Part 9

Fortunately, Chueh Chun’s wife heard the Emperor’s command. Swiftly she ran home. As she entered the cave Chueh Chun sneezed. “Kou Chu.” The sneeze led to an excellent idea. Said the wife: “Aha. Aha,” with much emphasis. “You were out in your boat on the river last week, and now you have a cold.” Adding with proper severity, “Don’t you dare go near the river again. Do you hear?” She knew very well what would happen. “My husband—come back.”

Lame as he was, Chueh Chun promptly left the cave and got into his boat. The good wife smiled and screamed, “Don’t row with such vigor.”

Soldiers ran to the bank of the stream and called, “Come back.” And louder they shouted, “Come back.” That was extremely foolish of them. They should have said, “Go on.”

Contrary to the last, Chueh Chun sat the wrong way in his boat and rowed for dear life.

PIES OF THE PRINCESS

Three plump mandarins hid behind a single tiny rose bush. The chancellor crawled under a chair. All courtiers fell upon their chins, and shivering, prayed that soft words might prevail.

For no slight reason did they shiver and hide and pray. King Yang Lang was angry. And he was an old-fashioned monarch, living in the long ago. Nowadays, any greasy kitchen lout may tweak a King’s beard, and go forth to boast of his bravery. But then-a-days, Kings were Kings, and their swords were ever sharp.

King Yang Lang was such a ruler—and more angry than is good to see. His face was purple, and his voice boomed like a battle drum. “Keeper of the Treasury, has all my gold been used to make weights for fishing lines?”

Time after time the treasurer knocked his head against the paving. “Most Glorious and Peaceful Monarch, your gold is so plentiful that seven years must pass before I can finish counting the larger bars—ten years more for the smaller.”

That was rather pleasant news. The King’s voice lost some of its harshness. “What of ivory? Has all my ivory been burned for firewood, a pot to boil?”

The treasurer continued to knock his Head. “Supreme Ruler of The World and The Stars, your ivory completely fills a hundred large and closely guarded vaults.”

The King hadn’t dreamed that his wealth was so vast. His voice was not more moderately furious as he asked: “For what reason have you disposed of my jade? Do you mean to say that my jade has been used to build a stable for donkeys?”

Tap, tap, tap, went the treasurer’s head on marble paving: “Oh, Powerful Potentate, the store of green jade grows larger each day. Your precious white jade is worth more than green, and gold, and ivory combined. It is all quite safe, under lock and key and watchful spears.”

The King was astonished and put in somewhat better humor. His voice was no louder than thunder as he again questioned the treasurer. “Then why, tell me why is my daughter, the Princess Chin Uor, not given suitable toys. If the treasury holds gold and ivory and jade, why is my daughter compelled to use toys of common clay?”

The treasurer could not explain: “Monarch whose word compels the sun to rise, we have pleaded with the wee Princess Chin Uor. We have given her a thousand dolls of solid gold, with silver cradles for each, cradles set with rubies—and the dolls have eyes of lustrous black pearl. For the princess we have made ivory cats, and ivory mice for the cats to catch—two thousand of each. For the princess we have fashioned from jade, lovely tossing balls, wonderful dishes, and puppy dogs that bark and come when called. Yet, the princess ignores these things . . . and makes mud pies—Mud Pies. Mightiest Majesty, I do not know why, unless it may be that the princess is a girl, as well as a princess.”

A trifle relieved, King Yang Lang passed into the garden. Beside the river bank he found his daughter, the Princess Chin Uor, or Princess Many Dimples—for that is the meaning of Chin Uor. Nurses standing near kept watch upon wheelbarrows spilling over with golden dolls. But Chin Uor had no thought for such toys. Her royal hands shaped the tastiest of mud pies. Very pretty pies they were—made of white clay.

The King said: “Littlest and most beautiful daughter, the golden dolls are longing for your touch. Why do you not please them? It is not seemly for a princess to dabble in clay. Then why do you make pies?”

The princess had a very good answer ready. “Because, Daddy, I want to make pies. This nice large one is for your dinner.”

The King was so shocked that he could say nothing more. Mud pies for a King’s dinner? Such nonsense. His Majesty was scandalized at the thought. He departed in haste.

