A story based on a Chinese legend by James Kirkup.

I found the subject for my play in a story written more than five hundred years ago by an unknown Chinese author. It is one of the rare examples of early Chinese fiction, and one of the first 'thrillers'.
The action takes place about a thousand years ago. A talented and good-looking youth is sent by his father to the house of a rich nobleman, Lord Tchang, to act as tutor to his sons. The youth, Ming-Y, pleases his employer; and when Ming-Y asks permission to visit his parents, who live in a nearby town, his employer gladly grants his request, and gives him some silver coins with which to buy presents for his parents.
Ming-Y makes the journey on foot one beautiful early-summer day. Walking through a forest, he lies down to sleep. When he wakes up, he sees two strange and beautiful eyes looking at him through the leaves. Startled, he jumps to his feet and begins to run away, but hears his name being called, and sees a servant-girl running after him. She tells him she has been sent by her mistress to give him the silver coins he dropped in his flight. Ming-Y thanks her, and asks how she knew his name. But the maid runs away, and the only answer he gets is the sound of distant laughter from the depths of the forest.
Mystified, he goes on his way. But on his return, at the point where he saw the lovely eyes looking at him, he parts the branches and to his astonishment finds himself looking at an elegant summer residence. On its verandah are the maid and her mistress, who introduces herself to him as Sie-Thao, a widow, related to his employer. She begs him to stay to supper, and they spend the evening together drinking wine and singing songs. Overcome by the wine, the music, and the great beauty of his companion, Ming-Y falls deeply in love with her. But the next morning she warns him that he must tell of their love to no one.
I shall not disclose now just how the story finishes: but I can say that the ending to this very mysterious and passionate affair is a dignified and supremely happy one.
From the very first, I saw this story in a series of vivid pictures. I begin it with a peach stone being dropped into a bowl of water, and opening and flowering. You will see the strange charm of Chinese things -houses, paintings, lanterns, flowers, china, carving and poetry-all intensely visual things. Though the play has a dignified formality it also has much animation that an ordinary theatre could never give us in its static framework. This is where the fascination of television lies-its particular kind of drama can move freely and fluently from one scene to another, from close-up to long-shot, from the general scene to individual detail.
The Peach Garden is a compact and intimate play; but, like much Chinese art, its miniature beauty can give us glimpses into eternity. I hope that its story will look as authentic and charming, and seem as fantastic and homely as a kind of Willow-Pattern plate brought to life.