In Chang’an there lived a scholar named Fang Dong, a man of considerable talent and renown, but frivolous and undisciplined by nature. Whenever he went out and encountered women out for an excursion, he would brazenly follow and harass them.

One day, shortly before the Qingming Festival, he wandered aimlessly into the city outskirts and saw a small carriage hung with red curtains and embroidered drapes. Several maids in dark garments rode horses, following slowly behind. One maid, mounted on a small horse, was exceptionally beautiful. Fang Dong edged closer and peered in. The carriage curtains were drawn wide. Inside sat a girl of sixteen or seventeen, richly dressed and dazzling—more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. Fang Dong’s eyes were dazzled, his heart overwhelmed, and he could not tear himself away. He pursued the girl, now riding ahead of the carriage, now falling behind, following for several li.

Suddenly, the girl inside called the maid to the carriage and said: “Lower the curtain for me. Where does this insolent rogue come from, that he keeps peeping?” The maid dropped the curtain and said angrily to Fang Dong: “This is the bride of the Seventh Young Master of Hibiscus City, going to visit her parents. She is no ordinary village wife. How could a scholar like you casually stare?” With that, she scooped a handful of dust from the carriage rut and threw it at him.

Fang Dong’s eyes were instantly blinded with dust, unable to open. By the time he rubbed his eyes, the carriage and horses had vanished without a trace. He returned home, alarmed and uneasy, his eyes persistently painful. He had someone lift his eyelids to examine them, and found that a thin membrane had grown over his eyeballs. After a night, his eyes grew worse, tears streaming incessantly. The membrane gradually thickened, becoming within days as thick as a copper coin. A spiral-shaped growth formed on his right eye, and no medicine could cure it. Fang Dong was consumed with despair and remorse over what he had done.

Hearing that reciting the Sutra of Light could dispel misfortune, he obtained a copy of the scripture and asked someone to teach him to recite it. At first, even while chanting, his mind remained restless and agitated, but over time it gradually settled. From then on, morning and evening, he would sit cross-legged, turning his prayer beads and chanting. After persisting for a year, Fang Dong felt all stray thoughts purified.

One day, he suddenly heard a voice from his left eye, like the buzzing of a mosquito: “It’s pitch black in here, utterly unbearable!” A voice from the right eye responded: “Let’s go out for a free and easy wander, and vent our frustration.”

Fang Dong then felt an itching in both nostrils, as if insects were crawling. Something seemed to climb out through his nostrils and leave. After a long while, it returned, crawling back through the nose and into the eye sockets. He heard: “It’s been ages since we visited the garden. How have all the pearl orchids withered!” Fang Dong had always loved fragrant orchids and planted many in his garden, often watering them himself. But since losing his sight, he had long neglected them. Hearing these words, he hastily asked his wife: “Why have the orchids been left to wither?” When his wife pressed him on how he knew, he told her the whole story. She went to the garden to verify and found the orchids indeed wilted. Astonished, she quietly waited in the room for the creatures to appear.

Presently, she saw two tiny figures climb out of Fang Dong’s nostrils—smaller than a bean—chittering as they went out the door, farther and farther away until they were lost from sight. After a while, the two little figures returned hand in hand, flying onto Fang Dong’s face like bees or ants returning to their nest. This went on for two or three days.

Fang Dong then heard the little person in his left eye say: “The tunnel out is winding and crooked, most inconvenient to come and go. Why don’t we bore a door ourselves?” The little person in the right eye replied: “The wall blocking me is very thick, hard to break through.” The left eye’s figure said: “I’ll try to open a door first. If it works, you can share it with me.”

Fang Dong then felt a faint aching in his left eye socket, as if it were being torn open. After a while, he opened his eyes and could clearly see the tables and chairs in the room. He joyfully told his wife. She examined his eyes closely and saw a small hole broken through the membrane, the dark pupil gleaming beneath, no larger than half a peppercorn. By the next morning, the thick membrane in his left eye had completely vanished. On closer inspection, there were two pupils within—but the spiral membrane in his right eye remained as before. He then understood that the two little people had merged into one eye socket.

Though Fang Dong had lost sight in one eye, he saw more clearly than most with two. From then on, he grew even more careful in restraining his conduct, and the villagers all praised his noble character.

The Historian of the Strange says: Once, a scholar in the countryside was walking along a road with two friends when he saw a young woman on a donkey ahead of them. He said teasingly: “What a beautiful woman!” Turning to his friends, he added: “Catch up to her!” The three men rushed forward laughing. When they overtook her, he discovered she was his own daughter-in-law. Ashamed and dejected, he fell silent. His friends, pretending not to know, made crude comments about the woman. The scholar was mortified and stammered: “This is my eldest son’s wife.” Only then did the friends secretly laugh and let it be. Frivolous men often bring humiliation upon themselves—a ridiculous thing indeed. As for Fang Dong’s blinding, it was a severe retribution from the gods and spirits. Who is that Lord of Hibiscus City—what divine being? Perhaps a bodhisattva incarnate? Yet the little people in his pupils personally stripped away the thick membrane, which shows that though the gods and spirits are stern, they nonetheless allow men to repent and start anew.

(The End)