Part 2

“Finally the King answered. ‘Shen,’ said he, ‘what time do you grant me? Kua Hai is a large city. In it are half a million souls. It will be moons and moons before I can count my people safely upon the Mountain of The Yellow Ox.’ One of the demons was shaking a _pai shu_ (shaking a cypress tree) so that its dew fell upon him and upon his companions, for already the sun was up and they were beginning to feel the day and its dryness. ‘What time?’ said the Shen, taking his answer from the _pai shu_. ‘We shall give you until this tree is in flower. Have all your people gathered upon high ground when this _pai shu_ blossoms, for at that time we shall lead the sea upon Wa Tien, and the sea shall stand three _li_ deep above your palace. That is our answer. And now we must go for the sun has lit his fire.’

“The Shen made a move as if to depart, but no sooner were they out of the shadows than they halted abruptly, murmuring in displeasure. And small wonder. The sun had dispelled the dew and there was no moisture upon the land. A water Shen cannot exist where there is no moisture. In that respect he is like the _yin yu_ and the _shih pan_ (fishes). So the Shen turned to Chieh Chung and said, ‘Is there water here, O King, where we may spend the day hours?’ ‘There is little,’ said Chieh Chung; ‘I dare say too little for your purpose. But in such quantity as it is, you are welcome.’ He pointed to a crystal bowl in which burgeoned a sacred lily. There was water in the bowl, water surrounding the lily bulb. Too, there were stones in the bowl—blue lapis lazuli, and green jade, and yellow topaz (precious stones, as befitted a palace garden), for that is the way sacred lilies are grown—in bowls filled with water and pretty pebbles. ‘You are quite welcome to it,’ reiterated the King. The Shen shook their heads half in despair. ‘It is too little,’ groaned they, ‘far too little.’ ‘But,’ said Chieh Chung, ‘you are demons—hence magicians. Why do you not make yourselves smaller? Why not change yourselves into red _hung pao shi_h and recline in the bowl amid the lily roots? I am sure you would make handsome rubies. Beyond a doubt, my courtiers would say “Ah” and “How lovely” and admire you greatly when they saw you. Of a certainty, you would make resplendent gems, dazzling and superb.’ ‘Well,’ agreed the Shen, somewhat dubiously, ‘we shall try it. If you have no more water it is the only thing we _can_ do.’ And so, in a twinkling the Shen were gone, and seven beautiful rubies appeared in the crystal bowl.

“‘How lovely,’ said Chieh Chung—and deliberately winked at the cypress tree, first with one eye and then with the other. He went to a cabinet that stood in his chamber, and from the cabinet took a bottle fashioned out of _fei yu_ (a cloudy jade). And the bottle had a wide mouth. Into it Chieh Chung poured water. Returning to the lily bowl, he quickly took therefrom the seven red _hung pao shih_ and dropped them into the jade bottle—closing the mouth securely.

“‘Now,’ exulted the King, ‘my city is saved. My people may walk in security and without fear. The seven water demons are in my keeping, and please Heaven may they never escape my hand.’ And in his joy, King Chieh Chung ordered that ten thousand catties of rice be given to the poor.

“Weeks lengthened into months. Lengthened the months to years. Still languished the water demons in the clouded jade bottle. Still broke the sea on Kua Hai’s walls—but did not enter. Chieh Chung added to his kingdom and ruled with beneficence. His name was heralded throughout the length of the world. Not by the spear, but by wisdom he added to his dominions. Peoples of far-distant regions came seeking to place themselves under the rule of Chieh Chung—wisest and best.

“At length came ambassadors from Wei Chou, yes, even from distant Kou Pei, offering to give their allegiance to Chieh Chung. Ah, but that was a great day, a day of all proud days. The ambassadors were a hundred for number, haughty mandarins all. There was a great stir about the palace, you may well believe, retainers rushing hither and thither to provide food and drink and entertainment for the foreign great men.

“A foolish servant, ransacking cupboard and closet for what victuals and drink he could find, came upon the dusty jade bottle that stood in Chieh Chung’s cabinet. ‘Ah,’ said the servant, trying to peer through the cloudy jade. ‘Beyond a doubt, here is something of rare excellence. This will do for the highest of the mandarins, for the red-button mandarins with peacock feathers. It rattles—rock candy in it.’ And the foolish one removed the stopper. A thousand pities he was not stricken dead before the seal was broken.

