recently arrived guests, “I have invited a student from the human world. Please see for yourself.” The king called to Makami, who emerged and bowed to the guests, who returned the courtesy. When they urged, “Please take your seat next to



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the king,” Makami declined, saying, “I am a humble subject. How can I take a nobleman’s place?” The three guests replied, “Although the human world and the Dragon Palace are far apart and the way between them has been severed, our divine king has no doubt been thinking of humans and has invited you (here) because you are an unusual man. You needn’t be so modest and decline the seat offered you. Quickly, take your seat.” (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 6) 27. The passage that served as the model for this Kŭmo sinhwa scene is from “Shuigong qinghui lu.” It reads, He [the dragon king] led him up the stairs and meant to sit face to face with him, but Shanwen was uneasy and retreated and acted in a humble manner. Guangli said, “You live in the human world and I reside in the water realm. Neither one can command the entirety alone. Do not refuse.” Shanwen said, “The great king is honorable and powerful and I just one poor Confucian. How could I dare accept these rites as proper?” And he vehemently declined. To the right and left of King Guangli were two ministers. One was Military Advisor Yuan [“sea turtle”], the other Registrar Bie [“turtle”]. Hastily they stepped forth and stated, “The words of our guest are correct. The king should follow his demands. It would not be right if you, Your Majesty, diminished your dignity and virtue, for then there would be a loss of propriety” So Guangli stayed in the middle and sat down; he had another seat arranged to the right and ordered Shanwen to sit.” (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:48) In turn, this Kŭmo sinhwa scene itself was parodically transformed, for in the Korean tale “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki” from the sixteenth-century Kijae kii we find the following passage: Southeast of the main hall was a side gate, and when [Scholar Ch’oe] entered through the gate he came to a separate building, which was called Ch’ŏngnaeng [kak], Building of Pure Cold. . . . Just then he saw the [dragon] king sitting on an eastern bench. His hat was the Hat of Soaring into the Emptiness [K. Nŭnghŏ-ji kwan; at a later point in the present tale, Scholar Han will see the Nŭnghŏ-ji kak, the Building of Soaring into the Emptiness], his girdle was the Girdle for the Communication with Heaven [K. T’ongch’ŏn-ji tae; in “Southern Continent Yŏmbu” King Yama wears a T’ongch’ŏn gwan, a Hat for the Communication with Heaven], and he was wearing a blue-colored gown; everything was embroidered with cloud-patterns. . . . Instinctively Scholar Ch’oe stepped back and prostrated himself twice. Then he again saw that there were three guests sitting on a western bench: one was wearing the clothes of an immortal, one was wearing a Taoist’s robe, and one was an old Buddhist. . . . “The first is an

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Notes to Page 130 immortal of the grottoes, the second is an immortal of the islands, and the third is an immortal of the mountains.” [The servant] did not tell him their names but only said, “You may take a seat.” They had specially set up a bench to the south, where Scholar Ch’oe was supposed to sit. Scholar Ch’oe bent at the waist like a chiming stone and stepped forth quickly but did not dare climb onto the bench. The king spoke, “You, Sir, live in the human world while I reign in the water realm. Naturally there is nothing that could control both, so you ought to sit down quickly.” When he had taken a seat, the king spoke encouragingly to Scholar Ch’oe: “You have come a long way, how can you not be hungry?” (Im, Han’guk hanmun sosŏl chŏnjip, 9:119)

28. A coming-of-age ceremony. It consisted of the capping of boys at the age of twenty; the placing of a hairpin in a knot for girls took place at the age of fifteen, after which a daughter is deemed to be of marriageable age. 29. Kahoe (C. jiahui) alludes to the blissful meeting of a man and a woman. 30. Sangnyang mun (C. shangliang wen), a “ridgepole writing” or “ridgepole blessing,” is a poem or song meant to consecrate a newly constructed or newly restored building. For a discussion of the premodern Chinese ceremonies surrounding the raising of the ridgepole, see Ruitenbeek, Carpentry & Building, 68 ff. In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae the annotation for this term reads, “Ridgepole blessings began to be written at the end of the Tang dynasty. Generally, [a writing of this kind is produced] when the ridgepole of a palace is erected. [The blessing] is written by way of expressing congratulations on the construction of a building.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 718. 31. In the model passage from “Shuigong qinghui lu” the dragon king says, My own lowly dwelling is secluded and ruinous, I am the neighbor of larval dragons and crocodiles and live with fish and crabs. There is no way I could make my spiritual authority clear to all or promote and propagate the imperial mandate. Now I want to construct a separate building, which I have ordered to be named Lingde, the [Building of] Numinous Virtue. Craftsmen and artisans have already been selected and lumber and stones have been completely prepared, but what is missing is a ridgepole blessing. I have heard that you have otherworldly talents, . . . and for this reason I have invited you to come here. I beg you to write it for me. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:48) Note that the Chinese model does not mention a daughter of the dragon king, which might suggest that Kim Sisŭp was influenced by the Korean folktale about Literary Licentiate Pak, who meets and marries the dragon king’s daughter at Pagyŏn. Kim Sisŭp, however, might also have been inspired by the following passage from the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Dongtian huazhu ji” in which the elder of Hua­yang Grotto says,



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I reside in a grotto heaven, and for a long time I have thought about comfort and leisure, and yet the marriages of my sons and daughters have always been on my mind. Now my daughter has reached the age of the hairpin ceremony, and I am discussing marriage with Zhenze [Roiling Marsh], for I would accept his second son and make him my son-in-law. The wedding day has been determined, the betrothal gifts have already been prepared, and all of the other matters have been taken care of. [All that remains] is the reply letter, [the writing of] which I have not yet found the [right] person. I have frequently heard that you are a renowned scholar and that you possess outstanding talents. I have called upon you only because I rely on your service [in this matter]. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 2:334) 32. In “Shuigong qinghui lu,” after the protagonist has been handed an ink stone of white jade and a writing brush made of patterned rhinoceros horn, he is asked to write his ridgepole blessing on piece of extraordinary silk (C. jiaoxiao) similar to that in the translation at hand. 33. In “Ryugu no jōtō” the parody of this passage reads, Makami did so, and the king continued: “I have built a new palace. The director of woodworking and the head of palace carpenters conferred and built a jade fountain, a beam resembling a rainbow, cloud-like ridgepoles, and beautifully decorated pillars. Everything is finished except for a commemorative message on the top beam. I heard that Akinagimi of Makami (in Japan) was a man celebrated for his virtue and learning. So I invited him from that distant place. I would be very happy if he were to write a verse on the beam for me.” Two boys of twelve or thirteen years appeared, wearing the karawa hairstyle. One of them held an ink stone of green jade, which contained ink made from sacred akaza plant ashes, safflower, and civet, as well as a writing brush made from spotted bamboo stem and rhinoceros hair. The other offered Makami a piece of kōjin silk [the same silk appears in “Shuigong qinghui lu”], three meters long.” (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 6–7) 34. The text here does not feature the more common phrase tiandi (K. ch’ŏnji) but rather kanyu, which literally means “support and canopy” but which is also used as a poetic term for heaven and earth. Major et al., Huainanzi, 142. 35. The breaks and paragraphs within this ridgepole blessing are marked in the source with reading aids, inserted by whom it is not clear. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 90–92. 36. A shortened quote from the “Fifth Yang” from the hexagram “Qian” of Yijing. This sentence hints at the virtue of a true ruler. The commentary reads, “A sovereign’s position depends on his virtue to prosper, and a sovereign’s virtue depends on his position to have practical expression. When this grand and noble

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position is filled by someone with such paramount virtue, all under Heaven will go to him and look up to him with hope—is this not indeed appropriate!” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 137. 37. Afang Palace (C. Afang gong) was built by the First Emperor of Qin across the Wei River from the Qin capital at Xianyang. The emperor believed it would match the palaces of the Zhou kings Wen at Feng and Wu at Hao. According to the Shiji more than seven hundred thousand men slaved over its construction and that of the emperor’s mausoleum at Mount Li, using stones from the mountains to the north and timber from Shu and Chu to the south. Afang became a byword for the luxurious and self-indulgent lifestyle favored by the First Emperor. Dillon, China, 92. Hence, the palace was famous, or rather infamous, for its extreme grandeur. Legend has it that when the palace burned down during the battles that ended the Qin dynasty, the fire could not be extinguished for three months. 38. These shen (K. sin) are legendary monstrous clams that were believed to belch out foam and bubbles that could be worked into palace structures. 39. Lang’gan (K. nanggan) is often taken to mean “coral.” “Malachite” as the English rendering for the term can be found, e.g., in Major et al., Huainanzi, 156. 40. CMPP here says ch’ŏn (C. qian), “lush vegetation” or “dense growth.” The Jōō and Meiji editions both say ch’ŏng (C. qing), “blue.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 90, 218, 354. 41. A reference to the poem “Taoyao” from Shijing, which in part reads, Buxom is the peach-tree; How its flowers blaze! Our lady going home brings good to family and house. Buxom is the peach-tree; How its fruit swells! Our lady going home brings good to family and house. (Waley, Book of Songs, 106) 42. This line alludes to conjugal bliss and is a reference to the poem “Guzhong” from Shijing, in which the last stanza reads, “His bells ring out k’in-k’in; / his lutes, large and small, give their notes; / The tones of his organs and sounding stones are in unison. / They sing the Ya and the Nan, dancing to their flutes without error.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 4:367. I have chosen to follow Legge’s translation because Waley understood the poem as a lamentation for someone who lost his life. Waley, Book of Songs, 140. However, the abbreviated quotation from “Guzhong” that appears at this point in the narrative clearly celebrates the union of man and woman. This is reflected in the translation by Legge. The phrase kosŭl kogŭm (C. guse guqin) also appears in the last stanza of the Shijing poem “Luming.” 43. The source says jinzhi (K. kŭmji), “golden branches,” which symbolically stands for the sons and grandsons of an emperor. 44. This sentence can be read as a reference to the “Fourth Yang” of the hexagram “Qian” of Yijing: “Hesitating to leap, it still stays in the depth, so suffers no blame.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 136. Thus, although the dragon might be in hiding and may not be seen, he still has an influence.



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45. This part might be read as a reference to “Shiyue zhi jiao” from Shijing, where one also finds the term xiamin (K. hamin), “lower people.” In the Shijing poem, the lower people are menaced and the country in a terrible state because there is no proper government and because the good and able are not in office. 46. The term renxin (K. insim), “benevolent heart,” plays a role in Mengzi 4A:1, which deals with the characteristics of benevolent government and rule: “The principles of Yao and Shun, without a benevolent government, could not secure the tranquil order of the kingdom. There are now princes who have benevolent hearts and a reputation for benevolence, while yet the people do not receive any benefits from them, nor will they leave any example to future ages—all because they do not put into practice the ways of the ancient kings.” Legge, Chinese Classics, 2:288–289. There may be a critical undercurrent in these lines of Scholar Han’s writing: the dragon in hiding, which is nevertheless influential, might be read as an allusion to Kim Sisŭp himself, who revives the hopes of the people and supports good government. 47. This sentence might also be translated as “We throw [sacrificial offerings] to the east of the ridgepole.” However, the annotation in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae for the same sentence found in the ridgepole blessing in “Shuigong qinghui lu” reads, “Pao [K. p’o, “to throw”] is zhi [K. ch’i, “to put”].” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 716. 48. The source says ren (K. in). Ren is a linear measure of eight feet. It seems to connote especially the height or depth of features in the natural landscape. Major et al., Huainanzi, 155. 49. CMPP here says kyŏng (C. jing), “narrow path”; in the Jōō and Meiji editions it is chŏng (C. zheng), “to strike.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 91, 219, 355. 50. “Abysmally” is a translation of zhanzhan (K. ch’imch’im). The term appears, for instance, in “Yuan you” (Far-off journey) from Chuci. 51. The source says boli (K. p’aryŏ), which is the transliteration of the Sanskrit term sphaṭika, meaning “crystal” or “rock crystal,” one of the seven precious things. Muller, Digital Dictionary of Buddhism. 52. Mangcang (K. mangch’ang) is here translated as “open and boundless.” The term can also mean “grassy wild beyond the fields” or “grassy suburbs.” In this second sense, it appears in “Xiaoyao yu,” the first chapter of Zhuangzi. 53. Parhae, or Bohai, a Sino-Korean-Tungusic kingdom that was allegedly founded by the dislodged Koguryŏ aristocracy and that stretched out over vast parts of Manchuria from 698 until 926, when it was overrun by the Khitan. 54. Fusang, “Supporting Mulberry,” one of the four paradise islands of the immortals. It is described in early sources like the Chuci, the Shanhaijing, and others as a huge tree of sunrise. One of the entries in the Songs of the South reads, “With a faint flush I start to come out of the east, shining down on my threshold, Fu-sang. As I urge my horses slowly forwards, the night sky brightens, and day has come.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 113. It can also be taken to mean the eastern part of China, which geographically fits well with the aforementioned territory of Parhae. 55. The second part of this sentence is a quote from the ode “Shengmin” of

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Shijing. In the translation by Waley the relevant passage reads, “To make manifest His magic power, God on high gave her ease. / So blessed were her sacrifice and prayer that easily she bore her child.” Waley, Book of Songs, 241. In “Shuigong qinghui lu,” Yu Shanwen also writes a ridgepole blessing, parts of which read, It is my humble opinion that between heaven and soil, the ocean is the greatest, and that between humans and things, the [dragon] spirit is the most numinous. . . . He again constructs a precious hall and newly reveals for it a brilliant name. He hangs up a dragon bone and considers it a ridgepole, its numinous gleam shines gloriously upon the sun; he sews together fish scales and makes them into tiles, their auspicious qi coiling in the sky; he aligns windows curtained with shining pearls and white jade. . . . The chain-patterned gate is opened and [one sees] the colors of the ocean in front of the door; the embroidered smaller door is opened and [one sees] the clouds’ shadows descend upon the balcony. . . . I will at last write a short chant to honor the occasion of the raising and the installment of a ridgepole. We put the ridgepole to the east: [The abodes of the immortals] Fangzhang and Penglai at the tip of my fingers; laughingly glance at the Fusang tree that is three hundred fathoms high; as the golden rooster’s cry ceases, the sun rises in deepest red. We put the ridgepole to the west: Not go astray on the road to the Weak Water [River] and the Rolling Sands [a reference to “Tribute of Yu” from Shujing]; in the dead of night, at Yaochi, Queen Mother [of the West] descended; a pair of blue birds told it to a human. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:48–49) 56. According to Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 3, sec. “Hansŏngbu”), the Cho River (K. Chogang) develops out of a conjunction north of the city of T’ongjin of the Han River and the Imjin River. 57. The Nakha spirit appears to be the spirit of the Imjin River, though the Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 11, sec. “Kyŏnggi,” subsec. “Kyohahyŏn”) states that the Nakha is a subsidiary stream of the Imjin River. 58. The Pyŏngnan (K. Pyŏngnando) is a river in Kaesŏng Prefecture. The Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (vol. 4, sec. “Kaesŏngbu”) states that the Pyŏngnan lies thirty-six miles west of Kaesŏng. With regard to these rivers, the Meiji edition features the following annotation: “The mouth of the Han River where it enters the sea is called the Cho River. It is customary to say that the Han River becomes the Nakha. Behind Songgyŏng there is a river called Pyŏngnando. They all flow toward



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and enter the western sea. They are all in Kyŏnggi Province.” Ch’oe Yong­ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 357. 59. In “Ryugu no jōtō” Makami is introduced to a trio of spirits in the following passage: “At this, the Dragon King was greatly pleased and showed Makami’s writing to the three guests, who all admired it. Soon a feast celebrating the completion of the top beam was held and the king said to Makami, ‘Being human, you may not realize that one of my guests is the deity of the sea, one the deity of the rivers, and one the deity of deep pools. They have befriended you.’ ” Dykstra, Oto­gi­bōko, 8. 60. “Pyŏkdam-ji kok” (C. “Bitan zhi qu”), the “Song of the Dark-Blue Lake.” In the scene in “Shuigong qinghui lu,” the beauties instead sing the “Lingbo zhi ci,” the “Ci of Walking on the Waves.” 61. Cangcang (K. ch‘angch’ang)—which can be translated “azure on azure,” “deep blue-green,” or “vast and gray”—appears, for instance, in “Xiaoyao yu” from Zhuangzi. 62. This line, which can be understood as a reference to the dragon king, is modeled after the first line of the poem “Shangui” (Mountain ghost) from Chuci’s “Nine Songs”: “There seems to be someone in the fold of the mountain.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 115. Yet the same line constitutes the opening of the song sung by the beauties in “Shuigong qinghui lu,” where it says, “There seems to be someone at the center of a wave, breaking the willow branches and plucking hibiscus flowers.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:54. The annotation in Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae reads, “This [K. yak yu in, ‘there seems to be someone’] is the same as saying ‘a person such as this’ [K. yŏ si in]. It here refers to the water deity.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 712. 63. This line can be understood as a slightly extended quotation of the first sentence of “Donghuang taiyi” (“The Great Unity, God of the Eastern Sky”) from the “Nine Songs” of Chuci: “On a lucky day with an auspicious name.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 102. 64. A reference to “Zhuang 22” from Zuozhuan, by means of which the greatness of the dragon king’s descendants is emphasized. The passage in Zuozhuan reads, “Mr. Yi performed a divination about giving a wife to [Chen] Jingzhong [Chen Wan]. His wife made the interpretation and said: ‘It is auspicious. This is what is called: ‘The cock and hen-phoenixes fly, their harmonious cries resounding. The descendants of the Gui family will be nurtured by the Jiang. For five generations they will flourish, all of them ranked as senior ministers. After eight generations, no-one will be greater than them.’ ” Milburn, Spring and Autumn Annals, 130. 65. The CMPP and Jōō editions say cho (C. zuo), “luck” or “good fortune”; the Meiji edition says sang (C. xiang), “blessedness” or “fortune.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 93, 221, 358. 66. These cups, which are mentioned in “Zhao hun” from Chuci (see Hawkes, Songs of the South, 228), already appeared in the first tale, “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” Yet “Let fly our winged cups” could be read as a quotation from the poem “Chun ye yan cong di taoli yuan xu” (Preface for the poetry from a spring evening party for my cousin in a peach blossom garden) by Li Bai. In the translation by Elling

