Kong Yiji (孔乙己)
The layout of the taverns in Luchen is different from that in other places. They all have a right-angled counter facing the street, where hot water is kept ready for warming rice wine. When men about their work leave off at noon and in the evening they buy a bowl of wine; it used to cost four coppers, but now it costs ten. Standing beside the counter, they drink it warm, and rest. Another copper will buy a dish of salted bamboo shoots or peas seasoned with aniseed, to go with the wine; while for a dozen coppers you
can buy a meat dish. But most of these customers belong to the short-coated class, and few of them can afford this. Only those in long gowns enter the shop next door to sit down and drink.
I started working as a waiter there when I was twelve, and the tavern keeper said I looked too foolish to serve the long-gowned customers, so I was given work in the outer room. The short-coated customers there, although easy-going, were a troublesome lot too. Many of them would insist on watching with their own
eyes while the yellow wine was ladled from the keg, looking to see if there was any water at the bottom of the wine pot, and inspecting for themselves the pot’s immersion into the hot water. Under such strict surveillance, it was very difficult to dilute the wine. So after a few days my master decided I was not suited for this work either. Luckily I had been recommended by someone influential, so he could not dismiss me. He transferred me to the dull work of warming wine.
From then on I stood all day behind the counter,
attending to my duties. Though I gave satisfaction, I found the work monotonous and uninteresting. Our tavern keeper had a fierce face, and the customers were not very pleasant either, so that I could not liven things up. Only when Kong Yiji came to the tavern could I laugh a little. That is why I still remember him.
Kong Yiji was the only long-gowned customer to drink his wine standing. He was a big man, with a चैप्टर and a face that was often bruised. His once long gown was tattered and shabby. It had not been
washed or mended, it seemed, for more than ten years. He used so many archaisms in his speech, people nicknamed him “Half-a-Gentleman,” using a character from a children’s copy-book. Whenever he came into the shop, everyone would look at him and chuckle. And someone would call out:
“Kong Yiji! There are some new scars on your face!”
Ignoring this, he would lay nine coppers on the counter and ask for two bowls of heated wine and a
dish of peas seasoned with aniseed. Then he would drink, standing.
“You’ve been stealing books again, I suppose!” someone else would shout.
Kong Yiji would open his eyes wide and say, “How can you accuse me out of thin air. . .
“Thin air? Didn’t I see you with my own eyes being hung up and beaten for stealing books from the He family the day before yesterday?”
At this Kong Yiji would flush. The veins on his
forehead would stand out as he argued, “Stealing a book can’t be counted as theft. . . . Stealing a book . . . for a scholar . . . can’t be counted as theft.” Then followed a string of obscure classical quotations, like “A gentleman keeps his poverty” and so on, till the whole tavern was filled with laughter.
We all laughed, and the tavern was filled with a joyful air.
Kong Yiji, drinking his wine, would regain his composure. Sometimes he would ask me, “Have you
had any schooling?”
When I nodded, he would say, “Well then, I’ll test you. How do you write the character ‘hui’ in ‘hui- xiang’ (aniseed)?”
I would think to myself, “A beggar like him is not fit to test me.” So I would turn my back on him and ignore him. After waiting for some time, he would say earnestly, “You can’t write it? I’ll teach you. Remember! You ought to remember such characters, because later when you have a shop of your own, you’ll
need them to make out bills.”
I would reflect that I was still very far from having a shop of my own; besides, our tavern keeper never entered aniseed peas on the bill. Amused yet impatient, I would answer listlessly: “Who wants you to teach him? Isn’t it the character ‘hui’ with the grass radical?”
Kong Yiji would be delighted. Tapping two long fingernails on the counter, he would nod his head. “Right, right! There are four different ways of writing ‘hui.’ Do you know them?”
My patience exhausted, I would scowl and walk away. Kong Yiji, having dipped his finger in wine, would trace the characters on the counter; but seeing how little interest I showed, he would heave a sigh and look disappointed.
Sometimes children in the neighbourhood, hearing the laughter, would run in to join in the fun, and surround Kong Yiji. Then he would give them peas seasoned with aniseed, one for each child. After eating the peas, the children would still hang round, their eyes
fixed on the dish. Kong Yiji would flap his hands and say, “Not much left. I haven’t much left.” Then, straightening up and looking at the peas again, he would say, “Not much. Not much, indeed! Verily, not much!” So the children would run off, shouting with laughter.
Kong Yiji was good company, but we got on very well without him too.
One day, a few days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, the tavern keeper was laboriously making out his
accounts. Taking down the board from the wall, he suddenly said, “Kong Yiji hasn’t been in for a long time. He still owes nineteen coppers!”
That made me realize how long it was since we had seen him.
“How could he come?” one of the customers said. “His legs were broken in that last beating.”
“Ah!”
“He was stealing again. This time he was foolish enough to steal from Mr. Ding, the provincial scholar!
As if anybody could get away with that!”
“What then?”
“What then? First he had to write a confession, then he was beaten. The beating lasted nearly all night, until his legs were broken.”
“And then?”
“Well, his legs were broken.”
“And after that?”
“After? . . . Who knows? He may be dead.”
The tavern keeper made no further inquiries, but
went on slowly making up his accounts.
After the Mid-Autumn Festival the wind grew colder every day, and winter was drawing near. I spent all my time by the stove, wearing a padded jacket. One afternoon, when the shop was empty, I was sitting with my eyes closed when I heard a voice:
“Warm a bowl of wine.”
The voice was very low, but familiar. I looked up. There was no one in sight. I stood up and looked towards the door, and there, facing the door, beneath
the counter, sat Kong Yiji. His face was thin and haggard, and be looked a wreck. He had on a ragged, lined jacket, and was sitting cross-legged on a mat which was attached to his shoulders by a straw rope. When he saw me, he said again:
“Warm a bowl of wine.”
At this point the tavern keeper stuck his head out and said, “Is that Kong Yiji? You still owe nineteen coppers!”
“That . . . I’ll pay you next time,” replied Kong Yiji,
looking up disconsolately. “Here are nine coppers for this time.”
“Next time? All right. But don’t try any of your tricks!”
The tavern keeper, as usual, asked him, “Kong Yiji, how did you manage to get your legs broken?”
“Broken? . . . Don’t joke with me.”
“Joke? Who’s joking? I saw it with my own eyes.”
Kong Yiji looked downcast, and after a pause said in a low voice, “Fell . . . broke them in a fall.” His eyes
pleaded with the tavern keeper to let the matter drop.
By now several people had gathered round, and they all laughed. I warmed the wine, carried it over, and set it on the threshold. He produced four coppers from his tattered pocket, and placed them in my hand. I saw that his own hands were covered with mud — he must have crawled here on them. Presently he finished the wine and, to the accompaniment of taunts and laughter, slowly dragged himself off by his hands.
A long time went by after that without our seeing
Kong Yiji again. At the end of the year, when the tavern keeper took down the board, he said, “Kong Yiji still owes nineteen coppers!” At the Dragon Boat Festival the next year he said the same thing again. But when the Mid-Autumn Festival came, he did not mention it. And another New Year came round without our seeing any more of him.
Nor have I ever seen him since — probably Kong Yiji is dead.
Related Stories
This story was printed from:
© 2025 Narrivum. All rights reserved.