-Hsu Fang The Tale of the Trusty Tiger One morning a woodsman was walking through a bamboo grove. All of a sudden he lost his footing and fell into a tiger's lair. Two little cubs were inside the pit, which was shaped like an upside-down bowl. Sharp, jagged stones stuck out on three sides. The front wall was smooth but well over ten feet high. It was an unbroken drop like a slide-the tiger's pathway.

The woodsman leaped up and fell back down a number of times. Then he walked around inside at his wit's end. Tearful, he awaited his death. The sun set, and the wind brought the tiger's howl. She scaled the wall and entered the pit with a freshly killed elk, which she tore in half for her two cubs. Next she saw the woodsman cowering on the ground. She spread her claws and flexed her front legs, but then circled him pensively as if she had had a second thought. Instead of attacking, she fed him a sc.r.a.p of the meat. As he ate it, she went into her niche with her cubs to rest.

The woodsman figured that the tiger was not hungry now but would surely devour him come morning. Instead, the tiger leaped out of the pit at the crack of dawn. At midday she returned, bringing a musk deer, which she fed to her cubs. And as before, she threw the leftovers to the famished woodsman, who devoured them. To relieve his thirst he drank his own urine. This went on for nearly a month, and gradually he became used to the tiger.

One day when the cubs had grown husky, the tiger put them on her back and went out. Frantic, the woodsman howled to the heavens, "Save me, Your Majesty!" Within moments the tiger came back, folded her forelegs, and lowered her head before the woodsman. He climbed onto her back, and she vaulted the wall. There on the surface she set the woodsman down, took her cubs, and went on. He was left alone by a dark cliff in dense gra.s.ses, where there was no song of birds or any noise but the shrill wind blowing out of the dark wood. More frantic than ever, the woodsman called out, "Your Majesty!"

The tiger turned and regarded him. Kneeling, the woodsman pleaded, "It was Your Majesty's kindness that kept me alive. But now we shall be lost to one another, for I fear I shall not escape wild beasts. To guarantee my safety, could you favor me with your escort to a main highway? I shall be in your debt to my dying day."

The tiger nodded and preceded the woodsman to the main road. Then she turned around and stood staring at him. Again the woodsman expressed his thanks: "I'm a poor man of the west gate, and after I leave you, we're not likely to meet again. But when I get home I'm going to raise a pig, and I will wait for you with the pig on a certain day at a certain time by the post station. Come and enjoy a feast. Don't forget."

The tiger nodded. The woodsman wept, and the tiger wept too. When the woodsman arrived home, his astonished family questioned him, and after he had told his story they rejoiced together. At the appointed time he prepared a pig and took great pains in butchering it. The tiger, however, arrived at the appointed place before the appointed hour. Unable to find the woodsman, she actually entered the west gate, where she was seen by the residents. They summoned some hunters, who closed the main gate and wings and gathered around the tiger, their spears at the ready, arrows to the bow. They agreed to capture her alive and present her to the local authorities.

The woodsman ran to the rescue, crying out to the crowd, "This tiger once kept me alive. I beg you all not to harm her!" But the hunters caught the tiger and took her to the government office. The woodsman went along, beating a drum and shouting. Angered, the officials questioned him, and he told them the whole story. They did not believe him.

"Let me prove it, then," said the woodsman, "and I'll suffer a beating if what I say is false."

The woodsman put his arms around the tiger and said tearfully, "Your Majesty saved my life?" The tiger nodded. "Your Majesty entered the gate to keep our appointment?" The tiger nodded again. "I shall plead for your life; if I fail, I shall die with you." As the woodsman spoke, the tiger's tears fell to the ground. Of the many thousands who witnessed this, not one stood unmoved. The astounded officials hastened to free the tiger, then led her to the post station and threw her the promised pig. The tiger straightened her tail and made a feast of the pig. Afterwards she looked once at the woodsman and departed. Later this district was named after the trusty tiger.

- w.a.n.g Yu-ting The Repentant Tiger of Chaoch'eng A woman of Chaoch'eng who was over seventy years old had an only son. One day he went into the mountains and was eaten by a tiger. The old woman grieved and grieved, ready to give up her life. Then with vociferous cries she complained to the local authorities.

"How can a tiger be subject to the law?" said the magistrate with a smile. This only aggravated the old woman's tantrum, and when the magistrate scolded her she would not be intimidated. Because he felt sorry for her, he kept his own temper and even ended by agreeing to have the beast apprehended.

The old woman knelt down before him. She refused to leave until the warrant was actually issued, so the magistrate called for a volunteer on his staff to go and make the arrest. Li Neng, an agent who was drunk at the time, came forward and took the warrant, and the old woman left satisfied.