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Eide the passage reads, “We spread carnelian mats to sit beneath the flowers, let fly our winged cups and got drunk with the moon.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 723. 67. The final part of this line is again reminiscent of the poem sung by the ghostly women who step out of the folding screen in the tale from Youyang zazu. The poem and the tale were already referred to in the notes to the first (n. 179) and second tales (n. 40). 68. This sentence can be understood as a reference to a tripod or an incense burner shaped like an animal. 69. Qiongjiang (K. kyŏngjang), “sparkling wine,” appears in the same passage of “Zhao hun” from Chuci as the aforementioned winged cups. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 228. 70. The same accessories for dancing are mentioned in the Shijing’s poem “Jianxi”: “Now in his left hand he holds the flute, in his right, the pheasant-plumes.” Waley, Book of Songs, 221. 71. “Hoep’ung-ji kok” (C. “Huifeng zhi qu”). The same song title appears in the tale “Jiangmiao nishen ji” of Jiandeng yuhua. In “Shuigong qinghui lu” from Jian­ deng xinhua, groups of youths likewise appear and sing the “Cailan zhi qu” (Picking lotuses song). This “Cailan” is also mentioned in the present tale, in the song presented by the strange creatures of the woodlands and waters (see n. 140). 72. While in the previous song the line “there seems to be someone at the center of a wave” was merely reminiscent of the first line of the Chuci’s “Shangui,” this couplet is a direct quotation of the first couplet of “Mountain Spirit” from the Songs of the South. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 115. 73. Quotation from “Hebo” of Chuci. Hawkes, 114. 74. The term posuo (K. p’asa) describes whirling movements during a dance. The term, for instance, appears in “Dongmen zhi fen” from Shijing. Waley, Book of Songs, 25. 75. This couplet can be understood as an allusion to a similar one in “Xiang furen” (The lady of the Xiang River) from Chuci: “I throw my jacket into the river, / and leave my shirt in the mouth of the Li.” Cai, How to Read Chinese Poetry, 41. Cf. David Hawkes’ translation: “I’ll throw my thumb-ring into the river, / Leave my girdle-gem in the bay of the Li.” Songs of the South, 109. 76. Suosuo (K. sasa), “unsteady, drunken dancing,” appears in “Bin zhi chu­ yan” from Shijing. 77. This last line is reminiscent of the final couplet of the “Qiufeng ci” (Ci on the autumn wind) by Liu Che (Emperor Wu of Han, 156–87 BCE). In the Chinese poem, the second to last line also reads, “When joy and pleasure are at their ultimate, sorrowful feelings will be manifold.” Cf. Arthur Waley’s translation: “Amidst revel and feasting sad thoughts come.” Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 416. 78. The “Water Dragon Chant” is a qupai, a melody from a canon of labeled melodies in traditional Chinese music. 79. Hengchui (K. hoengch’wi), which is here translated as “traversely blown,” is actually the name of a traverse, open-ended bamboo flute.



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80. The CMPP and Jōō editions simply say to (C. tao), “wave”; the Meiji edition says p’ado (C. botao), also translated as “wave.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 95, 222, 360. 81. These lines might be a reference to Li Bai’s poem “Bajiu wenyue.” 82. This line is an allusion to a passage from Shishou xinyu 14.5: “Master Shan remarked: ‘Physically, Ji Shuye is solid, like a solitary pine tree standing all by itself. When he gets intoxicated he folds up, like a snowy mountain (or jade mountain) about to collapse.’ ” Luo, Concise History, 264. 83. It is believed that Kim Sisŭp wrote Kŭmo sinhwa approximately ten years after departing the capital. This line could thus be read as an allusion to the gloomy decade from 1455 to 1465 that Kim Sisŭp spent roaming the periphery. 84. This figure is a crab. “Armored officer” here translates kaesa (C. jieshi). The term appears, for example, in chapter 50 of Han Feizi. In volume 2 of the Xiepu (Treatise on crabs) by Fu Gong the crab is hoenghaeng kaesa (C. hengxing jieshi), “sidewaysmoving armored officer.” “Armored officer” can be understood as an allusion to the crab’s shell and pincers. 85. Kwak (C. guo), the term in this case used for the armored officer’s last name, is an abbreviation of kwaksak (C. guosuo), a term that alludes to the skittering sideways movements of a crab. It derives from the fourteenth tetragram of the Taixu­ anjing (Canon of great mystery) by Yang Xiong (53 BCE–18 CE): “The crab skitters side-to-side, lagging behind the worm in the Yellow Springs. . . . The crab skitters side-to-side means: His heart is not one.” Nylan, Elemental Changes, 82. 86. This sentence can be understood as a reference to an entry on the crab in the section “Lin jie pian” (Scales and shells) in volume 17 of Youyang zazu. Section “Lin jie pian” introduces the physical characteristics of dragons, fish, and shellfish as well as to their strange functions and abilities. In the entry it is said that in the eighth month the crab takes an awn of about one cun in length and carries it inside its belly eastward in order to present it to the spirit of the ocean as a sacrificial offering. It is said that one cannot eat a crab before the animal has brought the awn to the east. The crab is further said in “Lin jie pian” to be nine feet long, a statement that also reappears a bit further below in the story at hand. There is also an allusion to the tale about the crab bringing its awn to the spirit of the ocean in the poem “Ch’ondong song hae” (A village child sends a crab) by Kim Sisŭp’s friend Sŏ Kŏjŏng, which is contained in the volume 40 of Saga sijip. 87. Jiutian (K. Kuch’ŏn), Nine Heavens, are nine horizontal sectors of space corresponding to the center and the eight directions. Pregadio, Encyclopedia of Taoism, 593. 88. This sentence features the expression moding (K. majŏng), short for moding fangzhong (K. majŏng pangjong), which derives from a reference to the philosopher Mozi in Mengzi 7A:26 and means to dedicate oneself completely to the welfare of the world and humankind. In the passage in question, Mengzi says, “Yang Zhu favored being ‘for oneself.’ If plucking out one hair from his body would have benefited the whole world, he would not do it. Mozi favored ‘impartial caring.’ If scraping himself bare from head to heels would benefit the whole world, he would do it.” Van Norden, Mengzi, 178.

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89. The source here features the aforementioned term kwaksak, which illustrates the crab’s sideways-skittering movements and from which this figure’s name “Armored Officer Kwak” derives. 90. During the Sung dynasty there lived an official by the name of Qian Kun. Fed up with the struggles with government prefects at the time, Qian requested to be appointed to an office far away in the frontier regions. When he was asked which region he preferred, Qian Kun purportedly answered, “Someplace where there are crabs but no government prefects will do.” 91. Bi Libu, Minister of Rites Bi, refers to the Jin-dynasty writer Bi Zhuo, who is said to have been overly fond of wine and crab meat, often neglecting his official duties because of his overindulgence in food and drink. Bi Zhou allegedly stated the following: “Holding a wine cup in my left hand, holding the pincer of a crab in my right hand, floating amid a lake of wine—that would suffice for a way to spend the rest of my life.” 92. The source says sin, “spirit,” which is here short for “conveying the spirit” or “transmitting the spirit” (K. chŏnsin), i.e., portraiture. 93. This probably refers to the Tang painter Han Huang (723–787). This passage, in which Armored Officer Kwak recalls figures from Chinese history associated with crabs, might have been inspired by the poem “Sik chŭnghae” (Eating a steaming hot crab) by Yi Kyubo, found in the Tongguk Yi Sangguk chip (second poem of the “Koyulsi”). Yi Kyubo’s poem already mentions Sima Lun, Qian Kun, and Bi Libu. For the poem and the notes on these historical figures, see TYSC 7:1b–2a. 94. “P’alp’ung mu” (C. “Bafeng wu”), the “Dance of the Eight Winds” or “Dance of Wind from Eight Directions,” is said to have been performed by Zhu Qinming, a renowned Confucian scholar and high official of the Tang dynasty. By performing this peculiar dance, during which he shook his body, wiggled his head, and rolled his eyes, Zhu, the head of the National University, meant to entertain the emperor and obtain his favor. Wu, “A Study of Group Compositions,” 209. Similarly, in his song, Armored Officer Kwak states that he has come to entertain and that he moves in a ridiculous manner in order to delight the dragon king. 95. This is the aforementioned reference to “Lin jie pian” from Youyang zazu (see n. 86 above). 96. This could be an allusion to the discussion on fish and knowledge between Zhuangzi and Huizi, held on a dam of the Hao River (C. Haoliang); the discussion is part of the chapter “Qiushui” of Zhuangzi. Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Lit­ erature, 215–216. 97. Mujang can be understood as an abbreviation of the term mujang kongja (C. wuchang gongzi), “gutless gentleman,” which is a poetic expression for a crab. For example, the term appears in chapter 38 of the Chinese masterwork Dream of the Red Chamber (Hongloumeng, also known as The Story of the Stone) written in about 1754 by Cao Xueqin (ca. 1715–1763) in a scene where the protagonists Baoyu and Daiyu recite poems on eating crabs. 98. This line might be understood as an allusion to the hexagram “Kun” of the Yijing, where the color yellow is associated with the inner virtue and “civil



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grace” of a noble person. It says, “A yellow lower garment means fundamental good fortune, . . . this refers to the civil graces abiding within. . . . Commentary on the Words of the Text: The noble man, garbed in yellow and maintaining the Mean, thoroughly grasps the principle of things. The correct position for him is this place in the trigram.” Lynn, Classic of Changes, 148–149. 99. “Excellence” here translates mi (C. mei), which is usually rendered “beauty.” This line is a slightly abbreviated quotation from the passage (mentioned in n. 98 just above) from Yijing: “Excellence abides within him, emanating through his four limbs and expressed in his deeds—the very acme of excellence.” Lynn, 149. 100. Another reference to “Choumou” from Shijing already quoted in the first tale. Here, the line might imply that Kwak did not expect to be asked to perform at this grand banquet. 101. Yaochi, the “Turquoise Pond,” is usually understood to be a lake on Mount Kunlun, the residence of the Queen Mother of the West. This line might allude to King Mu of Zhou, who received an invitation to a banquet by the shores of the Turquoise Pond from the Queen Mother of the West. 102. Junshan, Mount Jun (also known as Xiangshan, Mount Xiang), is a mountainous island in the northeast corner of Dongting Lake. According to legend, it is the home of the Goddess of the Xiang. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 104. 103. A quotation of the first line of the third stanza of the ode “Jianxi” from Shijing: “On the hills grows a hazel-tree; on the low ground the liquorice. / Of whom do I think? / Of a fair lady from the West.” Waley, Book of Songs, 221. Zhu Xi in Shi jizhuan comments on this poem as follows: “The wise man cannot obtain his intention in a low country in a world that is in state of decay, and thus he thinks of the appearance of a king in prosperous times.” Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan, 24. 104. This final line might have been inspired by the fourth line in Qiufeng ci: “Carry thoughts of a beauty, unable to forget.” Cf. the translation of this line by Arthur Waley: “I think of my lovely lady; I never can forget.” Minford and Lau, Clas­ sical Chinese Literature, 415. Especially in light of Zhu Xi’s commentary on the previous line, this final couplet of the poem at hand could perhaps be understood as an allusion to King Tanjong, whom Kim Sisŭp, a man who was not able to “obtain his intention” in a “world that is in a state of decay,” was “unable to forget.” 105. This crab also features in “Ryugu no jōtō.” The scene in the Japanese tale is basically an abbreviated copy of the Korean one at hand: After this performance, the king was overjoyed. The sake cups were washed and a new bottle placed before Makami. Then the king began to play a jade flute and sang the song “Kaikokokugin.” After he finished singing, he asked, “Is there any one here who can entertain my guests?” A creature humbly came forward, a crab spirit who called himself Kakukaishi. He sang: “I hide myself behind rocks in the valley. In the autumn, when the katsura fruits are ripe, charmed by the clear moon and the cool winds, I venture out to the rivers and swim in the sea. My tummy is tinged yellow and my shell is round and hard. With my eyes looking skyward

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Notes to Page 136 and my eight legs crossed, I make young women laugh, while my taste softens a warrior’s harsh expression. Donning armor and holding a spear, I roll my eyes, foam at the mouth, and I am called Buchōkōshi, Prince with No Intestines.” Kakukaishi danced tsunate no mai by stepping forward and backward and running right and left while other crab spirits beat time. Everyone had a good laugh. (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 9)

106. This figure is called Hyŏn sŏnsaeng, “Teacher Hyŏn.” The name can be understood as having derived from the term hyŏnbu (C. xuanfu), a poetic expression for a turtle. Hyŏnbu appears, for example, in the poem “Hwa chŭksa” by Yi Kyubo, which says that a “hyŏnbu warms itself under the sun in the sand.” TYSC 7:20b. 107. This introductory sentence can be taken as a reference to “Guice liezhuan” (Biography of tortoise shell and yarrow stalk divination) from Shiji. In section 7 of “Guice liezhuan” it says that “when stalk bundles of yarrow are on top, the divine turtle is underneath.” Moreover, section 5 of “Guice liezhuan” begins as follows: “When I [Sima Qian] arrived in Jiangnan, I saw a divination ceremony. I asked an elder and he said, ‘When a turtle is a thousand years old, it can sojourn on lotus leaves. A hundred stalks of yarrow have a single root.’ ” A poem by Su Shi is also called “Liangui,” “Turtle on the Lotus.” 108. Luoshu (Luo River Writing) is mentioned in several early texts, including the Shujing, the Lunyu, and the Mozi (Book of Master Mo). Like the Hetu (Chart of the [Yellow] River), the Luoshu was believed to be a diagram illustrating the cosmos and giving clues for its ordering. According to legend, the diagram was revealed to Emperor Yu when a giant turtle emerged from the Luo River bearing the diagram on its shell. The Luoshu then helped Yu to drive out the flood and delineate the nine regions of the world. Pregadio, Encyclopedia of Taoism, 483. 109. A reference to “Waiwu” (External Things) from Zhuangzi. Here, it reads, Lord Yuan of Song one night dreamed he saw a man with disheveled hair who peered in at the side door of his chamber and said, “I come from the Zailu Deeps, I was on my way as envoy from the Clear Yangzi to the court of the Lord of the Yellow River when a fisherman named Yu Ju caught me!” When Lord Yuan woke up, he ordered his men to divine the meaning, and they replied, “This is a sacred turtle.” “Is there a fisherman named Yu Ju?” he asked, and his attendants replied, “There is.” “Order Yu Ju to come to court,” he said. The next day Yu Ju appeared at court, and the ruler said, “What kind of fish have you caught recently?” Yu Ju replied, “I caught a white turtle in my net. It’s five feet around.” “Present your turtle!” ordered the ruler. When the turtle was brought [to him], the ruler could not decide whether to kill it or let it live, and being in doubt, he consulted his diviners, who replied, “Kill the turtle and divine with it—it will bring good luck.” Accordingly the turtle was stripped of its shell, and of seventy-two holes drilled in it for prognostication, not one failed to yield a true answer. (Watson, Zhuangzi; also see Legge, The Texts of Taoism, 576–577)



