Part 3

The still body lay on the floor; she took off its clothes and put them on her own baby, and she waited until he had had milk and slept again; then she laid him on the floor and took the body of the dead child and went out into the great forest, where she left it.

She then went back to her cousin with a happy smiling face and said, “Woo-Liu-Mai, I wish you would come with me to your home.”

“No,” said Woo-Liu-Mai sadly, “I will go to-morrow and bury my child. I will stay here until then.”

“But you can not wait until to-morrow. Come with me now. The gods told me in a dream last night that your child would live again. Kwoh-King may now be crying for milk. Come, go now.”

But Woo-Liu-Mai said, “No, it can not be. You tell me what is not true. I will go to-morrow to bury my dead.”

Just then word came from the mother-in-law, “Your child is alive. Come home.”

Woo-Liu-Mai went home and saw the child sitting on the grandmother’s lap. And the grandmother said, “Three days your child lay on the floor as if dead. His face is changed, his body is changed. Strange, he seems not like the same baby, but he is alive, alive.”

Then they thanked the gods with great joy, and the boy grew and was wise beyond the number of his years.

Woo-Liu-Mai’s heart was now filled with great peace, and she no longer complained even in secret against the gods.

Woo-Lau-Chan, the real mother, kept her secret well and no one knew, but in her heart she said,

“The time will come, when I must tell my son all. When the years have grown old, Kwoh-King, his children and his children’s children will bow in reverence to the ancestors who brought them into life, and it is right that he should know the truth and have his own birthright.”

But in his youth she said, “Not now, for the judgment of youth is unstable and he might forsake Woo-Liu-Mai, and leave her again sorrowful.”

When Kwoh-King was seven years old, he began school, and he learned fast. But in time the money was nearly gone and Woo-Liu-Mai was too poor to send him longer to the nearest school.

One of her cousins, who was a teacher, sent word that he would teach the child, so he was sent to the school where he need not pay. When Kwoh-King was sixteen years old, he finished his studies with great honor. He was still wiser than his years and went to work for the government, soon being given a high state position.

Then his mother, Woo-Lau-Chan, who was also a widow, wrote the whole truth to Kwoh-King and to the government—his father’s name, his mother’s name, his home, his house—all with great care.

And the two mothers, the mother who raised him and the mother who bore him, were called by the government; and when the Emperor heard this story, they were given a beautiful house, and Kwoh-King lived near and took loving care of them both as long as they lived.

THE BOY WHO WOULD NOT TELL A LIE [4]

童不說謊

Si-Ma-Quong lived in the Province of Sze-Chuen. When he was young (about six years old) he played with a dog and a cat, but they hunted all night long for food in the wilderness, and his mother feared he might get the devil-sickness from them. So one day his father paid much silver for Wa-Na-Juch, a bird with a beautiful song, for his son to play with.

Wa-Na-Juch hopped on Si-Ma-Quong’s lap and shoulder and ate from his hand. He was a very handsome bird, and he sang all day long.

One day he flew out to the lake to bathe, and Si-Ma-Quong was very happy watching him. Then he ran and told his mother, “Mü-Tsing, [5] I saw the bird bathe in the lake. I think the water is too cold for him. Give him a good hot bath, as you give me.”

His mother said, “In winter you have a warm bath, but not too hot.”

When she bathed Si-Ma-Quong, she showed him why the water must not be too hot for the bird, and he seemed to understand. But the next day when his mother went out, Si-Ma-Quong said to his bird, “Wa-Na-Juch, do you want a bath?” And the bird said, “Chi-Chi,” which the boy thought meant “Yes, Yes.”

He put some clean hot water in a dish, and called the bird, but it would not even go near the water.

This made Si-Ma-Quong angry. “You tell me a lie, and that is very bad,” he said to the bird. “You said, ‘Yes, Yes,’ when I asked if you wanted a bath. Now, I will bathe you as Mü-Tsing bathes me.”

He then put the bird in the hot water, but it chirped loudly and tried to get away. “Do not cry and be a bad bird,” said Si-Ma-Quong. “I cry sometimes too, when Mü-Tsing bathes me,” but in two or three minutes, the bird lay still and he put it on the table to dry.

When his mother came, he said, “Mü-Tsing, my bird is cold. He is on the table. I think he wants some clothes. Give him my fur jacket and make him warm, so he will stand up and sing.”

His mother did not know about the bath, so she said, “Oh no, the bird needs no jacket. He wears a feather jacket.”

