"With the king's own limbs," said Lord Ching. And he canceled the punishment. Instead he gave orders to have the groom condemned to death by due process.

"In that case," said Yen Tzu, "the man will die ignorant of his crimes. Shall I spell them out for him, my lord, so that he may know them before he is executed?"

"Very well," said Lord Ching.

Yen Tzu told the groom, "You have committed three crimes. You were a.s.signed to care for the horse, and you let it die instead. That's one crime you deserve death for. Second, the horse was his lordship's favorite. That's the second reason you deserve to die. And third, you earned your fate by causing his lordship to put a man to death for the sake of a mere horse. For when the people learn of it, they will resent our lord. And when the other feudal lords learn of it, they will despise our state. So by killing his lordship's horse, you create ill feeling among the people and weaken our state in the eyes of its neighbors. Now you stand condemned to death!"

Lord Ching sighed deeply. "Set the groom free, sir, set the groom free," he cried, "lest my humanity be diminished."

-Yen Tzu Ch'un Ch'iu The Chain The king of Wu wanted to attack the state of Ching. He told his advisers so, adding, "Whoever dares to criticize me dies." One of the king's followers had a young son who wanted to object but was afraid to. He took a pellet and a sling and went rambling in the gardens behind the palace until the dew had soaked his clothes. For three days he continued this threshing through the shrubbery. At last the king of Wu noticed him and asked, "What's the point of getting yourself sopping wet?"

"In the garden there's a tree," answered the young man, "and perched on the tree is a cicada singing sadly, sipping the dew, unaware of the praying mantis behind him. Crouching, twisting, the mantis is trying to grab the cicada, unaware that behind it is an oriole stretching its neck to swallow the mantis. Nor does the oriole reaching out to peck know that there is a slingshot below aimed at him. All three, intent on what is in front, do not notice the danger behind."

"Well spoken," said the king of Wu. And he called off the attack on Ching.

-Liu Hsiang Hearsay Lieh Tzu was poor, and he looked terribly underfed. Someone mentioned it to the prime minister, Cheng Tzu-yang: "Lieh Tzu is a widely known scholar of the Tao. If he suffers poverty while living in your lordship's state, might not your lordship be thought hostile to scholars?"

Tzu-yang lost no time in sending an official to Lieh Tzu with a gift of food. Lieh Tzu came forth to receive the minister's messenger and bowed deeply, but he declined the gift. The messenger left. Lieh Tzu went back inside his home, where his wife smote her breast and stared at her husband in despair.

"Your humble wife always thought that the families of men of the Tao would gain ease and pleasure," she said. "Now in our direst need the prime minister sends someone to honor us with a gift of food-and you refuse it! Such is my fate!"

Lieh Tzu smiled and said to his wife, "The prime minister does not know of me for himself. He sent us food on the say-so of a third party. Should the time come to condemn me, it's all too likely to happen also on the say-so of a third party. That's the reason I refused his gift."

Eventually the common people overthrew Tzu-yang.

-Lieh Tzu Dreams The head of the Yin clan in the state of Chou had vast holdings, and his servants worked without rest from dawn until dark. There was one aged servingman whose muscles were sapped of all strength, but the head of the clan only drove him all the harder. The old man groaned as he faced his tasks each day. At night he slept soundly, insensible from fatigue, his vital spirits at ebb. And each night he dreamed that he was king of the realm, presiding over all the people, taking full command of the affairs of state. He feasted carefree in the palace, and every wish was gratified. His pleasure was boundless. But every morning he awoke and went back to work.

To those who tried to comfort him for the harshness of his lot, the old man would say, "Man lives a hundred years, half in days, half in nights. By day I am a common servant, and the pains of my life are as they are. But by night I am lord over men, and there is no greater satisfaction. What have I to resent?"

The mind of the clan head was occupied with worldly affairs; his attention was absorbed by his estate. Worn out in mind and body, he too was insensible with fatigue when he slept. But night after night he dreamed he was a servant, rushing and running to perform his tasks. For this he was rebuked and scolded or beaten with a stick, and he took whatever he got. He mumbled and moaned in his sleep and quieted down only with dawn's approach.

The head of the clan took his problem to a friend, who said, "Your position gives you far more wealth and honor than other men have. Your dream that you are a servant is nothing more than the cycle of comfort and hardship; this has ever been the norm of human fortune. How could you have both your dream and your waking life the same?"

