Not the most unobservant visitor to China can fail to notice the ubiquity of graveyards. In Western countries one is usually obliged to ask the way to a cemetery; in China one finds the way by merely walking in any direction one pleases. Nowhere so vividly as in China does one realise that not only the path of glory but every other kind of path leads but to a grave. The sight is sometimes a melancholy one; as dreary as some of the city churchyards in England are the vast cemeteries for the poor that cover the bare hillsides in the neighbourhood of many great Chinese cities. The omega-shaped tombs of south China are apt, moreover, to appal one by their vastness and too often by the barren cheerlessness of their surroundings. But there is nothing dismal in the family graveyards that dot the valleys of the country districts in the north. Indeed, in a region like the north-eastern extremity of Shantung, where there is of course no tropical vegetation and where timber is scarce, the wooded graveyards form one of the pleasantest features in every landscape. If while walking across the fields of the Weihaiwei Territory one comes across a thick plantation of trees—such as the fir and the Chinese oak, which is never leafless—one is sure to find that it marks the last resting-place of a family or a clan that inhabits or once inhabited some village not far away. The plantation is surrounded by no wall or fence of any kind; such would be a useless precaution, for no one—except an occasional rascal who "fears neither God nor man"—will knowingly injure a funereal tree or otherwise violate the sanctity of the home of the dead. At the first glance the tombs may not be visible, for the tree branches are almost interlaced, and in summer-time nearly every grave has its own canopy of foliage; moreover, instead of the omega or horse-shoe tombs of the south we find only little hillocks and unpretentious gravestones.

A Chinese grave in Weihaiwei is not indeed very different in appearance—looked at from afar—from a grave in Europe; though instead of the long mound in front of an inscribed stone we find in Weihaiwei a circular or sometimes oval-shaped mound behind the stone, which is an upright whitish block with very little ornamentation. The inscription usually contains nothing more (in modern times) than names and dates and position in the family. The names of husband and wife are inscribed on the same stone—for the two are always buried in the same grave, the wife's coffin being placed on the right of the husband's.[190] On the stone are frequently carved the names of the surviving members of the family by whom it has been erected. These are always persons in the direct line of descent; or, if the deceased left no heirs of his body, his adopted son. The translation of a typical inscription will be found on the next page.

It is not customary to erect a tombstone soon after a burial; the mound is sufficient to indicate to the family the exact position of the grave, and all necessary dates and names are carefully entered on the pedigree-scroll or inscribed on the ancestral tablets. In front of each grave will often be seen a small stone altar or pedestal or a stone incense-jar. Here are offered up the ancestral sacrifices at the festivals of Ch'ing-Ming and the first of the tenth moon.[191] At one extremity of the graveyard will often be found a large upright stone slab on which is engraved in deep bold characters the name of the family to which all the tombs belong. The inscription is as simple as possible, usually consisting of four Chinese characters. Chou Shih Tsu Ying[192]—to take an example—may be rendered

Most of the graveyards (ying ti) are very old, and as the centuries pass, the inscriptions on the oldest monuments naturally tend to become illegible or the stones themselves are displaced and broken by the roots of trees or other natural causes. At the periodical sacrifices, however, care is taken to neglect no grave that is recognisable as such. In order to make sure that none of the ancestral spirits will be left uncared for, sacrificial offerings are made to the souls of the ancestors in general as well as to the immediate predecessors of the sacrificers. The usual expression used in Weihaiwei for a ceremonial visit to the family grave is shang fÊn, "to go up to the tombs."[193]

A graveyard is very often completely surrounded by cultivated fields. As a general rule these fields are the property of a branch of the family that owns the graveyard, but sometimes the family has emigrated to another part of the country or has had to part with this portion of its arable acres, so that it has passed into the hands of strangers. But the graveyard itself is never forgotten and never alienated. No matter to what distance the family may have moved, it will never lose touch with the spot where lie the bones of its ancestors—the spot to which its members all expect that their bodies will some day be carried. Year by year one or more members of the family will be sent to carry out the traditional sacrificial ceremonies, to "sweep" the tombs and to see that the ploughs of strangers have not encroached upon the sacred boundaries.