She then went into the room and saw the bird lying on the table, and she said, “He is dead. Who did this, Si-Ma-Quong? He is wet. Did he go to the pond? I think you killed him. If you did, your father will surely beat you, and he will never bring you another bird.”

And Si-Ma-Quong cried and said, “Yes, I did it. I put him in hot water. I bathed him just as you bathe me. At first he would not go in, but I made him. Then he cried, ‘Chi-Chi-Chee.’ Will you tell my father? I think he will forgive me, if I tell him the truth. He did the last time I did wrong.”

When time came for the evening meal, his mother called him, but he would not eat. He said, “I am sorry about Wa-Na-Juch, and I can not eat food. Wait until my father comes, so that I may tell him all I have done.”

Once Si-Ma-Quong and two other boys were trying to peel fruit that grew in a neighbor’s garden, but the peach skins were tight and the boys were not skilled. Their task seemed not likely to be finished, when a man passing by said, “I will tell you how to peel the peaches. Get boiling water, drop the peaches in and take them out in a very little time, and then you can pull off their skins easily.”

The man whose peaches they were peeling came soon, and saw that the task was finished. He looked at the fruit and said, “I never saw fruit peeled with so little waste. How did you do it?”

They showed him the hot water and he said, “You are very wise to know first this way of peeling fruit. I will give a piece of silver to each of the boys who made the discovery.”

He asked the other two, “Did you?” and “Did you?” and they both said, “Yes.” He then gave them the silver, but Si-Ma-Quong said, “No, I do not want the silver. We did not ourselves know how to remove the peach skins. A strange man showed us.”

Now these two things happened when Si-Ma-Quong was very young; and he lived seventy-two years and served his emperor and his nation wisely. He did many great things, because he was true in the little things. So history says that this man, who never spoke falsely as a child, youth, or man, was one of the greatest men in the Chinese nation.

A GREAT REPENTANCE AND A GREAT FORGIVENESS

悔恕並行

Liang-Sheng-Yü was one of the great generals of China. He had served his kingdom wisely for many years, when there was a war of four nations. Liang-Sheng-Yü conquered the other nations, and put them under the authority of his king.

He was also called Seung-Foo, or the great Helper of the King. He was given this honorable title because he had served two generations of kings—father and son.

One day Liang-Sheng-Yü reproved the general, Liang-Po, in the presence of the king. Liang-Po was angry because of this and said to himself, “Although Liang-Sheng-Yü is a great general, he should not say these things to me in the king’s presence. He has found fault before the king. I will now find fault with him and accuse him before the king. The king forgave me, only because he knew I had done many good things for the kingdom.”

He went to his home, but he could not sleep, for his heart burned with anger. In the morning his face was yet cast down with sorrow, for he could not forget his great disgrace before the king. His wife questioned him, “What troubled you last night?” But he only answered, “Do not ask.”

A servant brought his morning meal, but it was to him as if it had no taste. And the wine-servant gave him wine, but it tasted as water. Another servant brought him water to bathe, and he said, “It is too cold.” But the water was such as it always had been.

Three days passed by and the heart of Liang-Po changed not. Then he went to the house of a friend. On the way, while still at some distance, he saw Liang-Sheng-Yü coming and he tried to meet him and talk with him. But Liang-Sheng-Yü walked by on the other side and would not see.

Liang-Po said to himself, “This is a strange and terrible thing. I was never his enemy; why is he so long angry? Why will he not face me? With him I served the king many years. I can not see why he should turn away from me. He is wrong, wrong.”

He went home and wrote a letter to Liang-Sheng-Yü saying, “I saw you on the Wun-Chung Street to-day and I desired to meet you and tell you many things. I believe you wished not to see me, for you walked on the other side, with your face turned from me. So my heart has another sorrow. I would see you to-morrow, soon after the morning meal, and I invite you to come to my house and eat the noon meal with me.”

But when the servant had brought Liang-Sheng-Yü the letter and he had read it, he threw it into the fire and said not a word. The servant saw and went home and told Liang-Po.

Fifty days after this, word came that the Chaa-Kwa Kingdom was about to make war against the Juo Kingdom.

The king, therefore, sent word to the general, Liang-Po, and to the great helper, Liang-Sheng-Yü, saying, “I want you to come at once to me, your king.”

When he received the word, Liang-Po said, “I think there will be a great war with the Chaa-Kwa Kingdom.” So he waited before going to the king, and gave orders that four thousand soldiers should make ready for battle.