The head of the clan reflected on his friend's opinion and eased the work of his servants. He also reduced his own worries, thus giving himself some relief from his dreams.

-Lieh Tzu The Mortal Lord The patriarch Ching of the land of Ch'i was with his companions on Mount Ox. As he looked northward out over his capital, tears rose in his eyes. "Such a splendid land," he said, "swarming, burgeoning; if only I didn't have to die and leave it as the waters pa.s.s! What if from the eldest times there were no death: would I ever have to leave here?"

His companions joined him in weeping. "Even for the simple fare we eat," they said, "for the nag and plank wagon we have to ride, we depend upon our lord's generosity. If we have no wish to die, how much less must our lord."

Yen Tzu was the only one smiling, somewhat apart. The patriarch wiped away his tears and looked hard at Yen Tzu. "These two who weep with me share the sadness I feel on today's venture," said the patriarch. "Why do you alone smile, sir?"

"What if the worthiest ruled forever?" asked Yen Tzu. "Then T'ai or Huan would be patriarch forever. What if the bravest? Then Chuang or Ling would be patriarch forever. With such as those in power, my lord, you would now be in the rice fields, wearing a straw cape and bamboo hat, careworn from digging, with no time to brood over death. And then, my lord, how could you have reached the position you now hold? It was through the succession of your predecessors, who held and vacated the throne each in his turn, that you came to be lord over this land. For you alone to lament this is selfish. Seeing a selfish lord and his fawning, flattering subjects, I presumed to smile."

The patriarch was embarra.s.sed, raised his flagon, and penalized his companions two drafts of wine apiece.

-Lieh Tzu One Word Solves a Mystery A member of the older generation told me this story about a shrewd magistrate in a certain county early in the dynasty.

A local merchant was about to go on a selling trip. After loading his boat, he waited on it for his servant. Time pa.s.sed, but the servant did not appear. Meanwhile it occurred to the boatman that it would be easy enough in this deserted spot to do away with the merchant and steal the goods. The boatman swiftly forced the merchant into the water and drowned him. Then the murderer took the goods to his own home, after which he presented himself at the house of the merchant. He knocked on the gate and asked why the master still had not come down to the boat. The merchant's wife sent servants to look for her husband, but they saw no trace of him. She questioned the merchant's own servant, who said that he had arrived late at the boat only to find his master gone.

The family reported the matter to the local constable, who in turn informed the county officials, who then interrogated the boatman and the neighbors but uncovered no evidence. The investigation went through several levels of the bureaucracy without being settled.

When the case reached the magistrate, he sent everyone out of the room except the merchant's wife. He asked for an exact description of events at the time when the boatman first came to inquire about the merchant. "My husband had been gone a good while," said the wife, "when the boatman knocked at the gate. Before I opened it, he suddenly cried out, 'Mistress, why hasn't the master come down yet? It's been so long.' That's all he said."

The magistrate sent the woman out and called for the boatman, who made a statement that agreed with the wife's. "That's it, then," said the magistrate with a smile. "The merchant has been killed, and you are the killer! You have confessed."

"What confession?" the boatman protested loudly.

"When you knocked at the merchant's house, you addressed his wife, not him. You did not see who was behind the gate, yet you were sure he was not at home. How else could you have known this?"

The astonished boatman confessed and was convicted.

-Chu Yun-ming A Wise Judge Early one morning, a grocer on his way to market to buy vegetables was surprised to find a sheaf of paper money on the ground. It was still dark, and the dealer tucked himself out of the way and waited for daylight so he could examine the money he had picked up. He counted fifteen notes worth five ounces of silver and five notes worth a string of one thousand copper coins each. Out of this grand sum he took a note, bought two strings' worth of meat and three strings' worth of hulled rice, and placed his purchases in the baskets that hung from his shoulder pole. Then he went home without buying the vegetables he had set out to buy.

When his mother asked why he had no vegetables, he replied, "I found this money early in the morning on my way to market. So I bought some meat and hulled rice and came home."

"What are you trying to put over on me?" his mother asked angrily. "If it were lost money, it couldn't be more than a note or two. How could anyone lose a whole sheaf? It's not stolen, is it? If you really found it on the ground, you should take it back."

When the son refused to follow his mother's advice, she threatened to report the matter to the officials. At that he said, "And to whom shall I return something I found on the road?"