When Li Neng sobered up, he regretted his offer. Still, he a.s.sumed that the warrant was only a ruse to stop the old woman from creating a nuisance, so he turned it back in to the magistrate casually. But that official said angrily, "You gave your word you'd do it. How can I accept a change of mind?"

Cornered, the agent appealed for another warrant to deputize some hunters, and this the magistrate granted. Day and night Li Neng and his hunters now stalked the mountain hollows in hopes of catching a tiger. But more than a month pa.s.sed without success, and the agent was given a severe beating of one hundred strokes. Having nowhere to turn for redress, he presented himself at the shrine east of the town. There he called on his knees for the local deity, crying until he had no voice.

Soon a tiger came up. Li Neng was aghast, expecting to be eaten. But the tiger entered the shrine and, looking steadily at the agent, sat down on its haunches in the doorway. Li Neng called to the tiger as though it were a deity: "If it was you who killed the woman's son, then you should submit to my arrest." Then the agent took out a rope and tied it around the tiger's neck. The tiger dropped his ears and accepted the rope, and the agent led the beast to the magistrate's office. The magistrate asked the tiger, "That woman's son-you ate him?" The tiger nodded.

"Those who take life must die," continued the magistrate. "That law stands from oldest times. Besides, the poor woman had only one son. How do you suppose she'll survive the years that remain to her? However, if you should be able to serve as her son, I shall spare you." Again the tiger nodded. So they removed the ropes and sent the animal away, though the old woman was grieved that the magistrate did not make the tiger pay with its life.

When the morrow dawned, the old woman opened her gate to find a deer's carca.s.s, which she took and sold for her daily necessities. This became a custom, though sometimes the tiger would bring money or silk in his mouth and flip it into her yard. And so the woman became quite well-to-do-far better cared for than when her son was alive. She grew to feel deeply grateful for the tiger's kindness. Eventually the tiger would come and lie under the eaves of her house the whole day, and the people and livestock no longer feared it.

After several years the old woman died, whereupon the tiger came and bellowed in the front hall. The woman had saved up enough for an ample burial service, and her kinsmen laid her to rest. When the mound over the tomb was completed, the tiger suddenly bounded up. The mourners fled, and the tiger went straight to the front of the tomb, roared thunderously for a long while, and then departed. Local people set up a shrine to the loyal tiger by the eastern outskirts of the township, where it remains to this day.

-P'u Sung-ling Tiger Boys In recent years my village has had a number of tigers, and they have chewed up more people than you can count. Travelers through most of China, in fact, have been similarly plagued. Some say tigers are agents of the Highest in Heaven, helping chase down those who have escaped their appointed death by violence. Others say tigers are manifestations of fierce demons and vengeful spirits in a state of agitation and frustration. There may be some truth in both views, but nothing is quite so remarkable as the story about Old Man Huang.

Old Huang was from Mihsi, several miles from the town of Chiao. He had three fully grown sons. In the spring of the year, he sent them to plow his fields in the hills, and for several days they went out at sunup and returned home at dusk. One evening a neighbor said to him, "Your fields are overgrown with weeds."

"How could that be?" replied Old Huang. "My boys plow it every day."

"I'm afraid not," answered the neighbor. Puzzled, the old man secretly followed his three sons when they went out next morning. He saw them enter the woods in the hills, remove their clothes, and hang them on a tree. Then they changed into tigers. Roaring and leaping, they emerged from the woods.

Old Huang was terrified. He ran home and confided what he had seen to his neighbor, then bolted his door and hid. The three came home that night and called at the gate for a long time, but no one answered. At last the neighbor came out and explained that their father would no longer know them as sons because of what he had seen in the hills.

"It's true," admitted the boys. "But we are not acting of our own free will. The Highest in Heaven compels us." Then they cried to their father, "How could we fail to repay your boundless generosity? We feel helpless because you have long been destined for calamity. These past few days we have been ranging the hills in hopes of finding someone who could take your place. And even now, after you've discovered us, we can't disobey our orders. In the collar of my clothes is a small booklet. Kindly get it for me, Father, otherwise you're surely done for, and we three will be responsible for your death."

Old Huang took a lantern and searched in the collar, where he found the little booklet. It was filled with the names of those in Chiao who were to be killed by tigers. His own name was second from the top. "What can be done?" the old man asked.

"Just open the gate," said the boys. "We've thought of something." Old Huang did so. The boys took the booklet and, weeping, bowed to him. Then they said, "This is all according to the decree of the Highest in Heaven. Now put on several layers of clothes, but don't fasten the belt. Stick yellow paper on top, and pray fervently on your knees. We have our own way of rescuing you."

