For many years I believed that Chinese gods and goddesses are not the same kind of deities defined by encyclopedias and religions – they are more humane and folksy, and there is some kind of kinship between us: many of them have real names and birthdays to be celebrated every year; I make a wish they help me I in turn bring offerings to thank them; and there are always some local gods only in charge of the very village where he seats.
They are my ancestors, my neighbors, my teachers and my buddies; they live in the hut around the corner or on top of my stove; they know exactly whether I have been a good girl or the naughty truant.
Then I went to college to study Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels and other revolutionary hierophant’s teachings, and as condiments I read a bunch of mythology, a pinch of religion, and some dip of folklore, all being exotic yet déjà vu at the same time.
So I learnt to compartmentalize my holy deities: those with responsibilities are the gods using western terminology, such as the Jade Emperor in charge of the whole Celestial Empire; those immortals with no particular duty, Liu Ling for wine Li Bai for poetry ; and the saints once walked on the earth turned to demigods, Guan Yu is the red faced bearded hero, Confucius is the confused old grandpa helping to pass exams.
The immortals are either enlightened through spiritual practice or unrepeatable formula of the elixir. The Chinese character 仙 says it all, they are the human (人) living in the mountain (山). Liu Ling the Jin Dynasty drunken general slept for three years after a sip of the brew of the Jade Dragon, Li Bai the Tang Dynasty poet went down to the water to dance with the full moon when composing in a boat, and now they are drinking and chanting in the mountain analogue with white clouds and bright moons and spring flowers and summer breezes…
Today is twenty-third of the twelfth month of the year of Ox, the day the Stove God leaves my kitchen to the heaven to report the activities of our household to the Jade Emperor. The very idea that there is a secret police on the top of the stove doesn’t really bother me much, though occasionally while I am orchestrate in the kitchen for dinner I do wonder whether he approves my curry paste or he prefers an Indian recipe instead of Thai.
Zao Jun the Stove God lived a very Chinese life as Zhang Lang in his mortal life at around second century BCE, so the contemporary of Heliocles I and Cleopatra I. His legacy is no much but married a virtuous woman and divided her for a concubine who in turn abandoned him when the Fung-shui turned, so Zhang Lang reduced to a beggar and finally been rescued by his ex wife when dying of poverty. After recognized his ex and realized his guilt, the ashamed husband jumped into the kitchen hearth and burned himself to death, or to the immortality as the Jade Emperor appointed him to be the Stove God.
Traditionally and theoretically every family have a plaque of the Stove God and his wife above the brick stove (or the microwave, since some of my friends in Shanghai use nothing but the cube box?), so he should be the most popular and worshipped god. Whatever we have said during the year were written down by his wife and today after taking a feast of offering he will return home in heaven to report to the Jade Emperor accordingly.
I always wonder why the secret police is hiding in the kitchen. As per my grandma, the women normally gossip while cooking in the kitchen, so all the dirty secret of the household are revealed around the fireplace. I have another theory though, in ancient time the randy housemaster must know well that the kitchen is where to find his young saucy maid without alerting his wife, and of course being an ex dandy himself, the Stove God knows well where to find the lady-killer.
I still don’t know whether my Stove God is a god – he seems to be too homely, an immortal – he lives in my kitchen instead of the mountain, or a saint – with all these flaws and stealthiness? But I wish him and his wife bon voyage.
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