Episode 149 – A Bug’s Life – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 149 Show Notes

Source: Chinese Folklore

This week on MYTH, we’ll wander across ancient China in search of some truly strange sights. You’ll see that you should believe the locals when they warn you a place is haunted, that even tiny spirits can be very arrogant, and that books can make the best weapons. Then, in Gods and Monsters, strange things happen in strange hotels after dark. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 149, “A Bug’s Life”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
I know that Halloween is long past, but apparently winter is also a time for ghost stories (at least if It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year is to be believed). This week’s tale is from Tang Dai Tsung Schu by way of The Chinese Fairy Book, edited by Dr. Richard Wilhelm in 1921. Once upon a time, there lived a scholar (lots of the stories in this book begin with scholars doing scholarly stuff). As ancient seekers of knowledge were wont to do, he wandered far from his home, eventually coming to the village of Emmet.
As is true of many small towns, in this particular village was an old house that the locals said was haunted. Unlike most haunted houses we think of today, this one was not decrepit or rundown; instead, it was beautiful and ornate. Instead of wild, overgrown bracken, this lovely house stood in the midst of a well-tended garden. This scholar was far too worldly to believe in ghosts, but he was more than happy to take advantage of the local superstitions to rent the “haunted” house at a very reasonable rate.
Everything went great. At first. One evening though, he was sitting and pouring over his dusty tomes by candlelight. Out of nowhere, several hundred knights came galloping across the room. It was quite the shocking commotion but fortunately, it wasn’t as destructive as it could have been. You see, these knights were incredibly tiny, riding horses the size of flies. Accompanying them were falcons and hunting hounds the size of gnats and fleas, respectively. Honestly, it sounds kind of cute. Terrifying in an ‘inexplicable hallucination’ kind of way, but also cute.
The tiny army rode across the room to the scholar’s bed in the corner. There, they began a great hunt across the bedspread. Tiny bows fired almost invisible arrows, bringing down birds and rabbits and foxes the size of individual grains of rice. Once the knights had bagged as much infinitesimal game as they could carry, they cantered across the room in a grand procession, complete with flapping banners and waving standards. Swords sheathed and spears held at rest, they made their way over to the northwest corner of the room before calling a halt.
The hundreds of knights were of course accompanied by hundreds more servants and camp followers. When the army stopped to make camp, these serving men got to work. From hundreds of tiny pack horses, they pulled out hundreds of tiny tents and set them up. They carried out the pots and kettles, the cups and plates, the tables and chairs and all the other accoutrement that noble knights needed to have while on campaign (as long as someone was around to do the work for them, at least). Once that was done, they prepared some of the finest dishes the scholar had ever seen, albeit in miniature. While the knights feasted on the tastiest foods that the land and the sea could offer, hundreds more of the tiny servants raced to and fro carrying messages and guarding the roads. What kinds of roads ran through this poor scholar’s bedroom isn’t really explained, but I guess they must be very important.
This was all very strange and unusual, but the scholar eventually grew accustomed to the sight. Perhaps the oddest part of it all was that, although every bit of this grand scene was in miniature, he could make out all the details with perfect clarity. It was a bit surreal, but honestly it wasn’t any weirder than having a vast but miniscule army running around your bedroom in the first place.
Just about the time that the camp had begun to settle down, a large (well, large relative to the tiny men) colorful banner was unfurled. Behind it rode an imperious man in a scarlet hat and purple robes – clearly someone of great importance. This point was further emphasized by the entourage of thousands of guards, courtiers, and servants that accompanied him. In front of the entire procession went runners armed with whips and iron rods to clear a path for the esteemed nobleman through the rabble. Beside the purple-clad man strode another man in an iron helmet and wielding a golden ax. Striking a dashing pose, the man raised his ax for silence and then called out in a loud if tiny voice. “His highness is graciously pleased to look at the fish in the Purple Lake!”
