The Woman in the Carriage (车中女子) by Huangfu (translated by Yilin Wang

The Woman in the Carriage (车中女子) Huangfu

Translated from the Mandarin Chinese by Yilin Wang

Note: This is the oldest Chinese folktale to ever feature a female thief or bandit.

In the Kaiyuan era of the Tang dynasty, a young man from the county of Wu traveled to the capital city of Chang ’ an to take part in the imperial exams. After he arrived in the city, he spent his free time wandering around in Chang’an’s narrow alleys and walled neighborhoods. Suddenly, two unfamiliar youths approached him, bowing deeply with respect and humbleness. The scholar didn’t recognize them, however, and so he continued onward, assuming they had mistaken him for somebody else. Several days later, the scholar ran into the two youths again. “As locals who call this city home, we haven’t had a chance to welcome you properly after your arrival,” they said. “We were planning to invite you over today, so our chance meeting here must have been arranged by fate.” The two youths asked him to go with them. Swayed by their enthusiasm, the scholar pushed aside his doubts. He trailed them through the streets until they entered a narrow alley in the East Market, arriving at a clean, polished residence. The youths led him to a raised seat in the main hall, where more than twenty other well-mannered youths were already gathered for a feast. The youths glanced repeatedly at the entrance, as if waiting for the arrival of an important guest. As noon passed, someone shouted that the one they had long been waiting for had arrived at last. The creaking sounds of carriage wheels grew louder. An elegant carriage, which was followed by several youths on foot, pulled up to the courtyard outside the main hall. The curtain covering the carriage entrance swung open, and a gorgeous young woman stepped out. She appeared around seventeen or eighteen years old, her hair adorned by flowers and jewels, her robes simple and refined. She didn’t reply to the bows of respect from the two youths. When the scholar bowed as well to her, she finally greeted the three of them and invited them into the hall. The young woman took the seat of honour at the center of the feast, facing the entrance. The two youths and the scholar all bowed to her before they returned to their seats. Another dozen youths dressed in new robes each bowed to her before they sat down in the seats reserved for those with lower ranks. After more dishes were added to the banquet, and several rounds of drinking, the woman turned to the scholar and raised her cup. “The two youths told me about you, and I’m delighted to meet you at last. I hear you’re highly skilled. Can you show us your talents?” “I have studied nothing but Confucian classics for most of my life,” the scholar replied humbly. “I don’t know how to sing or play any instruments.” “No, that’s not what I mean,” the young woman said. “Think carefully. What is the skill you have been known for in the past?” The scholar pondered for a moment. “Once, at school, I walked a few steps up the side of a wall. I haven’t performed any other feats.” “That’s what I’m referring to,” she replied. “Would you show us?” The scholar ran up the side of a wall, walking a couple steps before landing back on the ground. “That’s indeed a difficult feat,” the young woman replied. Turning to the seated youths, she gestured them to show their skills as well. Each of them rose and bowed to her in turn. Some scuttled up and down walls. Others swung around in mid-air while gripping ceiling beams. They flocked about like birds, performing dexterous feats with speed and grace. The scholar

gasped, stunned and unnerved by their skills. A moment later, the woman rose, saying farewell before she departed. The scholar sighed as he left, his heart heavy with unease. A few more days passed. The scholar met the two youths on the street once again. “May we borrow your horse?” They asked. “Yes,” he said. On the next day, the imperial palace announced the news that it had incurred a theft. The guards couldn’t catch the thieves, but they managed to track down the horse that carried the stolen goods on its back. After searching around for the horse’s owner, they found the scholar and arrested him, dragging him to the Palace Affairs department for questioning. A guard led the scholar through a prison cell gate and shoved him in the back. He rolled over and fell into a deep pit. He climbed back onto his feet and glanced up. The ceiling of the cell was more than seven meters tall. The only opening was a tiny gap at the edge of the ceiling, barely a few inches wide. On the next day, at breakfast time, a rope dropped down through the tiny opening, holding a small container of food. Feeling famished, the scholarly devoured the food quickly. The rope withdrew immediately as soon as he finished eating. Night fell. The scholar whimpered alone in the darkness, but no one was here to listen to his rants about all the injustices he had suffered. Suddenly, he glimpsed a movement in the shadows. Something dived towards him like a swift bird. The faint outline of a person neared him, reaching out with a hand. “You must be terrified.” The voice belonged to the woman in the carriage that he had met day ago. “But you don’t need to worry as long as I’m here. “I’m here to rescue you,” she said, as she lifted him up and tied him onto her back with pieces of silk. Then she leaped into the air, soaring upwards, flying higher and higher, across the rooftops of the palace and over the city walls. When they were finally more than ten miles beyond the city gates, she landed back onto the ground. “You should go back to Jianghuai,” she told him. “Your plans to take the imperial exams and earn a government job will have to wait.” The relieved scholar escaped back to Wu County on foot, begging for food and shelter along the way. He never dared again to return to Chang’an for the imperial exams, forever giving up his aspirations of winning a scholarly title or official post.