But the Princess Chin Uor smiled and kneaded more and more pies. And when she had made enough she placed them in a wheelbarrow and trundled them to the palace.

And now the story changes. Far away to the west, in a mountain named Huge Rocks Piled, the famous dragon, Oo Loong, made his home. This fierce dragon was a creature of consuming greed. He was ever hungry and anxious to dine. A rabbit or an elephant—nothing was too large, nothing too small. A turtle or a jellyfish—nothing was too hard, nothing too soft. A man he considered fine eating. Boys he liked somewhat better. Girls? Girls were far superior to boys—in the dragon’s opinion.

Much sorrow this ferocious _loong_ had created in His Majesty’s kingdom. A reward of one hundred silver pieces had been offered for the dragon’s horns, two hundred for his ears. Magicians had worked charms to slay him—only themselves to be slain. Hunters had loaded their jingals with yellow paper, and had fired where the dragon was thickest, fired where he was thinnest—only to be eaten—their guns with them. Made angry by the loss of so many people, King Yang Lang marched an army into the Mountain of Huge Rocks Piled. And the army was well armed with thumping drums and fifes and smoking guns.

Then the dragon became doubly furious and ferocious. To punish King Yang Lang, he resolved to visit the palace. That, he knew, would cause the army to be withdrawn. Accordingly, at the hour of deepest slumber, darksome mid of night, he prowled round Yang Lang’s palace, seeking entrance. He had no easy task. Upon the King’s door were pictures, also the word “Chi,” written in gold. And so that door was well protected. The Queen’s door likewise was dragon proof. It was covered with whole sentences taken from the black book of Hu Po, master magician. The door that led to where Princess Chin Uor slept was made strong by magic words and symbols. More of Hu Po’s sorcery. Useless to prowl there. Dangerous to prowl there. The dragon was a knowing beast and prudent. The signs were against him. Hence, he tarried not, but crawled down the hallway in leaving.

A wheelbarrow stood in his path. He could not pass to the right. To the left he could not pass. Nor could he leap over the obstruction. But the dragon was not one to be baffled by such a weak and wooden contrivance. His huge mouth opened and his white hot breath rushed forth. In a twinkling the wooden barrow vanished. Like a butter cake dropped upon the summer sun it melted, burned to a cinder of nothingness.

Now the wheelbarrow thus destroyed was property of the little Princess Chin Uor. In it had been golden dolls, dolls of the princess. The dolls were dolls no longer. Under the dragon’s fiery breath they changed to a pool of liquid gold. The hard gold became soft and flowing.

In the barrow had been pretty mud pies, pies of the princess. Under the dragon’s burning breath they were changed to discs of stony hardness. The soft clay took on a hardness as of flint. The princess had wished her pies to dry. And her wish had been granted.

Next morning, the palace, from presence room to pantry, buzzed with excitement. Oo Loong had dared intrude within the royal dwelling. It could not be doubted. He had left his footprints in the molten gold, and the gold, in hardening, had preserved his tracks.

Witches and wizards came to make more able charms. Messengers galloped away to summon the distant army. The King raged and roared. Said His Majesty: “Let that reprobate dragon return, if he dares. If he dares, let that reprobate dragon return.” The courtiers trembled and gasped: “Pray may the wicked _loong_ never return. Never, never return.” But little Princess Many Dimples played with her pies and was happy. Her pies had been baked to a queen’s taste—or rather to the taste of a princess. Beside the river she worked faithfully in wet white clay. Such beautiful pies. “I do hope that the nice _loong_ will return,” said Princess Chin Uor. “He is such a fine oven. I shall make a hundred more pies for his baking.”

Pie after pie. Even the nurses helped. Instead of saying, “Please, will your Royal Highness not play with this lovely doll?” they said, “Please, is this one rounded enough?” and “Please, shall I scallop the edges a trifle deeper?” and “Shall I imagine that this one contains cherries, or radishes?” or whatever it may be that makers of pies would say in a royal kitchen. So, a hundred pies were made and wheeled to the palace. In reality, they numbered a hundred and one, but the odd one was so thick that it must be called a cake. Howbeit, that is not so important as you might think.

