A Scholar Born in Troubled Times

The year 1640 marked the birth of Pu Songling, a man destined to become one of China’s greatest storytellers. His arrival into the world coincided with the twilight years of the Ming Dynasty—a period of famine, rebellion, and political decay. By the time he turned four, the Ming collapsed under the weight of internal strife and external invasions, giving way to the Qing Dynasty.

Pu’s family, though educated, struggled financially. His father, Pu Pan, was a failed examination candidate who turned to petty trade to support his household. Despite his own academic disappointments, Pu Pan instilled in his sons a deep reverence for classical learning. Among them, young Pu Songling stood out—not just for his scholarly aptitude, but for his fascination with “frivolous” literature. While his brothers dutifully memorized Confucian classics, Pu Songling secretly devoured novels like Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Journey to the West, laying the foundation for his future masterwork.

The Rise and Fall of a Prodigy

At just 18, Pu Songling seemed poised for a brilliant bureaucratic career. He aced his county and prefectural exams with top honors, earning widespread acclaim. His crowning achievement came during the provincial-level yuan shi, where he composed an unconventional essay on the Mencius parable The Man with Two Wives. Rather than dry moralizing, Pu crafted a suspenseful narrative from the wife’s perspective—a bold move that captivated the examiner, renowned poet Shi Runzhang.

Shi’s praise—“Reading your work is like moonlight; your brush moves like the wind”—secured Pu’s status as a xiucai (scholar). Yet this early triumph proved deceptive. Over the next five decades, Pu failed the grueling xiang shi (provincial exams) repeatedly. Some historians speculate that Shi’s encouragement led Pu to overestimate the appeal of his narrative flair to conservative examiners. Others attribute his failures to sheer bad luck, including an infamous incident where he skipped a page mid-examination.

The Birth of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio

While grinding through exam cycles, Pu Songling nurtured a secret passion: collecting supernatural tales. Friends like Sun Hui and Zhang Duqing chastised him for wasting talent on “empty gossip,” but Pu persisted. He scribbled stories in between tutoring sessions—his primary income source after an impoverished family partition left him with meager farmland.

Legend claims Pu traded tea for stories at roadside stalls, though scholars like Lu Xun dismissed this as myth, noting Pu’s penury. More plausibly, his tales emerged from a blend of local folklore, literary allusions, and keen social observation. By age 40, Pu found stability as a tutor for the wealthy Bi family, whose vast library nourished his craft. Night after night, by flickering candlelight, he refined what would become Liaozhai Zhiyi (Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio).

Beyond Ghost Stories: The Genius of Liaozhai

Contrary to popular belief, Pu’s 500-story anthology transcends mere fantasy. Through fox spirits and haunted scholars, he critiqued Qing society with unmatched wit. The collection’s brilliance lies in its layered storytelling:

– Satire of the Exam System: Stories like The Examination for the Post of City God and Ye Sheng mirror Pu’s own disillusionment, exposing corruption and the psychological toll of exam culture.
– Feminine Archetypes: From vengeful ghosts (Nie Xiaoqian) to domineering wives (The Shrew), Pu’s female characters defy Confucian passivity, reflecting complex gender dynamics.
– Literary Innovation: Blending classical prose with vernacular dialogue, Pu pioneered a style that influenced generations. As critic Lao She noted: “His ghosts have personalities; his mockery becomes literature.”

Elites like poet Wang Shizhen and minister Gao Heng championed the work, yet Pu remained fixated on official validation. Only at 71 did he receive an honorary gongsheng title—a hollow consolation for decades of striving.

Legacy: How a Failed Scholar Conquered History

Pu Songling died in 1715, unaware that his “frivolous” tales would eclipse the imperial exams he so coveted. Posthumously published, Liaozhai became a cultural phenomenon, inspiring operas, films, and scholarly debate. Today, Pu’s hometown is a pilgrimage site, and his stories remain global touchstones for discussions on bureaucracy, desire, and the supernatural.

The scholar who once lamented “yearly defeats” now gazes from his study’s wall through the couplet:

The determined will prevail—
Like Xiang Yu burning boats to conquer Qin.
Heaven rewards the tenacious—
As Gou Jian endured bitterness to crush Wu.

In the end, Pu Songling’s perseverance did not secure him a mandarin’s robe—but it gifted the world something far more enduring: stories that continue to haunt, delight, and provoke centuries later.