Zhang Bangbi of Maoyuan, a licentiate, was invited into the secretariat by a friend of his father’s who was the magistrate of Fenxiang county. One day, strolling to the market, he found the town holding its festival, the whole city turned out, men and women massed like clouds. Zhang stood under an eave to watch.
Soon gongs led the way, banners, fans and canopies advancing in order. Two golden placards proclaimed in large characters: “Grand Steward of the Chancellor’s House.” Zhang did not know what god this was. Then incense drifted sweet, and in a warm sedan chair sat a god’s image: a fat purple face, whiskers like halberds, a black silk cap, a black court robe, a jade belt and pointed black boots. Zhang thought this strange and followed it to the temple, where victims were laid out in abundance and the lamps and candles blazed. The crowd prostrated below, all in short collar-robes and squat caps, frog-mouth shoes, chattering away in officialese. Then the prayer was read, begging: “May the god’s blessing extend from governors-general down to prefects and county magistrates: power over the gate, and heavier parcels.”
Zhang asked what god this was.
“Lord Niu Er,” they said, “chief doorkeeper under Chancellor Yan of Fenxiang.”
Zhang was furious. “When that traitor Yan sold offices and ruined the loyal, it was creatures like you who encouraged his evil. Now Yan’s name is filth in history — and a dog like you gets a public temple?” He climbed onto the god’s seat, intending to slap its cheek.
The crowd was alarmed and dragged him down. “Are you mad, you penniless bookworm? Two pages of learning and you put on scholar’s airs. If you had lived in the Chancellor’s time, you’d have been trooping after Yan, Ma and Zhao to his gate, grinning and rubbing your shoulders — who knows what you would have looked like! Everyone has his own patron. Scholars worship Wenchang to beg a pass in the exams; butchers and vintners buy candles and silk at the God of Wealth’s shrine hoping for tenfold profit, and the neighbours call them rich men. Our worshipping Lord Niu is the same as your Wenchang and their God of Wealth. What’s your grievance?”
Zhang realised these people could not be argued with, so he spoke to the magistrate, who had the temple destroyed at once.
From then on the ghost of Niu grew fiercer: it took a million million bodies, and fed on sacrifice everywhere under heaven.