"Go back to the place where you found the money," said his mother, "and see if the owner comes looking for it. Then you can return it to him." She added, "All our lives we've been poor. Now you've bought all this meat and rice; such sudden gains are sure to lead to misfortune."

The vegetable dealer took the notes back to where he had found them. Sure enough, someone came looking for the money. The dealer, who was a simple country fellow, never thought to ask how much money had been lost. "Here's your money," he said and handed it over. Bystanders urged the owner to reward the finder, but the owner was such a miser that he refused, saying, "I lost thirty notes. Half the money is still missing."

With such a large difference between the amounts claimed, the argument went on and on until it was brought to court for a hearing. The county magistrate, Nieh Yi-tao, grilled the vegetable dealer and saw that his answers were basically truthful. He sent secretly for the mother, questioned her closely, and found that her answers agreed with her son's. Next he had the two disputing parties submit written statements to the court. The man who had lost money swore that he was missing thirty five-ounce bills. The vegetable dealer swore that he had found fifteen five-ounce bills.

"All right, then," said Nieh Yi-tao, "the money found is not this man's money. These fifteen bills are heaven's gift to a worthy mother to sustain her in old age." He handed the money to mother and son and told them to leave. Then he said to the man who had lost his money, "The thirty bills you lost must be in some other place. Look for them yourself." Nieh Yi-tao dismissed him with a good scolding, to the outspoken approval of all who heard it.

-Yang Yu A Clever Judge In the days when Ch'en Shu-ku was a magistrate in Chienchou, there was a man who had lost an article of some value. A number of people were arrested, but no one could discover exactly who the thief was. So Shu-ku laid a trap for the suspects. "I know of a temple," he told them, "whose bell can tell a thief from an honest man. It has great spiritual powers."

The magistrate had the bell fetched and reverently enshrined in a rear chamber. Then he had the suspects brought before the bell to stand and testify to their guilt or innocence. He explained to them that if an innocent man touched the bell it would remain silent, but that if the man was guilty it would ring out.

Then the magistrate led his staff in solemn worship to the bell. The sacrifices concluded, he had the bell placed behind a curtain, while one of his a.s.sistants secretly smeared it with ink. After a time he took the suspects to the bell and had each one in turn extend his hands through the curtain and touch the bell. As each man withdrew his hands, Shu-ku examined them. Everyone's hands were stained except for those of one man, who confessed to the theft under questioning. He had not dared touch the bell for fear it would ring.

-Chang Shih-nan A Fine Phoenix A man of Ch'u was carrying a pheasant in a cage over his shoulder. A traveler on the road said to him, "What kind of bird is that?"

"A phoenix," replied the man of Ch'u to fool the traveler.

"I've heard of such a creature, and today I'm actually seeing one! Are you selling it?"

"Yes."

The man of Ch'u declined a thousand pieces of silver for the bird, but finally accepted when the offer reached two thousand. The buyer was intending to present the bird to the king of Ch'u, but it died during the night. Although he was not too distressed over the wasted money, he keenly regretted the loss of the king's gift.

The particulars of this story became known in the state of Ch'u. It was generally a.s.sumed that the bird was a real phoenix and therefore priceless. At last the king himself learned of the intended present and was so moved that he summoned the man and rewarded him with ten times the cost of the pheasant.

-Han-tan Shun Sun Tribute "All it takes to kill a peasant is to keep him idle." So goes the proverb. Out early in the morning, home late at night-the peasant regards this as a normal life. Beans and leaves, he thinks, make a perfect meal. His skin and flesh are coa.r.s.e and tough. His muscles and joints flex quickly. But put him down one day amid soft furs and silken curtains, give him fine meats and fragrant oranges, and you will see how his mind softens and his body grows restless as he suffers from fever. If a prince were to trade places with him, the prince would be exhausted in a couple of hours. Thus there is nothing better in the world than what contents and delights the peasant!

In olden days in the state of Sung, a peasant was wearing a hemp-padded garment that had barely gotten him through the winter. With the coming of spring and the toil of plowing, the man bared his back and let the sun warm his body. Unaware that there were such things in the world as grand mansions and heated rooms, cotton padding and fox fur, he turned to his wife and said, "I feel the warmth of the sun on my back, but no one knows about this great luxury. As tribute I'm going to take it to our lord, and he will give me a rich reward."