The most interesting tombs in Weihaiwei, from the visitor's point of view, are those known to the English as Beehive graves.[194] All or nearly all those on which the inscriptions are legible show that they were erected in the YÜan dynasty (1280-1367) or the early Ming dynasty, which came to the throne in 1368. None are of modern date, though in many cases the places in which they are found are still the family burial-grounds of the direct descendants of the people to whose memory they were erected. This handsome form of tombstone has fallen into complete disuse, and the people account for its former use by the explanation that in the old days the country was overrun with wolves and other wild beasts and that it was necessary to erect massive piles of masonry over the graves to protect them from desecration. These tombs somewhat resemble Buddhist stupas or Lamaist chorten; most of them have panels artistically carved with figures of animals, human beings and conventional plants and devices of various kinds. Very often the carving on a panel represents the tomb itself in miniature, with mourners or worshippers kneeling round it. The whole structure is made of heavy blocks of stone, the general design consisting of a large dome surmounted by a Buddhistic lotus or a conventional spire and superimposed upon a panelled pedestal.

Every graveyard is "managed" by the elders of the clan, who draw up rules for general upkeep and the allotment of grave-sites. Sometimes the different branches of the family are allowed to take turns in keeping the graveyard in proper order and in superintending the sacrifices, in return for which services the caretakers are allowed to derive a little profit from a periodical grass-cutting and pruning of trees; sometimes, too, they are put in temporary and conditional possession of an area of arable land out of the proceeds of which they are often expected not only to look after the graveyard but also to keep in repair the chia miao or Family Temple. Acrimonious disputes occasionally arise among relatives as to who has the best right or whose turn has arrived to enjoy the use of these "sacrificial" lands, and sometimes a whole clan brings an action against one of its branches for refusing to give them up when it has had its turn. But after all, though such disputes provide troublesome work for the British magistrate whose duty it is to administer "local custom," the system as a general rule works very smoothly.

In dealing with village life we saw that most villages have their police regulations,[195] in accordance with which they impose fines on those who have been guilty of misconduct. Special regulations are often considered necessary for the adequate protection of the family graveyards. One set of such is now before me, and runs as follows:

"The following list of penalties for offences connected with the ancestral graveyard is drawn up and unanimously agreed upon by the entire village of the Tsou family:

Cutting or mutilating trees without authority	10 tiao.
Cutting grass or shrubs	5 tiao.
Pasturing cattle, donkeys or mules	5 tiao.

"This list of penalties is to be preserved in the Ancestral Temple of the Tsou family."

It will be observed that no penalty is assigned for the offence of damaging the actual graves, this being an offence which is almost unknown; though a man was once charged before me by the whole of his fellow-villagers with the offence of digging up and levelling an old grave (chÜeh p'ing ku fÊn). It was admitted by the prosecutors that the grave in question was very ancient and that the branch of the family to which it belonged had long been extinct. The fact that the whole village made a point of denouncing their sacrilegious neighbour (who had hoped to extend the boundaries of his arable land by encroaching on a corner of the graveyard that no one seemed to want) shows how heinous a crime it is in China to disturb the resting-places even of the unknown dead. Sometimes the regulations are cut on a great stone slab which is set up within the graveyard itself. If no definite regulations have been agreed upon, the custom, when the sanctity of a graveyard has been violated, is for the elders of the clan to meet in council and decide the case according to circumstances. If the convicted man refuses to accept the punishment pronounced upon him, or if he belongs to another village or clan, the matter usually comes before the magistrate.

A case arising out of the theft of some graveyard trees was lately submitted to my decision owing to the truculent behaviour of the malefactor, who refused to submit to the headmen's judgment. After investigating the circumstances I sentenced him to pay a fine of ten dollars, which was to be applied to the upkeep of the ancestral temple; to plant three times the number of trees that he had cut down; and to erect a stone tablet within the graveyard at his own expense setting forth the offence of which he had been guilty and enlarging upon the severe punishments that would befall others who attempted in future to commit like misdeeds.