“Chieh Chung came into the chamber and saw what had happened. For a moment he was stunned. Then, ‘Let me have the bottle.’ The bottle was empty, all save for a bit of water. ‘They are gone,’ said the King. ‘The Shen have escaped. But even so, I may baffle them, for they promised with binding oaths not to take my kingdom until the _pai shu_ blossoms. And—in this region the cypress tree never blossoms—it _never_ comes into flower.’ The King smiled in spite of himself.

“Meanwhile, the water demons, having escaped from the bottle, hastened through the palace toward the garden. They were very angry—were those demons, gnashing their teeth with a noise like that of waves lashing a rock-guarded coast. They were determined on vengeance.

“The Wei Chou ambassadors were encamped in the palace garden. Their servants had been washing garments, brilliant-hued garments such as the wealthy and noble of that land wear. The garments had been hung on the cypress tree to dry. And there the garments hung when the water demons appeared. The tree was aflame with color. Instantly the Shen raised a great shout. ‘Come billow. Come ocean.’ They shouted in triumph. ‘The _pai shu_ blossoms (the cypress tree blooms)’—for they thought the garments were flowers—‘and our promise is ended. Kua Hai is ours.’

“Fathoms deep, roaring, grinding, relentless, the sea swept over Kua Hai, buried the city, buried the plain. The water demons raced before it, calling it on. They who had been the people of Kua Hai rode upon white-crested billows—without life—drowned. Out of all the vast population perhaps a thousand escaped. And among those who escaped was the King.

“Chieh Chung sat under a pine tree on the mountain, grief-stricken, heartbroken, gazing upon what had been a city, and now was sparkling sea. Hour after hour sat the King, grieving and thinking, meditating a way to regain his country. Now and then the seven water demons appeared before him, mocking, splashing him with spray.

“One day, having meditated long, Chieh Chung arose and shouted exultantly: ‘I have it. I know how I shall regain my city. I shall go immediately and put the plan in writing, while it is fresh in my mind.’ Having said, he walked to the little hut that served for his palace and sat down at a table to write. On the table stood a crystal bowl, with a lily, and with green, blue, and yellow stones.

“Chieh Chung sat writing meaningless stuff upon parchment. All the while he kept an eye on the crystal bowl. Lo. There appeared seven red stones at the root of the lily. The demons had come to spy upon the King’s writing. They had come to learn his plan, and so triumph over him. But they, unwittingly, were giving themselves into bondage again. For Chieh Chung quickly thrust them into a bottle and sealed it against all escape. Six of the demons he thus imprisoned. The seventh, who was a small fellow, Chieh Chung threw back into the sea. ‘Go,’ said the King, ‘and take your sea with you. Take your sea, and never trouble me again. Else I shall most certainly destroy your six brothers. It is a warning.’

“So the seventh demon sped away, taking the sea with him. Then did Chieh Chung descend to Kua Hai and build up the city, people coming in from far countries. Once more the city was inhabited, and the land was more rich, by reason of its flooding.

“And the six Shen, the six water demons are buried deep, in a jade bottle—perhaps under this very garden.”

HOW WISE WERE THE OLD MEN

With the first splash of ink it should be stated that this, the story of Meng Hu, is not intended for those who disbelieve in signs and portents. Such persons will merely say “Pish” and “Tush” together with other hurtful remarks, and remain unconvinced and scornful. But the open-minded—they are the people. They will nod their heads in understanding.

So. The history of Meng Hu, a merry rascal and a clever.

Upon the night that Meng Hu was born, in the house of his father Hao Shou, in the village named Two Roads Meeting, which stands at the foot of Mount Chieh Man (meaning: “Do not hurry—it is tremendously steep”), in Ping Shan Province, there happened many queer and unseemly happenings. A pack of wolves came down from Mount Chieh Man, and, leaping into Hao Shou’s pigsty, carried off a well-fattened red-and-black pig, for which Hao Shou had been offered eighty cash—every one good. Between the howling of the wolves and the squealing of the red-and-black pig, all Two Roads Meeting Village was aroused.

The excitement had scarcely subsided when Hao Shou’s pet monkey, for some reason best known to himself and the Shen of mischief, entered the house where Hao Shou’s fowls roosted. The disturbance thus created caused Two Roads Meeting Village again to leap from bed.

Only an hour later a tiger, which some coolies were carrying as a gift to the King, escaped from his cage, and with much roaring pounced upon Hao Shou’s amiable white cow. There was no more sleep in Two Roads Meeting Village that night. And no wonder.