Old Huang did as he was told. His three sons leaped over him from behind, each tiger catching a layer of clothes in its mouth. Then they dashed off with a great roar and never returned, and the old man is alive to this day.

From ancient times there have been many cases of men turning into tigers. Without fail, their hides and their faces were transformed. But it is unheard-of for tigers to remain among men as these three boys did. Moreover, once the Highest in Heaven had a.s.signed them to kill men while at the same time putting their own father's name on the list, the sons were in a most difficult position. And if they failed to find a subst.i.tute for their father, they did preserve his life with great ingenuity. It may be said that theirs was a change of form, not of heart.

The world is full of those who appear human and yet fail to recognize the king or the father standing in front of them. What, then, of those who have become tigers and yet remain grateful for the kindness they have enjoyed? How the Highest could let the boys' own father be on their list of victims is beyond me.

-Hsu Fang Human Bait Hsu Shan-ken of Shantung province made his living by digging ginseng roots, which are used in a precious tonic. Traditionally, ginseng diggers must do their work on the darkest possible nights. During one such night Hsu became exhausted from digging and went to sleep upon the sandy ground. He awoke to find himself clutched in the hand of a man some thirty feet tall who was covered all over with reddish hair. The giant was stroking Hsu Shan-ken and rubbing Hsu's body against his fur, as if he were playing with pearls or jade. At each stroke the giant burst into wild laughter, and Hsu reckoned that he was going to be the creature's next meal.

He felt himself being carried off. The giant took him to a cave containing mounds of such things as tiger sinew, deer tail, and elephant tusk. There the giant placed Hsu on a stone bed and offered him some tiger and deer meat. Although the ginseng digger was delighted to find that he was not himself going to be gobbled up, he could not eat the b.l.o.o.d.y chunks of flesh. The giant lowered his head as if he were thinking; then he nodded as if he understood. He struck a stone and made a fire, drew some water, and set a pot to boil. Cutting up the meat, he added it to the pot, and when the stew was ready the giant presented it to Hsu, who ate with relish.

As dawn approached, the giant took Hsu and five arrows and went out of the cave to the base of a cliff. There he tied Hsu to a tall tree and withdrew, leaving the ginseng digger terrified that the giant meant to shoot him. Presently a pack of tigers, scenting a live human, came out of caves in the cliffside. They jostled each other in their haste to get at Hsu, and the giant drew his arrows and killed them. Then he untied Hsu and carried him home in his arms, meanwhile dragging the dead tigers behind him. As before, he cooked them and offered his captive a feast For more than a month Hsu served the giant as tiger bait. The ginseng digger came to no harm, and the giant grew quite fat. But one day Hsu became homesick and, kneeling before the giant, implored him tearfully, pointing again and again to the east. Weeping also, the giant took Hsu in his arms back to the place where he had been captured. He showed Hsu the way home and pointed out a number of choice ginseng patches. And that is how Hsu Shan-ken became a wealthy man.

-Yuan Mei Educated Frogs and Martial Ants When I was young and living in Palm Lane, I saw a beggar who had a cloth sack and two bamboo tubes. In the sack he kept nine frogs. The tubes contained more than a thousand ants, some red and some white. He would go into a shop and display his act on the counter, then demand three coppers and leave.

One of his tricks was called "The Frog Teaches School." He set up a small chair, and a large frog leaped out of the sack and sat on it. Eight smaller frogs followed him out and formed a circle around the chair, sitting perfectly still. "Teach them!" the beggar cried. At once the large frog croaked, "Geggek." The cla.s.s repeated in unison, "Geggek." And then all anyone could hear was "Geggek; geggek" until people's ears were ringing. So the beggar cried, "Stop!" At once all was quiet.

The other trick was called "Ants in Battle Formation." The beggar had two flags, one red, one white, each about a foot long. He emptied his bamboo tubes onto the counter, and the red and white ants scurried all over until he waved the red flag. "Form ranks!" he cried. The red ants formed themselves into a line. Next he waved the white flag and cried, "Form ranks!" The white ants did so too. Then he waved both flags and cried, "Mixed formation!" The ants mingled together and marched, turning left and right in perfect step. When they had made several rounds, he marched them back into the tubes.

Thus even such small dumb creatures as the frog and the ant can be taught, though I can't imagine how it is done.

-Yuan Mei The Snakeman A man of what is now Hopei province made his living by taming snakes and teaching them tricks. Once he raised and trained two black snakes: the larger he called Big Black; the smaller, Brother Black. Brother Black, who had red dots on his forehead, was very quick to learn his tricks. His twists and turns were exactly right, and the snakeman prized him above all the snakes he had owned.