Another case was brought before me by a man who accused a stranger of cutting up a dead donkey within his family graveyard. The defendant's excuse was that while passing the graveyard his donkey had suddenly taken ill and died, and that he dragged it in among the trees in order to avoid incommoding the public by skinning and slicing the animal on the roadside. Donkeys, it may be mentioned, are not ordinary articles of diet, but few Chinese can bring themselves to throw away flesh that by any stretch of the imagination can be regarded as edible; hence it is quite usual to eat the remains of cattle and donkeys that die of old age or even of disease. The plaintiff's plea in this suit was not that the defendant was preparing for human consumption food that was unfit to eat, but that the defendant had selected his graveyard for use as a butcher's shop. He objected, reasonably enough, to having his ancestors' tombs bespattered with the blood of a dead donkey. The defendant was required to offer a public apology to the plaintiff and to pay him a moderate sum as compensation; and the plaintiff left the court a contented man.

The mode of punishment often chosen by the elders for offences connected with graveyards is to compel the accused to make an expiatory offering to the dead whose spirits he is supposed to have offended. A man who "cut branches from the family graveyard for his own use" was recently sentenced by his clan to present himself at the graveyard in an attitude of humility and to offer up a sacrifice of pork and vegetables. The custom in such cases is that after the dead have consumed their part of the sacrifice (that is to say, the spiritual or immaterial and invisible part) the remainder is divided up among the chief families concerned or eaten at a clan feast.

A curious custom analogous to this of serving up hog-flesh as an expiatory offering to the spirits to whom the graveyard and its trees are sacred is to be found in Roman literature. "Cato," as Dr. Tylor reminds us,[196] "instructs the woodman how to gain indemnity for thinning a holy grove; he must offer a hog in sacrifice with this prayer, 'Be thou god or goddess to whom this grove is sacred, permit me, by the expiation of this pig, and in order to restrain the overgrowth of this wood, etc., etc.'" The two customs are not true parallels, however, for the Chinese offers his sacrifice to the spirits of his ancestors as an atonement for the offence of cutting trees which he normally regards as the inviolable property of the dead or as associated with them in some mysterious way; whereas the Roman offered his sacrifice to a grove which was in itself sacred as being the abode of gods or dryads. We shall see later on[197] that tree-worship still finds a place in the Chinese religious system and is not extinct even in Weihaiwei, but it would be a mistake to regard the veneration shown for the trees of a family graveyard as evidence of such worship. Even if the custom of planting a graveyard with trees had in remote times a common origin with tree-worship (which is at least doubtful) there is no evidence whatever to support the view that graveyard trees are regarded as sacred in themselves at the present time. An obvious reason for planting trees in a graveyard would seem to be that it facilitated the protection of the graves from the encroachments of the plough; but the custom is more probably derived from the ancient superstition that certain trees communicate their preservative qualities to the human remains that lie below them or impart a kind of vitality or vigour to the spirits of the dead.

This matter has been ably and thoroughly discussed by Dr. De Groot,[198] who shows convincingly that "since very ancient times pines and cypresses have played a prominent part as producers of timber for coffins, and that this was the case because these trees, being believed to be imbued with great vitality, might counteract the putrefaction of the mortal remains." The same cause that made such timber valuable for coffins made it valuable for graveyards. The superstition is connected with the ancient Chinese philosophic doctrine of the Yang and the Yin—the complementary forces and qualities which pervade all nature, such as male and female, light and dark, warmth and cold, activity and passivity, positive and negative, life and death. It was supposed that all evergreens must have a greater store of the yang element (life, vitality) than other trees, because they retain their foliage through the winter; and of evergreen trees those prized most by the Chinese for their life-giving qualities were and are the fir and the cypress.[199] Therefore by planting these trees in their graveyards and in the courtyards of their ancestral temples the Chinese supposed they would endow their ancestors (apparently both their dead bodies and their living spirits) with a never-failing preservative against decay and dissolution. The result of this on themselves—the living descendants of the dead—must be, it was thought, a constant flow of happiness and good fortune.