I mean, good for his highness, I guess? Glad he’s enjoying looking at the fish. At this proclamation, the man in purple (who was clearly the tiny king of this tiny crowd) dismounted from his horse. Followed by a smaller retinue of only a few hundred out of the crowd of thousands, he solemnly approached the normal-sized saucer used by the normal-sized scholar to hold the ink for his writing brush. I don’t know what kind of fish we’re expecting to see here, but this bedroom is full of all kinds of bizarre wonders so I wouldn’t put it past the house to have magical ink fish.
As the king approached, tents were erected on the edge of the saucer and a great banquet was laid out for him and his entourage. Many guests joined the esteemed leader of the tiny country at his feast table. Musicians and dancers emerged from the tents and began to entertain the esteemed guests. Flashing movement in a riot of purple, scarlet, crimson, and emerald green moved in time to the faint but clear melodies of pipes, flutes, fiddles, and cymbals. I don’t know if all of these instruments are actually period accurate for this story or if they are translation errors by the author (I assume the latter much like the term knights), but either way the key part is that it was all very festive and merry.
The feasting guests talked amongst themselves over the joyful music, taking no notice at all of the watching scholar. Their voices were as tiny as they were but, despite that, their questions and orders could be heard clearly over the pulsing melody. After three courses of delicacies, the dishes were cleared away and the entertainment came to a graceful halt. The king in the scarlet hat clapped his hands for attention. “Make ready the nets and lines for fishing! Quickly now!”
Such fishing implements had already been made ready in anticipation of the king’s order and they were all brought out with deliberate haste. Nets were cast out into the saucer of ink (or maybe into a saucer of water used to dip the writing brush into – the story disagrees with itself here, so pick whichever option you prefer). Sure enough, they managed to haul in hundreds of thousands of fish, which seems excessive even for magical spirit nobles in an impossible ink lake. Even assuming there were fish in this saucer (which there definitely weren’t when the scholar set things up), hundreds of thousands seems like way too many to maintain a stable ecosystem. That’s too many fish in that small an area and also too many fish removed at once. It would be an ecological disaster in the real world, but maybe tiny spirit world works under different rules. I mean, obviously it does because, you know, tiny spirit world.
The king in his scarlet cap personally cast in his own line at the shallow end of the saucer and hauled out 13 red carp. The head cook was given the fish and a second feast was prepared. This seems extravagant even by magical noble standards. You literally just ate a three course feast – how can you possibly still be hungry for a fish course? The king’s whim was law though and so the second feast was prepared. The enticing smell of roasting meat and delicate spices soon filled the bedroom, making the scholar’s mouth water (he hadn’t eaten any of the first feast after all).
Up until now, the king and his tiny yet vast retinue have paid the human-sized scholar no mind whatsoever. You might be thinking that this is because the spirits are operating in some parallel existence where the scholar and his mundane world simply don’t exist, but no. It turns out that they’ve all just been studiously ignoring the shit out of the looming scholar through sheer arrogance. See as the fish was being served, the king in the scarlet hat and purple robes looked up directly at the surprised human. Laughing, he pointed directly at the enormous face above him.
“How pitiful. I know nothing at all about the writings or wisdom of the holy and wise men of ages past, yet still I am a mighty king who is highly honored by all those around him. Meanwhile that miserable scholar over there toils his wretched life away pouring over books to try and find some meaning in the words of dead men, yet all he finds is poverty and obscurity.” He smiled sardonically up at the scholar. “Of course, all he has to do is make up his mind to offer me fealty and swear to serve me faithfully as one of my officials, and I might just deign to let him taste our great feast.”
This insult pissed the scholar right the fuck off. How dare this tiny little dipshit insult him in his own goddamned bedroom! With a snarl, the scholar grabbed the biggest, heaviest book he had and smashed it down on the assembled spirit nobles. Plenty of the little spirits were crushed under the unstoppable force of the assembled writings and wisdom of the holy and wise men of ages past. I guess the pen truly is mightier than the sword, at least when the sword is the size of a toothpick. Many of the tiny spirits were squashed outright, but many, many more scrambled in terror, their former arrogance forgotten. They scattered, wriggling across the bed and crawling desperately for the door.