After a year Big Black died. The snakeman wanted to replace him but had not yet found the time to do it when he took lodging one night in a mountain temple. He awoke in early dawn and opened his snake basket. Brother Black was missing! Calling frantically, the snakeman searched in the dim light, but there was no trace of the snake.

In the past whenever the snakeman had come upon a dense grove or thick vegetation, he stopped and let Brother Black free to enjoy himself. Brother Black always returned, so the snakeman had reason to hope that the snake would come back now. He sat down to wait, but when the sun had climbed high in the sky he despaired and left.

He had gone several paces away from the temple when he heard a low sc.r.a.ping sound in the depths of the thicket. Startled, he stopped and turned back. It was Brother Black! The snakeman felt overjoyed, as if he had regained a priceless jewel. He stopped to rest at a turn in the road, and the snake stopped also. When the snakeman looked again, he saw a small snake following Brother Black.

"I thought you were lost to me," said the snakeman, stroking Brother Black. "Are you presenting your little companion?" He took out some food for Brother Black and his follower. The smaller snake curled up, too wild and shy to eat. So Brother Black fed the newcomer from his own mouth, in much the way that a host serves his guest first. The snakeman gave the small snake more food, and this time he ate for himself. When the meal was over, the small snake followed Brother Black into the basket.

The snakeman carried the basket off. And when the new snake began to learn tricks, he performed them all perfectly, just as Brother Black did. So the snakeman named the newcomer Baby Black. He took his act all over the country and made a handsome profit.

As a rule men who handle snakes have to discard them when they grow more than two feet long, for they weigh too much to handle. The snakeman kept Brother Black as he grew beyond the limit because he was so tame. But after another couple of years the snake reached three feet and filled the basket entirely, so the snakeman decided to let him go.

One day when he came to the eastern hills of present-day Tsinan, the snakeman fed Brother Black something special, gave him his blessing, and freed him. The snake went off for a while but then returned and circled his basket. The snakeman shooed him away. "Be off! No party lasts forever, and the best of friends must part. Retire into the valley, and soon enough you are sure to become a divine dragon. Why do you want to remain in a basket?"

Brother Black wiggled away again, and the snakeman watched him go for a long time. But again the snake returned. When the snakeman shooed him away this time, he refused to leave and knocked his head against the basket. Baby Black was inside and becoming restless. Then it occurred to the snakeman that Brother Black must want to say goodbye to Baby Black. He opened the basket, and Baby Black came straight out and wrapped himself around Brother Black. Their tongues flickered as if they were talking to each other. Then they both went off in a carefree manner. The snakeman thought that Baby Black would not return, but after a while he undulated back in a sulky sort of way and finally crawled inside the basket.

The snakeman never again found a specimen so perfect as Brother Black. Meanwhile Baby Black was growing larger and unfit for handling. The snakeman acquired another snake that was rather tame but not the equal of Baby Black, who by this time was as thick as a child's arm.

When Brother Black first began to live in the hills, a number of woodmen saw him. Years later he had grown several feet and was as thick as a bowl. He began to come out and chase people. Travelers were soon warning one another, and no one dared enter the snake's territory. One day the snakeman was crossing the hills and a snake shot out at him like wind. Terrified, the snakeman ran. The snake pursued him and was about to overtake him when the snakeman saw the telltale red dots on his head.

"Brother Black! Brother Black!" cried the snakeman, setting down his burden. At once the snake stopped, lifted his head, and after a long while coiled himself around the snakeman, as he used to when they worked together. The snakeman realized that the snake meant no harm, but the reptile's body was so heavy that the man fell to the ground. He pleaded to be released, and the snake unwrapped himself and then knocked against the basket. Realizing what Brother Black wanted, the snakeman let Baby Black out.

When the two snakes met, they twisted around one another and clung tightly. After a lingering interval they separated. The snakeman gave his blessing to Baby Black. "For a long time I have wanted to let you go. Now you have a companion." To Brother Black he said, "You brought him to begin with, now you may take him away. One word more: There's plenty to eat in these hills. Don't disturb the travelers and suffer heaven's punishment."

The two snakes lowered their heads, as if accepting the admonition. Then they perked up and began to move, the elder in front, the younger following. Where they pa.s.sed, branches split under their weight. The snakeman watched until he could see them no longer, then left. No one knows where the snakes went, but travelers had no further problems.

The snake, though a dumb creature, shows affection and loyalty to a friend. It is also readily teachable. How striking, in contrast, is he who seems human but throws away a ten-year friendship, or alienates a prince whose favor his family has enjoyed for generations; who dumps rocks on a wretch who has fallen down a well, or makes enemies of those who give him good advice!