They made ready, and for two days Liang-Po delayed his going. But Liang-Sheng-Yü was already with the king. And in his heart he had fear, for he thought, “Liang-Po will not come. I have made him feel shame before the king. I have done wrong. But if he comes not, our nation is surely lost. We can not go into battle without him.”

The king asked him, “Why has not the general, Liang-Po, come into my presence? We can not have war without the general. Without him we can not even send an answer to the Chaa-Kwa Kingdom.”

Liang-Sheng-Yü answered and said, “Before I sleep this night, I will see the general.” Then he went to his home and told his servants, “I have not time for food. I must see General Liang-Po.” And he bade them cut a bundle of thorn sticks, which he took and carried to Liang-Po’s house.

It was the time of Nyi-Kang (Everything Quiet) when Liang-Sheng-Yü came to General Liang-Po’s house. He knocked on the door three or four times before the servants opened it and asked, “Who is here?” He answered, “I am Liang-Sheng-Yü. Tell your master I must see him to-night, or I die.”

Liang-Po dressed himself and came to the door. There he saw an old man with head so bowed as to conceal his face. He wore old clothes, and he carried a sword on his back and a bundle of thorn sticks in his hands. And he knelt on the floor.

General Liang-Po said, “Who is this?” Then Liang-Sheng-Yü, the great and proud helper of two generations of kings, said, “I wish to see General Liang-Po.”

His face was still close to the floor and his voice trembled as he spoke. “General Liang-Po,” he said, “I was against you before the king and I have learned that the fault was mine. I found you right, and I am guilty, not you. I have done you great wrong. General Liang-Po, my sword is on my back and a bundle of thorn sticks is in my hand. Take the sticks and beat me. Take the sword and cut off my head. We can not make war to-morrow, if we are not at peace to-night.”

Then Liang-Po, the great general, helped Liang-Sheng-Yü upon his feet and said, “No, we have always been friends. We will be friends forever, and together we will serve our king. I wish you to forgive me. I wish the king, too, to forgive me, for I have also made mistakes. We will all forgive and be forgiven—then we will surely be friends.”

The two great men bowed down together and worshiped the Creator, and they both swore that from that time they would have the same mind.

THE MAN WHO LOVED MONEY BETTER THAN LIFE

愛財勝於愛命

In ancient times there was an old woodcutter who went to the mountain almost every day to cut wood.

It was said that this old man was a miser who hoarded his silver until it changed to gold, and that he cared more for gold than anything else in all the world.

One day a wilderness tiger sprang at him and though he ran he could not escape, and the tiger carried him off in its mouth.

The woodcutter’s son saw his father’s danger, and ran to save him if possible. He carried a long knife, and as he could run faster than the tiger, who had a man to carry, he soon overtook them.

His father was not much hurt, for the tiger held him by his clothes. When the old woodcutter saw his son about to stab the tiger he called out in great alarm:

“Do not spoil the tiger’s skin! Do not spoil the tiger’s skin! If you can kill him without cutting holes in his skin we can get many pieces of silver for it. Kill him, but do not cut his body.”

While the son was listening to his father’s instructions the tiger suddenly dashed off into the forest, carrying the old man where the son could not reach him, and he was soon killed.

And the wise man who told this story said, “Ah, this old man’s courage was foolishness. His love for money was stronger than his love for life itself.”

THE HEN AND THE CHINESE MOUNTAIN TURTLE

雞龞之爭

Four hundred and fifty years ago in Sze-Cheung Province, Western China, there lived an old farmer named Ah-Po.

The young farmers all said Ah-Po knew everything. If they wanted to know when it would rain, they asked Ah-Po, and when he said, “It will not rain to-morrow,” or “You will need your bamboo-hat [6] this time to-morrow,” it was as he said. He knew all about the things of nature and how to make the earth yield best her fruits and seeds, and some said he was a prophet.

One day Ah-Po caught a fine mountain turtle. It was so large that it took both of Ah-Po’s sons to carry it home. They tied its legs together and hung it on a strong stick, and each son put an end of the stick on his shoulder.

Ah-Po said, “We will not kill the turtle. He is too old to eat, and I think we will keep him and watch the rings grow around his legs each year.” So they gave him a corner in the barnyard and fed him rice and water.

