The Republic of Wine

returned to his cheeks, probably from excitement.
    Son, the boy’s parents said, your ambitions are too great for someone so small We underestimated you, and have decided to take your uncle’s suggestion to let you go search out that alluring genie. Our elderly servant, Wang Bao, will accompany you. We hope you find her, but if you don’t, come home and put an end to our worries. We will find a lovely girl from a good family for you. Finding a two-legged toad is impossible, but the world is filled with two-legged girls, so don’t think there’s only one tree to hang from.
    The boy, objecting to his parents’ suggestion, told them that the conjuring girl was the only one for him, that not even fairies from the Nine Heavens could take her place.
    But his father, a man of considerable experience himself, advised the boy: My son, you’re under the spell of that demon-girl. You cannot tell what’s inside a stuffed dumpling by looking at its folds, and a girl’s qualities are not revealed in her face. Beauty and ugliness vanish as soon as you close your eyes.
    Naturally, the boy refused to come to his senses, for he was in the grip of passion, and nothing his parents said had any effect on him. Finding themselves powerless, they fed their little donkey, prepared enough provisions for half a month, and gave Wang Bao, the elderly servant, detailed instructions. Their preparations complete, amid a flood of tears, a host of anxieties, and seemingly endless dawdling, they saw the boy out of the village and onto the road.
    Sitting astride his donkey and wobbling from side to side as if mounting the clouds and riding the mist, the boy thought only of the prospects of seeing the girl before long. Elated by this thought, he grew so animated on the donkey that people who saw him said he’d taken leave of his senses.
    Many days passed, and the provisions he’d brought were exhausted, as was the money he’d been given. No one along the way could direct him to Apricot Blossom Cave on Westwind Mountain. The old servant urged him to turn around and head home, but to no avail. He kept heading west, his determination never flagging. So Wang Bao sneaked off, begging for food on the way back home. Then the donkey died. But the boy kept going, alone and on foot, as the days waned and his road neared its end. Finally, he sat down on a roadside boulder and wept, though his thoughts of the girl remained as strong as ever. He was startled out of his weeping by a loud noise, just before the earth opened up and the boulder plunged downward, carrying him with it. He opened his eyes to find himself in the welcoming arms of the girl he was looking for. Overwhelmed by rapture, he passed out…
    That boy was me! Yu Yichi announced with a sly grin. I spent many days with a performing troupe, where I learned sword-swallowing, tightrope walking, fire-spitting, and more. Traveling performers live wonderful lives, mysterious and romantic. Whoever writes my life story should narrate this period with all the flair and color he can manage.
    Mo Yan, sir, this Yu Yichi is a master of imagination, rich in creative powers. I had the feeling I’d run across the story he just told me somewhere or other, maybe during my reading of Tales from the Scholar’s Studio or Tales of the Supernatural Then, not long ago, I was browsing through Strange Events in Liquorland and ran across the following passage, which I have copied out for you:
    In the early years of the Republic, a performer came to Wine Fragrance village, a woman whose beauty matched that of the Moon Goddess. Among the villagers crowding around to watch her was a young man surnamed Yu, whose given name was Yichi and whose nickname was Lapdog. Bom to well-to-do parents in their forties, for whom he was a pearl in the palm, he was thirteen at the time, a gifted, intelligent boy, and lovely as fine jade. When the girl bestowed a smile on him, his heart took flight. Then the girl began her performance by summoning the wind and the rain, spitting out clouds and mist, to the raucous delight of her audience. She produced a tiny bottle, the thickness of a single finger, and held it up for all to see, saying: This is the cave-home of genies. Who among you will accompany me on a trip inside? The people gaped at one another, exchanging bewildered glances, wondering how two fully grown humans could possibly enter a bottle no thicker than a human finger. It must be hocus-pocus to trick the audience. But Yichi,