-P'u Sung-ling The North Country Wolf Chien Tzu, the famous prince of Chao, was leading the great hunt in the northeast area of his state. The royal forester went ahead; hawks and hounds followed behind in order. And countless were the swift birds and fierce animals that fell as the bowstrings sang.

They came upon a wolf barring their way. It was standing up on its hind legs like a human, howling terribly. With ease and confidence, Chien Tzu leaped to the top of his chariot. He took his splendid bow and fitted to it a choice arrow made by the non-Chinese tribes of the north. Then he shot, and the arrow sank deep into the wolf. With a hoa.r.s.e moan the wolf slipped away. Angered, Chien Tzu ordered his chariots to pursue. They kicked up enough dust to block the sky, and their hoofbeats boomed like thunder. At ten paces you could not tell man from horse.

Now, it happened that a scholar named Tung-kuo was on his way to the north country in search of official employment. Mr. Tung-kuo was a follower of the doctrine of Mo, which advocates universal love. Spurring a sorry a.s.s forward, his bag loaded with all kinds of books, he had been traveling since early morning. Now he was lost and startled to see so much dust.

Suddenly the wolf arrived on the scene. Stretching its head forward, it eyed Mr. Tung-kuo keenly and said, "I believe, Master, that you are devoted to the salvation of all living things. In olden times Mao Pao freed a tortoise that later carried him over a river to safety. And the Marquis of Sui rescued a serpent that later brought him a priceless pearl. Now, who could doubt that a wolf can work more miracles than a tortoise or a serpent! So under the circ.u.mstances, couldn't you let me hide in your bag and prolong the bit of breath that's left to me? If some day I make good in this world, I shall give my all-no less than the tortoise or the serpent-to repay you for your kindness in saving me from certain death and keeping the flesh on my bones!"

"Aiya!" said the scholar. "If I show you this consideration and give offense to a high minister like Chien Tzu, flouting both authority and rank, you cannot imagine the trouble it would mean. There's no question of a reward from you to look forward to! Yet universal love is indeed the foundation of our Mohist doctrine. So after all, I should find some way to keep you alive. Whatever the danger, I cannot shirk the responsibility."

Mr. Tung-kuo removed his books from his bag, and when he had emptied it he gingerly began to pack the wolf inside. But first he tripped over his own feet and nearly stepped on the wolf's throat, and then he had trouble stuffing in the tail. After repeated efforts he still could not manage it. Mr. Tung-kuo paced back and forth in a quandary as the pursuing hunters drew closer.

"The situation is urgent," said the wolf. "Master, must one really preserve formalities when rescuing a drowning man, or let the chariot bells ring and give bandits a chance to escape? If only you would think of something quickly!" The scholar squeezed the wolf's four legs together, drew out a cord, and tied them tightly. Then he pushed the wolf's head down till it touched his tail, so that the animal's bent back protected its throat. Scrunched up like a porcupine, twisted around like a caterpillar, coiled in like a snake and breathing lightly as a tortoise, the wolf left his fate to the scholar.

As instructed, Mr. Tung-kuo put the wolf in his bag, pulled the opening tightly shut, and shouldered it onto the a.s.s. Then he drew the a.s.s to the left of the road to wait for the hunters to pa.s.s.

Soon Chien Tzu arrived. Not having found the wolf, he had worked himself into a great fury. With his sword he hacked off the end of the chariot's yoke and said, "The same for anyone who won't tell where the wolf went!"

The scholar flung himself on the ground in a posture of penance and crawled toward Chien Tzu on his hands and knees. Then, still kneeling, he raised himself and said, "My worthless, inept self, bold enough to come to these remote parts out of worldly ambition, has lost the right road. How, then, could I possibly make known the wolfs trail to Your Honor so that you may send your hawks and hounds after it? And yet there is the saying, The Great Way has many a side road for losing your sheep.' Even an animal like a sheep, so tame that a boy can tend it, still gets lost in the byroads. How unlike the sheep is the wolf, and how endless the byroads for losing sheep here in the north country! If you stick strictly to the main road in your search, isn't that practically the same as the folly of the farmer who waited by a tree stump for a hare to brain itself, or the folly of trying to get fish by climbing a tree? Anyway, hunting is your forester's job; my lord should ask his huntsmen. Why suspect a pa.s.sing traveler? Besides, however unsophisticated my worthless self may be, I know wolves as well as the next man. They are greedy and fierce by nature, and no less cruel than the panther. Why, I would hustle myself into action and offer whatever service possible to help you get rid of one. How could you think I would conceal a wolf's whereabouts?"

