Shen of the Sea quotes

“That is truth, esteemed Brother Cha. It rains perfectly hard.

There will be plenty of leisure in which to beat the children.

”

Some persons answer it one way, and some, another. But there is no question about this. . . . Ah Mee was terrible. If anything, he was as bad as that lazy Ah Fun, son of Dr. Chu Ping. Here is their only difference.

Ah Fun never did what he was told to do. Ah Mee always did what he was told not to do.

But he did it in such manner as to leave a loophole. He always had a perfectly good excuse. Take the matter of his uncle Ching Cha’s cabbage patch. . . .

When Ching Chi came home and discovered his carvings smeared with black and sticky jam, that good soul fell into a passion. First he screamed. Next he howled. Then he seized the plaques and flung them from him, flung them with all his strength.

Flinging seems to have been a family failing.

Ching Chi was weeping for sorrow, and howling with rage when his brother Cha entered the room. The quick eyes of Brother Cha soon saw that something was amiss. He gazed at the wall where the plaques had struck. He gazed at the jam-coated plaques.

Chieh Chung was fooled once, but he was far too clever to be fooled twice. He buried the bottle, perhaps in this very garden, for who knows? He buried it so deep that no ordinary digging shall discover it.

And so, the sea may look over the walls of Kua Hai, but it may not enter.

”

“Not pickled, Honorable One, bottled. Chieh Chung bottled the demons. Ho. Ho. Ho. . . . You must understand that in those days the plain hereabouts was much lower than it is now. It had not been built up.

And the sea was much higher in those days, for then there were no heavy ships to weigh it down, and flatten it.

The sea was very high then-a-days, far too high for its breadth. On every side the land held it back, and it was retarded and had no freedom of motion. So the Shen, the demons of the sea, got them together and took thought.

“ ‘We have come to possess ourselves of the city and all the low plain that surrounds it. It is our right, and our might—we mean to have it.’

Then Chieh Chung’s heart dropped down to a level with his sandals.

His heart was weighted as if with millstones, as if weighted with Mount Tai. Long he stroked his beard, pondering, grieving, praying. And the water demons danced in the dew.

It is our right, and our might—we mean to have it.’ Then Chieh Chung’s heart dropped down to a level with his sandals. His heart was weighted as if with millstones, as if weighted with Mount Tai. Long he stroked his beard, pondering, grieving, praying.

And the water demons danced in the dew.

Jubilant were they, flinging their toes high, spattering dewdrops upon the palace roof, and singing the terrible song of the ocean.

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.”

“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.

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.

He laughed as his horse took the open road.

What is better than roast duck with sweet ginger dressing? Is anything—anything—in the world and all, superior?

Two roast ducks—as Ching Chung said—are more to be desired? Ah, of a certainty. Two.

Beyond a doubt, Cheng Chang was little—but . . . how he could cook. He was ugly—but . . . how he could cook. He tied his queue with a leather string—but . . . how he could cook.

He taught his own grandmother how to roast eggs—and that’s something few men could do.

Ching Chung was the master. He was a tremendous person. He was nearly as large as Ho Lan, the giant, who, one day when stretching, burned his hand on the hot red sun.

With Ching Chung married and Cheng Chang wed, both of the old bachelors were husbands, and their lives were changed, utterly. For marriage is a most peculiar thing. It promotes the fortunes of some men. Other men go from bad to worse.

The wedding bell has two tongues. One tongue speaks good; the other, evil.

Consider the case of Ching Chung. His wife had no wealth whatsoever. But her fifth cousin was a general in the royal army. The general came to visit, riding a handsome donkey, and wearing his two swords.

How remarkable are the tricks played by fate. She gives the wheel of life a turn.

What was top becomes bottom. Strangely enough, what was bottom—becomes top.

The once mighty eat humble pie. The once lowly sit upon gilt chairs, drinking yu chien from cups of egg-shell porcelain, and eating birds’ nests. Cheng Chang was at the bottom. And fate gave the wheel a whirl.

The Street of Wang’s Broken Tea Cup lies between Seven Thieves Market and the long wharf where ship bottoms from all the world (and, as some say, the moon) discharge their varied cargoes.

Queer sights are so excessively common there that the Phoenix bird lighting a match to his feathers would, probably, excite only ordinary interest.

Nevertheless, the people do possess eyes, and they are provided with ears. Now and again they can be made to open those eyes, and sharpen those ears into eager hearing. The ridiculous, in especial, rouses their attention.

Weng Fu walked in the Street of Wang’s Broken Tea Cup, bearing a great bundle of bamboo switches upon his back, and shouting thunderously. . . . “Who’ll buy? Who’ll buy?

What young man wishes to buy him a father?