Night followed day—a habit that most nights have. The soldiers slept—as they had been ordered not to do. The hour approached when clock hands point to the highest sky. Midnight came, and with it the mountainous mountain _loong_. Unseen by those whose duty was seeing, the dragon entered King Yang Lang’s courtyard. And there he was perplexed and paused. The King’s door was a hodgepodge of magic signs, plastered with yellow paper. Vain to think of entering there. The Queen’s door was upside down—best charm of all. To think of entering was vain. The door that led to Princess Chin Uor’s sleeping chamber was written thick with words to still a dragon’s heart, circles to dizzy his head. Say what you please, the witches and wizards had done good work upon that door. Their charms were written with clearness and force. The _loong_ dared not take a second glance. He felt his limbs grow weak. Wisely hastened he from the spell-guarded threshold.

Now in the reign of the Emperor Ming, a crazed and knavish fellow, known to the world as Wing Dow, invented a contrivance called by him “Look-through-the-wall,” but which we of today call a “Window.” His invention gave the Emperor Ming a severe cold, and Wing Dow came within a sword’s width of losing his ears—but more of that later. Here it is necessary to say only that Look-through-the-walls became popular, and many such were to be found in King Yang Lang’s palace. In the Princess Chin Uor’s room were many wing-dows (or windows), and—hard to believe—those wing-dows were unguarded either by charm or by apple wood beam, which is as good as a charm. Could the dragon pass by such a fine chance? Could he pass the wing-dow and not have a try? When he had come with purpose to do harm? It is easy to imagine the thing that happened. And yet not so easy as may seem.

The dragon’s lumpish head entered the wing-dow. His deer horns, his rabbit eyes, his snake tongue, all entered, and easily enough. A ponderous sofa-cushion foot he placed upon the window ledge. . . .

Crash, and smash, and clatter. . . .

The nurses awoke and screamed, “Save us.”

The Princess Chin Uor awoke and said, “Shoo.”

Soldiers in the courtyard awoke and lighted green fires as they smote their drums, saying: “Come if you dare. Help. Help.”

The dragon was already awake—awake to the danger. Promptly he vanished. Such noise he could not abide.

King Yang Lang came with a golden torch. Greatly he was pleased that the _loong_ had been routed.

But Princess Chin Uor was far from pleased. Indeed, she was fretful. From the floor she took a sliver of flint-hard clay. “My pies are all broken. All. All are broken,” mourned Princess Many Dimples. “I had placed them in the wing-dow. And the dragon knocked them down and broke them.” And beyond doubt so had he done. There were the pieces.

Still the King remained cheerful. His little daughter’s sadness passed unnoticed. His Majesty said: “Your pies, my daughter, are excellent food—let no one deny it—but even better are they to give warning of the dragon’s nearness. Your pies have provided me with a wonderful idea. Hereafter we need have no more fear of the _loong_. . . . Ho. General. Awaken your soldiers again. Let them march to the river.”

For a week the King’s army did no other labor than make mud pies. And liked it. The pies were given heat in giant ovens, were baked into stony hardness. Then they were placed throughout the palace, in windows, upon tables, chairs, upon chests and shelves, high and low and everywhere. Even on the chimney tops were rows of glistening pies. The slightest misstep by a prowling dragon would have caused a din most tremendous.

The royal dining table was a shining whiteness, covered with mud pies. So numerous were the pies of the princess that no room remained for food. But that was no cause for worry. The King merely ordered that his rice be placed upon a baked clay pie. Mandarins who visited the palace were much surprised at what they saw—a King eating from common clay. Nevertheless, their own tables were soon covered with Princess Chin Uor’s pies. For the King, of course, set all fashions.

And so, we modern peoples speak of our plates and cups and saucers as “China.” China? Is it? Yes, and no. China is merely our way of pronouncing Chin Uor. Our plates are merely thin copies of Princess Chin Uor’s pies.

AS HAI LOW KEPT HOUSE

After weary years of saving, a few cash each calendar, Hai Lee removed from the mountains, where nothing ever happens, and bought a tiny house that stood near Ying Ling toll road, which is the King’s road, and where strange sights are seen. In that region the people have a saying, “He who lives on the King’s road has seen the whole world.”