Now the village called Two Roads Meeting was much like any other village, in that it housed some extremely wise men—men who knew everything about practically everything. These men gathered and wagged their beards much. Some of them said: “It is a sign, an omen. Hao Shou’s son, born in the midst of last night’s disturbances, will gain his fortune by the agency of animals. With the help of animals he, undoubtedly, will become King. . . . He may even become mayor of our excellent village.” Other wise men, however, said to the first: “Do you fellows live in a well? (You don’t know much of the world.) To be sure it is an omen—but _mei chi_ (a bad one). The son of Hao Shou will be done to death by animals. Mark our words.” Then the old men of the two parties fell to fighting and forgot all about Meng Hu, son of Hao Shou, the innocent cause.

Having lost his pig, his cow, and many of his fowls, the father of Meng Hu found himself a pauper. He who had been rich was now poor. Worse still, a suit was brought by the tiger’s owner. The great beast had been gored while pulling down Hao Shou’s sinful white cow, and its owner sued in a court for damages. Being unable to pay, Hao Shou went to jail—and lucky he was to escape with his miserable life. For the tiger was being sent, a gift, to the King.

Thus beset by poverty, the boy Meng Hu was no sooner able to walk than he was bound over to a herder, who immediately put him to work. It was Meng Hu’s duty to watch over a flock. Early every morning he drove his sheep into the green hills, watching over them throughout the day, and with night’s coming, marshaled them back to the lowland fold. It was lonesome work, very. Meng Hu had no companions with whom to play and chatter. The solitude oppressed him. He sometimes thought that his mind must surely break—insanity would claim him. A flute, such as the other shepherds used to beguile away loneliness, was beyond his means to buy. But he must have something, must do something.

While thinking of a plan to amuse, he became aware that he was making strange noises in his throat. He opened his mouth. A long, weird howl echoed between the hills. It was the howl of a wolf—yet it came from the throat of Meng Hu. It came without effort; a perfect wolf cry. The boy was quite as surprised as were his sheep. He went away from the flock to a secluded valley, where he could practice the cry without harm. “Ow-w-w-w-wh,” and again “Ow-w-w-w-w-wh.” The sound was terrifying. Any gray leader of a pack might have been proud of it.

At last Meng Hu grew tired of making wolf howls. He tried his voice at imitating the calls of other animals. A cow—“Am-oo-ooh.” Sun-awakening rooster—“Cockadoodledoo.” A tiger; Meng Hu gave the buzzing sound of pleasure, the open-mouthed roar of anger, the coughing “woof” of pain. He found it easy to give the various calls of _hou erh_ (the monkey). He squealed in a manner most pig-like. He imitated the “Onkee Onkee” of his master’s donkey. He gave the neigh of a horse.

Day after day Meng Hu practiced in the hills, imitating the calls of many animals, usually in a low voice so that his sheep would receive no fright. Lonesomeness no longer oppressed him. He had a toy more entrancing than a lute with ivory bands. He was wolf, and tiger, and clucking biddy by turns. He knew all cries of the wild.

A train of coolies trudged along the road below. Meng Hu, seeing them, thought to have great fun. He placed his hands trumpet fashion to his mouth and gave the wolves’ hunting song: “Ow-w-w-w-wh.” Instantly the coolies flung down their burdens and ran as fast as men can run to the village. Those scary fellows had no wish to help fatten a famine-maddened wolf. Naturally, their fright lent great powers to their imaginations. Not only had they heard the wolf—they had seen him—as large as the Emperor’s battle horse. And the flock owners had better see about their sheep. A dozen sheep would be only a trifling morsel for that huge beast. This large—holding their hands high in air.

How the village hubbubbed with excitement. Such a collection of spears and scythes and warlike jingals as rushed to the wolf-haunted hills.

When Meng Hu saw half of the village’s population drawing near in a glorious gleam of weapons, he realized what had happened. Beyond a doubt, he would be questioned. Had he seen the wolf? They would ask him that. No—he hadn’t _seen_ the wolf, but most certainly he had heard it. Perhaps the beast was hiding in the thicket. Then hunt for it. That would prevent suspicion.