” Whereat, several persons gathered, laughing. “I, Weng Fu, will sell myself as a father to any young man for only five cash.” The crowd and the laughter increased. “Who’ll buy a pretty father? An orphan may have me for only one cash.

The crowd and the laughter increased. “Who’ll buy a pretty father? An orphan may have me for only one cash. A most excellent father I’ll be to my son. I promise to beat him twice each day.

Of every hundred cash he earns I’ll take only ninety-nine and he may keep one.

I’ll even let him sleep upon warm ashes in the bed-stove. Ho—young men, come buy—come buy.”

The house of Weng Fu was luxurious in the extreme. A goat could have leapt through any one of a dozen holes in the walls.

The roof was made of straw, so thin that the rain demon, Yu Shih, laughed at it, and the stars peered in nightly.

There was no kang (bed-stove), no table. Chairs were lacking. For furniture it had a heap of bean straw in a corner, a dozen bricks in another corner, a cupboard on a wall—thus was the house of Weng Fu furnished.

Then he put on his new sandals, took up the tray and departed. “Do not go out,” he admonished Ah Tzu. “Stay here and guard the house against thieves.” The door closed behind him.

Just what a thief could have desired in that house would be hard to decide.

Nevertheless, Ah Tzu stayed close at home, that night, and the following day, and the night that came after.

As Ah Tzu sifted the earth, his nostrils told him of a smoke. Even as he straightened up Weng Fu rushed from the house. No need to yell “Fire.”

Flames were darting like dragons’ tongues out of the thatch, out of the walls.

The old beggar ran in a circle, screaming: “Now what shall I crack nuts on? What? What? Oh. Oh. Oh. Ah Tzu, my son, get me the brick that lies on the floor in the northeast corner. The brick. The brick.”

Tang the general was no more, but Tang the musician lived and thrilled. Bow swept strings with a magic sweetly sad. The breeze caught up the melody. The river was its sounding board. The soldiers on the farther shore turned in their blankets to listen.

Than home there is no spot dearer—and the violin sang of home.

More and more sad came the music. The musician wept. Across the river ten thousand eyes grew moist. The soldiers wept and were unashamed. Why had they left their warm hearthstones—to die in an alien land?

More and more sad came the music. The musician wept. Across the river ten thousand eyes grew moist. The soldiers wept and were unashamed. Why had they left their warm hearthstones—to die in an alien land?

Fierce resolve faded, and a longing took its stead, a longing for home and the loved ones it sheltered.

Morning saw the hostile camp deserted. Soldier after soldier had stolen away in the darkness, thinking only of home. Not one remained to threaten Ku Hsueh City.

Now there is no telling why the heavens opened.

Perhaps the heat of blazing Mount Che Chou burned a hole in the sky.

Perhaps the Rain Shen, Yu Shih, imagined the people had burned incense to his honor. However that may be, it is certain that the heavens did open. Upon burning Mount Che Chou, the rain leaped down in cataracts and the lightning played continuously.

King Ta Lang was well pleased. Evidently the rain monarch meant to be friendly. Prince Tou Meng and the wee Princess Chai Mi were betrothed by royal decree. They played with the same golden calabash. They drank from the same porcelain bowl.

Each cried because of the other’s terrible misfortunes—toes will get bumped and favorite toys go astray, even in the royal nursery.

Each laughed when the other was gay. In short, they played and laughed, and bickered and made up, much like brothers and sisters the wide world over.

Then there was silence. Shen Su City was peopled only by women.

Not only the women wept, but the skies.

For three days it rained without ceasing and the river Lan became fat with much water; too large for its bed. It rose above its banks and there was no crossing. Its voice was loud, threatening—the voice of Yu Shih, master of waters, shouting defiance.

Hear now of the reigning Emperor, Wong Sing. That illustrious monarch was having a fine time in the ruling of his realm.

He dined in heavy armor and slept with a saddle for pillow. It was war here, and battle there, and fighting in between.

A dozen of his generals were in revolt. No sooner was a rebellion put down than two new ones, and worse, took its place. And there was trouble elsewhere—outside the empire.

However, is not enough always enough?

Is not a word to the wise like melon seeds planted in fertile ground?

A little study soon convinced the puissant Wong Sing that old Ching had given good advice. Immediately he acted upon it. He wrote to every mandarin of any consequence within the bounds of his empire.

It is hard to number them with exact figures. Some histories say that five thousand maids came to Wong Sing, his wives to be. Others vow to ten thousand.

But why quarrel over a difference of a few thousand wives.

The point is that they were numerous. Wong Sing was out of pocket several tons of gold for the construction of a wing to the palace for housing them all. Probably fifteen thousand was the correct figure.

Radiant Blossom refused, with indignation. “Bribe you? To paint me as I am not? Never.” Loh Yang begged for pardon. He seemed extremely penitent. He vowed that he would do his best work.