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110. Another reference to the passage from Zhuangzi, alluding to the following, where Confucius says, “The spirit-like tortoise could show itself in a dream to the ruler Yuan, and yet it could not avoid the net of Yu Ju. Its wisdom could respond on seventy-two perforations without failing in a single divination, and yet it could not avoid the agony of having its bowels all scooped out. We see from this that wisdom is not without its perils, and spirit-like intelligence does not reach to everything. Legge, 577. 111. During divination in ancient times, tortoises were sacrificed and their shells stripped off. Questions were posed to the spirits by carving them into the tortoise shell and applying a hot poker. The resulting pattern of cracks revealed the spirits’ answers. Slingerland, Analects, 47 112. A reference to Lunyu 5.18, where Confucius, questioning the intelligence of Zang Wenzhong, says, “Zang Wenzhong housed his sacred tortoises in a hall where the column capitals were carved in the shape of mountains and the roof beams were decorated with images of water plants. How could he be considered wise?” Zhang Wenzhong is the posthumous title of the Lu minister Zang Sunchen (7th c. BCE), who apparently was known by his contemporaries as a man of wisdom. Han-dynasty commentators claim that Zang’s possession of the sacred tortoise was a usurpation of the prerogatives of a feudal lord. However, Zhu Xi and others argue—based on evidence from the Family Sayings of Confucius and the Zuo Commentary—that housing the sacred tortoise constituted part of Zang’s official ministerial duties and that the sole mistake was decorating the hall with motifs that were the ritual prerogative of the Son of Heaven. Confucius’ criticism seems to have less to do with Zang’s ritual violations than his lack of judgement. Zang apparently felt that lavish decorations in the divination hall would impress the spirits, an attempt at flattery that Confucius dismisses as both foolish and inappropriate. Slingerland, Analects, 46–47. 113. Lu Ao is the name of a legendary man of erudition of the time of Qin Shi Huangdi. The sentence actually reads “Lu Ao perched on me upon the sea,” but it appears to be a reference to a Daoist figure mentioned in Huainanzi, “Dao ying” (Responses to the Way) 12.42, of which the opening paragraph reads, “When Lu Ao roamed around the Northern Sea, having passed through Great Yin, he entered Dark Gate and arrived at the top of Hidden Valley. There he saw a gentleman with deepset eyes and abundant dark hair, an ample neck and hawk-like shoulders, corpulent above and cadaverous below, who was spinning round and round as if welcoming the winds in dance. When [the man] turned round and saw Lu Ao, he slowly lowered his arms and ran away to hide himself in the shadow of a large rock. Lu Ao pursued him, and when his eyes once again fell on the gentleman, he found him perched on a tortoise shell eating a clam.” Major et al., Huainanzi, 471. 114. A reference to a tale about a turtle-nurturing soldier who served under the command of Mao Bao, prefect of Yuzhou. In the Jinshu it says that when Mao Bao was defeated by Shi Jilong (r. 335–349) of the Later Zhao, he plunged into a river and drowned alongside his army. Mao Bao had a soldier under his command who had bought a white turtle and raised it before returning it to the river. Later, when the army to which the soldier belonged was defeated in a battle, he threw himself

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into the river only to be saved and carried to shore by the very turtle he had raised. Shuhi Yang and Yunqin Yang, Stories to Caution the World, 749. 115. As an alternative name for turtle, changyuk (C. cangliu), “concealed six,” refers to the six holes in which a tortoise hides its vulnerable parts. 116. “Kugong-ji mu” (C. “Jiugong zhi wu”), originally called “Gongcheng qingshan yue” (Music of achievements and beautiful promises), is a piece from the Tang dynasty. 117. “Hail and sip” is an allusion to techniques mastered by a scholar who withdraws from the world, mentioned in a passage in the chapter “Keyi” (Constrained in will) of Zhuangzi: “To pant, to puff, to hail, to sip, to spit out the old breath and draw in the new, . . . longevity his only concern.” Watson, Zhuangzi, “Constrained in Will.” Kim Sisŭp had his own Daoism-based thoughts on breathing techniques by means of which one could slowly expel harmful qi while accumulating good, lifeprolonging qi. For a discussion of Kim Sisŭp’s Daoist breathing practices, see Baker, “Cinnabar-field Meditation,” 165. 118. This is another reference to a tortoise-related passage from the chapter “Autumn Floods” of Zhuangzi, which reads: Once, when Zhuangzi was fishing in the Pu River, the king of Chu sent two officials to go and announce to him: “I would like to trouble you with the administration of my realm.” Zhuangzi held on to the fishing pole and, without turning his head, said, “I have heard that there is a sacred tortoise in Chu that has been dead for three thousand years. The king keeps it wrapped in cloth and boxed, and stores it in the ancestral temple. Now would this tortoise rather be dead and have its bones left behind and honored? Or would it rather be alive and dragging its tail in the mud?” “It would rather be alive and dragging its tail in the mud,” said the two officials. Zhuangzi said, “Go away! I’ll drag my tail in the mud!” (Watson, Zhuangzi, “Autumn Floods”; see also Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Literature, 2150) 119. Jiushi (K. kusi), “lasting vision,” means long life. The term derives from Daodejing 59, in which the “Dao of long life and lasting vision” is mentioned. 120. Shengming (K. sŏngmyŏng), “wise and bright” or “sagely and enlightened,” is usually an appellation for a wise emperor or ruler. 121. Next to the Zhouyi (the Yijing) there may perhaps have existed other books of divinatory material in ancient China. The Zhouli (The rites of Zhou), an idealized description of Zhou court procedures probably compiled during the Warring States period, names three systems for divining with sixty-four diagrams: The Lianshan (Linked mountains), the Guicang (Return to the hidden), and the Zhouyi. It is possible that the Lianshan and the Guicang constituted different arrangements of the Zhouyi material. See Rutt, The Book of Changes, 26–27, where the mentioned assistance refers to turtle shell divination. 122. This line can again be understood as a reference to the Luoshu, which was revealed to Yu the Great. 123. In section 157.1 of Baihutong (Comprehensive discussions in the White



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Tiger Hall), a kind of protocol of discussions on politics, cosmology, and philosophy held in 79 CE in the White Tiger Hall, says that good or bad fortune is told better with turtle shells than with milfoil: “Why is it that when by the divination with the milfoil neither a favorable nor an unfavorable indication is to be seen divination with the tortoise-shell is resorted to?” Som, Po Hu T’ung, 525. That divine turtles also inform about woe, bad omens, and the fall of dynasties can be seen in the following anecdote: “A man from Gaoling dug a well and found a large tortoise three feet around with patterns of the eight trigrams on its back. Fu Jian [r. 357–385] ordered his grand diviner to have a pond dug to care for it and had it fed grains. Later, it died, and its bones were buried in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. That night, Ancestral Temple Aid Gao Lu dreamt that the tortoise said to him, ‘I was returning to the Jiangnan region when unfortunately I lost my life in the court of the Former Qin.’ Another person in the dream told Gao, ‘Such tortoises live for three thousand six hundred years and then die. After their death, evil portents appear that are omens of the destruction of the state.’ Before long, Fu Jian was defeated.” Strassberg, Wan­ dering Spirits, 236. 124. This resembles a part in Zhuangzi’s “Autumn Floods”: “So it is that knowledge has its limitations, and the sacred has that which it can do nothing about.” Yet these lines could also be understood as a reference to the last passage in the Chuci’s “Buju.” (Translated as “Divination” in Hawkes, Songs of the South, 203, the term buju actually refers to the use of divination in determining a home or burial site.) This passage also involves a diviner who predicts the future with the shell of a turtle: “ ‘There are times,’ he said, ‘when a foot is too short; and there are times when an inch is too long. There are cases in which the instruments are of no avail, in which knowledge can give no enlightenment. There are things to which my calculations cannot attain, over which the divinity has no power. My lord, for one with your mind and with resolution such as yours the turtle and the divining-stalks are really unable to be of help.’ ” Hawkes, 205. 125. In the fourth section of “Guice liezhuan” from Shiji it says, “Scorch [the shell of] a turtle and tell fortune.” In Baihutong 158 it says, “Why is the tortoise-shell scorched with a heated thron-stick? . . . ‘The tortoise is the oldest among [the things belonging to yin]. . . . Without water the dragon knows not where to dwell, without fire the tortoise cannot foretell.’ ” Som, Po Hu T’ung, 526. 126. The same expression can be found in the first Chibi fu by Su Shi, which Strass­berg translates as “joined by fish and shrimp.” Strassberg, Inscribed Land­ scapes, 187. 127. People swallowing a turtle, at times even a golden one, can be found in stories about initiation dreams. It is said that he who swallows a golden turtle in his dream shortly acquires literary brilliance but must die an early death. Hence, Scholar Han is praised by Teacher Hyŏn as a brilliant man of letters at this point in the narrative. 128. The source says t’ago (C. tuogu), which refers to a drum made from the hides of crocodiles or large reptiles. The term appears in the final stanza of the Shijing poem “Lingtai.” Legge (Chinese Classics 4:457) translates it as “lizard-skin drums” while Waley (Book of Songs, 260) renders it “fish-skin drum.”

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129. A slightly altered quotation from the first Chibi fu. Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 186. The same line appears in “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion” (see n. 38 of that tale). 130. An allusion to the story of Wen Qiao, a high-ranking general and official of the Jin dynasty. Wen Qiao once held a burning rhinoceros horn out over the Yangzi River, making visible strange creatures riding in carts and wearing crimson clothes. Sargent, The Poetry of He Zhu, 325; also see Anthony Yu, Journey to the West, 392. The three spirits of the rivers in this story also arrive at the feast riding in sedan chairs and wearing crimson robes. The same image appears in the poem by the hermit Liu Guimeng in “Longtang linghui lu” of Jiandeng xinhua, second-to-last line: “Why should Wen Qiao burn a rhinoceros horn to illuminate [the dark waters of the Yangzi]?” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:283. 131. According to legend, the mythical Emperor Yu inscribed nine tripods with images of ghosts and demons such as the water spirit wangxiang in order to make them visible and gain control of them. Pregadio, Great Clarity, 42. 132. A similar line can be found in “Shuigong qinghui lu” from Jiandeng xinhua: “The sun is about to sink, the wind still blows briskly.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:55. 133. This line is a quotation from the penultimate line of “Xiang furen” from Chuci: “Oh, rarely, rarely the time is given! I wish I could play here a little longer.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 109. Fusheng Wu translates: “Time of happiness cannot be had repeatedly.” Cai, How to Read Chinese Poetry, 41. 134. Several of these kaesa and hyŏnbu, i.e., crab and turtle figures, also take action in “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki.” Im, Han’guk hanmun sosŏl chŏnjip, 9:119. Moreover, just like Armored Officer Kwak, Teacher Turtle appears in the Japanese “Ryugu no jōtō.” In Dykstra’s translation the relevant passage reads, Next, someone calling himself Master Gen ran out, beating time by turning his sleeves and extending his neck. This was a turtle spirit. He sang: “I hide myself in the medogi thicket and play among the lotus leaves. I float with letters on my back and can predict the future when caught in a (fisherman’s) net. My shell can tell fortunes and my breast harbors a warrior’s spirit. I become a world treasure (because I can see the future) and teach the Way. Hiding my six elements (head, tale, two hands, and two feet), I enjoy the longevity of a thousand years. My breast is like a thread and I enjoy life, dragging my tale. I dance the Blue Sea.” Master Gen danced, moving his head, craning his neck, and straining his eyes while raising his feet, keeping them in the air for a while, then drawing them in slowly. Everyone at the party roared with laughter, holding their stomachs while raising and lowering their heads.” (Dykstra, Oto­gi­bōko, 10) 135. Another reference to the “Fourth Yang” of the hexagram “Qian” of Yijing, which we’ve already seen in Scholar Han’s ridgepole blessing. 136. These precious stones appear, for instance, in “Yuan you” from Chuci. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 196.



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137. This “new work” (K. sinp‘yŏn, C. xinpian), which is said to be brilliant enough to be transmitted over centuries, might be understood as a reference to the ridgepole blessing by Scholar Han. However, it is possible that this “new work” is also an allusion to Kŭmo sinhwa itself. Kim Sisŭp here might have meant to emphasize the greatness of his own literary achievement, his New Tales. 138. The source says yanxuan (K. ŏnsŏn), which as an expression for “going back” derives from the Shijing poem “Huangniao,” where it reads. “I must go back, go home to my own land and kin.” Waley, Book of Songs, 95. 139. This line might again have been inspired by the poem “Chun ye yan cong di taoli yuan xu” by Li Bai, which says, “Hold a fabulous banquet by sitting amidst the flowers.” Cf. Elling Eide’s translation in Minford and Lau, Classical Chinese Lit­ erature, 723. 140. “Picking Lotuses Song,” “Cailian” (K. “Ch’aeryŏn”) or “Cailan qu” is also known under the title “Jiangnan” (South of the river). Fittingly, this poem is primarily about fish happily playing among lotus flowers. 141. Quotation from the Shijing poem “Caiqi”: “Deep is the roll of the drums, shaking the hosts with its din.” Waley, Book of Songs, 129. 142. An allusion to a passage in the poem “Yinzhong baxian ge” (Song of the eight immortals of the winecup) by Du Fu. The relevant line in the poem by Du Fu referring to the high Tang official Li Shizhi (d. 747), says, “The Minister of the Left gets up each day and spends ten thousand cash, he drinks like the long behemoth sucking in a hundred rivers.” Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 1:55. 143. In “Longtang linghui lu” from Jiandeng xinhua the visitors Fan Li, Zhang Han, Liu Guimeng, and Wu Zixu also present poems. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:269–272. 144. A “creature in a pool” refers to a hibernating dragon. 145. A metaphor for a Confucian scholar waiting to be summoned for service. The figure derives from Liji. This couplet is a slightly altered quotation of a line from the poem “Shang Wei zuo xiang ershi yun” (Presented to Wei Jiansu, minister of the left: Twenty couplets) by Du Fu, which reads, “How could you be that creature in the pool?— / you have always been a treasure on the mat.” For translation of the full poem and accompanying footnotes, see Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 1:175. 146. Ŭndo (C. yindao), “silver islands,” can here be taken to refer to the waves of the river. 147. In “Shuigong qinghui lu,” the protagonist Yu Shanwen likewise writes a poem of twenty rhymes. He calls it “Shuigong qinghui shi” (Poem about a joyful gathering in the Water Palace). Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:55. 148. According to legend, the moon cave is the place in the west where the moon sets. 149. The term inon (C. yinyun), which alludes to the merged energy of heaven and earth as in a mist, is usually rendered “primal vapors.” Inon has also been translated as “psychophysical energy.” Santangelo, Zibuyu, 509. Note that the Jōō and Meiji editions at this point both say yŏnon (C. yanyun), “exhalation.” Ch’oe Yong­ ch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 103, 229, 369. 150. Fenfu (K. punbu), “split tally,” refers to the half of a tally (often made of

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bamboo) that was given to a subject by a ruler; the other half was kept by the ruler himself. The subordinate holder of the split tally acted on behalf and under the direct order of the ruler. The term can here be understood as referring to the appointment to office. 151. The Shanghaijing is thought to mention Korea under the name of qingqiu (K. ch’ŏnggu), “[land of] azure hills.” Pratt and Rutt, Korea, 414. In Huainanzi 5, Section 8, it says, “There are five positions. The extreme limit of the eastern region begins from Stele-Stone Mountain, passing through the Land of Morning Freshness and the Land of Giants. In the east it reaches the place whence the sun rises, the land of the Fu [-Sang] tree, the wild fields of the Green-Land trees.” Major, Heaven and Earth, 258. “Land of Morning Freshness” is chaoxian (K. chosŏn); “Green Land” (C. qingtu, K. ch’ŏngt’o) should read qingqiu, “Green Hill.” Major, 320. Ch’ŏnggu is the name of one of the traditional Chinese constellations; since it can be observed in the eastern part of the heavens above East Asia it came to be associated with the Korean Peninsula. Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society, 38. A map of Korea created in 1834 by the late-Chosŏn official Kim Chŏngho (dates unknown) is entitled Ch’ŏnggudo (Map of the [land of] azure hills). Concerning the origin of the term ch’ŏnggu as a designation for Korea, the annotation in the Meiji edition says, “Ch’ŏnggu, the Chinese use it themselves as a name for Korea. This is because of the ‘Jiaosi zhi’ (Treatise on sacrifices) from the Hanshu. ‘Eastern realm’ is the meaning of ch’ŏnggu.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 369. 152. These two lines can perhaps be interpreted as an expression of Kim Sisŭp’s aversion to the officials who served under Sejo and a direct attack against the cronyism concerning the appointment to office. 153. Pyŏrhong (C. biehong), “departing wild geese,” appears to be the name of a song, melody, or dance. 154. The term xuande (K. hyŏndŏk), which alludes to a sage-like ruler with deep virtue, appears, for instance, in Daodejing 10. Lau, Chinese Classics, 15. 155. Cuihua gu (K. ch’oehwa ko) the “drum that causes flowers to bloom” is a special jiegu (K. kalgo) drum that purportedly belonged to the Tang emperor Xuanzong. According to the Kaiyuan Tianbao yishi (Anecdotes from Kaiyuan and Tianbao), Xuanzong caused flowers and trees to bloom by beating this special jiegu drum. In the article “Kalgo” in volume 4 of Yi Kyubo’s Tongguk Yi Sangguk chip, Emperor Xuanzong’s supernatural handling of the jiegu is described as follows: In the Jiegu lu [Jiegu records; written by Nan Zhuo, ca. 850] it says, . . . “Ming huang [Xuangzong] liked it [the jiegu drum] very much. When the rains of spring began to clear and the scenery of the season was bright and beautiful, the emperor took the drum, looked down over the balustrade, and beat it to his heart’s content.” Also, in the [Taiping] guangji it says, “When he [Xuangzong] wanted willow trees and apricot trees to bloom inside [the garden of] a small palace pavilion, the emperor took the drum and beat it to his heart’s content. The name of the song was ‘Chunguang hao’ [K. ‘Ch’ungwang ho’], and when he looked back at the willow and apricot