It will be remembered that ancestor-worship is not merely regarded as a method of showing love and reverence for the dead but is believed to induce the ancestral spirits to protect and watch over the family and to bestow on its members long life, many children and general prosperity. The more abundant the vitality (if one may speak of the vitality of a ghost) that can be imparted to the ancestral spirits, the better able will they be (so goes the theory) to exert themselves on behalf of the fortunes of their posterity; and the best way to impart vitality (that is, the yang element) to the spirits is to surround their coffins and their ancestral tablets with as many yang-supplying agencies as possible. The original theory of the matter is probably extinct at Weihaiwei if not everywhere else; trees are planted and protected in the family temples and graveyards for no known reason except that it is the traditional custom to do so[200]: yet it is noteworthy that the cypress is still the favourite tree in the grounds of the ancestral temples, that the fir is still considered one of the best trees to plant in a graveyard, and that the pedigree-scrolls preserved among the archives of every family are often decorated with the painting of an evergreen tree.[201]

There are still persons in the Territory of Weihaiwei and its neighbourhood who call themselves yin-yang hsien-shÊng, that is, professors of the principles of yin and yang. Their functions are much the same as those of the fÊng-shui hsien-shÊng or Masters in Geomancy.[202] As professional attendants at funerals their business is to see that all the arrangements are so carried out as to give every chance for the "vital essences" (yang) to assert themselves and to keep the dark and languid essences (yin) in their proper position of subordination. They select the propitious moment for starting the procession, for lowering the coffin into the grave and for every other act of importance in connection with the funeral; to them also is left—within limits—the selection of a favourable position for the grave.[203] The rules of fÊng-shui are complicated in the extreme; an error of a few feet in judging of the precisely favourable spot may completely shut off all the yang influences and let in all the yin influences with a rush, in which case—so it is supposed by believers—the family is doomed to misfortune and will probably before long become extinct.

A southern aspect is supposed to be generally the most favourable for a graveyard, for the south is yang whereas the north is yin; but other influences and conditions have to be taken into account as well—such as the contour of the neighbouring hills, the direction of valleys and streams, the proximity of human habitations, and many other things: so that a graveyard that has a northern aspect but possesses first-rate geomantic conditions in other respects is often far superior from the point of view of the professors of yin-yang and fÊng-shui to a graveyard that has a southern aspect but happens to be overlooked by a badly-shaped hill or is near a river that has too many bends or flows the wrong way. Within the graveyard itself the good influences are not supposed to concentrate themselves solely and permanently on one spot; if that were so, the first people to die after the selection of the graveyard would obviously get all the best positions.

The date and hour of death, the date of intended burial, the age and sex and star-influences of the deceased, and many variable local and temporary circumstances all have to be taken into consideration before the hsien-shÊng can advise his client as to the best possible site for any required grave. Certain parts of the graveyard are always more "honourable" (in the heraldic sense) than others from the point of view of family precedence and seniority. The back, centre and front portions of the ground are reserved for married couples who have left children and therefore take an honoured place in the family pedigree, whereas members of the family who have died unmarried or in childhood are either not accommodated in the family graveyard at all, or, if admitted, they are buried close to the right or the left boundary. A villager was once brought before me on the charge of having buried his dead infant, a child of two years old, in a part of the graveyard that was reserved for its dignified elders. As it is advisable in such matters to uphold local custom I felt reluctantly obliged to order the man to remove his child's body to that part of the graveyard which is regarded as appropriate for those who have died in infancy.

If a family has had a long run of misfortune or misery and sees no way of extricating itself from its difficulties, it will sometimes try to throw the blame on its graveyard: not, of course, on the spirits of its ancestors but merely on the unpropitious influences that hang round the sites of the family tombs. The only possible remedy in such a case is to employ a hsien-shÊng to study the geomantic conditions of the locality and advise as to what can be done to improve them. He is almost sure to agree with his employers that their surmise is correct and that the badly-situated graveyard is the cause of all their woes, for he will then be able to proceed to the lucrative task of selecting a new graveyard-site and superintending the removal of the graves. The only case of this nature that has come within my personal experience is interesting as throwing a light on the hsien-shÊng's method of work. It is probable that many other cases have occurred even in Weihaiwei, but as geomantic superstitions are frowned upon by Chinese law, and the unnecessary removal of graves on the plea of finding better fÊng-shui is a penal offence, yin-yang professors naturally ply their trade with as little ostentation as possible.

