Chen Gongbao, a native of Fujian residing in Qingzhou Dao, sat alone late one evening when a woman lifted the curtain and entered. She wore long-sleeved palace attire, possessed a strikingly beautiful appearance, and was utterly unknown to him.

The woman laughed lightly, "Sitting alone so late, aren't you lonely, young master?"

Chen Gongbao asked in surprise, "Who might you be, miss?"

The woman replied, "My humble dwelling is not far from here, just in the western suburbs." Chen Gongbao suspected she might be a spirit, yet seeing her elegant demeanor, he felt no fear. He took her hand and invited her to sit. They discussed poetry, and the woman proved to have exceptional talent, effortlessly weaving verses as she spoke. Chen Gongbao was overjoyed. He swiftly pulled her into his embrace and eagerly began to remove her garments.

The woman offered no resistance, smiling as she asked, "Is there anyone else in the room?" As she spoke, she glanced toward the main door.

Understanding her implication, Chen Gongbao hurried to secure the door and windows, declaring, "No one else is here." They retired to the bed and enjoyed their intimacy. The woman seemed shy, murmuring, "I am twenty this year and still a maiden. Please be gentle with me, my lord."

After their union, a crimson stain marked the sheets. Whispering by the pillow, the woman revealed her name: "Lin Siniang."

Chen Gongbao inquired, "Could my lady favor me by telling me of your origins?"

Lin Siniang responded, "My virtue remained intact throughout my life, yet you have now stripped it away. If you truly care for me, then let us stay together forever henceforth. Why press me with endless questions?" As she spoke, the sound of a rooster crowing drifted from outside the window, and the woman rose to take her leave.

From that night onward, Lin Siniang arrived every evening. They would share drinks behind closed doors, occasionally discoursing on music. Siniang was versatile and accomplished, mastering every tune on the zither. When Chen Gongbao asked her to sing, Siniang demurred, "I learned when I was young, but I haven't practiced in ages; I fear my skill has dulled. If I play poorly, I hope the young master will forgive my shortcomings." She took up a seven-stringed zither, strumming its strings while opening her voice. She sang melodies of sorrow and melancholy, tunes evocative of "Yi" and "Liang." When the piece concluded, tears streamed down her face.

Hearing the music deeply touched Chen Gongbao’s heart, and a sense of sorrow overcame him. He consoled her, "My lady, do not sing the dirges of fallen kingdoms anymore; they only add to the sadness."

Siniang replied, "Music springs from the heart. Joy cannot make the sorrowful happy, just as sorrow cannot make the joyful sad." Chen Gongbao nodded and said no more. Their relationship deepened. In time, his family noticed. Chen's mother, observing Siniang's unparalleled beauty, suspected she was no mortal woman—if not a ghost, then surely a demon. She privately urged her son to cease his association with her, but Chen Gongbao paid no heed.

One night, conversing beneath the lamp, Chen Gongbao asked, "Siniang, someone has suggested you are a ghost or a demon. Is this true?"

Siniang replied sadly, "Since matters have come to this pass, I cannot conceal it further. I was once a serving girl in the residence of Prince Heng, and I perished in misfortune at the age of seventeen. Moved by your noble heart, I entrusted my life to you. I swear I harbor not a shred of malice, nor would I ever intend to harm you, my lord. If you feel uneasy about me, then I shall depart this very moment."

Chen Gongbao swore solemnly, "I hold no aversion toward you, my dear. It is only because our bond is so extraordinary that I sought to clarify your background; it was born purely of care and good intention." He then questioned her closely about the past events in the palace. The woman recounted them vividly, her words animated. At points of true sorrow, she choked back her words, unable to continue.

Siniang preferred not to sleep much at night; she enjoyed sitting quietly, chanting Buddhist scriptures such as the Cundi Sutra and the Diamond Sutra. Chen Gongbao asked, "Can spirits also chant sutras and seek repentance?" Siniang answered, "Yes. Throughout my afterlife wandering, I have recited the scriptures devoutly every day, hoping for rebirth into a respectable family in my next life."

The days passed peacefully. They delighted in discussing and appreciating poetry. Whenever she found a flaw in a verse, Siniang would point it out precisely. If she encountered a true masterwork, she would recite it in a melodious voice. Her voice was enchanting and graceful; listening to it was immensely pleasing, making one forget all weariness unintentionally.

Sometimes Chen Gongbao would ask, "Can my lady compose poetry?"

Siniang would answer, "I did so occasionally in the past."

Chen Gongbao smiled, "Compose one for me to see."

Siniang politely declined, "The scribblings of a mere maid should not be presented to an outsider."

They lived together for three years. One evening, Siniang arrived with a sorrowful expression to bid farewell. She said, "The King of the Underworld, recognizing that I committed no sin in life and never ceased my devotional chanting after death, has specifically granted me reincarnation into a noble house. This is our last meeting; we shall not see each other again." Upon finishing, she wept with profound grief.

Chen Gongbao prepared a farewell banquet. They drank the fine wine deeply. Fueled by the alcohol, Siniang sang with bold emotion. Her voice was mournful and flowing, turning each note a hundred times. When the song reached its most poignant point, she sobbed and choked, causing the music to halt and resume several times.

When the song ended, Siniang stood, hesitating, ready to depart. Chen Gongbao tried desperately to persuade her to stay. Siniang reluctantly sat for a few moments longer. Hearing the rooster crowing outside the window, she announced, "I cannot delay any further. My lord often faulted me for refusing to display my talents. Now that we part forever, I shall write a poem for you as a keepsake." She picked up a brush, pondered, and swiftly wrote several lines. She said, "My heart is heavy and my mind is scattered; I had no time to refine the words and phrases. If the writing is poor, I ask for your understanding." She covered her face with her sleeve and left.

Chen Gongbao escorted her to the door, but Lin Siniang vanished like mist, fading utterly away.

Chen Gongbao felt a profound sense of loss. He picked up the poem and examined it. The calligraphy was delicate and beautiful, so he treasured it deeply, tucking it into his robe. The poem read:

"Seventeen years locked in the deep palace quiet, Who shall ask the blue heavens of my former state? Idly watching palace gates seal the towering trees, Weeping as I watch my sovereign become a cuckoo. Waves of the sea country catch the slanted evening sun, The solemn drums of the Han dynasty are hushed from war. A delicate beauty’s weak strength cannot impose command, Benevolent spirit, sorrowful heart, only questioning Zen. Daily reciting the Bodhi mantra a thousand times, Leisurely reviewing a few pages of palm leaf scripture. Singing the pear garden songs instead of wails, I ask you to listen alone, and feel the tears well."