The villagers came up to find Meng Hu bravely poking with his staff in the bushes. Oh, but they praised him. “See,” said the villagers, “brave Meng Hu all alone hunts the wolf. How courageous is Meng Hu. His heart is as bold as the heart of Mi Tze—he who pulled the King’s beard. Valiant Meng Hu is an added honor to the Village of Two Roads Meeting—renowned for its heroic men.”

Meng Hu said nothing—just then. When alone, he brayed like a donkey. It was so funny, so laughably ridiculous. He had fooled the wisest men of Two Roads Meeting Village.

For the next several days Meng gave the villagers plenty of violent exercise. He had them come puffing up the hill at all hours. “Ow-w-w-w-w-w-wh.” One long-drawn-out howl was sufficient to set scythes and spears in motion.

But the villagers were not so gullible as one might think. They had eyes. Why was it that they never _saw_ the wolf? Never a glimpse could they catch of the rogue. And there were no tracks to be found. Suspicion dawned. Could it be that someone was making sport of Two Roads Meeting Village? Several men hid in the bushes. Meng Hu was seen to climb a rock that overhung the lowland. He raised his hands to form a trumpet. “Ow-w-w-w-w-wh.” The wolf.

“Oho,” said the men, of whom the flock owner was one. “Aha. So it was you all the time.” They rushed upon Meng Hu and gave him a good taste of bamboo sauce, which is served upon the back, and sounds “Swish, thump. Swish, thump.” The flock owner then paid Meng what few cash were due and bade him, “_Chu pa_ (Away with you). And don’t dare ever to return. _Hsiao tsai tzu_ (You young animal).”

Meng Hu called to his heels for assistance. He ran and ran, till the hills were far behind. Every now and again he murmured sadly: “How wise were the old men. They _said_ that an animal would be my downfall. A wolf. A mock wolf was my undoing.”

The lowland was a pleasant country, with here and there a ripening field, and here and there a forest. Young Meng stood at the edge of a wood, casting about for a bed to serve him the night. A clatter of hoofs broke the silence. Some twenty men or more dashed into view. From their weapons and general swashbuckling appearance Meng knew them to be robbers. And knowing—he swiftly clambered up a tree.

The robbers halted and gazed about them right and left. Their chieftain said: “I thought I saw a man here. If you find him, kill him, for the people hereabouts are fierce enemies. Ho. . . . What’s That in Yonder Leafy Tree?”

Meng Hu could imagine a knife at his throat. He shook the tree with his trembling. Nevertheless, his wits worked faithfully. From his lips came the scolding chatter of _hou erh_ (the monkey). It was exceedingly well done. The robber chieftain laughed. “Only a monkey—and what vile names he seems to call us. Ho. Ho. Ho. Only a silly monkey.”

Meng Hu tossed down a ripened fruit from the tree—that being the way of all monkeys. The fruit spattered its juices in the chieftain’s eyes. “What a sweet-tempered old brute,” complained the chief. “Hurry on. We’ve no time to waste with a monkey.”

The robbers rode deeper into the forest and under a spreading tree dismounted. Meng Hu, now feeling that he was a match for forty robbers, followed the trail and spied upon the camp. He saw the knaves divide their booty—gold and jewels flashing in the firelight. There were bales of rich silk; brocades and moires—all rich stuffs. The eyes of Meng popped with amazement. He wished that some day he might own such treasure. But why not own it at once—why wait for _some_ day? Could there be any way to take it from the robbers? He shut his dazzled eyes and thought.

The night was at its most eerie hour—the hour when whitened ghosts appear—when the _yao mo_ (the ghosts that have no chins) appear. A monkey chattered in frantic warning. The robber chief awoke and said to his men: “Do you hear that sound? Monkeys always make such alarm when danger is near. That monkey warns us—a tiger is near. Get to your horses.”

Before the thieves could mount their horses, the horror-striking, the flesh-chilling roar of a tiger filled the forest. Instantly the horses dashed away. Shrieking with fear the brigands followed. Three roars emptied the camp. Six roars emptied the forest. Between roars Meng Hu found breath enough to murmur: “How wise were the old men of the village. They _said_ that an animal would bring me my fortune. A tiger. A pretty tiger am I. Ho. Ho. Ho.” And he roared again for good measure.

Morning’s glow was still faint in the east when Meng rounded up the horses. Those that had strayed too far he ignored. No telling when the robbers would return. Besides, the boy had plenty, in all conscience. As blithe as any bobolink he bobbed up and down, pounding the road toward Chang An, the capital city.

