Zeng Juren of Fujian, upon achieving the jinshi degree, went for an outing with two or three close friends who had passed the examination in the same year. Hearing tell of a Pilu Chan Monastery nearby, where a fortune-teller resided, they rode over to seek divination.

Once seated in the temple, the fortune-teller saw Zeng’s vibrant and confident air and immediately offered obsequious flattery. Zeng smiled, fanning himself lightly, and inquired, "Do I possess the destiny to wear the python robe and gird the jade belt?" The fortune-teller, adopting a serious mien, declared, "My young master will serve as a Grand Councillor for twenty years in an era of great peace." Zeng was overjoyed, growing even more arrogant. A sudden drizzle began, and Zeng and his companions took refuge in a monk's chamber to wait it out. Inside sat an old monk, with deep-set eyes and a high nose, perched on a prayer cushion. When they met eyes, the monk’s demeanor was cold, and he offered no greeting.

The group bowed in salutation, then sat upon the beds to chat idly. His friends began addressing Zeng as 'Prime Minister,' congratulating him in advance. Zeng, high-spirited, pointed to a companion and declared, "Brother Zhang, when I am Prime Minister, I shall certainly recommend you as Governor. My own relatives, regardless of rank, shall all be elevated to Brigadier General or Colonel; as for my old house servant, a mere Battalion Commander position would satisfy me." The entire room erupted in laughter.

Presently, the rain outside poured down like a deluge. Weariness overcame Zeng, and he lay down to sleep. Suddenly, two imperial envoys appeared, holding an imperial edict from the Son of Heaven, summoning Grand Tutor Zeng to discuss matters of state. Puffed up with pride, Zeng hastened to the court. The Emperor greeted him with gentle concern, decreeing that officials below the third rank would be subject to his promotion or demotion, and bestowed upon him the python robe, jade belt, and a fine steed. Clad in his new attire, Zeng knelt to express his gratitude. Upon returning home, he found his residence magnificent—carved beams and painted rafters towering grandly—a stark contrast to his former dwelling. Zeng was filled with confusion: how had he achieved such prosperity? Yet, with a stroke of his beard and a sharp call, servants rushed to obey his every command.

Soon after, ministers and high officials began arriving to pay court, bringing gifts and fawning deference in an endless stream. When the Six Ministers of the Board arrived, Zeng met them backwardly, standing on his head to greet them; when Vice Ministers appeared, they offered bows; those below that rank received merely a slight nod. The Governor of Shanxi presented ten musical courtesans, all young and exquisitely beautiful. Among them, Niaoniao and Xianxian were particularly striking and became his favored companions. In his leisure, Zeng indulged in wine and pleasure, utterly carefree.

One day, recalling when he was not yet prominent, he remembered how the local gentry member, Wang Ziliang, had often aided him. Now that he himself stood atop the azure firmament, why was Brother Wang still struggling in his official career, despondent and unfulfilled? Thinking this, he immediately drafted a memorial petitioning the throne, recommending Wang Ziliang for the position of Censor-in-Chief. The imperial decree was approved, and the appointment took effect immediately. He then recalled his past feud with Guo Taipu; thus, he secretly instructed his subordinates, Lyu Geijian and Chen Chang, on what to do. The next day in court, a continuous barrage of impeachment memorials against Guo Taipu descended upon the Emperor, who ordered Guo stripped of his office and demoted to commoner status.

With grievances settled, Zeng felt immense satisfaction. One day, during an inspection tour, his elaborate retinue was jostled by a drunken man. Zeng flew into a rage and had the man immediately dragged to the Kyoto yamen and beaten to death with clubs. The wealthy landlords and affluent men of the capital, who owned thousands of acres of prime land, trembled before Zeng’s power and began surrendering fields and properties, suffering every manner of oppression.