A man whom we will call Chang Ying-mu brought an action against some of his neighbours for denying him the right to move certain of his ancestors' graves from their present unlucky site to one that had been specially selected for him after deep consideration by a professor of yin-yang and fÊng-shui. "I have been very unfortunate in business," he said; "I dealt in opium at Chefoo and used to get on very well; but this new anti-opium fad has ruined me. I came home recently and brought with me a hsien-shÊng who is a native of Fu-shan Hsien [the magisterial district in which Chefoo is situated] in order to consult him about my ancestral graves, as I had suspicions that it was due to the bad fÊng-shui of the graveyard that I had been landed in so many difficulties. The hsien-shÊng saw at once that the present site was very bad. He said that nothing could be done to improve the fÊng-shui and that I must move all the graves to another place. The spot he has chosen happens to be not far from the houses of Tsou HÊng-li and Tsou YÜ-ch'Êng and many other villagers; and they at once raised objections to the proposed site on the ground that they would see the graves on coming out of their houses, which they said would be unlucky. I suggested planting a row of trees between their houses and my graves, but they refused to accept this arrangement. I then offered to build a stone wall as a screen, and to write 'Happiness' and 'Long Life' in large characters on the side of it that would face the defendants' houses, but the hsien-shÊng objects to this as the wall would obstruct the free circulation of good fÊng-shui round my new graves. I have already acquired the new site by exchanging another piece of land for it, and now that I have got it my neighbours prevent me from using it."

The defendants Tsou HÊng-li and others presented a counter-petition to the following effect. "The hsien-shÊng, whose name is said to be Hsiao, is a stranger to our village and he is quite evidently a rascal. He falsely pretended to be skilled in fÊng-shui in order to swindle Chang Ying-mu out of his money. He told Chang that if he moved his ancestral graves to the new site indicated he would guarantee that Chang would acquire wealth and honours within the space of three years. We all raised the strongest objections to the proposal, partly because Hsiao was a rogue and partly because the new site was practically in the middle of the village, which is quite an improper place for graves. The luck of our village would certainly be damaged if part of it were turned into a graveyard. Hsiao's only reply to us was that he was learned in the P'ing-yang books of Chiang-nan and that we were children in such deep matters. We fail to see why the customs of the Chiang-nan provinces should be made applicable to our province of Shantung. We appeal to the Magistrate to rid us of this pestilent fellow and so allow our village to resume its normal life."

Hsiao himself, who was duly summoned to explain his own view of the situation, stated that he had selected the site because he saw from the situation that it would be productive of long life and honours and that if the coffins remained where they were Chang Ying-mu's family would in future have bad luck, no honours and short lives. "My knowledge," he added on cross-examination, "is not derived from books but from the traditions of Chiang-nan." As I was anxious to obtain for my own information some clue to his methods and theories I called upon him to produce a clear statement on the subject in writing; and having had him conveyed from the court in charge of the police, I reprimanded Chang Ying-mu for allowing himself to be deceived by a swindler and recommended him to leave his ancestors' graves where they were. I explained to him that the anti-opium regulations had been put in force in both British and Chinese territory quite irrespectively of his family concerns or his trading enterprises, and that they would unquestionably remain in force even if he moved his ancestral coffins a dozen times. The defendants were assured that in view of their very reasonable objections the court would certainly not allow their village to be turned into a graveyard.

As far as plaintiff and defendant were concerned the case was now at an end, but I had still to receive the professor's written statement. In a couple of days the document was duly presented, and may be translated thus:

"Statement showing cause why Chang Ying-mu's graveyard is unpropitiously situated and will cause misfortunes and early deaths; and why the site now selected will be the source of a constant flow of happiness. As regards the present site: firstly, all along the front of the graveyard there is a gully as deep as the height of two men. This is unlucky. The deep gully presses against the tombs like a wall, obstructing the passage of benign influences. This has a disastrous effect on the women of the family, who will have excessive difficulty in childbirth. Secondly, a small stream of water trickles from the graveyard and after flowing a distance of half a li it vanishes in the sand. The result of this on the family is that children are born as weaklings and die in infancy. Thirdly, another stream of water flows away to the north-east. This carries off all the wealth-making capabilities of the family and the good qualities of sons and grandsons. As regards the proposed new site: firstly, there are hills on the south-west, their direction being from east to west. Their formation so controls the courses of four streams that they all unite at the eastern corner of this site. Just as these streams of water come together and cannot again separate, so will riches and honours flow from various quarters and finally unite in the hands of the family that has its graveyard in this fortunate locality. Secondly, the ceaseless flow of water has formed a long sandbank, four feet high, on the southern and south-eastern sides of the site. Just as the water brings down innumerable grains of sand and piles them up near the point where the waters meet, so will the family that buries its dead here be blessed with countless male descendants."