Ah-Po had many chickens, and for three months the turtle and chickens lived in peace with each other. But one day all the young chickens came together and laughed at the turtle. Then they said to him, “Why do you live here so long? Why do you not go back to your own place? This small barnyard corner is not so good as your cave in the wilderness. You have only a little sand and grass to live on here. The servant feeds you, but she never gives you any wilderness fruits. You are very large, and you take up too much room. We need all the room there is here. You foolish old thing, do you think our fathers and mothers want you? No. There is not one of our people who likes you. Besides, you are not clean. You make too much dirt. The servant girl gave you this water to drink, and your water bowl is even now upside down. You scatter rice on our floor. Too many flies come here to see you, and we do not like flies.”

The turtle waited until they had all finished scolding. Then he said, “Do you think I came here myself? Who put me here, do you know? Do you suppose I like to be in jail? You need not be jealous. I never ate any rice that belonged to you or your family. I am not living in your house. What are you complaining about? If our master should take your whole family and sell it, he would only get one piece of silver. Who and what are you to talk so much? Wait and see; some day I may have the honored place.”

Some of the chickens went home and told their mother, “We had an argument with the turtle to-day and he had the last word. To-morrow we want you to go with us and show him that a chicken can argue, as well as a turtle.”

The next day all the chickens of the barnyard went to see the turtle. And the old hen said, “My children came here to play yesterday, and you scolded them and drove them away. You said all my family were not worth one piece of silver. You think you are worth many pieces of gold, I suppose. No one likes you. Your own master would not eat you. And the market people would never buy a thing so old and tough as you are. But I suppose you will have to stay here in our yard a thousand years or so, until you die. Then they will carry you to the wilderness and throw you into the Nobody-Knows Lake.”

Then the turtle answered and said, “I am a mountain turtle. I come from a wise family, and it is not easy for even man to catch me. Educated men, doctors, know that I am useful for sickness, but if all the people knew the many ways they could use me, I think there would soon be no more turtles in the world. Many Chinese know that my skin is good for skin disease, and my forefeet are good for the devil-sickness in children, as they drive the devil away; and then my shells are good for sore throat, and my stomach is good for stomach-ache, and my bones are good for toothache. Do you remember that not long ago our master brought three turtle eggs to feed your children? I heard him say, ‘Those little chickens caught cold in that damp place, and so I must give them some turtle eggs.’ I saw your children eat those three eggs, and in two or three days they were well.

“So you see the turtle is a useful creature in the world, even to chickens. Why do you not leave me in peace? As I must stay here against my will, it is not right that your children should trouble me. Sometimes they take all my rice and I go hungry, for our master will not allow me to go outside of this fence to hunt food for myself. I never come to your house and bother you, but your children will not even let me live in peace in the little corner our master gave me. If I had a few of my own people here with me, as you have, I think you would not trouble me. But I have only myself, while you are many.

“Yesterday your children scolded me and disturbed my peace. To-day you come again; and to-morrow and many to-morrows will see generations and still more unhatched generations of chickens coming here to scold me, I fear; for the length of life of a cackling hen is as a day to me—a mountain turtle. I know the heaven is large, I know the earth is large and made for all creatures alike. But you think the heavens and the earth were both made for you and your chickens only. If you could drive me away to-day, you would try to-morrow to drive the dog away, and in time you would think the master himself ought not to have enough of your earth and air to live in. This barnyard is large enough for birds, chickens, ducks, geese, and pigs. It makes our master happy to have us all here.”

The chickens went away ashamed. Talking to each other about it, they said, “The turtle is right. It is foolish to want everything. We barnyard creatures must live at peace with each other until we die. The barnyard is not ours; we use it only a little while.”

Ee-Sze (Meaning): The Creator made the world for all to use, and, while using it, the strong should not try to drive out the weak.

THE BOY OF PERFECT DISPOSITION [7]

完全之性格

THE STORY OF TSEN-TSZE, A PUPIL OF CONFUCIUS

About two thousand four hundred and twenty years ago, Tsen-Tsze [8] was a child and lived in San-Szi Province. For twenty-one years he studied many things with the great teacher, Confucius. And the first great moral law of Confucius he obeyed, not only in his acts, but in his heart, even when beaten for a thing he did not understand. [9] And it is not on record that any other man has ever done this.

In earliest childhood, he always loved and reverenced his father and mother. In the morning when he arose he went to see his parents before he would have the morning meal.

One day Tsen-Tsze’s mother went away to visit his grandparents. When she left, she said, “Dear son, I will return in one day. You and your father will be happy for a day without me.” And he knelt [10] and bowed his head to worship his mother at parting.