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trees, which together were already in full bloom, he pointed at them laughingly.” (TYSC 4:4a–b) 156. Mount Hua and Mount Song are two of the Five Great Mountains of Chinese Daoism, the others being Mount Tai, Northern Mount Heng, and Southern Mount Heng. This line can be understood as a reference to a tale found in the chapter “Tiandi” (Heaven and earth) from Zhuangzi, in which Emperor Yao wrongfully refuses three prayers of blessing offered by a border guard of Hua: “Yao was seeing the sights at Hua when the border guard of Hua said, ‘Aha—a sage! I beg to offer up prayers for the sage. They will bring the sage long life!’ Yao said, ‘No, thanks.’ ‘They will bring the sage riches!’ Yao said, ‘No, thanks.’ ” Watson, Zhuangzi. This later became a figure of speech for the asking of blessings for long life, wealth, and male offspring. 157. The CMPP and the Jōō editions here say pu (C. fu), “skin”; the Meiji edition says sŏl (C. xue), “snow.” Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 104, 230, 369. 158. Hangxie (K. hanghae), “night dew,” refers to numinous waters that are swallowed by immortals or to the dew that forms at night. The term appears, for instance, in the poem “Yuan you” from Chuci: “I supped the Six Essences; drank the Night Dew; / rinsed my mouth in the Sun Mist; savored the Morning Brightness.” Hawkes, Songs of the South, 195. The term can also be found, for instance, in the poem “Ch’uun” (Autumn clouds) by Yi Saek: “Enjoyment in Untroubled Ease, drinking the night dew.” MŬG 32:19a. 159. Two of the three mystical paradise islands of the Daoist immortals in the Eastern Sea. 160. In the tale “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” from Jiandeng xinhua, Scholar Linghu Zhuan likewise asks for permission to have a look around the underground purgatory. Eventually, he is allowed to inspect different prisons in hell and their pitiful inmates. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:123. The way the protagonist in the tale at hand now arrives at one building after the other is reminiscent of the way that the figure in the Chinese tale gets to see the different dungeons of the underground purgatory. 161. Asai Ryōi made some minor changes when writing the parody of this scene in “Ryugu no jōtō.” It reads, Makami, too, straightened his sleeves and turned to the king. “I enjoyed myself very much. I hope you will show me every building in the Dragon Palace.” “That is easily done.” Saying this, the king stepped down into the garden. Suddenly Makami was surrounded by clouds. The king had summoned a cloud official: the spirit of a large clam with a large nose and mouth, who wore a helmet of seven circles. Rounding his lips, the official blew into the sky, and everything became flat: there were no rocks or mountains. Clouds and mist were cleared away over several scores of ri. Jade trees lined the garden, which was covered with golden sand. Fivecolored blossoms bloomed on the trees, and four-colored lotus flowers

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Notes to Pages 142–143 opened in the pool, releasing a delicate fragrance. Accompanying the official along a golden gallery, Makami saw another garden, its ground covered in lapis lazuli, and an edifice made of crystal and hari glass that was decorated with precious stones. He thought he would have a commanding view from the top of the building but was unable to reach the first floor. “Common men cannot climb to (the first) floor,” the official explained, “only those with divine powers.” (Dykstra, Oto­gi­bōko, 10–11)

162. Dianmu, the Mother of Lightning, is a Daoist goddess, often depicted holding a mirror that reflects the rays of the sun as lightning. 163. Leigong, the Lord of Thunder, is a Daoist and Buddhist deity. In Shan­ haijing 13, a thunder deity is described as follows: “Amid Thunder Marsh there are Thunder Gods with dragon bodies and human heads. They drum upon their bellies.” Another description of such deities can be found in Shanhaijing 14: “In the Eastern Ocean is Flowing Wave Mountain, 7000 li in the midst of the sea. On it is an animal like an ox that has a dark bluegreen body, no horns and one leg. Whenever it enters and emerges from the water there is a storm. It shines like the sun and the moon and makes a sound like thunder. The Yellow Thearch caught one, made a drum from its skin, and beat upon it with the bones of a thunder beast. The sound could be heard for 500 li, terrifying the world.” Major, Heaven and Earth, 205. In the Lunheng (Arguments weighed) it reads, “A painter drew the figure of thunder with drums that were linked in a circle. He also depicted a figure resembling a strong man and named him the Lord of Thunder. He holds the linked drums in his left hand and beats them with a hammer in his right hand. This indicates that the reverberating peal of thunder comes from the colliding of drums, and the sharp crack of thunder is made by the striking of drums with the hammer.” Junghee Han, “Origin of Wind and Thunder God Iconography,” 71. 164. This is the pouch of Fengbo, the Earl of Wind. Fengbo is usually depicted as a demon-like figure holding the mentioned wind pouch. Han, 71. 165. The phrase hoesan yangnŭng (C. huaishan xiangling), which illustrates the destructive powers of the instruments used by Yushi, the Master of Rain, appears to have been borrowed from “Yao dian” (Canon of Yao) of Shujing. Legge’s translation of the passage reads, “Oh! chief of the four mountains, destructive in their overflow are the waters of the inundation. In their vast extent they embrace the mountains and overtop the hills, threatening the heavens with their floods, so that the inferior people groan and murmur. Is there a capable man, to whom I can assign the correction of this calamity?” Legge, Chinese Classics, 3:25. 166. The figure Makami in “Ryugu no jōtō” takes the same tour and sees the same extraordinary objects: They ascended another tower where Makami saw something round like a mirror that was very shiny; the glare blinded him. The official said, “This is called the denbo mirror of the Electric Mother. Moving it slightly will create enough lightning to dazzle the world.” Next, Makami saw many



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drums, large and small. When he tried one of them, the official warned, “If you beat a single drum very lightly, it will thunder in every mountain, river, valley, and plain. Some people will lose their lives (because of the sound), and others will survive but lose their hearing. This is the small drum of Raikō, the Thunder Lord.” Makami spied something like a bellows beside him. He tried squeezing it, but the official stopped him, saying, “This leather bag belongs to Sōfū, the Wind Guard. If you squeeze it hard, there will be landslides with rocks flying into the sky, and people’s houses will be blown away in all directions.” There was a water jar with something like a broom for a lid. Makami tried stirring the water in the jar with it, but again the official stopped him. “This jar belongs to the FloodRain Master. If you soak this broom in the jar and shake it vigorously, it causes heavy rainfall and floods in the human world where the mountains and land meet the sea.” Makami asked the official, “Where is the officer who controls all these things?” “The Thunder Lord, the Electric Mother, the Wind Guard, and the Flood-Rain Master are extremely unruly, so they are usually kept in prison, where they cannot move as they like. When they are released to assume their roles, they all gather here. Since rain, wind, thunder and lightning must have limits, if they overdo it, they are punished.” (Dykstra, Otogibōko, 11) 167. As will be shown below, in the final scene of the Jiandeng xinhua tale “Shuigong qinghui lu,” the protagonist receives similarly precious farewell gifts. In Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae, the term “pearl of night” is explained with a reference to the story “Suihou zhi zhu” (Pearl of the Marquis of Sui) from chapter 20 of Soushen ji (In search of the supernatural). In the tale, in which the Marquis of Sui saves a wounded snake and receives a pearl in return, the precious object is referred to as “mystical-snake pearl” and “bright-moon pearl.” Chŏng Yongsu, Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae yŏkchu, 41. 168. This Horn for the Drilling of Mountains and the Winnowing of Water (Ch’ŏnsan p’asu-ji kak) appears to be the aforementioned Horn for the Communication with Heaven, i.e., a fantastic rhinoceros horn. The horn’s magical quality as an instrument for the parting of water is mentioned in Baopuzi neipian (Master who embraces simplicity: Inner chapters), where it is said that if a fish were carved on a rhinoceros horn three inches or more in length, it would cause the water to recede three feet from the horn forming a volume of air, thus allowing a person holding the horn in her mouth to be able to breathe normally under water. Yoke, Li, Qi and Shu, 179. 169. A model for this passage is the final scene of “Shuigong qinghui lu,” which reads, The next day [King] Guangli prepared a special feast to thank Shanwen. When the feast ended, he took a jasper tray on which he had put ten pearls for the illumination of night and two horns for the communication with heaven, which were expenses for the brush wetting. [Earlier in the tale at

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Note to Page 144 hand, the banquet initiated by the dragon king in honor of Scholar Han’s writing was called runbi yan (K. yunp’il yŏn), “brush-wetting feast.”] Again he ordered two attendants to escort him back [to the human world]. When Shanwen arrived at his house, he sold what he had received at a Persian jewel shop and received a fortune, eventually becoming a rich man. He thereafter lost all interest in [scholarly] merit and fame. He left his house and cultivated the Way [i.e., practiced Daoism] and roamed far and wide through all the famous mountains. Nothing is known of his end. (Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Chŏndŭng samjong, 1:58–59)

The actual process of Scholar Han’s return to the human world, however, appears to have been modeled after the ending of the tale “Shenyang dong ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, which reads, Scholar [Li] said, “This land has been your home for ages, but I am a human from the mundane world. I fell in here accidentally, so you only have to show me the way back. . . .” “If it really is like this, what difficulty would there be? We only ask you to close your eyes for a short while, then your wish will be fulfilled.” When Scholar [Li] did as he was told, at the edge of his ears he heard nothing but the sounds of rapidly blowing wind and violently pelting rain. When the sounds stopped, he opened his eyes and saw a huge white rat right in front of him. (Ch’oe,1:223) Yet sentences from the initial passage of “Longtang linghui lu” also appear: Those with the heads of fish said, “Do not worry. We only ask you to close your eyes, and we will get [you] there in just a moment’s time.” Zishu did as he had been told and then he heard nothing but the sounds of wind and water, which went on for quite some time. Then the sounds gradually stopped, and he opened his eyes. (Ch’oe, 1:276) 170. As has been shown in n. 169 just above, the figure Shanwen from “Shuigong qinghui lu” also renounces the world, enters a famous mountain, and “nothing is known of his end.” Yet the other model figure for Scholar Han, Wen Xinmei from the Jiandeng yuhua tale “Dongtian huazhu ji,” does not renounce his worldly life after his return from the realm of spirits but in fact becomes a rich man in the mundane world. The passage in question reads, “After three rounds of wine, the beauty presented him with two rolls of crimson silk and two bolts of embroidered brocade to thank him. They finished the banquet and sent him on his way with the two envoys [going] from before. When he returned home, his family members were startled and thought it odd, for half a month had already passed since his disappearance. Xinmei sold all of the goods and treasures he had received [in the spirit world] and eventually became a rich man who had many sons and grandsons. [People] called him ‘Mr. Wen who met an Immortal,’ and even to this day they praise him ceaselessly.” Ch’oe, 2:340.



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171. In the final scene of “Ryugu no jōtō,” Makami follows in Scholar Han’s footsteps: “(Thinking it) impossible to see every building in the Dragon Palace, Makami returned to the king, who entertained him in various ways before offering him two strands of pearls on a lapis lazuli tray and two hiki of thin silk that resembled ice as farewell gifts. The king bid farewell to Makami on the steps and sent the cloud official with him as his escort. Makami closed his eyes and felt as if he were running in the sky. Finally, he arrived at the shrine of the Dragon king, east of Seta Bridge. Makami took the pearls and silk home as treasures. Later he lived in obscurity, practicing the Way. No one knew what later became of him.” Dykstra, Otogibōko, 11–12.

Chapter 7: Written at the End of the First Collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa] 1. The “low house” is a term often employed to present able people’s discontent when being kept in restricted circumstances. Nam, Writing as Response and as Translation, 89. 2. A similar poem to this one is a work entitled “Yasim” (Night was deep), which is contained in the cycle “Chuya.” The opening couplet of “Yasim” reads, “Night was deep in my mountain cabin as the moon shone for the first time [that night]; / sat quietly, lit the lamp, and read secret writings [K. ŭnsŏ].” MWTC 4:1b; Kugyŏk Maewŏltang chip, 1:279. 3. During the early years of the Chosŏn dynasty, Oktang (C. Yutang), “Jade Hall,” was an alternate name for the Hongmun’gwan (Office of Special Advisers). The Hongmun’gwan was a unique institution in Korea. Originally organized in 1420 by King Sejong as the royal research institute Chiphyŏnjŏn, it was reorganized by Sejo into the Hongmun’gwan in 1463. Assigned to provide advisory services on all matters dealing with the Confucian Classics and literature, this office maintained a library within the palace and offered a royal lecture for the king. Thus, its officials had the highest prestige and honor. de Bary, Sources of East Asian Tradition, 576. Consequently, in this line Kim Sisŭp clearly states that he refuses to serve as an advisor to King Sejo. 4. The text in CMPP of Kŭmo sinhwa ends at this point. Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ŭi p’anbon, 108. The entire text is contained at the very end of the Yu Kŭmo rok, which can be found in volume 12 of the Maewŏltang chip. MWTC 12:28a. 5. The hut mentioned here is the famous Maewŏltang, “Plum Moon Hall.”

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Index

Account of a Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple. See “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” An Chŏngbok (1712–1791), 222n352 Analects. See Lunyu Asai Ryōi (?–1691), Otogibōko (A doll for entertainment, 1666): and cross-boundary circulation and creative transformation of narrative literature in premodern East Asia, 38, 56, 209n245; the Ōnin War rather than the Red Turbans featured in, 281n114; “Ryugu no jōtō” (A beam-raising ceremony at the Dragon Palace), 38, 209n246, 330n12, 333n23, 334n26, 337n33, 341n59, 345n105, 350n134, 353n161, 354n166, 357n171; transformation of “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” 267n26; “Uta o nakadachi to shite chigiru” (Making a pledge through poems), 38, 265n21, 268n34, 278n103, 284n135 Bai Juyi (aka Bai Letian, 772–846), 303n109; “Changhen ge” (Song of everlasting regret), 248n89, 270n57, 271n69, 299n85; “Pipa xing” (Song of the lute), 261n193 Ban Jieyu, “Yuanshi” (Complaint), 255n142 “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace.” See “Yonggung puyŏn rok” Bao Zhao (414–466), “Meng huanxian” (Dreaming of returning home), 246n74 Beixi ziyi (Chen Chun’s correct meaning of terms) by Chen Chun, 315n63, 317n76, 321n102, 321n104; on ghosts (kuei [kwi]), 315n63, 317n76 Bi Libu (Minister of Rites Bi), 135, 344n91 Biography of Master Maewŏltang. See Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn “Biography of Scholar Yi who peered over the wall.” See “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn”

Bo Yi, zuo (wells) invented by, 312n47 Bol, Peter K., 185n86 Book of Rites. See Liji Boot, Willem Jan, 206n222, 207n22 Buddhism: aluohan/aluohan (arhat), 106, 295n46; Confucian-turned-Buddhist monks of Koryŏ times, 184n79; Jutan as a transliteration of Gutama or Gotama (the surname of the historical Buddha), 312n48; and karmic affinity in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 84–87, 262n204; Kim Sisŭp’s critical attitude toward, 16–17, 59–60, 188n184; king of the world of the dead (see Yama or Yamarāja [K. Yŏmma, C. Yanmo]); lantern-lighting ceremonies (K. yŏndŭng hoe), 74, 238n20; purification ceremonies (C. zhai fo, K. chae pul), 124, 321n105; qibao (K. ch’ilbo), the “seven treasures” or “seven precious materials,” 333n21, 339n50; three times (K. samse), 85, 260n175; transmission to Koguryŏ by Ado, 288n15; zhai fo (K. chae pul, the purification ceremonies for the Buddha), 321n105 Cailuan (K. ch’aeran), 83, 240n32, 257n157 Cang Jie, Chinese script invented by, 312n47 Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun (Sacrificial elegy for Kim Yŏlgyŏng [Sisŭp]) by Hong Yuson, 6; on Kim Sisŭp’s nature as a Confucian monk, 16 Cho River (K. Chogang), 132, 340n56, 340n58; spirit of, 132, 139 Cho Ryŏ (1420–1489), 19, 182n56, 183n66, 191n31 Choch’ŏn Rock (K. Choch’ŏnsŏk), 103, 105, 114, 286n10; King Tongmyŏng (K. Tongmyŏng wang) of Koguryŏ, 103, 114, 286n10, 288n15