Chien Tzu said nothing, turned his chariot around, and took to the road. Mr. Tung-kuo urged the a.s.s forward in double time. It was a long, long while before the fledged poles of the hunting party faded away into the distance and the din of horse and chariot was heard no more. The wolf, surmising that Chien Tzu was now a good way off, spoke up from inside the bag, "Do not forget me, good Master. Get me out; untie the cord and pull the arrow from my side. Then I shall be going."

Mr. Tung-kuo released the wolf. The wolf gave out a raging roar and said to the scholar, "Just now the hunters were after me at full speed, and you kindly saved my life. But now I'm starving, and if I don't get any food I'm going to die all the same. I would have been better off slain by those hunters and gracing some n.o.bleman's sacrificial vessel than dying here at the roadside and furnishing some wild beast with a meal. Since you're one of those altruistic Mohists who would wear himself to the bone to provide the world with a single benefit, why begrudge your single body to feed me and preserve my life?" And then, smacking his lips and flashing his claws, the wolf made for the scholar.

Mr. Tung-kuo frantically fended off the wolf with his bare hands. All the while he retreated until he could take cover behind the a.s.s, which he then began to circle nimbly. The wolf never managed to get the better of the scholar, but the scholar spent all his energy escaping the wolf. The two of them, wilting with fatigue, panted for breath from opposite sides of the a.s.s. "You have betrayed me," said the scholar, "betrayed me."

"Really, I didn't mean to," said the wolf, "but heaven has created your kind for the purpose of feeding ours." The man and the wolf held each other off a good long time, until the sun began to slant away. A dark thought occurred to the scholar: Night approaches. If wolves come in a pack, I shall be killed. So to deceive the wolf the scholar said, "It is the custom among humankind to inquire of three elders when a matter stands in doubt. Let us keep going and look for three elders to question. Should they agree that I deserve to be eaten, then you're welcome to me. If not, then let the matter be closed." The wolf was pleased with this, and the two of them went on.

They walked for a while, but not a traveler was to be seen. The wolf was starved. Ahead an old tree stood stiffly at the roadside. The wolf said, "Ask him!"

"Trees have no understanding," said Mr. Tung-kuo. "What's the good of asking a tree?"

"Just ask," said the wolf. "It should have something to say."

Having no choice, the scholar paid his respects to the tree and, after giving a full account of the situation, put the question to the tree, "So then, does the wolf have the right to eat me?"

A low rumbling came from within the tree. "I am an apricot," it said. "Years ago when the gardener planted me, all it cost him was a pit. In a few years I flowered. In another I bore fruit. After three years it took the full stretch of a man's hands to go around my trunk. After ten years it took the full length of a man's arms to embrace me. Now it is twenty years. I have fed the gardener. I have fed his wife. I have fed their guests. I have even fed their servants. And what's more, they made money selling my fruit in the market. You could say I have been of great service. But today I am old, no longer able to fold in my flowers and put forth my fruit, so I have earned the gardener's displeasure. He lops my branches and trims away my twigs and leaves. And now he even means to sell me to the carpenter for whatever money he can get. Oh Lord! Useless and old, I can find no mercy against the strokes of the axe. As for you, what favor have you done this wolf that you should hope for mercy? No question at all; he has the right to eat you."

When the apricot had delivered this opinion the wolf began to smack his lips and flex his claws once again as he headed for the scholar. "But you're breaking our agreement," said the scholar, "which was to put the question to three elders. So far we have come upon one apricot tree. Why should I be rushed?" So the two, man and wolf, resumed their journey.

The wolf was more frustrated than ever. In the distance he saw an old cow sunning itself beside a broken-down wall. "Ask this old one," said the wolf.

"That apricot tree had no sense or understanding," said the scholar. "Its absurd opinion has ruined everything. And this cow is nothing more than a beast. What more is gained in asking her?"

"Just ask," insisted the wolf, "or I gobble you up."

Having no choice, the scholar paid his respects to the old cow and recounted the whole story from beginning to end. Then he posed the question.

The cow wrinkled her forehead, unclosed her eyes, and licked her nose. Then she opened her mouth wide and said to the scholar, "The old apricot's opinion is not so wrong. When my horns were green stubs and my muscles good and firm, the farmer took me for the price of a knife and put me to work alongside the teams of oxen in his fields. After I grew to maturity, all the tasks fell to me because the others, the oxen, were growing weaker by the day. Whenever he decided to rush off somewhere, I bent my neck to the yoke and made haste on the chosen route. Whenever he wanted to plow, I was freed of the carriage yoke to amble off to the edge of his lands and clear away th.o.r.n.y brambles. I was as necessary as his own two hands. Thanks to me he had his basic sustenance; marriage ceremonies could be carried out, taxes could be paid, the granary stood full. You would think I'd at least have a stall for shelter, like the horse or the dog!