-Lieh Tzu AN UNOFFICIAL HISTORY OF THE CONFUCIAN ACADEMY.

This tale is taken from Wu Ching-tzu's Ju Lin Wai Shih (The Scholars), a novel written in the second quarter of the eighteenth century. Wu's book, of which this story is the first chapter, is a satire on the manners and morals of the scholar officials under the Manchu (Ch'ing) Dynasty, 1644-1911.

Toward the end of the Mongol reign* there came into the world a man of towering integrity, yet frank and plain. His name? w.a.n.g Mien. His home? A village in Chuchi county in the province of Chekiang. w.a.n.g Mien's father died when he was seven, and his mother took in sewing so that the boy could study at the village school. Some three years went by this way. Then w.a.n.g Mien was ten.

w.a.n.g Mien's mother called him to her. "My dear son," she said, "I would never want to hold you back, but since Father died and left me a widow all alone, the money has been going out but not coming in. Times are hard, what with rice and kindling so dear. I have p.a.w.ned or sold whatever I could of our old clothes and household goods. How can I keep you in school, when all we have is what I sc.r.a.pe together sewing for people? What can I do, then, but let you go to work grazing our neighbor's buffalo to make a bit of money each month? You'll get meals too, but you must go tomorrow."

"I think you're right, mother," said w.a.n.g Mien. "I was getting bored sitting in school anyway. I'd rather go and tend the buffalo; it might be a little more fun. If I want to study, I can take a few books along, the way I always do." So things were settled that very night.

Next day w.a.n.g Mien's mother went with him to their neighbors, the Ch'in family. Old Ch'in had them stay for breakfast and then led out a water buffalo, which he turned over to w.a.n.g Mien. The farmer pointed beyond his gate and said, "Just a couple of bowshots from here you'll find Seven Lakes. Along the lake runs a stretch of green gra.s.s where the buffalo of all the families doze. There are dozens of good-sized willows that give plenty of shade. When the buffalo get thirsty, they can drink at the lakeside. Enjoy yourself there, young fellow; no need to go far. And you'll never get less than two meals a day, plus the bit of cash I can spare you. But you must work hard. I hope my offer isn't disappointing."

After making her apologies, w.a.n.g Mien's mother turned to go, and her son escorted her out the gate. Giving his clothes a last straightening, she said, "You must be very careful here. Don't give anyone cause to find fault with you. Go out at daybreak and get home by nightfall, and spare me any worry." w.a.n.g Mien said he understood, and his mother left, holding back her tears.

From that time w.a.n.g Mien spent his days tending the Ch'in family's buffalo. At dusk he would return to his own home for the night. There were times when the Ch'ins offered him a little salted fish or preserved meat, and without fail he would wrap it in a lotus leaf and take it home to his mother. As for the few coppers he was given for snacks, he always saved them up for a month or two. Then he would steal a free moment to go to the village school and buy a few books from the bookseller there. Every day after tethering the buffalo, he would sit and read beneath the willows.

Another three or four years sped by. w.a.n.g Mien kept studying and began to see the real meaning of what he read. On one of the hottest days of midsummer when the weather was unbearable, w.a.n.g Mien was idling on the gra.s.s, tired out from tending the buffalo. Suddenly dense clouds spread across the sky. A storm came and went. Then the dark clouds fringed with white began to break, letting through a stream of sunshine that set the whole lake aglow. The hills above the lake were ma.s.ses of green, blue, and purple; the trees, freshly bathed, showed their loveliest green. In the lake itself, clear water dripped from dozens of lotus buds, and beads like pearls rolled back and forth over the lotus leaves.

w.a.n.g Mien took in the scene. "Men of olden times said that man is in the picture," he thought. "How true! If only we had a painter with us to do a few branches of these lotuses-how fascinating it would be!" At the same time it occurred to w.a.n.g Mien: "There's nothing in the world that can't be mastered. Why not paint a few myself!"

While entertaining these daydreams, what did w.a.n.g Mien see in the distance but a clumsy porter shouldering a load of food suspended from a pole and carrying a jug of wine in his hand. A mat was draped over the packages of food. When he arrived under the willows, he spread the mat and opened up the packages. From the same direction three men were approaching who wore scholars' mortarboards on their heads. One of them was dressed in the sapphire-blue robe of a degree holder, the other two simply in dark robes. All three appeared to be forty or fifty years old. They advanced with leisurely step, fanning themselves with white paper fans.