371

372

Index

Ch’oe Inhun (1936–2018), postmodern parody, Kŭmo sinhwa, 42, 214n281 Ch’oe Namsŏn: Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe (Society for Promoting Korean Culture) founded by, 39; and Japanese imperial domination, 39, 210n253; Meiji edition of the Kŭmo sinhwa discovered by, 38, 210n250; and modern Korean literature, 210n249; promotion of Tan’gun as a historical figure, 210n254; scholarship on Kŭmo sinhwa, 35, 38–39, 210n251, 210n252; tales from Kŭmo sinhwa and Jiandeng xinhua compared by, 40, 226n385; and the term kŭmo, 232n433 Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, discovering of the Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition of the Kŭmo sinhwa, 196n154 Ch’oe Yongch’ŏl, Kŭmo sinhwa-ui p’anbon: sample quotes by scholars regarding the Meiji edition, 208n242; sample quotes by scholars regarding the Meiji edition’s literary quality, 209n243; sample quotes by scholars regarding the Meiji edition’s philosophical and religious aspects, 209n244 “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki.” See Kijae kii Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae (Annotated edition of Chŏndŭng sinhwa): annotation of the bamboo chair scene in “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” 266n25; annotation of “Divine with the candlewick at night” from the poem “Aiqing zhuan,” 237n16; annotation to the line “a former king was buried on Tiger Hill,” 303n109; annotation of “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” 270n56; and Hayashi Razan, 37; and the popularity of Jian­ deng xinhua in Japan, 51, 222n350 Chŏng Tugyŏng (1597–1673), “Mang Suraksan hoe Kim Tongbong” (Gazing at Mount Surak, thinking of Kim Tongbong), 200n173 “A Chŏp’o Game at Manbok Temple.” See “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP). See Kŭmo sinhwa—Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP)

Chosŏn munhak kangdok (Annotated readings in Korean literature): Kŭmo sinhwa tales collected in, 43–44, 174n9; nonvernacular premodern works collected in, 216n297 Chŏson sosŏlsa. See under Kim T’aejun Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa inmul (Historical persons of Korea): discussion of Kim Sisŭp’s role as a creator of literature, 214n282; feudal premodern Korean society depicted in the “Biography of Scholar Yi” discussed in, 216n294 Chuci (Songs of Chu, aka Songs of the South): “Chou si” (The outpouring of sad thoughts), 261n198; Fusang (“Supporting Mulberry”) mentioned in, 339n54; “Jiubian” of Song Yu, 287n13; “Lisao” (“Encountering Trouble”), 234n17, 255n144, 256n148; “Tianwen” (“Heavenly Questions”) section of, 52, 224n366; “Xiang furen” (The lady of the Xiang River), 342n75, 350n133; “Yuan you,” 339n50, 350n136, 353n158; “Zhao hun” (Summons of the soul), 256n150, 256n152, 341n66, 342n69 —“Jiuge” (Nine songs): Donhuang taiyi (“The Great Unity, God of the Eastern Sky”), 341n63; “Hebo” (The river Earl), 300n87, 342n73; “Shangui” (Mountain ghost) from “Nine Songs” in, 341n62, 342n72 Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn annals), 122, 124, 179n38, 319n87, 321n106; “Huan gong” (Duke of Qi), 122; tian (“heaven”) distinguished from tian­ wang (“Son of Heaven”) in, 319n88 “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki” (Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion), 103–114; appearance of a divine being associated with Tan’gun wanggŏm in, 109–110, 113, 297n69; Kija’s appearance in, 47–49, 103, 109, 219n322; Korean setting of, 4–5, 25; North Korean translations of, 45, 47–49; as one of five tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 3; and the subgenre ki rendered as “travel record,” yugi (C. youji), 54; title variations of, 286n13

—inspiration for, 54, 63; “Chibi fu” (Red Cliff rhapsody) by Su Shi, 293n38; “Jiangmiao nishen ji,” 248n86, 293n39; “Qiuxi fang Pipa ting ji,” 55, 294n44, 295n49 CMPP. See Kŭmo sinhwa—Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP) Cold Mountain Temple (Hanshansi), 104, 289n21, 291n28 Confucianism: “blue collar and great girdle” (K. ch’ŏnggum taedae) worn by scholars and officials, 89, 264n11; Buddhism fused with, 76, 242n45; and Buddhism viewed as yidao (“deviant Way”), 324n118; Confucian-turned-Buddhist monks of Koryŏ times, 184n79; haengsildo (“illustrated guides”), 210n248; Kongzi jiayu (Family sayings of Confucius), 315n69; and references and allusions requiring annotations, 46, 217n305; and the term “scholar” (K. saeng, C. sheng), 235n3; treasure on the mat as metaphor for a Confucian scholar waiting to be summoned for service, 139, 351n145. See also Chunqiu; Jade Hall; Liji; Lunyu; Mengzi Confucius: Great Learning, 7, 8, 64, 192n138, 308n28; imaged floating to the east, 229n413 Cui Tu (Tang poet), “Guo Xiulinggong” (Passing by Xiuling Palace), 293n37 “Cuicui zhuan” (Biography of Cuicui): Jin Ding and Liu Cuicui, 52, 226n374; and “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 54, 236n12, 236n32, 256n151; and “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” 276n96, 277n102 Dai Shulun (732–789), “Chunyuan” (Resentment in spring), 244n54 Daodejing: 10, 352n154; 16, 317n77; 59, 348n119 Doctrine of the Mean. See Zhongyong “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion.” See “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki” Du Fu: “Ji Liu Xiazhou Bohua shijun sishi yun” (Forty rhymes sent to Liu Bohua of Xiazhou), 235n8; “Jiangpan dubu

Index

373

xunhua” (Strolling alone by the riverside, looking for flowers), 270n62; “Song yuan” (Distant farewell), 301n98; “Yinghuo” (Fireflies), 303n109; “Yinzhong baxian ge” (Song of the eight immortals of the winecup), 351n142 Duke of Zhou, biographical details, 312n49 Eggert, Marion, 67 Eitel, Ernest J., 312n45 Emperor Shun: death near the river Xiang, 245n65, 255n140; Emperor Yao’s betrothal of his daughters to, 243n47; enthronement of, 64, 127, 323n116; flute created by, 270n56; humble beginnings as Shun of Yu, 326n128; as one of the Five Emperors, 229n409; principles of benevolent government of, 339n46 Emperor Wu of Han (Liu Che, 156–87 BCE), 266n25; “Qiufeng ci” (Ci on the autumn wind), 342n77 Emperor Wu of Wei (Cao Cao, 155–220), “Duan ge xing,” 300n91 Emperor Xianzong: Communication with Heaven of, 310n40; public veneration of a Buddhist relic, 306n10 Emperor Xuanzong: and Consort Yang, 270n56; and the “Melody of the Rainbow Gown and Feathered Robe,” 298n77, 299n85, 300n90; supernatural handling of the jiegu, 352n155 Emperor Yao: betrothal of his daughters, 243n47; and “mottled bamboo” (C. banzhu, K. panjuk) that grew by the Xiang River, 255n140; as one of the Five Emperors, 229n409; principles of benevolent government of, 339n46; throne bequeathed to Shun, 127, 323n116 Emperor Yu of Xia, 136; and the “Hongfan jiuchou,” 285n4; Luoshu diagram revealed to, 136, 346n108; nine tripods inscribed with images of ghosts and demons, 138, 350n131 Erya: gui (ghost) defined in, 317n76; on Mount Kunlun, 253n129 Evon, Gregory Nicholas, 50, 300n88

374

Index

flutes: dragon flute, 77, 133, 134; flute created by Emperor Shun, 270n56; flute of jade, 81, 141; hengchui (K. hoengch’wi) open-ended bamboo flute, 134, 342n79; jasper/blue jade flute described in “Weitang qiyu ji” from Jiandeng xinhua, 236n13, 270n56; sexual innuendoes of, 244n56, 251n111; three flutes of Mount Jun, 136, 345n102 Franke, Herbert, 58 Fusang (“Supporting Mulberry”), 132, 340n55; identification of, 339n54 Fuxi, as one of the Three Sovereigns, 229n409 gang (mythological creature), 225n369 Gaotang, 81, 101; and Song Yu’s Gaotang fu (Gaotang rhapsody), 252n120, 265n14 golden turtle. See kŭmo Great Learning. See under Confucius Gu Kaizhi (ca. 349–410), 223n359 Gu Yun, and Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn, 231n432 Gui Heng, preface written to Jiandeng xinhua, 53, 226n381 guiche (K. kwich’a), “ghost cart” or “demon cart,” 52, 223n361 Guoyu (Discourses on states): on prodigies “trees and stones” (C. mushi), 315n67, 316n69; on wangxiang, 315n66 Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak (Korean literature before liberation, 1958), Kŭmo sinhwa discussed in, 42–43, 216n293, 219n322 Han Feizi (Writings of Master Han Fei), 322n108, 343n84 Han Huang (aka Han Jingong, 723–787), 135, 344n93 Han Yu (786–824), 115, 306n10; “Boyi song” (Eulogy for Boyi), 192n136; and the literary and philosophical traditions influencing the Jiandeng xinhua, 52, 224n368; Maoying zhuan (Biography of Mao Ying), 52, 53, 224n364, 226n381; Qiuhuai shi (Autumn thoughts), 244n57; Yuan gui (On the origin of ghosts), 175n11, 313n53

Han’gyŏl. See Kim Yun’gyŏng Hanshu: “Dili zhi” (Treatise on geography), 230n413; on the Eight Rules, 296n61 Häußler, Sonja, 230n418 Hayashi Razan (1583–1657), 37, 207n230 Hejian zhuan (Biography of [a woman from] Hejian), 52, 53, 224n363, 226n381 Heng’e (aka Chang’e, Goddess of the moon), 81, 91, 253n125, 269n44 Hŏ Cho (1369–1439), 9, 180n44, 181n47 Hŏ Mok (1595–1682, pen name Misu), 23, 192n138 Hŏ Pong (1551–1588), letter to T’oegye Yi Hwang, 22–23, 33 Hong Yuson (1452–1529, courtesy name Yŏgyŏng): biography of, 186n92; biography of Kim Sisŭp. See Che Kim Yŏlgyŏng (Sisŭp) mun “Hongfan.” See under Shujing Hongloumeng (Dream of the Red Chamber of The Story of the Stone), 344n97 Hou Hanshou (Latter Han chronicles): story of Bao Xuan, 98, 278n106; story of Lian Hong and Meng Guang, 82, 254n137 Huainanzi (Masters of Huainan): on Heng’e, 253n125; “Quan yan” chapter, 253n129; wangxiang described in, 315n66 Huiyuan, 115, 307n12 Husstad-Nedberg, Ane, 50, 189n106, 247n79 Hyŏn Ch’ae, Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe (Society for Promoting Korean Culture) founded by, 39 Im Ki (C. Lin Qi, pen name Suhoja, “Dewlap Man”): biographical information, 222n353; Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae created by, 51, 222n352 Jade Hall (Hongmun’gwan [Office of Special Advisers]; also as a term for Hallimwŏn), 145, 287n13, 357n3 Japanese marauders (K. waegu, J. wakō), 239n26; in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 75, 84, 86; as representations of Sejo in Kim Sisŭp’s tales, 58 Japanese transmission of Kŭmo sinhwa, 36–38, 51; and Japanese publication of Korean

books, 39; Jōō edition of Kŭmo sinhwa (1653), 37, 207n235; transcultural Korean Japanese version of Jian­deng Xinhua (see Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae [Annotated edition of Chŏndŭng sinhwa]); and Wada Tenmin (Wada Ichirō), 39, 41–42, 211n252. See also Asai Ryōi; Kŭmo sinhwa—Meiji edition (1884) Jiandeng xinhua (K. Chŏndŭng sinhwa, “New tales for the trimmed lampwick”) of Qu You: candlewick reference from the poem “Aiqing zhuan” featured in, 237n16; crowing pheasant mentioned in the foreword to, 224n362; edition with a preface by Qu You, 3, 174n6; epilogue poems of, 227n390, 244n54; five literary subgenres of the twenty-one tales of, 53–54; and the invasions of the Red Turbans, 279n109; and Kumo sinhwa, 3, 65; popularity in Korea of, 51; preface by Gui Heng, 53, 226n381; preface by Qu You, 174n6, 224n362; prohibition in China of, 50, 221n347. See also Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae —tales: “Aiqing zhuan” (Biography of Lady Ai), 50, 53, 226n375, 237n16, 250n98, 262n205, 280n112, 284n134; “Jianhu yefan ji” (Account of floating at night on Jian Pond), 54, 227n385, 296n59, 299n81, 312n46; “Lianlishu ji” (Account of trees that grow together), 55, 251n105, 266n22; “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu” (Report of Scholar Ling­hu’s dream of the underworld), 55, 306n9; “Longtang linghui lu” (Report of numinous gathering in the dragon hall), 55, 227n385, 304n117, 328n4, 329n9, 333n22, 350n130, 351n143, 356n169; “Lüyiren zhuan” (Biography of a lady in green), 54, 235n5, 235n15, 238n24, 241n40, 243n50, 263n207; “Mudandeng ji” (Account of the peony Lantern), 54, 238n20, 239n26, 242nn43–44, 247n83, 258n165, 276n95; “Qiuxiangting ji,” “Jinfengchai ji” (Account of a golden phoenix hairpin), 54, 222n350, 226n377, 226n383, 239n29, 240n32; “Sanshan

Index

375

fudi zhi” (Gazetteer of the blessed Land of the Three Mountains), 54, 228n398, 268n35; “Weitang qiyu ji” (Account of a strange encounter at Wei Landing), 53, 54, 227n385, 249n92, 253n130, 270n56, 270n60, 271n64, 275n92. See also “Cuicui zhuan”; “Lianfanglou ji”; “Longtang linghui lu”; “Shuigong qinghui lu”; “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji” Jiandeng yuhua (K. Chŏndŭng yŏhwa, “Additional tales for the trimmed lampwick” of Li Changqi): and the invasions of the Red Turbans, 279n109; and Kŭmo sinhwa of Kim Sisŭp, 3–4, 50, 54–56, 63; viewed as a set with Jiandeng xinhua, 55, 227n386 —tales: “Dongtian huazhu ji,” 56, 329n9, 336n31, 356n170; “Fengweicao ji” (Account of phoenix-tail fern), 55, 262n205; “He Siming you Fengdu lu” (Records of when He Siming toured [the abode of the dead] Fengdu), 55–56, 306n9, 308n31, 311n44, 324n119, 325n121, 326n130; “Jiangmiao nishen ji” (Account of mud spirits from a river shrine), 55, 248n86, 293n39; “Wuping lingguai lu” (Report of the numinous and peculiar [events that took place] in Wuping), 55, 56, 239n26, 311n44, 326n131; “Yueye tanqin ji” (Account of plucking the zither in a moonlit night), 180n111, 299n80 Jinshu (History of the Jin dynasty): qiongshu used as a term “Wang Rong zhuan,” 235n8; “Suo Jing zhuan,” 295n52; tale of a turtle-nurturing soldier in, 347n114; “Yu Liang zhuan,” 302n105 Jiyi zhi (Records of anomalies compiled), 293n39 Kaenyŏng Temple, Kaenyŏngsa, 257n165 Kaenyŏng tong, Kaenyŏng Valley, as a place-name, 247n78 Katō Kiyomasa (1572–1611), 36, 206n220 kidam (strange tales), and adventure stories or science fiction, 213n272 Kija (C. Jizi, Viscount of Ji, aka Kija of Yin

376

Index

[Shang]): and the Chinese origins of Korean culture, 47–48; and “Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion,” 47–49, 103, 109, 219n322; fairy daughter rescued, 40–41, 109, 212n265, 219n322; and the “Hongfan jiuchou” (Great Plan with its Nine Divisions, K. Hongbŏm kuju), 103, 218n319, 219n321, 285n4; shrine of, 105, 220n330, 292n31; veneration of, 285n5 Kija Chosŏn (1122–194 BCE), 109; and Japanese claims that it was a Chinese colony, 220n326; and the Suksin (C. Sushen), 303n113; and the three phases of Old Chos’ŏn, 284n1 Kija of Yin (Shang). See Kija (C. Jizi, Viscount of Ji) Kijae kii (Kijae recording the strange, 1553) by Sin Kwanghan, “Ch’oe-saeng ujin ki” (Account of when Scholar Ch’oe met genuine ones), 35, 206n216, 335n27, 350n134 Kim Allo, Yongch’ŏn tamjŏk ki (Records of Mr. Dragon Spring’s talks in solitude), 6, 33, 176n22, 205n206, 233n11 Kim Chip, Sindokchae sut’aek pon chon’gi chip (Sindokchae’s handwritten collection of chŏn’gi), 35, 205n214 Kim Ch’unt’aek (pen name Pukhŏn), 57, 227n393 Kim Hamyŏng, 43 Kim Hunggyu, 173n5 Kim Ilsŏng (father of Kim Sisŭp), 7, 71 Kim Ilsŏng (former leader of North Korea), and the discovery of Tan’gun’s grave in P’yŏngyang, 220n331 Kim Manjung, Kuunmong (A dream of nine clouds): allusions to chuanqi fiction in, 35, 330n15; allusions to the tale of Sima Xiangru and Zhuo Wenjun, 265n15; idealized setting of, 175n13; indigenous Korean tradition of narrative literature exemplified by, 40; and Japanese translations published by Chōsen Kenkyūkai, 39; and Kim Ch’unt’aek, 227n393 Kim Sisŭp (courtesy name, Yŏlgyŏng, pen name, Maewŏltang [Plum Moon