"In the old days the family never put more than a stone of grain in store. Now they're taking in over one hundred pecks of wheat. In the old days they were too poor for people to notice them. Now he marches grandly through village society. In the old days poverty left their winecups dusty and their lips dry, for never in their lives could they afford a full winejar. Now he ferments fine millet, holds an ornamental winepot, and boasts a wife and concubines. In the old days their clothes were coa.r.s.e and short, and he kept company with trees and stones. His hands were as unaccustomed to ceremonial salutes as his mind to learning. Now he has a primer in hand, sports a bamboo hat, wears a tanned leather belt, and has ample full-length garments. Every thread, every grain-my labor. And in my old age he abuses me and drives me into the wilds, where the raw wind stings my eyes. In the chill daylight I grieve to see my shadow, so thin that the bones stick up like hills, so old that my tears are rain. I cannot hold in my spittle. My legs are too crippled to raise. My hide and hair are patchy. My sores never heal.

"The farmer's wife, that jealous, vicious woman, is always putting forward her view: 'Every part of a cow's body is useful,' says she. 'The flesh can be preserved dry. The hide can go for leather. Even bones and horns can be carved into utensils.' Then she'll point to the eldest son. 'You've been training,' says she, 'under the finest butchers for years. How about sharpening your blade and disposing of her?' These signs bode no good for me. Who knows where I will lie down for good? I may have much to my credit, but they are so heartless that calamity is coming soon. As for you, what favor have you done this wolf that you should expect mercy?"

When the cow had delivered her opinion, the wolf smacked his lips, flexed his claws, and headed for the scholar. "Not so fast!" said the scholar. In the distance an old man was approaching, leaning on a goosefoot staff. His beard and eyebrows were pure white; his dress was casual but elegant. He looked like a cultivated man, a sage of the Tao. Delighted, Mr. Tung-kuo went up to the old man and kneeled before him respectfully. Weeping, he stated his case.

"I beg of you, good sir, the word that will save me." The old man asked what the matter was, and the scholar continued, "This wolf was almost caught by the royal hunters when it turned to me for help. And in fact I enabled it to stay alive. But now, deaf to my entreaties, it wants to make a meal of me. My life is forfeit if the wolf does not relent. I sought a brief delay during which we agreed to let three elders decide the matter. First we met an old apricot tree, to which he forced me to submit the question. Trees have no understanding, and its answer nearly cost me my life. Next we met an old cow. Again the wolf forced me to seek her answer. Animals have no understanding either, and again I nearly lost my life. Now we meet with you, good sir. It can only mean that heaven does not intend to let learning perish, as Confucius put it. Do I dare to beg for the word that saves me?" The scholar pressed his forehead to the ground in front of the old man's staff, and there he remained, awaiting his fate.

The elder sighed again and again as he listened to the whole story. Then he knocked the wolf with his staff, saying, "You are in the wrong. Among men nothing is more accursed than to betray a benefactor. The Confucians have always held that a man who could not bear to betray his benefactor was sure to be a filial son. The Confucians also claim that even the tiger and the wolf acknowledge the bond between father and son. But now that you have turned on your benefactor like this, even the bond between father and son does not exist for you. Begone, wolf!" the old man screamed. "Or I shall beat you to death."

"Good sir," replied the wolf, "to quote Confucius, 'You may know the first part, but you have yet to learn the second.' Allow me to explain, if you would condescend to listen. When all this began, the scholar saved my life by tying up my four feet, hiding me in his bag, and loading his 'cla.s.sics' on top of me. I curled myself up, not daring to breathe. In addition, he went on and on trying to convince Chien Tzu of his innocence with the apparent intention of letting me die in the bag and stealing all the glory for himself! Why shouldn't I eat him up for this?"

The elder looked hard at the scholar and said, "Well, if that's the case, then you're to blame-just like the ancient archer Yi who taught all he knew to the man who later killed him." Feeling deeply wronged, the scholar described in detail his compa.s.sionate intent in putting the wolf in his bag. But the wolf also strove to win the argument with great cunning.

"I am afraid neither of you is fully convincing," said the elder. "Try putting the wolf back into the bag so I can see what it was like and whether it was really as painful as the wolf says."