The one in blue was a fat man. When he arrived beneath the willows he showed one of his companions, who had a beard, to the place of honor and the other, a skinny man, to a place opposite. The fat man must have been the host, for he took the lowest seat and poured the wine. After they had spent some time eating, the fat man opened his mouth to speak: "Old Master Wei is back! He just bought a new house. It's even bigger than the one he had in the capital and cost two thousand taels of silver! Because Master Wei was the buyer, the owner lowered the price a few dozen taels for the sake of the prestige that would rub off on him. Master Wei moved into the house early last month. Their Honors, the governor and the county magistrate, came personally to his door to offer their congratulations and were entertained there until well into the night. The whole city holds him in the highest regard."

"His Honor the county magistrate," said the skinny man, "won his penultimate degree in the triennial examination. Master Wei was his examiner, hence his patron. So it was only to be expected that he would come to congratulate his patron."

"My brother-in-law," said the fat man, "is also Master Wei's protege. Now he's a county magistrate in Honan province. Day before yesterday my son-in-law brought over a few pounds of dried venison. (There it is on the plate.) When he returns, I'm going to have him ask my brother-in-law to write a letter to introduce me to Master Wei. If Master Wei honors us with a return visit, our fields will be saved from the pigs and donkeys that our local farmers let loose to eat their fill."

"Old Master Wei's a true scholar!" said the skinny man.

"They say that when he left the capital a few days ago," added the bearded man, "the emperor himself saw him out to the city wall, and then they walked about a dozen steps hand in hand. Master Wei had to bow down again and again declining the honor, before His Majesty returned to his sedan-chair. The way things look, Master Wei should soon be in office." Thus the conversation went back and forth, never reaching an end. w.a.n.g Mien, however, saw that evening was approaching, so he hauled his charge home.

Now w.a.n.g Mien no longer put the money he saved into books. Instead he had someone buy him some pigments and white lead powder so that he could learn to paint the lotus. His first efforts were not especially good, but after a few months he could make a perfect likeness of the blossom both in outward appearance and essential quality. Had it not been for the sheet of paper they were on, his lotuses could be growing in the lake! Some local people who saw how well he painted even paid money for his work, and with it w.a.n.g bought a few treats for his mother.

Word spread until the whole county of Chuchi knew that there was among them a master of brushwork in the "boneless" or soft-shape style of flower painting. People began competing to buy the paintings. When w.a.n.g Mien reached the age of seventeen or eighteen, he was no longer working for the Ch'in family. Every day he would make a few sketches or study the ancient poets. As time went by he did not have to worry about food or clothing, and his mother was happy as could be.

w.a.n.g Mien was so gifted that before he was twenty he had mastered such fields of knowledge as astronomy, geography, the cla.s.sics, and the historical texts. But he was unusual in that he sought neither office nor friends; he remained secluded with his studies. When he saw ill.u.s.trations of Ch'u Yuan's* costume in an edition of Ch'u's great poem "Li Sao," w.a.n.g Mien fitted himself out with the same kind of tall tablet-like hat and billowing robe.

When the season of fair days arrived, he set his mother in a bullock cart, garbed himself after his newest fashion, and with a whip in his hand and a song on his lips, traveled around wherever it pleased him-to the neighboring villages and towns or down to the lakeside. His jaunts excited the laughter of the village children, who tagged after him in little groups. w.a.n.g Mien did not care. Only Old Ch'in, his neighbor, loved and respected him, for though the old man was a farmer, he had a mind of his own and had seen w.a.n.g Mien grow from youth to cultivated maturity. Time and again the two enjoyed the warmest companionship when he invited w.a.n.g Mien to his cottage.

One day when w.a.n.g Mien was visiting with Old Ch'in, what did they see outside but a man coming toward them-a man wearing the conelike cap and black cotton of a lowly officer. Old Ch'in welcomed the visitor, and after mutual courtesies the two men sat down. The visitor's surname was Chai, and he was serving the Chuchi county magistrate as chief sergeant and steward at the same time. Since the eldest of Old Ch'in's sons was a ward of Steward Chai's and called him G.o.dfather, the steward frequently came down to the village to visit his relative.