The scholar wasn’t done yet – he planned to end this spirit invasion once and for all. He followed them out the door and across the yard to a small hole where they vanished into the earth. Grabbing a shovel, he dug up that spot until he found a massive ant’s nest as large as a barrel filled to the brim with countless squirming green ants. The scholar knew how to handle ants. He built a fire and smoked out the colony, forcing them away from their nest and away from the now formerly haunted house. From then on, he was able to study his ancient lore in peace without having spirit ants crashing his meals.
This is a particularly strange tale. It doesn’t seem to be trying to explain anything in particular, nor is it really imparting any clear moral or message. If anything, it feels more like a cryptid tale where the storyteller is simply relating the unbelievable but totally true you guys story that he heard from the uncle of a friend’s barber. I don’t really know what to make of it except that maybe it’s not wise to antagonize (pun intended) creatures much larger and more powerful than you simply because you think you’re invincible. That’s how you end up squashed. But for now, with the threat ended and the scholar studying once more in peace, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s poor unfortunate soul is the wandering merchant.
This tale comes to us from Sin Tsi Hia, once again by way of the Chinese Fairy Book edited by Dr. Richard Wilhelm. Once upon a time, there lived a traveling merchant. Much like our itinerant scholar from the main story, this merchant traveled all over China to ply his trade. On one particular night, he was heading north towards Shantung, more commonly known as Shandong – a coastal province that has played a pivotal role in Chinese history since the very beginning. Around the second watch of the night (roughly 9pm to midnight), a heavy storm suddenly blew in from the north.
Naturally, the merchant began looking around desperately for some shelter against the unexpected deluge. Luckily for him, there was an inn standing beside the road not too far ahead, its lights just being lit against the falling darkness. He hurried inside, shaking the rain off him. “It’s really coming down out there. I’m glad you all are open. Can I get dinner and a room for the night?” There was a rumbling and a muttering throughout the room. “There’s no room, mister,” said a voice from the crowd. “Full up. You can’t stay here.” An old man among the crowd shushed the speaker, taking pity on the poor, drenched merchant. It’s unclear if one of these people owns the inn or if they all collectively own it or what. My best guess from context is that the people all work here but that maybe the old man is the patriarch and/or owner.
“It’s true what he says, more or less. We’ve got a group of warriors tonight who have come a very long way. We just finished making their meal, which used all the food we have now. All the wine is spoken for too, and all the rooms. We do have a little storage room though, if you want it. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry. I wouldn’t charge you for it since it’s such a cramped space, but you can stay there tonight.” This wasn’t at all what the merchant had hoped for when he spotted the inn, but like the man said, any room had to be better than sleeping out in the storm.
The old man led him to the storage room, which was even smaller than he’d imagined but it was just enough space for him to lie down in. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to try and sleep, but it was much, much harder given that he was so hungry and thirsty. Trying to drift off while your stomach is growling is bad enough, but he could hear the sound of the warriors arriving in the main hall, which made him think of the meal they were about to be served. He tried to ignore it, but he just couldn’t get sleepy so he found himself paying attention to what was going on beyond his little room.
The more he listened, the more something seemed off though he couldn’t put his finger on what. Giving up bed as a lost cause, he rose and crept over to the door to peer out through a small crack. Unsurprisingly, the inn was completely filled up with soldiers sitting together on the ground as they ate, drank, and talked loudly. Most of their conversations seemed to be about campaigns they had fought in, though as well-traveled as he was, the merchant didn’t recognize any of the names they mentioned.
As the meal went on, the men began to whisper to each other “the general is coming!” This quiet cry ran through the crowd like wildfire until it seemed like everyone was saying it. Sure enough, the merchant began to hear the cries of a bodyguard regiment calling out as they approached. How exactly he knew that the sounds he heard were a group of bodyguards is beyond me. Were they dropping really helpful exposition like in a badly scripted movie? “We, the general’s bodyguard, are accompanying him to this inn where the rest of the men are waiting for us,” or something incredibly convenient to the narrative like that?