The fortunate fellow settled down in a comfortable mansion and converted his goods into gold as rapidly as possible. To put the merchants in better humor and make them more disposed to buy his silks and jewels, Meng Hu often howled and mooed and cackled. He gave the buyers much entertainment. His strange antics became the talk of Chang An City.

The upshot was that Lui Tsung, Mightiest King, heard of the youth who made such marvelous noises. His Majesty sent a courier bidding Meng Hu appear in the square that fronted the palace, there to entertain. Meng promptly appeared, bringing with him a tiger robe, a calf skin, a wolf hide, and other disguises. He intended that the performance should seem very real. And so it was, at first. As a wolf, he frightened three soldiers into running. His bawling was so true to life that an old peasant rushed to the square, declaring that he recognized the voice of his lost calf, and would someone lend him a rope. Oddly enough, the tiger mimicry created no astonishment. It caused neither laughs nor screams. Meng Hu was surprised. Had he not thrown fear into the robbers’ very marrow with his tiger noise? Roaring furiously, he rushed at a soldier. The soldier merely yawned. Roaring ten times more furiously, the “tiger” sprang at Lui Tsung, The Mighty King. . . .

Now, of course, Meng Hu was merely a peasant boy. He knew nothing of royalty and its ways. But, is ignorance ever an excuse? Never. Meng Hu should have known better than to spring at his Monarch, and to tooth the royal robes. His Majesty gasped and beckoned to a captain of the guard. “Seize this audacious person and imprison him. Hold him until I can think of an utterly new punishment to fit his crime. He merits something more severe than mere sword or fire.”

With such delightful prospects to ponder, Meng Hu languished behind lock and key. Over and over he moaned: “How wise were the old men. They _said_ that I would meet my death because of an animal. A tiger. A tiger. _Ai ja_ (Alas).” Though extremely downcast, yet he kept a faint hope. His mind fabricated numerous schemes for escape. He had noticed that the Queen seemed extremely fond of a ridiculous little yipping Chou. (The scamp; with his noise he had frightened the poor dog in a manner most scandalous.) While thinking of the Chou, he hit upon an idea that promised much.

Directly after the new guards had been posted, Meng Hu began to yelp dismally. His yelping was enough to bring tears of pity to the soldiers’ eyes. It was distressing. Presently a voice said: “O soldiers, my dear little dog is locked up, and I don’t know where. Hasten and open all the doors.” That voice was the Queen’s voice. Every soldier of the guard recognized it. Every soldier hastened along the corridor—slip slap, slip slap—opening doors. One and all they hastened to free the Queen’s dear little pet Chou.

The Queen’s voice commanded that the doors be opened. Yet, at that very moment the Queen was in a sedan chair, several miles away, taking her evening ride. Perhaps Meng Hu could have explained the mystery—had he waited. But there was no waiting. The guards had not finished opening the farther doors when Meng crawled away. He didn’t even pause to thank the guards. Their kindness went unrewarded.

To the wall. To the gate. Toward the Great Wall galloped Meng Hu. The night cloaked his hurry. No one hindered. No one pursued. Over the mountain—a mile to go. There stood the Great Wall—there the gate. There lay safety.

Meng paused for a breath and turned in his saddle. Far behind appeared a streak of light. That would be a torch—and a King’s man bearing it. They were pursuing—upon the King’s swift horses. Then hasten. Speed. To the gate.

Away galloped Meng Hu. . . . The gate was before him. . . . Closed. . . . Closed. _Ai ja_. His escape was blocked by the ponderous gate. He would be captured. He would be killed, and alas for it. Ai yu. The gate was closed for the night. It would not be opened till morning came. No ten bags of gold could open it before the morning dawned. Not even a royal order could open it.

The warden of the gate slept peacefully.

“Cockadoodledoo.”

The warden turned in his quilt.

“Cockadoodledoo.”

The warden opened his eyes. “Can it be so late?”

“Cockadoodledoo.”

“Heigho. Morning already—and—what a noisy fowl.”

“Cockadoodledoo.”

“Yes, it must be morning. Time to open the gate, so that the early caravans can pass.”

“Cockadoodledoo.”

The key clicked in the lock. The heavy hinges groaned.

Clatter, clatter of hoofs that were urged.

“How wise were the old men of the village,” murmured Meng Hu. “They _said_ that an animal would save my neck some day. A rooster. What a toothsome fowl am I. Ho Ho. Ho.”