Hall]): Kim T’aejun on his role as a writer of fiction, 212n261; lost work by, 32, 204n199, 204n201, 231n430; modern perspective of scholarship on his work, 38–41 —and Buddhism: Buddhist writings of, 188n105; critical attitude toward Buddhism held by, 16–17, 60, 188n184; Dharma name Sŏlcham (Snowy Peak), 7, 178; and dissidence against Sejo, 23–24, 72, 193n139; lay life resumed by, 73, 233n14; possible acquisition of toch’ŏp (C. dudie, “ordination licensing”) by, 17–18 —life of: biography by Yulgok Yi I, 7, 176n27, 188n103; Confucian education of, 7–8, 178n38, 192n138; criminal record associated with Sŏlcham, 25–28, 199n168; death of, 30; eccentric behavior of, 28–30, 72–73, 187n99, 200n175, 233n11, 234n16; genealogy of, 178n37; pen names of, 7, 178; personal name of, 8, 179n39; and Prince Suyang’s usurpation, 10–13; as a prodigy (“divine child” [K. sindong]), 8–10, 179nn42–43, 180n44, 192n138; self-portraits painted by, 19–20, 30–31, 191n127; and the six surviving subjects (saeng yuksin), 11, 31, 40, 177n27, 309n32; as a source for works of narrative fiction in South Korea, 42, 214nn80– 81; travels in Honam, 13, 198n165; travels in Kwandong, 14, 30; travels in Kwansŏ, 6, 13, 184n70; travels in Kyŏngju, 25; travels through the northern regions, 24–25, 282n123, 286n10; visit to the Sŭngjŏngwŏn (Royal Secretariat) as a child, 9–10, 180n47. See also Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn —poetry: “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwa-hu” lyrical critique of Jiandeng xinhua, 52–53; “Che yuhwang komok to” (Inscribed on the Painting of Dark Bamboo Groves and Ancient Trees), 269n54; cycle “Chuya,” 296n53, 357n2; “Hwa maehwa” (On a paint-

ing of plum blossoms), 252n123; poem on Mount Samgak, 9, 180n47. See also Sa yurok; “Sŏ kapchip-hu”; T’angyu Honam rok; T’angyu Kwansŏ rok; Tongbong yukka Kim T’aehyŏn (director of the Chancellery during the Koryŏ dynasty), 232n3; and Kim Sisŭp’s ancestry, 71 Kim T’aejun, on Kŭmo sinhwa, 41, 196n154, 212nn263–265 —Chŏson sosŏlsa (A history of Korean narrative literature, 1930–1931), 227n385, 286n13; on hyangt’o saek, “local [Korean] color” of Kŭmo sinhwa, 41, 174n8, 212n265; on Kim Sisŭp’s role as a writer of fiction, 41, 212n261, 212n263; on Kŭmo sinhwa, 41, 196n154, 212nn263–265; publication of, 211n260 Kim Wigyŏng, 35, 205n214 Kim Yun’gyŏng (1894–1969, pen name Han’gyol): biography of Kim Sisŭp, 231n430; and the journal Tonggwang, 213n275; translation of “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn,” 42, 44, 213n277 King Chun (last king of Kija Chosŏn), Wiman’s usurpation of his throne, 297n66 King Chungjong (r. 1506–1544), 31–32, 205n202 King Helü, burial at Tiger Hill, 113, 303n109 King Injo (r. 1623–1649), Veritable Records (Chosŏn wangjo sillok), 36, 206n229 King Mu of Zhou: described in the Liezi, 298n79; eight steeds of, 126, 325n120; and Kija (C. Jizi), 47, 218nn320–321; and the Turquoise Pond banquet of the Queen Mother of the West, 345n101 King Munjong (r. 1046–1083) of Koryŏ: Manbok Temple constructed by, 235n7 King Munjong (r. 1451–1452) of Chosŏn: brief rule of, 10–12 King Sejo of Chosŏn (aka Kwangmyo): Buddhism favored by, 18, 23, 324n118; and Hong Yuson, 186n92; Kim Sisŭp on his service during the early reign of, 15, 185n88

Index

377

—usurpation of the throne by, 10–13, 19, 183n68; literary prosecuted by Kim Sisŭp, 67, 113, 303n109 King Sejong: invitation to meet King Sisŭp, 9, 181; Yongbi ŏch’ŏn ka (Songs of dragons flying to heaven), 229n407 King Tongmyŏng (K. Tongmyŏng wang or Ko Chumong) of Koguryŏ, 105, 288n13, 289n15; and Choch’ŏn Rock (K. Choch’ŏnsŏk), 286n10; and Kija of Yin’s daughter rescue, 40–41, 109, 212n265, 219n322, 297n69; and Kirin Cave, 113, 286nn9–10; Kuje palace (K. Kujegung, “Nine Stepladder Palace”) of, 103, 286n9, 288n14, 289n16; veneration of, 292n31 King Yama. See Yama or Yamarāja King Yejong (r. 1105–1122) of Koryŏ, 287n13 King Yejong (r. 1468–1469) of Chosŏn, Veri­ table Records on monk Sŏlcham, 27–28, 199n169 King Yonsan’gun (r. 1476–1506): Jiandeng yuhua and Jiandeng xinhua imported into Korea by, 51, 221n345; kapcha sahwa (literati purge of 1504) staged by, 175n16; the preface to Jiandeng xinhua criticized by, 221n346 Kirin Cave (K. Kirin’gul, “Unicorn Cave”), 103, 286n9, 288n15; and traces of King Tongmyŏng’s horse, 113 Koryŏ: founding by Kungye (869–918) and Wang Kŏn, 63, 228n402, 323n113 kui (K. ki), 315n68 kui and gang (mythical and ancient creatures), 225n369; recent and playful (fish and dragon) contrasted with, 225n370 Kui hexagram of the Yijing, and guiche (K. kwich’a), “ghost cart” or “demon cart,” 223n361 Kukcho pogam (Mirror of the dynasty), 190n116 kŭmo (“golden turtle”): and the acquisition of literary imagination by swallowing one, 66–67, 138, 232n436, 349n127; as a reference to the Ŭigŭmbu, 67; as a synonym for Korea, 66; and the title of Kŭmo sinhwa, 65–68, 232n433

378

Index

Kŭmo sinhwa: Chosŏn Korean reception of, 33–35; circulation in Chosŏn before and around the time of the Imjin War (1592–1598), 5, 33–34, 36, 51; composition by Kim Sisŭp, 25, 196n154, 212n265; criticism of contemporary Korean issues, 65; disappearance from Korea, 32–35, 204n201; first Japanese translation by Wada Tenmin (Wada Ichirō), 39, 41–42, 211n252; five tales featured in (see “Manboksa chŏp’o ki”; “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki”; “Namyŏmbuju chi”; “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn”; “Yonggung puyŏn rok”); hyangt’o saek, “local [Korean] color” of, 4, 40–41, 174n8, 212n265; and the invasions of the Red Turbans, 279n109; Japanese transmission of, 36–38; Korean settings of tales of, 4–5, 25; and later Korean fiction, 35, 210n252, 331n15; modern Korean reception of, 38–41; and the national canon of literature in both South and North Korea, 3–4, 174n9; and scholarship on premodern Korean literature, 5; and the term kŭmo (“golden turtle”), 65–68, 232n433 —Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP): and the circulation of Kŭmo sinhwa, 33, 36; Dalian Library edition of, 36, 196n154; inclusion of Yun Ch’unnyŏn’s Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn (Biography of Master Maewŏltang), 6, 51, 176n24; and textual differences with other editions, 207n235 —Meiji edition (1884), 38–39, 207n235, 207n237, 210n251; annotation of the opening paragraph of, 264n5, 288n15; Ch’oe Namsŏn’s discovery of a copy of, 38, 210n250; Yi Sujŏng’s epilogue of, 57–58; Yoda Gakkai’s forward to, 57 —North Korean publications of: and North Korean historiography of Korean literature, 42–43; raids by Japanese marauders (waegu) annotated in, 239n26; tales collected in

Chosŏn munhak kangdok (Annotated readings in Korean literature), 44, 174n9, 216n297; and translations of passages from the Shijing, 46; twopart structure of, 43–44; vernacular translation of, 44–45 Kun [Pure Yin, Hexagram 2] of the Yijing, 318n84; color yellow associated with qualities of the noble person, 344n98, 345n99; “First Yin” of, 323n115; and long zhan (K. yong chon), “dragons fight,” 223n360; “Third Yin” of, 325n124 Kungye (869–918), 64; Buddhism utilized to support his rule, 63, 324n118; and founding of Koryŏ, 63, 228n402, 323n113; Prince Suyang compared with, 64; usurpation of his throne by Wang Kŏn, 323n113 Kunlun (Mount Kunlun): fine jade found on, 81, 353n129; and stories about the inventions of the sages, 312n47 Kuunmong (A dream of nine clouds). See Kim Manjung Kwandong travels of Kim Sisŭp: Kwandong illok (Daily records from Kwandong), 30; T’angyu Kwandong rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwandong, from 1460), 14, 176n24 Kwŏn Han’gong (?–1349), “Pubyŏngnu ch’aun” (Matching rhymes on Pubyŏk Tower), 287n13 Kwŏn Kŭn (1352–1409), 8; “Kujegung,” 288n14 Lee, Peter H., 50 Lei Cizong, 115n14, 307n14 Li Bai (Lizi, Master Li), 270n56; “Bajiu wenyue” (Questioning the moon with wine cup in hand), 112, 301n93, 343n81; “Cailian qu” (Picking lotuses song), 264n12, 351n140; “Chun ye yan cong di taoli yuan xu” (Preface for the poetry from a spring evening party for my cousin in a peach blossom garden), 341n66, 351n139; “Guan Yuan Danqiu zuo Wushan pingfeng” (Looking at Yuan Danfeng sitting [in front] of a

screen [with a painting] of Mount Wu), 226n378, 269n51 Li Changqi (aka Li Zhen, 1376–1452). See Jiandeng yuhua (K. Chŏndŭng yŏhwa, “Additional tales for the trimmed lampwick”) Li Qingzhao (1084–ca.1151, style name Yi’an jushi), 83, 255n145; “Zui huayin” (Drunk in the shadow of flowers), 256n153 Li Shangyin, 303n109; “Duixue” (Facing snow), 235n8 “Lianfanglou ji” (Account of [events at] the Tower of Twofold Fragrances): and “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 54, 236n14, 240n30, 251n106, 252n123, 256n151, 303n109; poem “Sutai zhuzhi qu” in, 236n14, 252n124, 291n28; reference to Tiger Hill, 303n109; and “Yisaeng kyujang chŏn,” 266n25, 267n33, 269n42, 274n84, 276n96, 277n102; yŏlliji (C. lianlizhi) “trees with branches that twine together,” 251n106 Lienü zhuan (Biographies of exemplary women) by Liu Xiang, “Wangsun shi mu” (The mother of the Wangsun lineage), 273n78 Liezi, 299n79; a ghost defined by, 317n76 Lihun ji (Record of the detached soul), by Chen Xuanyou (fl. 779), 281n118 Liji (Book of Rites), 178n38; 1.15, 273n77; “Fangji” (Record of the embankment dams), 308n30, 319n92; a ghost defined by, 317n76; “Jiyi” (The meaning of sacrifices), 262n200, 314n56; “Quli, shang,” 272n75; “Ruxiang” (The conduct of a Confucian), 182n60; story of Zengzi, 20, 190n124; and the Taedae (C. dadai, “great girdle”) worn by an official, 264n11; “Tangong, xia,” 202n184; treasure on the mat as metaphor for a Confucian scholar waiting to be summoned for service, 351n145 Liu Xiyi (651–ca.678), “Dai bei baitouweng” (Lament for a white-haired old man), 253n127 Liu Zhongyuan (773–819), 52, 115, 225n368, 306n10

Index

379

“Longtang linghui lu” (Report of a numinous gathering in the dragon hall): and “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” 55, 227n385, 328n4, 329n9, 333n22, 350n130, 351n143, 356n169; and “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki,” 304n117 Lunyu (Analects), 179n38 —books of: 1.1, first line, 179n39; 4.19, 272n75; 5.7, 229n413; 6.22, 314n58; 7.15, 192n134; 8.1, 21; 9.5, 185n88; 9.14, 229n413; 16.9, 232n6; 18.8, 192n135 Luo Gongyuan, 111, 300n90 Luoshu (Luo River Writing), 346n108, 348n122 Maewŏltang chip (Collected writings of Maewŏltang), 7; editions of, 177n31; its size compared with other munjip, 32–33; and models for “Namyŏmbuju chi,” 55, 226n384, 317n74, 317n78, 323n117; “Sangjang chesip” (Funerals, the tenth [entry]), 317n74 Maewŏltang chip sŏ (MWTC:1a–3b) by Yi Cha, 6, 32, 187 Maewŏltang chip sŏ (MWTC:1a–4b) by Yi Sanhae, 6 Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn (Biography of Master Maewŏltang), by Yun Ch’unnyŏn, 71–73; editions of, 6; inclusion in the Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition (CMPP) of Kŭmo sinhwa, 6, 51, 176n24 Manase Seirin (or Shōrin), 36, 206n224 Manboksa, the Temple of Ten Thousand Blessing, location of, 235n7 “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” (Account of a chŏp’o game at Manbok Temple), 74–87; and chuanqi tales collated by Kim Chip, 35, 205n214; Confucian scholar protagonist of, 10; and the invasions of the Red Turbans, 5, 279n109; and Jiandeng xinhua tales, 54, 218n311; Korean setting of, 4–5, 25; Miss Yu’s poem in, 303n109; North Korean vernacular translation as “Manboksa-ŭi yunnori” (A game of yut at Manbok Temple),

380

Index

45; as one of five tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 3; Shijing poem excerpts recited by Scholar Yang and the female character in, 217n306; and a story from Pohan chip, 174n11; and the subgenre ki rendered as “account” or “record of events and affairs,” 53–54; and Sui chŏn, 175n12, 218n311; variations in the rendering of the tale’s title, 234n1 —Jiandeng xinhua and Jiandeng yuhua tales as sources of inspiration: “Fengweicaoji,” 55, 262n205; “Jiang-miao nishen ji.” 55, 248n86; “Lianfanglou ji,” 54, 236n14, 240n30, 251n106, 252n123, 256n151, 303n109; “Lüyiren zhuan,” 54, 235n5, 235n15, 238n24, 241n40, 243n50, 263n207; “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji,” 227n385, 242n43, 243n52, 244n58, 245n67, 248n90, 260n185, 263n207; “Weitang Qiyu,” 74, 79, 236n13, 249n92 Maoying zhuan (Biography of Mao Ying). See under Han Yu (786–824) Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa (1884). See Kŭmo sinhwa—Meiji edition (1884) Mencius: and Kim Sisŭp’s Confucian education of, 7–8, 178n38; and the wuxing “five agents” or “five phases,” 308n24 Mengzi—books of: 1A:1, 12–13, 182n59; 1B:7, 185n84; 1B:8, 231n425; 2A:2, 307n20; 3B:2, 185n82, 310n41; 3B:5, 276n96; 4A:1, 339n46; 4B:28, 231n28; 5A:2, 243n47; 5A:5, 64–65, 231n426, 323n116; 7A:15, 311n51; 7A:26, 344n88; 7B:33, 326n129 Mishima Chūshu (1830–1919), 37, 208n242, 209nn243–244, 227n390 Mōri Terumoto (1553–1625), 36, 206n221 Mount Ch’ŏnma (K. Ch’ŏnmasan): and “Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” 5, 25, 128, 140–141, 174n10; Kim Sisŭp’s visit to, 25, 195n147; location of, 327n1; in P’ahan chip, 174n10; Yi Illo’s visit to, 327n1 Mount Kŭmsu (K. Kŭmsusan, Embroidered Silk Mountain), 103, 108, 285n6,