But when the portrait was finished, it was enough to frighten the blind.

The shameless rascal had made of lovely Radiant Blossom a gruesome crone, a witch, a slattern. Upon beholding it, the Emperor covered his eyes with a sleeve. “Horrors. Horror of horrors. Remove it instantly. Go. Go. Take it away. Such repulsive ugliness.”

Poor Radiant Blossom, hastening into exile, pressing toward her doom, to become the bride of a vandal.

Not dew, but tears from the darkness descended.

The nightingale’s song was a sobbing of pity. The very trees that lined the road soughed deep despair. To the river. To the river, where on the farther shore waited Wolf Heart, the slaves hurried through the night.

That lazy Ah Fun—for such everyone called him—was nothing if not a sluggard, and so he had been from the cradle.

What a shameless creature he was—a snail—a lame snail at that.

Dr. Chu Ping sent him with a bamboo tube of brick dust to the house of Chang Chi, where Mrs. Chang lay sick with a fever, and greatly in need of the medicine. And did Ah Fun hasten on his errand? No.

Then the neighbors said “Humph,” and the way they said it was with the corners of their mouths turned down, sneeringly. Clearly, they disbelieved. And one said, “

There was never a hyena that didn’t think his own son fairer than the King’s child.

” The good doctor laughed heartily at that. He turned to Ah Fun and said (pounding on the bucket):

The doctor came to in five minutes. Old Mr. Low Moo came back in half an hour.

The cow has never since been seen. It is doubtful if she will ever return.

No sooner did Dr.

Once each week, at its beginning, His Majesty was accustomed to cast the signs, so that he might know what to expect.

Thus, if rain was due on a Wednesday he was forewarned, and fore-umbrellaed.

And if war was predicted for Friday, he was forearmed and ready to give two blows for one.

He fondled the delicate wistaria. He touched his face to the wide expanded roses. Beneath the purple flowered paulownia he paused in rapture. By look and action he was a maiden, taking her pleasure in the flowers.

Out of the calm evening air came a mighty and horrendous whistling roar.

No need to tell the prince its cause. In his early days he had heard silly nurses attempt such a whistling, trying to frighten him into being “a good boy. If you don’t, the loong will get you.” He had laughed at the affronted nurses.

With another scream the dragon folded his wings and dropped lightly upon a silvery plain.

The journey was done—the moon under foot.

The dragon King ruled in a subterranean palace. The entrance was merely a shining smooth hole, but the interior was luxury itself, with brocaded tapestries and jade floorings and translucent moonstone ceilings.

The prince rejoiced at his success, howbeit rather modestly. His task had but started. There was many a chance for disaster.

Death might lurk in a faltering blow, a lagging step, a momentary closing of the eyes.

By day the prince slept. By night he kept his post at the palace entrance. As each loong came crawling into his lair Prince Ting Tsun reached its heart with the dragon King’s sword. One thrust for each loong.

Years ago, in southern China, lived a boy, Ah Tcha by name. Ah Tcha was an orphan, but not according to rule. A most peculiar orphan was he.

It is usual for orphans to be very, very poor. That is the world-wide custom.

Ah Tcha, on the contrary, was quite wealthy. He owned seven farms, with seven times seven horses to draw the plow. He owned seven mills, with plenty of breezes to spin them. Furthermore, he owned seven thousand pieces of gold, and a fine white cat.

A scampering rat drew his attention to the floor. There he beheld no less than a score of rats, some gazing at him as if undecided whether to flee or continue the feast, others gnawing—and who are you, nibbling and caring not?

And only a few short whisker-lengths away sat an enormous cat, sleeping the sleep of a mossy stone.

The cat was black in color, black as a crow’s wing dipped in pitch, upon a night of inky darkness. That describes her coat. Her face was somewhat more black. Ah Tcha had never before seen her. She was not his cat.

His horns were deer horns. He had bulging rabbit eyes, a snake neck. Upon his many ponderous feet were tiger claws, and the feet were shaped very like sofa cushions. He had walrus whiskers, and a breath of red-and-blue flame.

His voice was like the sound of a hundred brass kettles pounded.

Black fish scales covered his body, black feathers grew upon his limbs. Because of his color he was sometimes called Oo Loong. From that it would seem that Oo means neither white nor pink.

His habit of eating a man—two men if they were little—every day made him rather unpopular. Fortunately, he prowled only at night. Those folk who went to bed decently at nine o’clock had nothing to fear.

Those who rambled well along toward midnight, often disappeared with a sudden and complete thoroughness.

As every one knows, cats are much given to night skulking. The witch cat, Nu Wu, was no exception. Midnight often found her miles afield.