The wolf was only too glad to do so. He stretched his legs towards the scholar, who tied him up and put him in the bag once again. Then Mr. Tung-kuo shouldered the bag up onto the a.s.s. The wolf did not know what was going on. "Have you a knife?" the elder whispered to the scholar.

"Yes," he replied and drew it out. The elder signaled with a glance for the scholar to stab the wolf.

"Won't that hurt him?" asked the scholar.

Smiling, the elder replied, "Still 'can't bear to kill' even such a treacherous beast? You may be humane, but your foolishness is greater. If you go down a well to save someone, or take off your clothes to keep a friend alive, it may be to the other's advantage, but what's the point of dying in the bargain? Are you one of that sort? Surely no gentleman and scholar approves compa.s.sion that descends to folly." So saying, the elder laughed loudly, and so did the scholar. The elder helped the scholar with the knife, and together they put the wolf to death, threw his body on the road, and left.

-Ma Chung-hsi Counselor to the Wolves A man named Ch'ien went to the market and was walking home late at the foot of the hills when several dozen wolves sprang out. They made a hungry circle around him. Desperate, Ch'ien saw a pile of firewood more than ten feet high by the side of the road and swiftly clambered to the top. None of the wolves could climb it. But a few of them ran off and returned in a short while escorting an animal, much the way porters ferry an official in a sedan-chair.

The crowd of wolves bent their ears to the animal's mouth as if he were imparting secrets. Next they leaped up and began pulling branches from the bottom of the woodpile. Soon the whole pile was about to collapse. Panicking, Ch'ien cried for help. By chance some woodcutters heard his voice and came shouting.

The wolves fled in fright, leaving behind the animal they had brought. Ch'ien and the woodsmen looked it over carefully. It resembled a wolf but was not a wolf. It had round eyes, a short neck, a long snout, and fearsome teeth. Its back legs were long but weak, and it could not stand on them. Its cry was like a gibbon's howl.

Ch'ien spoke to it: "You and I are no enemies! Why did you serve the wolves as strategist in their attempt to kill me?"

The beast knocked its head against the ground and wailed as if repenting. The men dragged it to a wineshop in the village ahead, cooked it, and had it for dinner.

-Yuan Mei Monkey Keeper In the land of Sung there was a monkey keeper who loved monkeys. He raised a whole swarm of them and could understand their thoughts. They were so dear to him that he would take food from the mouths of his own family to satisfy them. But still the time came when he had to reduce their provisions. Fearing that they would stop obeying him, he decided to trick them into accepting short rations. "Here are chestnuts for you," he told them. "You'll get three each morning and four each evening. Is that enough?" The monkeys rose up in anger. Then the trainer said, "Very well; four each morning and three each evening. Is that enough?" Delighted, the monkeys agreed.

-Lieh Tzu Man and Beast The leader of the T'ien clan was preparing a grand feast for a thousand guests. At the place of honor someone presented an offering of fish and wild geese. The clan leader examined the offering and sighed, "How generous heaven is to the people, growing the five grains and breeding fish and fowl for us to use." The whole a.s.sembly echoed their leader's voice.

A boy of twelve, a son of the Pao clan who was present in the ranks, stepped forward and said, "Not at all! Heaven and earth and the ten thousand things between are born as one with us, alike in kind to us. There is no high and low among the kinds. It is merely that one kind dominates another by virtue of size or strength or wit. And so one devours the other and is devoured in turn. But heaven did not create things for each other. Man eats whatever he can, but did heaven breed what man eats specifically for man? The mosquito and the gnat bite man's skin, the tiger and the wolf feed on flesh. Has heaven created man for the mosquito, or flesh for the tiger and the wolf?"

-Lieh Tzu Man or Beast Those alike in mind may differ in form. Those alike in form may differ in mind. The sage prefers what is like-minded and ignores what is alike in form. Ordinary men stick close to what is alike in form and keep their distance from what is like-minded. "We cherish and cling to what resembles us," they say.

That which has a six-foot frame, two hands and two feet, hair on top and teeth in the mouth, and moves upright-ordinary men call human. But it is not impossible for a man to have a beast's heart. Yet if he does, he will still be treated well because of his human form. What is winged or horned, has s.p.a.ced teeth and spread claws, and flies or prowls-ordinary men call a beast. But it is not impossible for a beast to have a human heart. Yet if it does, men will still shun it because of its looks.

The great G.o.ds of old (Pao Hsi, who tamed wild animals and sacrificed them in fire; Nu Wa, who repaired the skies and molded the race of men; Shen Neng, the divine farmer who founded agriculture and medicine; the Hsia rulers, who established the first dynasty) all had the body of a reptile with a human face, or an ox's head, or a tiger's snout. None looked human, though they were sages of great virtue.