With him the newcomer brought his little brother, Hai Low. Hai Low was to keep house, while Hai Lee worked in field and forest. The new house was no larger than two by twice, and poorly furnished. Nevertheless, Hai Lee and Hai Low imagined it to be grand. For they had always lived in a mountain cave.

Many times Hai Lee cautioned his brother to take good care that no harm came to their magnificent house. And Hai Low promised faithfully to guard. His eyes would be unblinkingly open. Have no fear.

Upon the very first day, as Hai Low kept house, a fox dashed under the flooring. A band of hunters soon appeared. The hunters said, “We hope you enjoyed a tasty dinner.” That by way of greeting. “Our fox has hidden beneath your house. He is a very damage-doing fox, and we desire his ears. For permission to dig we will thank you a thousand times—and more if the fur be of good quality.”

Hai Low thought of his brother’s warning. Whereupon he replied to the hunters: “Your digging might injure the house, and my honorable brother has told me to keep all harm away. Therefore, excellent huntsmen, I must, in sorrow, give you no. Dig you cannot, for the house might fall.”

With soft voices the hunters wheedled. Hai Low said no. With harsh voices the hunters blustered and threatened. Hai Low said no. Money the hunters offered. Hai Low said no. His mind was fixed and nothing could move it. No once. No twice. No thrice. And again no. The hunters departed. The fox remained. And Hai Low believed he had done well for his first day of housekeeping. He imagined that his brother would praise him.

The opposite came to pass. Hai Lee frowned. “That was wrong and stupidly done, Small Brother. A little digging could have given no hurt. The fox is an evil enemy. He will catch all of our fowls, even to the last speckled hen. We must get rid of that scamp. If any more hunters come—tell them to dig.”

Upon the next day, as Hai Low kept house, he beheld two men with crossbows. In joy he rushed to greet them. With much bowing and scraping he said: “I hope that your rice was well cooked, and you had plenty of it. Will you not come to the house and dig?”

One of the men said, “This fellow reminds me of the way Wu Ta Lang got out of the cherry tree—it was quite simple.” But the other, who was more crafty, squinted an eye to say, “Be quiet.” Then, using his tongue, he spoke to Hai Low: “For nothing else we came. With all our hearts will we dig. Only open the door. Our rice was well cooked.” He entered the house and began to tear up stones from the hearth. Hai Low said, “Do you not think the fox will be alarmed and try to escape through the hole by which he entered?” The hunter replied: “A wise question, truly. What shall we do? Can you not sit with your back to the entrance? Then the fox will be unable to depart.” Hai Low readily agreed to aid. He went outside and sat with his back to the wall. The hunters struck many blows upon the hearth, laughing all the while. Presently they each said, “Oh,” and stopped digging. “Have you got it?” asked Hai Low. “We have,” the elder huntsman answered. “We have it in a sack. How fortunate that you invited us in. Our digging was most successful.” He was greatly pleased. The other hunter seemed equally as well pleased. Hai Low, too, was delighted. A very fine thing he thought it that the fox had been captured. He felt sure that his brother would speak words of praise.

But such was far from being. Hai Lee tossed a sack upon the table and said, “Oh, my Little Brother, a sad mistake you made this day. Not hunters, but thieves were those men. Not a fox, but all of our money they carried off in the sack. By chance alone, I regained it. But such good luck rarely happens a second time. Now heed my words. Never again permit strangers to enter the house. Never.”

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, the door shook with a great knocking. The boy peeped from a window. He beheld an old man, beating the door. Said Hai Low: “I hope you relished your dinner—but you must go away. My brother says that I am to admit no strangers. Go away. You cannot enter.”

The old man remarked, in a loud tone, that Hai Low spoke nonsense. “Open the door that I may enter, you who deserve a bamboo upon your back. Is this any way to treat your own flesh and blood?” Hai Low repeated his command. “You cannot enter. Go away hurriedly—else I shall pour hot water.” He tilted a kettle and began to pour. Whereupon the old man took to his heels, for the water steamed, hot from a fire. Hai Low was well pleased with himself. Beyond doubt, he would receive great praise from his brother.