FÊng-shui is not a branch of knowledge that deserves encouragement, so I informed the professor that the explanations given in this illuminating document were interesting but unconvincing, and that if he did not withdraw from British territory within three days he would be sent to gaol as a rogue and vagabond. He forthwith returned to his native district and the graveyard of the Chang family remained undisturbed.

An incident of this kind affords proof, if such were necessary, that in keeping up the cult of ancestors and in devoting care and expense to the maintenance of the family tombs the Chinese are not actuated solely by feelings of filial piety and reverence for the dead. On the other hand it is equally clear from abundant evidence that self-interest and a desire for material prosperity are very far from being the sole source of ancestral worship. Some foreign critics have tried to show that it springs not from love and filial piety but from a dread of the ancestral spirits and a desire to propitiate them. This view, which has been condemned as erroneous by those who are themselves ancestor-worshippers, is certainly a mistaken one. If, indeed, the average ancestor-worshipping Chinese did not suppose that some material benefit would accrue to him from carrying out the prescribed rites he would doubtless show a flagging zeal in their perpetuation. Even the average European, perhaps, would grow a little weary of well-doing if he were informed on unimpeachable authority that in future the promised rewards of virtuous conduct were to be withheld both on earth and in heaven and that a crown of glory was not for him. The average man, all the world over, is apt to show impatience if he is asked to be virtuous for the sole sake of virtue. Had the ancestral cult been founded on nothing but pure love, reverence and altruism, it might have been kept barely alive from generation to generation by a few of those rare and exalted souls who seem incapable of self-seeking, but it would never have attained universal observance throughout China; had it, on the other hand, been founded on nothing but fear, selfishness and desire for material gain, it might have become popular with the masses but it could never have earned, as it has earned, the enthusiastic approval of the noblest minds and loftiest characters that China has produced. Probably it is the very mingling of motives that has caused the cult of ancestors to take such deep root in the hearts of the people that it is to-day by far the most potent religious and social force to be found in the Empire.

At the present day and for very many centuries past the cult of ancestors and the dutiful upkeep of the ancestral tombs have been regarded as inseparably combined: but it was not so always. If the ancient Book of Rites (Li Chi) is to be trusted, Confucius for many years of adult life did not know where his father's grave was, and apparently it was only on his mother's death that he took the trouble to find out. The same book, which dates from the first and second centuries B.C., also narrates a story of how Confucius's disciples reported to him that the tumulus over his mother's grave had collapsed owing to a heavy rainfall; yet he merely remarked, with emotion, that "people did not repair tombs in the good old times,"—an enigmatical remark that has been variously interpreted.[204]

These stories probably originated from the well-ascertained fact that Confucius—like most of the Chinese philosophers and sages—was very strongly opposed to lavish expenditure on coffins, graves and funerals. Confucius's teaching on the subject seems to have been practical and reasonable. He taught that the bodies of the dead should be treated with every possible respect but that the material interests of the living must not be sacrificed in order to confer some unnecessary and doubtful boon upon the dead. Needless to say he was strenuously opposed to the barbarous customs of entombing the living with the dead and of widow-immolation, customs which seem to have been practised in China from the seventh century B.C. if not from much earlier times and which did not become altogether extinct till the seventeenth century of our era.[205]

But if Confucius did not lay overmuch stress on funerals and the preservation of tombs, he was emphatic on the subject of filial piety. The connection between Confucianism and ancestral worship must be dealt with when we are considering the subject of Religion: it is therefore unnecessary to enlarge upon this important subject at present, beyond pointing out that filial piety—on which ancestral worship is based—was regarded by Confucius and his school as "the fountain from which all other virtues spring and the starting-point of all education."[206]

