The Money Demon: An Autobiographical Romance

Appendix

The Koto Story (“Zhenglouji”) “Koto” is Nine Fragrances. She used to be a neighbor of ours, and as children we were very fond of each other. In bingxu (1886), when I was seven and she ten, she attended classes with my cousin. My mother was much taken with her brightness and rather favored her as a wife for me, although she never did broach the subject. In wuzi (1888) Koto moved away; I was not sure where to. I was too young at the time to leave the compound, so I had no way of finding her. That same year my mother arranged my engagement to Miss Lanyun. Not until jiawu (1894), when Koto was seventeen and had a small measure of personal freedom herself, did she return, moving into the house opposite ours. In those days I was attending classes at a neighbor’s, leaving home in the morning and returning in the evening, and one day I happened to catch sight of her in a sedan chair. I had a glimpse of her stepping out of the chair, but her face was half hidden and I didn’t recognize her. Later on I found out that it was indeed Koto, but we were both too bashful to acknowledge each other. Every day at Appendix 279 sunset I would walk past her gate carrying my books, and she would always be leaning out of her upstairs window looking for me. Our eyes would linger on each other, and our hearts would respond. This went on for months, after which I managed to get on bantering terms with her younger sister and entrusted her with a letter to deliver to Koto in her private chamber. All the letter said was that I missed her, nothing more. In return I received a silk handkerchief that was embroidered with a Buddhist cross and folded like a billet-doux. I responded with another silk handkerchief on which I had written four lyrics, but I still didn’t dare visit her house and ask to see her. In bingshen (1896), five days after the Dragon Boat Festival, she moved away to Pingan No. 2 Bridge and invited me to a party there. It happened to be her nineteenth birthday. On that occasion, as we ate and drank together, we were too shy to say anything, but in my heart I felt wonderfully happy. Noticing that the house had no name tablet, I chose the name “Nine Fragrances” for it. (My reasoning was that both her and her sister’s personal names fitted between the characters for “nine” and “fragrance.”) From this point on I visited her every day, but she was restrained and dignified by nature, and I was never able to treat her as anything more than a sister. Nor did I dare indulge in any frivolous banter. In dingyou (1897) my mother arranged for my wedding to take place. Koto had nothing to say; she simply took to her bed with some ailment or other. I did not presume to try and console her. She never would articulate the things that concerned her most deeply. The following year I received an invitation from Commissioner Ling to take up a post in Xiangxi. As I was leaving, Koto saw me as far as the river, and from then on, whenever I left for my post or returned from it, she would join me. At 280 Appendix that time the port had just been opened to foreign trade, and we would take a pleasure boat together until we had to part, when we would change to sedan chairs and go our separate ways. This became our normal practice. That summer I obtained my licentiate degree. I spent a lot of time at home and felt depressed and out of sorts. My wife was looking through my poetry file when she came upon a dozen photographs of Koto and realized that we were lovers. She hung the photographs up in the bedroom. She felt sorry for me, but she adored Koto, and she spoke to my mother about my marrying her. I was delighted at the idea, but I could scarcely ask Koto myself, so I engaged her sister’s help in gently broaching the subject. When Koto heard of it, however , she had absolutely no response. My spirits crushed, I left once more for Xiangxi, where I developed consumption. In the...