But Hai Lee came home in a huff. Angry, dismayed, was the big brother. “Oh, you wrong-doing Little Brother, you have ruined our future. The man whom you chased away was Grandfather Hai Ho, wealthy and about to make us his heirs. Now he says he will leave us not so much as one cash, not one. For pity’s sake, Small Brother, be more tactful. We have another rich grandfather. When the next stranger comes, ask him if he is your grandfather, before you pour heated water.”

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, the door rattled and banged. Someone wished to come in. At least, it seemed probable. Hai Low peered from a window. He beheld a man, well dressed and round, at the door. Behind the impatient one were many slaves. At once Hai Low thought of his other rich grandfather. Said he: “I hope your rice was served on a golden dish. Are you my grandfather?”

“What?” roared the stranger. “What? What impudence were you saying?” Hai Low used a full breath to shout, “I asked, are you my grandfather. My Grandfather.” At that the large stranger tottered. His slaves made a tremendous breeze with fans, seeking to revive him. Still fanning, they carried him away. Hai Low was somewhat puzzled. And puzzled he remained until his brother came home.

The brother was frightened, likewise angry. “Oh, dear me, Small Brother, why were you so rude to the Governor? You have insulted the Governor, and will be lucky if you escape with your life. Even if you are not beheaded, you will have to pay a fine of a thousand large coins. All because of your foolish questions. I beseech you, don’t ask visitors any more questions. Don’t open your mouth to a stranger.”

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, he chanced to glance at the stable. The stable door was open. Before the boy could close it, a stranger came out, leading Hai Lee’s fine donkey. Hai Low began to imagine that mischief was being done. Thrice he opened his mouth, but each time he remembered his brother’s instruction to ask no questions. So he remained silent. The donkey was soon saddled. Away it went, with the stranger astride.

When big brother returned home for Evening Rice, he spoke harshly to Hai Low. “Goodness, gracious me, Very Small Brother, you will ruin us yet. Now you’ve let a rogue take my trotting donkey, and only by a lucky accident was I able to recover the beast. Really, your housekeeping is a bad thing altogether. Never let another stranger approach the stable. He might take our milking cow. If another stranger goes near the stable—shoot him.”

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, he sat upon the door step. In his hand he clenched a bow. Again and again he glanced toward the stable. No person should take the milking cow. Not without regret. Beware, rogues, or suffer.

A traveler came down the road. He was a rich man and wore a hat that was high and covered with feathers. It was such a hat as the wind demons love for a toy. A sudden breeze lifted the traveler’s hat and whirled it fast and far. It came to earth in front of the stable. Of course, the stranger followed it, running, to the stable door.

Hai Low remembered his brother’s command. He made a V of the bow string. His hurried arrow went seeking a mark. The traveler gave up all thought of recovering his hat. Down the road he dashed madly, shouting that he had been killed. However, he was a traveler, and travelers are noted for stories hard to believe. Hai Low sat on the steps and had practice with his bow. No man should take the milking cow, without taking an arrow also. A thief had best wear clothes of iron.

When Big Brother Hai Lee came home, his voice was doleful. “Oh, Brother, my Brother, you have put us into vast trouble. Why on earth did you shoot an arrow into the traveler’s quilted coat? He is a foreign ambassador and says that his country will instantly declare war upon us. Think of the sadness your act will cause. I beg of you be not so rash in future. The next time you see a stranger lose his hat, don’t shoot. Instead, be polite, and chase the hat.”

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, he noticed a great company of men approaching. Gong beaters led. Behind them came carriers of banners; tablet men; keepers of the large umbrellas; warriors; more gong musicians; fan carriers; incense swingers—a long procession it was. Hai Low knew that it must be the marching train of a truly great man. He hoped that he might behold the high and mighty one. And so he did. As the gilded sedan chair was borne past, a breeze threshed its curtains. A hat soared out of the sedan. Carried by the wind demons, it rolled across turnip patch and radish. Hai Low dashed away in chase. He thought himself being polite and useful—to rescue the great one’s hat.

Alas, a hundred bludgeon men and spear wavers rushed after him. They shouted that he must stop and be killed for his sin. Hai Low had no idea why they wished to slay him. Neither had he the faintest idea of stopping. He lifted his heels with such rapidity that he gained a thicket three leaps ahead of the foremost warrior men. In the heavy growth of briers and bushes he was safe, for he knew the tangle in all its winding ways. To follow was folly.