Through clever acquisition and outright seizure, Zeng soon rivaled the state in wealth. Before long, Niaoniao and Xianxian both passed away. Zeng’s grief was inconsolable; he mourned them day and night. Suddenly, he remembered the exquisite beauty of the maiden from his former landlord's household. He had often yearned to take her as a concubine, but his poverty had forced him to abandon that ambition. Now, he could finally realize his desire. He dispatched several servants with money and gifts to forcibly marry the maiden. Shortly after, the bridal sedan chair arrived; the bride was breathtakingly lovely, even surpassing her former beauty. Recalling his life, his every wish fulfilled, he felt no further regret. A year later, ministers in court began murmuring, seemingly criticizing him, but Zeng, secure in his exalted position, paid them no mind.

Soon after, Bao Gong, the Grand Scholar of the Dragon Diagram Pavilion, submitted a memorial impeaching the Prime Minister, the contents of which summarized thus: "Grand Tutor Zeng was originally a mere scoundrel from the marketplace. A single agreeable word to the ruler led to immense favor; his father elevated, his sons ennobled, the imperial benevolence excessive. Instead of striving to serve the nation, he has behaved tyrannically, his sins towering to the heavens, innumerable to count. He sold official posts and titles, lining his own pockets. High officials and generals all became his hangers-on, scrambling for advantage like mere market peddlers. Countless individuals bowed in deference, relying solely on Zeng’s favor. If any upright scholar or worthy minister refused to attach themselves, the lightest penalty was relegation to a sinecure; the heavier, dismissal and return to the fields. Worse yet, Zeng manipulated truth, turning deer into horses, monopolizing the imperial court. Whoever dared defy him faced immediate reprisal, often being exiled to the frontiers without question. The court officials are disheartened; the imperial structure grows isolated. The people’s substance and cream have been devoured, and virtuous women forcibly taken. Public resentment boils over; darkness pervades. The moment a household servant arrives, the prefect’s face changes color, the county magistrate flatters; where a letter travels, the Judicial Commissioner bends the law, and the Censorate perverts justice. Even his adopted sons and sworn brothers, any relative by connection, travel in carriages that move with the thunder of their entourage. If local provisions lag even slightly, they face immediate flogging and beating. He torments the populace and enslaves the government; wherever his escort passes, the grass dies. Zeng, currently holding such high rank, shows no remorse, continuing to slander the worthy and indulge in sensual pleasures by day and night, utterly disregarding the state’s welfare. Can such a man truly be a Prime Minister? Indeed, the wrath of the masses is not to be trifled with. If this treacherous minister is not executed, it is bound to bring about the calamity of Cao and Mang. Your humble servant risks death to implore the court, seeking only the head of this treacherous official and the confiscation of his property, to placate the wrath of Heaven above and soothe the hearts of the people below. Your servant speaks from the heart; should a single word be false, I welcome execution by rack and dismemberment, ten thousand deaths notwithstanding."

When the memorial reached him, Zeng’s soul fled in terror, feeling as if he had drunk ice water. Fortunately, the Emperor was lenient and withheld the reading of the petition. Subsequently, officials from every department and every circuit, along with the Nine Ministers, flooded the throne with further petitions; even his own students and adopted sons turned against him, stabbing him in the back. An imperial edict was issued to confiscate his property, and Zeng was exiled to Yunnan for military service. His son, the Prefect of Pingyang, was also seized and brought to the capital for interrogation.

Hearing the decree, Zeng was struck with dread. Dozens of armed guards, blades drawn, stormed his sleeping quarters, stripping him of his official attire and binding him alongside his wife. Soon, porters swarmed the courtyard, hauling away gold and silver currency numbering in the millions, and pearls, emeralds, agate, and jade exceeding a hundred baskets. Curtains, beds, tables, chairs, and porcelain numbered in the thousands. Even the infant’s swaddling clothes and women's embroidered shoes lay scattered upon the ground. Zeng witnessed it all, the sight piercing his heart with agony. A warrior suddenly dragged the landlord’s daughter out; the beauty’s hair was disheveled, her delicate features pale, crying softly. Zeng saw this, and rage burned in his chest, yet he dared not speak.