There is a well-known Chinese tract called the "Twenty-four Examples of Filial Piety"[207] which consists of short anecdotes of sons who made themselves illustrious by the exercise of this chief of virtues. Some of the examples recorded are worthy of sincere admiration, but many of the filial performances are apt to strike an occidental reader as somewhat ridiculous. There is the famous story of Lao Lai-tzu, for instance, whose parents lived to such extreme old age that he was himself a toothless old man while they were both still alive. Conceiving it his duty to divert their attention from their weight of years and approaching end, he dressed himself up in the clothes of a child and danced and played about in his parents' presence with the object of making them think they were still a young married couple contemplating the innocent gambols of their infant son. Perhaps the most touching of these stories is that of Wang P'ou, whose mother happened to have an unconquerable dread of thunder and lightning. When she died she was buried in a mountain forest; and thereafter, when a violent thunderstorm occurred, Wang P'ou, heedless of the wind and rain, would hurry to her grave and throw himself to his knees. "I am here to protect you, dear mother," he would say; "do not be afraid."

If the stories in this well-known collection strike one as chiefly remarkable for their quaintness and simplicity, it should be remembered that they were primarily intended for the edification of the young, who might fail to understand the nobler modes in which filial piety can display itself. How numerous are the recorded examples of this virtue in China and how highly it is esteemed may be realised from the fact that a special chapter in the official Annals of every magisterial district is devoted to a summary of the most conspicuous local instances of filial piety that have come under the notice of the authorities. The official accounts of Weihaiwei and the neighbouring districts are not exceptional in this respect. This corner of the Empire may have produced few great scholars but it is certainly not without its roll of filial sons. The finest example from an occidental point of view is perhaps that of Huang Chao-hsÜan, the brave boy who went out willingly to die by his father's side.[208] Most of the other cases are of a type that appeals but slightly to the Western mind.

Of Wang Yen-ming, a Weihaiwei man, we are told that he lived in a hut beside his parents' grave for three years. This was quite a common practice in the old days;[209] the most famous example in history is that of Confucius's disciple Tzu Kung, who lived by the side of the Master's grave at Ch'Ü Fou for no less than six years.[210] But even this act of devotion was outdone by a man named Tung Tao-ming of the Sung dynasty, who is said to have caused himself to be buried alive for three days in his mother's grave. The story goes that when his family dug him out at the end of that period they found him still alive and quite well; and he proceeded to build himself beside the grave a mat-shed in which he spent the rest of his life.[211] To return to the Weihaiwei story about Wang Yen-ming, it goes on to say that he mourned so much for his parents that he wept himself blind. However, a kind spirit visited him in a dream and rubbed his eyes with the juice or resin of a fir-tree, and this immediately restored his sight. It will be understood from what has been said with regard to firs and other evergreens[212] that owing to the abundance of the yang or vital element which they contain they are supposed to have marvellous healing as well as preservative qualities. For this reason the resin of such trees was believed to be one of the most valuable ingredients in the Taoists' elixir of life.

The story of Wang concludes with the remark that his descendants became highly successful and attained exalted office: this, of course, as a result of his filial piety, which is always supposed to bring its reward sooner or later. Of Ch'Ên Kuo-hsiang, another local worthy, we are informed that he belonged to a family that was poor in material wealth but rich in virtue. His father when very old lost all his teeth and could not eat bean-porridge; moreover, as he had a chronic cough he could not eat salt. For these reasons Ch'Ên never allowed either beans or salt to appear on the family dinner-table so long as his father lived. This act of filial piety may have had two motives: in the first place, if these delicacies were on the table the old man might be tempted to taste them, and this might result in his illness and death: in the second place, if he were persuaded to refrain from eating them his venerable heart might vex itself with the reflection that he was getting old and feeble and could not eat the same things as other people. Whatever Ch'Ên's dominant motive may have been he duly obtained his reward, for the local magistrate presented him with a scroll to hang over his door, bearing the words "A Filial Son."

[190] That is to say, the wife's body lies at the right side of the husband's; thus the husband, as head of the family, is given the left side—the place of honour.