288n14; and the expression kŭmsu (“embroidered silk”), 296n54 Mount Kunlun, Yaochi (“Turquoise Pond”) on, 136, 340n55, 345n101 Mount Ogwan, 100, 282n123 Mount Surak: and Kim Sisŭp, 200n173; P’okch’ŏn Study Hall (K. P’okch’ŏn chŏngsa) built by Kim Sisŭp on, 145 music: “Hoep’ung-ji kok” (C. “Huifeng zhi qu,” “The song of the Whirlwinds”), 133–134; “Kŭmnu kok” (C. “Jinlü qu”), 245n61; “Man’ganghong” (C. “Manjianghong”), 243n51; “Melody of the Rainbow Gown and Feathered Robe” (“Yesang” [C. “Nishang yuyiqu,” K. “Yesang uŭi kok”]), 111, 298n77, 299n85, 300n90; and the tale of Sima Xiangru and Zhuo Wenjun, 265n15; “Water Dragon Chant” (“Suryong ŭm”) melody, 134, 342n78; “zither of Qin” (C. Qin zheng), 94, 271n68. See also flutes Myŏngju illok (Daily records from Myŏngju [Kangnŭng]), 30 Nakha river: location of, 340n57, 340n58; spirit of, 132, 139 Nam Hyo’on (1454–1492, pen names Ch’ugang and Haengu, courtesy name Paekkong), 19, 31, 73, 182n56, 191n31, 195n143, 203n188; closeness of his friendship with Kim Sisŭp, 176n20; “Kwisin ron” (Discussion on ghosts and spirits), 305n7; portrayal of Kim Sisŭp in poems by, 16; “Sau myŏnghaeng rok” (Sayings and conduct of teachers and friends), 6, 32, 181n48, 188n104, 233n14, 234n16; on the “six martyred subjects,” 193n141; and the “six surviving subjects” (saeng yuksin), 11, 182n56; veneration of, 191n131; “Yakho pu” (Rhapsody on the medicine jar), 307n22 Nam Yongik (1628–1692). “Pusang illok,” 300n89 “Namyŏmbuju chi” (Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yŏmbu), 115–127; atheism (K. musillonjŏk sasang) al-

legedly portrayed in, 44, 216n295; Buddhist monk Huiyuan mentioned in, 202n106; and Kim Sisŭp’s critical stance toward the reign of Sejo, 44; and Kim Sisŭp’s criticism of Buddhism, 60; King Yama portrayed as a hybrid Confucian-Buddhist character in, 18, 63–64, 208n242; Korean setting of, 5, 25; North Korean abridgements and modifications of, 49; North Korean praise for, 44; North Korean vernacular translation as “Kkum-e pon Namyŏmbuju” (Namyŏmbuju as seen in a dream), 45; as one of five tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 3; P’aegwan chapki of Ŏ Sukkwŏn on, 33–34; references to Confucian Classics found in, 46, 217n305; Scholar Pak’s Discussion on the One Principle (Illi ron), 34, 116, 205n208, 209n244; and the subgenre chi rendered as “gazetteer”, 54; and Yuan gui (On the origin of ghosts) by Han Yu, 174n11 —inspiration for, 54–55; and “He Siming you Fengdu lu,” 55–56, 306n9, 308n31, 311n44, 324n119, 325n121, 326n130; and “Linghu sheng mingmeng lu,” 55, 22n385, 306n9; “Wuping lingguai lu,” 56, 311n11, 326n131 Ni Zan (1301–1374), Painting of Dark Bamboo Groves and Ancient Trees (Yuhwang komok to, C. Youhuang gumu tu), 92, 269n47 No Sasin (1427–1498), 26–27, 198n164, 198nn166–167 North Korea: and the influence of Kŭmo sinhwa on works of Japanese literature, 209n246; Kim Ilsŏng’s alleged discovery of Tan’gun’s grave in P’yŏngyang, 220n331; Kim Sisŭp and his Kŭmo sinhwa viewed favorably in, 42–44; publications of the Kŭmo sinhwa (see Kŭmo sinhwa— North Korean publications of); and the setting of Ch’oe Inhun’s “Kŭmo sinhwa,” 214n281. See also Chosŏn munhak kangdok; Chosŏn-ŭi ryŏksa

Index

381

inmu; Haebang-chŏn Chosŏn munhak; Mount Kŭmsu; P’yŏngyang Nŭngna Island (K. Nŭngnado, “Gauze Island”), 103, 285n8, 288n15 Old Chosŏn (K. Ko Chosŏn): P’yŏngyang as the capital of, 40, 103, 212n265, 218n319, 284n1, 288n14; three phases of, 284n1; war with the Chinese state of Yen, 61. See also Kija Chosŏn; Tan’gun Chosŏn; Wiman Chosŏn Ono Kozan (1814–1910), 208n242, 209nn243–244 Otogibōko. See Asai Ryōi Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072), “Guiche,” 224n361 P’aegwan chapki of Ŏ Sukkwŏn (fl. 1525– 1554), 57, 176n17, 186n90, 190n113; entry on the “Gazetteer of the Southern Continent Yombu,” 33–34 Pagyŏn: briefly introduced, 327n8; divine dragon of, 328n4, 328n6; Kim Sisŭp’s lyrical description of his sight of it, 25, 196n147; as the setting of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” 25, 128; Yi Kyubo’s “Che Pagyŏn” (On Pagyŏn), 327n3 P’ahan chip (Collection to break idleness) by Yi Illo: circulation in Chosŏn Korea, 174n10; its creation traced to Yi Illo’s reaction to military rule during the Koryŏ dynasty, 195n146; on the name of Pubyŏk Pavilion as originally Pubyŏngnyo, “Hut of Floating Jade Green,” 286n13; possible influence on Kŭmo sinhwa, 4, 174n10, 184n79; Yi Illo’s anecdote on his gifted youth, 179n42; Yi Illo’s visit to Mount Ch’ŏnma described in, 327n1 Pak Chiwŏn (1737–1805), 178n35; compositions collected in Chosŏn munhak kangdok, 216n297; Yorha ilgi (The Jehol diary), 216n297, 288n13 Pak Sedang (1629–1703): Kim Sisŭp likened to Boyi, 22n136; lacquered lamp referred to in a poem by, 248n90 Pak Toyŏng, 209n246 Pak Ŭnsik, Chosŏn Kwangmunhoe (Society

382

Index

for Promoting Korean Culture) founded by, 39 “P’alp’ung mu” (C. “Bafeng wu”) “The Dance of the Eight Winds,” 134, 344n94 Parhae, or Bohai, territory of, 132, 339nn53–54 Plum Moon Hall (Maewŏltang, aka P’okch’ŏn Study Hall [K. P’ŏkch’ŏn chŏngsa]) hermitage on Mount Surak, 145, 177n32, 200n173, 226n379, 357n5; Kim Sisŭp’s construction of it, 28–29, 200n173 Pohan chip (Collection of supplementary writings to break idleness) by Ch’oe Cha: circulation in Chosŏn Korea, 174n10; on Confucian-turned-­ Buddhist monk Paegunja, 184n79; possible influence on Kŭmo sinhwa, 4, 174nn10–11 P’okch’ŏn Study Hall (K. P’ŏkch’ŏn chŏngsa). See Plum Moon Hall Ponghwang Terrace (K. Ponghwangdae, Phoenix Terrace), 103, 285n7, 289n15 Poryŏn Temple, location of, 257n161 Pubyŏk Pavilion (Pubyŏkchŏng)/Pubyŏk Tower (Pubyŏngnu): location of, 286n13, 288n15; in premodern Korean sources, 287n13; and the term tongjŏng (“eastern pavilion”), 107, 295n50 Pyŏngnan (K. Pyŏngnando), 132, 340n58; spirit of, 132, 139–140 P’yŏngyang: as the capital of Koguryŏ, 288n14; as the capital of Old Chosŏn, 40, 103, 212n265, 218n319, 284n1, 288n14; depiction in “Pubyŏngnu” (Pubyŏk Tower) by Yi Saek, 287n13; discovery of Tan’gun’s grave in, 220n331; location of, 288n15; surrounding locations (see Choch’ŏn Rock; Mount Kŭmsu; Nŭngna Island; Ponghwang Terrace; Sinho Monastery; Wine Rock); Taedong River (P’ae River), 25, 104, 286n8, 288n13, 288n15, 291n26, 295n47 Qian hexagram of the Yijing: “Fifth Yang” of, 337n36; “Fourth Yang” of, 337n36, 350n135

Qian Kun (Sung dynasty official), 135, 344n90, 344n93 Qiannü lihun (Qiannü’s detached soul), by Zheng Guangzu (fl. 1294), 281n118 Qu You (courtesy name Zongji, pen name Cunzhai, 1347–1428): allegorical representations of the Ming government in his stories, 228n395; banishment for writing Jiandeng xinhua, 57; literary originality of, 223n357; as Shanyang junzi (K. Sanyang kunja), “nobleman of Shanyang,” 52, 53, 223n356, 226n381. See also Chŏndŭng sinhwa kuhae; Jian­ deng xinhua Qu Yuan (340–278 BCE), 52, 224n367, 225n368; “Lisao” (“Encountering Trouble”), 73, 234n17, 255n144, 256n148; suicide of, 183n63 Quan Tangshi (Complete Tang poems), “Qiangtou hua” (Flowers atop the wall), 272n70 Red Turbans (K. Honggŏn chŏk, also known as Hongdu chŏk): and “Aiqing zhuan,” 280n112, 284n134; and “Biography of Scholar Yi,” 5, 98, 279n109; depictions in Chinese chuanqi fiction, 279n109; and “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 5, 279n109; and the reign of King Kongmin of Koryŏ, 278n108; as representations of Sejo, 58 Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace. See “Yonggung puyŏn rok” rhinoceros horn/hair: magical quality of, 355n168; Wen Qiao’s use of, 52, 138n130, 225n372; writing brush made from, 337nn32–33 Ryu Su, North Korean translations of Kŭmo sinhwa, 44–45 Sa yurok (Four Records of Sojourning), 13–14; T’angyu Honam rok (Records of extensive travels in Honam, from 1461), 14, 25, 196n151; T’angyu Kwandong rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwandong, from 1460), 14, 176n24. See also T’angyu Kwansŏ rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwansŏ, 1458)

Shanhaijing (Classic of mountains and seas): fusang described in, 339n54; Korea mentioned under the name of qingqiu (K. ch’ŏnggu, “[land of] azure hills”) in, 352n151; kui (K. ki) described in, 315n68; Leigong (Lord of Thunder) described in, 354n163 Shen Jiji (ca. 740–800), “Renshi zhuan” (Biography of Miss Ren), 245n67, 248n85 Shi jizhuan. See Zhu Xi Shiji (Records of the grand historian) by Sima Qian, 285n3; “The Biography of Laozi and Hanfei,” 224n365; biography of Li Yiji, 199n170; “Guice liezhuan” (Biography of tortoise shell and yarrow stalk divination), 346n107, 349n125; sanwu (K. samo), “three and five” identified by, 229n409; tale of Boyi in, 193n138 Shijing (Book of Songs), 264n4; “Guofeng” (Airs of the states) section of, 255n144; and Kim Sisŭp’s Confucian education, 179n38 —poems: “Baihua,” 297n62; “Biao you mei,” 249n94, 274n85; “Bo xi,” 254n131; “Bo Zhou,” 240n33; “Caiqi,” 351n141; “Choumou,” 242n46, 255n143, 345n100; “Guanju,” 131, 237n18, 264n6; “Guzhong,” 338n42; “Hengmen,” 264n7; “Herensi” in “Xiaoya” of, 314n59; “Huangniao,” 351n138; “Jiang Zhongzi,” 273n79; “Jianxi,” 342n70, 345n103; “Jiaotong” (Mad boy), 276n93; “Jigu,” 254n135, 282n120; “Jingying,” 253n128; “Juan’e,” 277n99; “Kuibian,” 275n91; “Luming,” 243n48, 338n42; “Mang,” 289n19; “Meng,” 274n88; “Mugua,” 301n99; “Muguo,” 282n121; “Nanshan,” 243n47; “Riyue,” 240n33; “Rufen,” 245n66; “Shengmin,” 339n40; “Shiyue zhi jiao,” 339n45; “Shuli” (“The broomcorn millet hangs heavy”), 291n25; “Taoyao,” 338n41; “Ting liao,” 248n91, 249n92; “Tu Yuan,” 254n140; “Xinglu,” 217n306, 239n27, 246n75,

Index

383

275n90; “Xishuai,” 272n70; “Ye you mancao,” 246n73, 261n94; “Youhu,” 246nn76–77; “Zaiqu,” 217n306, 246n77 “Shuigong qinghui lu” (Report of a joyful gathering in the Water Palace): opening passage of, 331n16; and the plot of “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” 55, 336n31, 337n32; protagonist Yu Shanwen featured in, 331n16, 333n20, 335n27, 340n55, 351n147, 355n169, 356n170 Shujing (Book of documents), 264n4, 346n108; “Gaozong rongri” (The Rong sacrifice to Gaozong), 224n362; “Hongfan jiuchou” section of, 47, 103, 218n319, 285n4, 296n61; “Shun dian” (Canon of Shun), 326n128; “Tribute of Yu,” 340n55; “Yao dian” (Canon of Yao), 354n165; “Zhonghui zhi gao” (The proclamation of Zhonghui), 229n408 Sim Kyŏngho, annotated translation of Kŭmo sinhwa, 174n11, 214n279 Sima Lun (Zhao dynasty official), 135, 344n93 Sima Xiangru: and his wife Zhuo Wenjun, 265n15; Zixu fu (Fu of Sir Vacuous), 224n364 Sin Sukchu (1417–1475): friend-turnedfoe of Kim Sisŭp, 185n85, 193n141; Haedong cheguk ki (Account of all lands east of the sea), 207n239; and the six martyred subjects, 23, 193n141 Sinho Monastery (K. Sinhosa), 107, 295n45, 295n48 Sinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (Revised augmented survey of the geography of Korea), 247n78, 286n13; on the availability of Kŭmo sinhwa in the sixteenth century, 33, 34; on the Cho River (K. Chogang), 340n56; on Kim Sisŭp’s visit to the Sŭngjŏngwŏn (Royal Secretariat) as a child, 180n47; on Manbok Temple, 235n7; on Mount Ch’ŏnma (K. Ch’ŏnmasan), 327n1; on Mount Kŭmsu, 285n6; on Mount Ogwan, 282n123; on Mount

384

Index

Poryŏn, 257n161; on the Nakha River, 340n57; on Ponghwang Terrace (K. Ponghwangdae, Phoenix Terrace), 285n7; on the Pyŏngnan (K. Pyŏngnando) River, 340n58; on Sinho Monastery (K. Sinhosa), 295n45; on Wine Rock (aka Hyojaam “Rock of the Filial Son”), 295n47 six martyred subjects (sa yuksin): execution of, 11, 191n130; identification of, 182n55; and Sin Sukchu, 23, 193n141 six surviving subjects (saeng yuksin), 11, 31, 40, 177n27, 309n32 Sŏ Hanjŏng (1407–1490), 24, 194n143, 195n144 “Sŏ kapchip-hu” (Written at the end of the first collection [of Kŭmo sinhwa]), 25, 66, 145, 196n154; alternate title “Che Kŭmo sinhwa” (Written on Kŭmo sinhwa), 25; and Kim Sisŭp’s knowledge of Chinese chuanqi fiction, 56, 57 Sŏ Kŏjŏng (1420–1488), 34, 187n100; close relationship with Kim Sisŭp, 17, 197n163; collaborations with No Sasin, 26–27, 198n164; poems dealing with Kim Sisŭp written by, 187n101, 197n163, 343n86; travels to Ming China as an envoy, 51 Songdo (Kaesŏng), the capital of Koryŏ, as the setting for “Biography of Scholar Yi,” 4, 88 Sŏng Tamsu (dates unknown), 182n56, 191n31 Song Yu (290–223 BCE): Gaotang fu (Gaotang rhapsody), 252n120, 265n14; “Jiubian,” 287n13 Songs of the South. See Chuci Soushen ji (In search of the supernatural), “Suihou zhi zhu” (Pearl of the Marquis of Sui) from chapter 20 of, 355n167 “Southern continent Yŏmbu.” See “Namyŏmbuju chi” Strassberg, Richard E., 232n436 Su Shi (Su Dongpo, 1037–1101): “Chibi fu” (Red Cliff rhapsody), 293n38, 349n126, 350n129; “Hou Chibi fu” (Latter Red Cliff rhapsody), 249n93; inscription on Yon’gang ch’opchang to (C. Yanjiang

diezhang tu) by Wang Shen, 269n46; “Liangui” (Turtle on the Lotus), 346n107; poems on four seasons, 270n56; “Yueye yu ke yin xinghua xia” (Moonlit night, drinking wine with guests underneath the apricot blossoms), 250n115 Sui chŏn (C. Shuyi zhuan, “Transmissions of the bizarre”), 4, 175n12; “Ssangnyo pun sŏlhwa” from, 218n311 Sui dynasty (569–618), wars with Koguryŏ, 106, 219n322, 292nn34–35 Suksin (C. Sushen), 113, 303n113 Suo Jing (239–303), 295n52 Takahashi Tōru (1878–1967), 41, 211n259 Tang dynasty: Emperor Wenzong (r. 826– 840), 299n86. See also Emperor Xianzong; Emperor Xuanzong Tang tales: “Baqiong ren” (A man from Baiqiong) by Niu Sengru (778–847), 225n373; Pei Xing’s collection of, 250n100; “Quiran Ke Zhuan” (The tale of the curly-bearded guest), 275n91; “Renshi zhuan” (Biography of Miss Ren) by Shen Jiji, 245n67, 248n85; “Yingying zhuan,” 267n25. See also Youyang zazu Tan’gun Chosŏn (2333–1122 BCE): and Kija Chosŏn, 220n326; and the three phases of Old Chosŏn, 284n1 Tan’gun wanggŏm (mythical founding father of the first Korean state), 202n106; discovery of his grave in P’yŏngyang, 220n331; foundation myth of Tan’gun Chosŏn, 297n69; and the identity of the sinin (C. shenren) in “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki,” 110–111, 297n69; promotion as a historical figure by Ch’oe Namsŏn, 210n254; shrine of, 220n330, 292n31, 303n11 T’angyu Honam rok (Records of extensive travels in Honam, from 1461), 14, 25, 196n151 T’angyu Kwansŏ rok (Records of extensive travels in Kwansŏ, 1458), 176n24, 196n150; “Che Chŏndŭng sinhwahu,” 281n112; “Nŭngnado,” 285n6;