Soon after, the garrets and storerooms were sealed one by one. The guards shouted curses, ordering Zeng out. The supervising runners looped ropes around his neck and dragged him from the mansion like a dog being led. Husband and wife swallowed their shame and begged for a humble horse and cart to transport them, but they were refused. After walking ten li, his wife’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground. Zeng supported her by the hand. After another ten li, he too became utterly exhausted.

Before them loomed a high mountain that seemed to pierce the heavens. Zeng worried they could not climb it, and he and his wife wept facing each other. The supervising runners, their faces grim, allowed no rest. The sun was setting in the sky, and with no inn in sight, Zeng had no choice but to trudge up the slope. Halfway up the mountain, his wife, completely spent, sat down and cried. Zeng paused to catch his breath, but the runners cursed him loudly, urging him onward.

Suddenly, a clamor erupted; hundreds of bandits, each wielding a sharp weapon, rushed forward as one. The runners’ faces changed drastically, and they fled in terror. Zeng knelt on the ground, pleading, "Good sirs, have mercy! I am being exiled, stripped of all possessions; please spare me." The bandits grinned savagely, cursing, "Old villain, we are all wronged souls ruined by you! We only want the head of the treacherous official, nothing more." Zeng roared back, "Though I am a convicted criminal, I was still an official of the court. Do you dare kill me? Have you lost your lives?"

The bandits became enraged. Swinging a massive axe, they struck but once. Zeng’s head fell to the ground. Before his shock had subsided, two minor devils appeared, twisting his arms behind his back, and hurried him off to the Underworld. After a brief period, they reached a grand city. Zeng looked up and saw a King of Hell seated upon a palace, his face hideous. Zeng prostrated himself on the ground, afraid to move. The King consulted the scrolls, read only a few lines, and immediately erupted in fury, declaring, "This is the crime of deceiving the sovereign and misleading the state. By law, you deserve the oil cauldron!"

The myriad ghosts echoed this in a sound like thunder. A giant demon stepped forward, seized Zeng, and flung him down the steps. Before him stood a massive tripod cauldron, seven chi high, surrounded by glowing red coals, intensely hot, its feet glowing red-hot, radiating waves of searing heat. Zeng shivered and wailed, with no escape in sight. The giant demon grasped Zeng by the hair with its left hand and his foot with its right, tossing him into the oil cauldron.

Zeng bobbed and sank in the boiling oil, his skin scorching, the pain tearing at his soul; he prayed only for a swift death as the oil seared his viscera. After the time it takes to eat one meal, the giant demon used an iron fork to spear Zeng out and throw him before the main court. The King of Hell examined the scrolls again, roaring, "Abusing power to bully others! By law, you belong on the Mountain of Blades!" The demon seized Zeng again and carried him to a small, confined mountain. The cliffs were sheer, and sharp blades crisscrossed the peak like dense bamboo shoots. Several criminals already on the mountain were being tortured, sharp knives piercing their intestines, long swords stabbing their bellies, their cries of agony piercing and desolate.

The demon urged Zeng to climb, but Zeng wept and shook his head, recoiling in the face of execution. The demon jabbed his brain with a poisoned awl. Zeng begged for mercy through his pain, but the demon roared in anger, seizing Zeng and throwing him forcefully. Zeng felt as if he were flying through the clouds, his head spinning. Suddenly, his body plunged downward, a sharp blade piercing his chest, the agony beyond description. Moments later, Zeng’s body grew heavy, pressing downward, the wound slowly widening until he crashed to the ground, miraculously saved from the blades, but his limbs were curled, and his consciousness was gone.