Old Ch'in made a big fuss and told his son to brew tea, kill a chicken, and cook up some meat to entertain Chai in grand style. Then he asked w.a.n.g Mien to join them. After Old Ch'in introduced w.a.n.g Mien to his guest, Steward Chai said, "Can this honorable Mr. w.a.n.g be the expert painter of flowers in the soft-shape style?"

"The very man himself," replied Old Ch'in. "But my dear relative, however did you know?"

"Who around town doesn't?" said the steward. "A few days ago His Honor, our county magistrate, told me he wants a folio of twenty-four flower paintings to send to his superior and turned the job over to me. People speak so highly of w.a.n.g Mien that I came especially to you, dear relative. And now fortune enables me to meet Mr. w.a.n.g, whom I would trouble for a few strokes of his honored brush. In a fortnight I shall return here to fetch them. I am sure His Honor will have a few taels of silver to 'moisten the brush'; I'll be bringing them along."

From the sidelines Old Ch'in was earnestly prodding w.a.n.g Mien who, rather than hurt Old Ch'in's feelings, had no choice but to accept. He went home and threw himself into the composition of the twenty-four floral pieces, adding a poem to each. The steward Chai reported to his office, and the magistrate Shih Jen paid out twenty-four taels of silver. The steward took twelve taels for his commission, delivered twelve to w.a.n.g Mien and left with the folio. The magistrate took the folio from the steward and a.s.sembled a few other gifts for Mr. Wei to wish him well.

Wei Su was interested in none of the gifts except the folio. He cherished it, savored it, would not let it out of his hands. The next day he invited Magistrate Shih to a banquet at his home to express his thanks. And there they pa.s.sed the time of day as the wine went round.

"A day ago I received the flower alb.u.m Your Honor so kindly sent," said Wei Su. "I wonder, is it the work of some cla.s.sic master or a man of our own times?"

The magistrate could hardly keep the truth from his superior. "The painter is a local peasant from your protege's district. His name is w.a.n.g Mien, and he is quite young-just a beginner. He hardly deserves to come within your discerning view, dear patron."

"Humble student that I am," said Wei Su with a sigh, "I have been away so long that I am guilty of ignorance that so worthy a talent has come from my home village. A shame. A shame. This good fellow has not only the highest skill but a wealth of knowledge. Most unusual! He will equal us one day in name and in position, too. Could you arrange for me to meet with him, I wonder?"

"No problem," replied the magistrate. "When I leave I shall have someone arrange it. When w.a.n.g Mien learns that it is my dear patron who takes such an interest in him, I know he will be beside himself with delight." And with that he bid adieu to Wei Su, returned to his office, and a.s.signed the steward Chai to invite w.a.n.g Mien in the humblest and most courteous form to a meeting with Wei Su.

The steward fairly flew to the village and went straight to the home of Old Ch'in to present the invitation. And if he presented it to w.a.n.g Mien five times, he presented it to him ten times, but w.a.n.g Mien only laughed and said, "I'm sorry, but I shall have to trouble you, Steward, to report back to His Honor that w.a.n.g Mien is a mere peasant who would never dream of such an audience. Nor would I dream of accepting this invitation."

The steward's face darkened as he said, "Who would dare refuse His Honor's invitation? Not to mention the fact that if I myself hadn't done you the favor, His Honor would never have known of your talent. It stands to reason that after meeting His Honor, you should find a way to show me your grat.i.tude. And what's the idea of not putting out a cup of tea for me after I've come all this way? And giving me this excuse and that for being unwilling to go-what's it supposed to mean? And how am I supposed to make a proper report to His Honor? Are you trying to tell me that the head of a whole county can't summon a commoner?"

"Steward," said w.a.n.g Mien, "there's something you don't understand. If I had done something wrong and His Honor issued an official summons for my appearance, how could I refuse? But this is only an invitation, which means he's not demanding that I go. I'd rather not go. His Honor should forgive me!"

"What in h.e.l.l are you talking about?" said the steward. "You'll go if you're summoned, but not if you're invited? You don't appreciate it when someone tries to help you!"

"Good Mr. w.a.n.g, okay, okay," said Old Ch'in. "If His Honor sends an invitation, of course he means well. Why not go this time with my dear relative? You know the saying, 'A magistrate can ruin the family.' Why be so stubborn?"