Index

385

“Pagyŏn,” 196n147; “Tan’gun myo,” 292n31; “Yu ko Kukhak” (Sojourning by the old National Academy), 263n3; “Yu Ogwansan kan,” 282n123 Tanjong loyalists, and the saeng yuksin (“six surviving subjects”), 11, 177n27 Tao Kan (259–334), 52, 225n371 Tao Yuanming (365–427): Kim Sisŭp’s emulation of, 28; and Lady Zhai, 29, 201n177; “Taohua yuan ji” (Peach blossom spring), 266n24, 268n41 “Teng Mu zuiyou Jujingyuan ji,” 53, 54, 63, 218n311, 226n376, 290n22, 295n49; and “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” (Account of a chŏp’o game at Manbok Temple), 227n385, 242n43, 243n52, 244n58, 245n67, 248n90, 260n185, 263n207; scenic spots of Lin’an presented in the introduction to, 290n22 Thunder Lord (C. Leigong), 142, 143, 354n163, 355n166 T’oegye Yi Hwang (1501–1570): Hŏ Pong’s letter to, 22–23, 33; and Kim Inhu, 34 Tongbong yukka (“Six songs on Tongbong”), 6, 30, 180n45, 185n89 Tongmunsŏn: Kwŏn Han’gong (?–1349), “Pubyŏngnu ch’aun” (Matching rhymes on Pubyŏk Tower), 287n13; “Pae yolbu chon” (Biography of the virtuous wife Pae), 280n111 Tongmyŏng. See King Tongmyŏng “Travel Record of a Drunken Excursion to Pubyŏk Pavilion.” See “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki”

wangliang (K. mangnyang), 315n69 wangxiang (water spirit), 138, 315n66, 350n131 Weaver Maid: Chinese legend of Niulang (the Herdsman) and Zhinü (the Weaver Maid), 256n147, 260n182; and “Jianhu yefan ji,” 296n59, 299n81, 312n46; and references in “Ch’wiyu pubyŏkchŏng ki,” 113, 296n59, 299n81; and references in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 83, 256n147, 260n182 Wei Tong (1018–1079, aka Yuke), 92, 269n53, 270n54 Wei Yen (fl. late 7th to early 8th c.), 92, 269n52, 270n54 Wen Qiao, 52, 138n130, 225n372 Wen xuan (Selection of refined literature) compiled by Xiao Tong, Gushi shijiu shou (Nineteen old poems), 275n91 Wiman (C. Wei-man): the term p’ilbu used in reference to, 297n64; usurpation of King Chun’s throne, 297n66 Wiman Chosŏn (194–108 BCE), and the three phases of Old Chosŏn, 284n1 Wine Rock (aka Hyojaam “Rock of the Filial Son”), 107, 295nn47–48 Wŏljŏng manp’il (Miscellaneous jottings of Wŏljong) by Yun Kŭnsu, 198n167; on Kim Sisŭp’s close relationship with Sŏ Kŏjŏng, 197n163; on Kim Sisŭp’s quasi supernatural powers, 203n188 Wŏn Ho (dates unknown), 13, 182n56, 183n64, 191n31, 309n32 wutong trees, 94, 111, 271n65, 272n70

Ŭigŭmbu, Office for the Deliberation of Forbidden Affairs, 232n441; and No Sasin, 198n167; Sŏlcham Kim Sisŭp possibly detained by, 25–28; and the term kŭmo, 67 Ukita Hideie (1572–1655), 36, 206n219

Xian’e (“Charioteer of the Moon,” the moon), 113, 303n108 Xie An (320–385), 115n15, 307n17 Xie Huilian, “Xuefu” (Rhapsody on snow), 235n8 Xijing zaji (Miscellaneous records of the western capital), 237n16, 245n60 Xixiang ji (The Story of the Western Wing): candlewick allusion in, 237n16; character Hongniang in, 254n133; line from a poem in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki” compared with a reference in, 256n151 Xuanguai lu (Reports of the mysterious

Wang Meng (309–347), 307n16 Wang Shen, Painting of Misty Rivers and Layered Peaks, 91–92, 269n46 Wang Tanzhi (330–375), 115, 307n16 Wang Yangming (1472–1529), 208n242, 325n127

386

Index

and odd) by Niu Sengru (778–847), 225n373 Xuanzhongji (Records from amid the obscure) of Guo Pu, 316n74 Xunzi, 307n16; Xunzi (Writings of Xunzi), 292n29 Yama or Yamarāja (K. Yŏmma, C. Yanmo): as the Buddhist king of the world of the dead, 311n45; interpretation of his words as calling for armed rebellion, 65; in “Namyŏmbuju chi,” 63–64, 115–127 passim Yang Xiong (53 BCE–18 CE), 307n16, 343n85 Yaochi (“Turquoise Pond”). See under Mount Kunlun Yellow Emperor (Yellow Thearch): as one of the Five Emperors, 229n409; thunder deity caught by, 354n163 Yi Ching (1581–?, pen name Hŏju), 20, 190n122 Yi Hakkyu (1770–1835), 222n349 Yi I (pen name Yulgok): on the destruction of Kim Sisŭp’s poetry, 32; Kim Sisŭp chŏn written by, 7, 176n27, 188n103; poem by, 190n115; portrayal of Kim Sisŭp as a Confucian disguised as a Buddhist, 16–17, 19, 20, 187n97, 188n104 Yi Illo (1152–1220). See P’ahan chip (Collection to break idleness) by Yi Illo Yi Kae, 222n352 Yi Kawŏn, 214n279 Yi Kyejŏn (1404–1459), and Kim Sisŭp, 7–8, 178n38 Yi Kyŏngp’il: the annotation and production of the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa (1884), 38, 207n238, 208n241; and the Maewŏltang sojŏn (Short biography of Maewoltang), 177n29 Yi Kyubo (1168–1241): “Che Pagyŏn” (On Pagyŏn), 327n3; “Hwa chŭksa,” 346n106; influence on passages in “A Banquet in the Dragon Palace,” 4; “Kalgo,” 352n155; references to chŏp’o (C. chupu), 238n21; “Sik chŭnghae” (Eating a steaming hot crab), 344n93 Yi Kyugyŏng (pen name Oju, 1788–1856), 222n348, 222n352

Yi Maengjŏn (1392–1480), 13n64, 182n56, 183n65, 191n31 Yi Saek: flowing time [K. yugwang] likened to a bouncing ball (K. tohwan, C. tiaowan) in poems by, 244n57; “Pubyŏngnu” (Pubyŏk Tower) by Yi Saek, 287n13, 292n33; and tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 4 Yi Sujŏng: biographical details, 177n29; epilogue of Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa (1884), 57–58, 207n237; Maewŏltang sojŏn (Short biography of Maewŏltang) attributed to, 7, 177n29; and the production of the Meiji edition of Kŭmo sinhwa (1884), 38, 207n238, 207n240 Yijing (Classic of Changes): Duke of Zhou’s authorship attributed to, 312n49; “First Yin” of hexagram Meng, 325n125; and Kim Sisŭp’s Confucian education of, 7–8, 178n38; quoted by King Yama in “Namyŏmbuju chi,” 64, 125, 323n115; “Second Yin” of the Xian hexagram, 274n86; Shuo gua (Explaining the trigrams), 116n27; Xi Yi (first arrangement by Fuxi), 274n87. See also Kui hexagram of the Yijing; Kun; Qian hexagram of the Yijing —Xici zhuan, 242n45; on the baowei (K. bowi), “precious position” of the sage, 297n67; on jingqi (K. chŏnggi), 321n101; on Kun and Qian, 318n84; on the “numinous” and, 317n75; on the position of the sage, 231n421; on the reciprocal process of yin and yang, 318n83, 318n85; and reference to the yi ci (K. yŏk sa), 305n8 “Yi-saeng kyujang chŏn” (Biography of Scholar Yi who peered over the wall), 88–102; and Asai Ryōi’s “Uta o nakadachi to shite chigiru” (Making a pledge through poems), 38; and chuanqi tales collated by Kim Chip, 35, 205n214; and the invasions of the Red Turbans, 5, 98, 284n131; Korean setting of, 5, 25; North Korean interpretation of feudal premodern Korean society depicted in, 216n294; North Korean translation of, 44; North

Korean vernacular rendering as “Risaeng-gwa Ch’oe-nang” (Scholar Ri and Lady Ch’oe), 45; as one of five tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 3; vernacular translation published in the journal Tonggwang (Eastern brightness), 42; and “Weitang qiyu,” 54, 227n385, 249n92, 270n56, 270n60, 271n64, 275n92 —and Jiandeng xinhua, 54, 284n134; “Cuicui zhuan,” 276n96, 277n102 Yoda Gakkai, 37, 57, 207n239 “Yonggung puyŏn rok” (Report of [Scholar Han] Attending a Banquet in the Dragon Palace), 128–144; and “Longtang linghui lu” (Report of numinous gathering in the dragon hall), 55, 227n385, 328n4, 329n9, 333n22, 350n130, 351n143, 356n169; North Korean vernacular translation as “­Ryonggung-ui sangnyang chanch’i” (A ridgepoleblessing feast in the dragon palace), 45; as one of five tales featured in the Kŭmo sinhwa, 3; and “Ryugu no jōtō” (see under Asai Ryōi); setting on Mount Ch’ŏnma, 5, 25, 128, 174n10 —inspiration for, 4, 55, 227n385, 328n4, 329n9; “Dongtian huazhu ji” from Jiandeng yuhua, 56, 329n9, 336n31, 356n170; “Jiangmiao nishen ji,” 342n71 Yonsan’gun ilgi (Daily records of Yonsan’gun), 221nn345–346 Youyang zazu (Miscellaneous morsels from Youyang) compiled by Duan Chengshi: and the ghostly women in “Manboksa chŏp’o ki,” 260n179, 268n40, 342n67; “Lin jie pian” (Scales and shells) section of, 343n86, 344n95 Yu Chahan: background information, 6, 175n16; Kim Sisŭp’s letters to, 8–10, 15, 28–30, 33, 181n50; “Sang Yu Yangyang chinjŏng sŏ,” 6, 176n17 Yu Kŭmo rok (Records of sojourning in Kŭmo), 14, 357n4; afterword to, 196n154; cycle Pyŏngwa misun chich’usim naegi kamgŭm sago chak kamhŭng si, 59–60

Index

387

Yu the Great. See Emperor Yu of Xia Yuan Zhen (779–831): “Wen Letian shou Jiangzhou Sima” (Upon hearing of Letian’s exile and relegation to the post of district officer at Jiujiang), 244n58; “Yingying zhuan” (Biography of Ying­ ying), 247n80 Yuejueshu (Book on the Glory of the Yue), and King Helŭ, 303n109 Yulgok. See Yi I Yun Chung (1629–1714, pen name Myongjae), 19–20, 190n118 Yun Ch’unnyŏn (1514–1567): Biography of Master Maewŏltang (see Maewŏltang sŏnsaeng chŏn); Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition of the Kŭmo sinhwa (see Kŭmo sinhwa—Chosŏn mokp’an pon edition) Yun Sang (1373–1455), 8, 179n38 Yun Sep’yŏng, 43, 215n285, 219n322 Zhang Ji (mid-8th c. Tang poet), “Fengqiao yebo,” 289n21 Zhao Bingwen (1159–1232), Zani shishou (Diverse imitations, ten verses), 247n79 Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322, pen name Songxue), 270n56; influence on calligraphers of the Koryŏ dynasty, 270n55; “Jueju” (Poem in the jueju form), 244n54 Zhao Shixiu (1170–1220), “Yue ke” (Appointment with a guest), 237n17 Zhao Zhiwei, 111, 300n89 Zhidun (314–366, style name Daolin), 115n15, 307nn15–17 Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean), 7, 8, 115, 186n94 Zhongyong zhangju (Doctrine of the Mean in chapters and verses). See Zhu Xi, Zhongyong zhangju Zhouli (The rites of Zhou): fangliang (monstrous being) in, 316n68; systems for divining in, 348n121 Zhouyi. See Yijing Zhu Xi, Shi jizhuan: on “Baizhou,” 240n33; on “Jianxi,” 345n103; on qikuo (K. kyŏlhwal), 254n135; on “Riyue,” 241n33; on “Xinglu,” 239n27; on

388

Index

“Youhu,” 246n77; on “Zaiqu,” 246n77 —Zhongyong zhangju (Doctrine of the Mean in chapters and verses), 308n26, 313n52 Zhuangzi: described in Shiji, 224n365; and the literary and philosophical traditions influencing the Jiandeng xinhua, 52, 224n368 Zhuangzi: butterfly parable, 304n115; hat salesman story from, 300n88; ideals of untrammeled freedom and individualism of, 307n16; “Keyi” (Constrained in will), 348n117; kui (K. ki) described in, 315n68; “Lie Yukou,” 322n110; “Qiushui” (Autumn floods), 229n410,

344n96, 348n118, 349n124; “Tiandao” (The Way of Heaven), 185n87; “Tiandi” (Heaven and earth), 353n156; “Waiwu” (External Things), 346n109, 347n110; wangxiang described in “Dasheng” (Mastering life) chapter of, 315n66; “Xiaoyao yu” (Wandering far and unfetted), 224n365, 339n52, 341n61; “Yufu” (The old fisherman), 310n35 Zhuanxu: as one of the Five Emperors, 229n409; wangliang identified as the son of, 316n69 Zou Yan (ca. 350–270 BCE), 77, 99, 244n59 Zouzhuan (The Zuo commentary), 228n403, 245n67, 314n59, 322n106, 341n64

About the Translator

Dennis Wuerthner is a researcher and lecturer at the Korean Studies Insti­ tute of Ruhr University Bochum. He studies and translates premodern and contemporary Korean literature and teaches Korea’s past and present history, literature, and languages. Among his publications is A Study of Hyper­texts of Kuunmong, Focusing on Kuullu/Kuun’gi (2017).

Korean Classics Library: Historical Materials

Imperatives of Culture: Selected Essays on Korean History, Literature, and Society from the Japanese Colonial Era edited by Christopher P. Hanscom, Walter K. Lew, and Youngju Ryu

A Chinese Traveler in Medieval Korea: Xu Jing’s Illustrated Account of the Xuanhe Embassy to Koryŏ translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Sem Vermeersch

Seeking Order in a Tumultuous Age: The Writings of Chŏng Tojŏn, a Korean Neo-­ Confucian translated and with an introduction by David M. Robinson

Korea’s Premier Collection of Classical Literature: Selections from Sŏ Kŏjŏng’s ­Tong­munsŏn translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Xin Wei and James B. Lewis

A Korean Scholar’s Rude Awakening in Qing China: Pak Chega’s Discourse on Northern Learning translated and annotated by Byonghyon Choi, Seung B. Kye, and Timothy V. Atkinson

Tales of the Strange by a Korean Confucian Monk: Kŭmo sinhwa by Kim Sisŭp translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Dennis Wuerthner

Korean Classics Library: Philosophy and Religion

Salvation through Dissent: Tonghak Heterodoxy and Early Modern Korea George L. Kallander

Reflections of a Zen Buddhist Nun Kim Iryŏp, translated by Jin Y. Park

A Handbook of Buddhist Zen Practice translated by John Jorgensen

Korea’s Great Buddhist-Confucian Debate: The Treatises of Chŏng Tojŏn (Sambong) and Hamhŏ Tŭkt’ong (Kihwa) translated and with an introduction by A. Charles Muller

A Korean Confucian Way of Life and Thought: The Chasŏngnok (Record of Self-­Reflection) by Yi Hwang (T’oegye) translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Edward Y. J. Chung

Numinous Awareness Is Never Dark: The Korean Buddhist Master Chinul’s Excerpts on Zen Practice translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Robert E. Buswell, Jr.

Doctrine and Practice in Medieval Korean Buddhism: The Collected Works of Ŭich’ŏn translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Richard D. McBride II

The Foresight of Dark Knowing: Chŏng Kam nok and Insurrectionary Prognostication in Pre-Modern Korea translated, annotated, and with an introduction by John Jorgensen

A Place to Live: A New Translation of Yi Chung-hwan’s T’aengniji, the Korean Classic for Choosing Settlements translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Inshil Choe Yoon