The demon dragged him before the King of Hell, who stated coldly, "This wretch sold offices and broke the law while alive, seized land and acted unjustly—his crimes are unforgivable. Guards, calculate precisely how much silver and gold this fellow embezzled." His subordinates reported, "Three million, two hundred and one thousand liang." The King replied, "Very well. He must drink every last coin he stole."

In moments, the ghost soldiers brought forth coins piled on the steps like hills. In the great hall, an iron cauldron was set up, a fierce fire stoked beneath it, melting the silver ingots and copper plates. Soon, the entire cauldron was filled with molten iron runoff. The ghost soldiers used ladles to scoop the molten metal and force it down Zeng’s throat, spoonful by spoonful. His skin cracked and peeled, emitting a foul stench; his internal organs boiled, an unbearable agony. Zeng regretted his past intensely; in life, he had wished for endless silver, but now he desperately wished for less, even a fraction less.

After half a day of continuous pouring, the molten metal was finally consumed. The King of Hell commanded his subordinates, "Escort this wretch to Ganzhou and reincarnate him as a female." Walking a few steps, Zeng saw an iron bar, several chi thick, upon which was mounted a fiery wheel hundreds of li in diameter, radiating multicolored light. The ghost soldiers whipped Zeng, forcing him onto the wheel. Zeng closed his eyes and trod upon the surface; the wheel spun, and his body plummeted downward, the sound of the wind whistling past his ears.

When he opened his eyes again, he was a female infant. His parents were ragged, wearing straw sandals; they owned a single earthen hut with only wooden ladles and bamboo sticks inside. Zeng understood with a jolt: he had been reborn as the child of beggars. For the rest of his subsequent life, Zeng begged on the streets daily, his stomach constantly empty, his thin clothes offering no defense against the bone-chilling wind. At the age of fourteen, Zeng was sold as a concubine to a scholar. The scholar’s first wife was vicious and beat him daily, even scorching his chest with a branding iron; his suffering was unspeakable, relieved only slightly by the scholar’s occasional affection.

The landlord’s dissolute young master coveted Zeng’s beauty. One day, he scaled the wall and forced his way into the room, demanding illicit intimacy. Zeng reflected on the immense sins of his past life and the severe punishments meted out by the Underworld; he dared not sin further. He cried out loudly, and the scholar and his wife rushed to save him. The young master finally departed, seething with hatred.

Not long after their marriage, while sleeping beside the scholar one night, sharing their hardships, there was a sudden, deafening crash. The door was kicked open, and two ruffians armed with knives burst in. They hacked off the scholar’s head, ransacked the valuables, and looted everything. Zeng hid under the covers, too terrified to move. Once the thieves left, Zeng cried out for the primary wife. She rushed in, saw the scene, and was struck dumb with horror. Suspecting Zeng had conspired with a lover to murder her husband, she immediately brought the case to the magistrate. The prefect subjected Zeng to severe torture, quickly concluding the case and issuing the final judgment: Zeng was guilty of murdering her husband and, by law, was to be executed by slow slicing, the sentence to be carried out immediately.

Zeng, full of grievances, felt that even the bottom of the Nine Hells, the Eighteenth Layer of Hell, could not compare to this darkness. As he was weeping bitterly, he suddenly heard a companion’s voice call out, "Brother Zeng, wake up! Are you having a nightmare?" Zeng started violently and sat up. He saw the old monk sitting cross-legged, and all his companions were complaining, "It’s late, and we're starving; why did you sleep so soundly?" Zeng could only look on miserably, unsure how to respond.

The old monk chuckled, "The fortune-teller said you would become a Prime Minister. Has his prediction come true?" Zeng was even more astonished. He bowed deeply, requesting instruction on Buddhist principles. The old monk said, "Practice benevolence and virtue, and lotuses can bloom in a pit of fire. I have said all I can, esteemed guest. Go as you will." Zeng seemed to grasp something, then departed with a melancholic expression. From that day forward, he grew indifferent to official life, retreated to the deep mountains, and his whereabouts became unknown.