Qian Lüdao, whose courtesy name was Jiazhen, was of Xianyang in the capital region. In the Huangtong era of the Jin he was travelling and studying in Shang and Guo, and passing Hu county he pressed on greedily with the stages, with one servant only. It grew dark and he could no longer make out the road, so he trusted his horse and rode on until he came to a great house, and knocked on the gate to ask for lodging.
A young concubine came out from within and said in alarm: “This place is near the mountains and there are many wolves and tigers. It is no road for night travel.”
Qian said: “I have lost my way without meaning to, and I beg for one mat’s worth of space. But I do not know whose official residence this is.”
She said: “It is the house of Minister Zhang, the prefect of Hezhong. The minister is dead and only his lady remains, so I must ask her permission.” She went in and told her, and after a while invited the guest in to meet her.
The hall was high and the rooms lofty, bright candles filling the room, and plates and cups already laid out. The lady’s colour was dignified and beautiful and her cap and robes splendid, and she feasted with him, and her maids sang and danced with a skill the eye had never seen.
Qian considered himself strangely fortunate, as though wandering in the immortal city, and his thoughts were shaken and he did not know where he was. He sat with hands clasped, respectful, and did not venture a single word, and the others took him for a rustic and looked at one another and laughed at him.
When the feast ended they lay down, and presently candles were brought, and the lady came again, and the maids crowded him onto the bed. Qian hurried down to decline, but they pressed him again and again, and so he slept with her.
In the morning she kept him for a meal. Qian was a drifting traveller by nature, and having been received warmly he stayed several days without speaking of leaving.
One evening, in the middle of the drinking, there was the sound of a herald calling outside: “The minister is coming!”
The lady got up at once and all the concubines ran and scattered, and Qian hid in a dark room, not daring to breathe, and pretended to sleep. After a long while there was fox-howling and crow-cawing, the east grew light, and the house and the people were gone, and he was lying among a pile of ancient graves.
He crawled out in a wretched state, and met a ploughman and found the official road. The perfume on his clothes stayed for a month.