It rains and rains in Kiang Sing. And then it rains some more.

No sooner is one cloud past then another comes treading on its heels.

By day and by night the raindrops patter, and ko tzu from his lily pad croaks “More rain. More rain.” Old men going to bed wear their wei li (rain hats), instead of tasseled nightcaps.

Others are firm in their declaration that Moo Yee, the mighty archer, and a naughty fellow withal, shot the sky above Kiang Sing full of arrow holes.

Naturally, a sky full of arrow holes is bound to leak.

There are still others, and very learned folk among them, who declare that Mei Li weeping for her lost hero, Wei Sheng, is responsible for the torrents. Dear only knows which is the correct theory. It may be that all three are to blame.

Her cooking was more than a disgrace. When her fingers touched the pi pa, that usually sweet-toned instrument gave out a demon’s wail. She could not even smooth a quilt on the kang. The beds were all hills and hollows.

How could she make beds when her hair needed burnishing?

She scarce knew which end of a broom was meant for the floor. How could she sweep when her hair required glossing? New matting would cover the floor’s disarray.

The maid Tiao Fu was quite content—for a space. She had gowns of gorgeousness undreamed. She had slaves to kneel and knock their heads whenever she beckoned. She had priceless jewels and food of the rarest. Incidentally, she had in the King a doting husband.

She had everything—everything—except rain.

. . .

Han Hsin was not at all high as to stature.

He was short, short as a day in the Month of Long Nights.

But as a leader of bow-drawing men, his place is high. As inventor of the world’s first kite, he rose very high indeed, and that accounts for the saying, “High as Han Hsin.”

The Shen who places the stars in the sky had a shaking hand that eve. His fingers were palsied and could not hold. Star after star dropped down toward earth, and the people prayed and wept, the while they exploded firecrackers.

It’s a sinister sign when the stars tumble out of the sky.

This the people knew. Therefore, they trembled.

When Han Hsin beheld the soldiers approaching at top speed, there was no doubt in his mind as to what harsh errand brought them. He knew they intended to have his head.

But Han, having lived so long with his head, had become fond of it, and preferred to keep it on his shoulders.

But how? How could it be saved? There was no escape by running. There was no place to hide. The boy must use his wits.

The next time they might not be so easily deluded. Therefore, he hastened. But it was useless. His own country was still miles distant when he beheld the dust of men who whipped their horses.

It is not pleasant to have one’s head lopped off. At times it is almost annoying.

Han thought quickly. Near by was a melon patch. The melons were large in their ripeness. Upon a huge striped hsi kua the boy sat him down and wept. The tears coursed down his cheeks, and his body shook with sobbing.

Immediately an idea seethed in the leader’s mind.

If a small piece of paper could carry a knife, might not a large piece carry the knife’s owner?

Especially, when that owner happened to be not much more weighty than a three-day bean cake? It seemed reasonable. Again the little general took spears from his soldiers. The iron points were removed and the long bamboo shafts were bound together in a frame.

The night showed no moon. Not a star had been lighted. The wind blew strong, with an eerie whistling.

It was such a night as demons walk about their mischief, and honest men keep under their quilts.

Out of the sky above the enemy camp came a great flapping sound. Could it be a dragon? All eyes peered upward through the darkness. . . . Two red eyes appeared. . . . Nothing more could be seen. . . .

Queer Chueh Chun had been named Ma Tzu by his honorable parents.

He had been named Ma Tzu, which means Face Rather Ugly. He, himself, changed his name to Chueh Chun, which means Absolutely Beautiful.

The good people of Tien Ting Village lived tidily in made houses, above ground. Chueh Chun lived in a cave, a deep and winding fox den, below ground.

But Chueh Chun nodded his head.

He always nodded his head to show that he differed.

“Quite the contrary,” said Chueh Chun, “I fear me, honorable neighbors, that my aunt’s bequest is an ill thing altogether. It is luck the worst. Thirty thousand cash are so heavy that I shall be compelled to make at least two trips to fetch them.

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.

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.

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.

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.

In that region the people have a saying, “

He who lives on the King’s road has seen the whole world.

”

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 late, the boy reached home, he found his brother waiting. Hai Lee’s despair was shown in tears and quavering words. “

Oh, Brother of mine, I fear that your life is worth less than a withered carrot.

Why did you lay hands upon His Majesty’s right royal hat? Do you not know that death is the penalty for so doing? Soldiers have sought you high and low. If they find you—I cannot bear to say what will happen.

Next day, as Hai Low kept house, he kept it beneath a bed.

So still he lay that a mouse took a nap at his side.

Soldiers came and emptied the pantry, eating and drinking as only King’s men can. None of them thought to glance under the bed. And that was just as well—just as well for Hai Low. It was for him that they had come to search.