Whatever they were saying, it roused the soldiers inside the inn to head outside and greet the general. I’m guessing that the storm has blown over by now, although the ground has to be far too wet and cold to want to sleep on still. I don’t know how the merchant saw the next bit from his little storage closet room, but the story is pretty explicit that he hasn’t left it so do with that what you will. Regardless, he somehow saw that the soldiers had lined up to greet their general, who was arriving with a great procession. In the midst of a sea of twinkling paper lanterns rode a man with a long beard and a very martial appearance. This was clearly the general. This man dismounted and headed for the inn, taking his place at the head of the table, joined by his men.
The soldiers mounted a guard by the door, awaiting the general’s commands, as the rest got ready for the meal. They were eating on the ground before, but apparently that was just some appetizers or trail rations or something? Maybe that was for the common soldiers and this is for the officers. Anyway, the innkeeper served out the food and wine, and the soldiers tucked in. When the general finished his meal, his officers assembled around him. “Men, you have all been on the road for some time now. Go back to your companies and get some rest. I’ll do the same. Soon enough, it will be time to give the order for advance and move on.” Bowing, the officers left to do just that.
Raising his voice, the general called out “Send Asti in!” In response, a young officer entered from the left side of the house. The inn’s workers locked the main door and headed up to their own beds while Asti led the long-haired general to a door on the left side of the inn. The door closed and the light of a lamp was soon glowing through a crack in the door. This inn has a lot of cracks in their doors. The merchant was consumed by curiosity. The inn had cleared out as everyone went to bed, so he crept out of his own tiny bedroom to do a little spying (which is why I was sure he hadn’t left his room before to watch the general’s procession).
Through the crack, the merchant saw a much nicer room than his own, which was to be expected. There was a large bamboo bed, bare of covers, blankets, or pillows. A lamp stood beside it, the source of the flickering light. Stretching out his back with a loud cracking sound, the general reached up to crack his neck. Only instead of doing that, the general pulled his head right the fuck off. That’s right, he straight up removed his head and set it carefully on the bed. He then held out his arms, and Asti pulled them out of their sockets with a wet pop, setting them beside the head. The general sat down on the bed and lay down with his legs sticking out, and sure enough, Asti pulled them off the general’s torso with another wet pop. The lamp went out at that moment, hiding what else Asti might have been about to do to the dismembered general.
Terrified by the impossible but unforgettable scene he had just witnessed, the merchant fled from the door and retreated to his own tiny room. He lay down and covered his head with his sleeves as he lay down on his bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. He tossed and turned until sunrise. Exhausted but still far too afraid to sleep, he heard the rooster crow in the distance. The poor merchant found he was shivering, which he hadn’t noticed until now. Pulling the sleeve away from his eyes, he had to blink against the dawn sunlight in the sky overhead.
Wait, sky? Looking around, the merchant realized that yes, he was very much outside. Instead of a bed, he was lying in a thick clump of bushes in the middle of fucking nowhere. There was no sign of any inn, nor the army or any other people. Confused, the merchant found the road and hurried on the way he’d been going. The chill of sleeping outside wore off as he ran three miles to the first sign of human civilization – another inn.
He knocked on the door to the inn, rousing the innkeeper. “What in the blazes are you doing here at this hour? It’s only just morning, man.” Breathlessly, the merchant related everything he had seen the night before in the strange disappearing inn. “What the hell happened to me last night?” The innkeeper shook his head. “Nothing natural. This part of China is littered with old battlefields and the unburied bones of ancient armies. It’s best to avoid the wild places after dark – the spirits are drawn to these bloody places, and supernatural things happen on them at night.”
And that’s where the story ends. No explanation to who this general was or why he needed to be pulled apart at the end of the night. Was he executed after losing some battle and cut into pieces that had to be reassembled post-mortem? Was he some kind of spirit animating some kind of created body? No clue. Pick your own favorite explanation. But maybe it’s worth finding out where the battlefields in your area are so that you don’t find yourself checking into the Overlook Hotel and ending up in the Shining.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, on Blusky as MythsPodcast, and on Mastodon as MythsYourTeacherHated. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, we’re headed to the snowy north for our annual Holiday Special. You’ll see that you shouldn’t trust a Raven with shiny objects, that old men have always been vain and shallow, and that no darkness lasts forever. Then, in Gods and Monsters, sometimes the obvious heroes are the wrong heroes for the quest. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.