"Uncle," said w.a.n.g Mien, "the steward doesn't know this, but haven't you heard me tell of ancient worthies who refused their sovereign's call? I really won't go."

"You present me with a difficult problem," said the steward. "What explanation can I take back to His Honor?"

"This is a real dilemma," said Old Ch'in, "between going and not going. On the one hand, Mr. w.a.n.g refuses to go; on the other, my dear relative will be hard put to explain it if he doesn't. However, I may have a way out. When you return to the city, dear relative, don't say that Mr. w.a.n.g won't go, only that he is ill at home and cannot come right away, but will in a few days when he's feeling better."

"I'd need four neighbors to vouch for that!" cried the steward. And so they argued round and round. Old Ch'in made supper for the steward and quietly told w.a.n.g to bring half a tael of silver from his mother, to reimburse the steward for his travel expenses.

When Magistrate Shih heard the steward's report, he thought, "How could the rascal have taken ill? This lackey of a steward must have gone into the village like 'the fox in front of the tiger'* and scared the life out of the artist, who has probably never yet been received by an official. But since my patron, Wei Su, has left it to me to arrange a meeting, he will hold me in contempt if I flunk this test. It appears that I'll have to pay my respects to the artist personally. This gracious compliment, with no hint of coercion, will surely give him the courage to meet me, and then I'll take him along to see my patron. In that way I can pa.s.s the test with distinction!"

But the magistrate had another thought: "For a county magistrate to lower himself to pay his respects to a peasant will provoke the scorn of his underlings."

Then the magistrate had yet another thought: "The other day my patron spoke of this artist with one hundred percent respect. I, therefore, should be one thousand percent respectful. Besides, if I lower myself to show respect to a worthy peasant, the local chronicles will surely include a section in praise of it-to my eternal credit! I can't see anything wrong in that!" And so the magistrate made his decision.

Next morning he called for his sedan-chair. Dispensing with the full complement of heralds and banners, he took only eight guards to clear the road ahead, as well as the steward Chai, who hung onto the rails of the sedan-chair. They went directly to the village. When the villagers heard the gong announcing an official's approach, they came crowding forth to look, supporting their elderly and taking their young by the hand.

The chair arrived at w.a.n.g Mien's gate. And what did the steward find? Seven or eight thatched-roof huts and an unpainted wooden door, tightly shut. The steward bounded up to the door. After he had knocked at it for a while, an old woman came out, propped herself up on her walking stick, and said, "w.a.n.g Mien's not home. He took the buffalo to water first thing this morning and he hasn't returned yet."

"His Honor has come himself to summon your son," said the steward. "What are you wasting time for? Tell me where he is right away, so that I can deliver the summons."

"The simple truth," said the old woman, "is that he's not here, and I don't know where he has gone." With that she went back inside, closing the door behind her.

While they had been talking, the magistrate's chair pulled up. The steward kneeled before it and offered his report: "Your humble servant has been trying to summon w.a.n.g Mien, but he is not at home. May I suggest, Your Honor, that you have your dragon-chair moved to the public rest house, while I continue my efforts." With steward Chai hanging on as before, the chair was carried behind w.a.n.g Mien's cottage, where there was a jumble of raised footpaths bordering the fields. Beyond them was a large pond bordered with elms and mulberries. Farther in the distance stretched an expanse of acres. There was a small hill too, near the pond, green with dense foliage. It stood about half a mile from w.a.n.g Mien's house, and two people could hail one another from hill to house.

As the magistrate was being carried away, a water buffalo with a cowherd riding it backwards came from behind the hill. The steward hurried over to him and asked, "Young man, did you see where your neighbor w.a.n.g Mien took his animal?"

"You mean Uncle w.a.n.g?" answered the second of Old Ch'in's sons. "He's off to a feast in the w.a.n.g clan's hamlet-about seven miles from here. But this is his buffalo. He asked me to drive it home."

The steward informed the magistrate, who scowled. "If that's the case," he said, "there's no point in my going to the rest house. We will return to the office at once." By this time the magistrate was so angry that his first thought was to have w.a.n.g Mien arrested and taught a painful lesson. But on second thought he was afraid that his patron would criticize him for being hot-tempered. It might be better to hold his peace and explain that w.a.n.g Mien was not worth doing a favor. The young peasant himself could be dealt with in good time. With these thoughts the magistrate left the village.