With day’s coming, Chang moved all his troops—he had only a thousand. The thousand men marched in parade along the river’s brim. Their uniforms were old and dowdy. The words, “We are brave,” that adorned their tattered jackets seemed a poor and weak boast. They were ragamuffins. They marched as if weary. The enemy jeered.
But, lo. The first thousand had no sooner disappeared than another thousand circled past the river—stepping smartly, smartly uniformed in cloth of gold, the words “Very brave” embroidered upon their fronts. The enemy was not so quick to jeer.
Following the second thousand came a thousand men in trig red uniforms. Upon their breasts were broidered “Extremely brave.” They stepped it briskly, shouting dares across the river. The enemy replied with little heart.
Another thousand followed. Jade green uniforms clothed them. Rumbledumblededum sang their drums, and their steps kept perfect time. Upon their breasts were the words “Still braver,” and upon their lips great threats. The enemy said little.
Now came men in crow’s-wing black. Upon their breasts were the words “Braver by far.” Their taunts were hard to bear. Yet, the enemy remained silent.
A thousand men in pink, the same number in blue. Came white-clad men and orange-clad men. Violet uniforms replaced uniforms of brown. . . . The enemy thought it hardly fair. King Chang, evidently, had a million soldiers. . . . How could they fight against a million? The tents came down and the enemy vanished.
General Wang continued to sew until the last hostile disappeared. He and his tailors were terribly tired. But the thousand soldiers were even more tired. All day long they had marched and changed uniforms, then marched again. They had changed from red to green, to black, to every color in the spectrum. They were color blind and weary. But King Chang merried much and blessed the day that had sent him General Wang, the tailor.
In a month or so King Chang’s happiness turned to gloom. The enemy had learned of Wang’s clever trick, and resolved to march again. The army of Chang was scarcely larger than before. To come off victorious each man would have to whip a dozen of the enemy. There was no time to increase the royal army. And the enemy lay on the other side of Ku Hsueh River, waiting for the waters to lower.
King Chang rode with his generals to the river. Said he: “There lies the enemy. The depth of the river lessens with each minute. Who has a plan?” Some of the generals stroked their beards. Others twisted their mustachios. All wrinkled their brows. Not one of them parted his lips. “Come. Come, my doughty generals. Have you no plan? General Tang?” Tang bowed his head the three times required by law and courtesy. “Sire, with your permission, I have a small scheme that may serve.” “Chen hao (Very good); spare no expense. Draw on the treasury for whatever you may desire—silk, tailors, fans, or false faces—anything except more soldiers, for soldiers we have not.” “Then, please, Your Majesty,” said Tang, “may I ask you to sign an order on the treasury for one ounce of pine resin.” Then the King thought Tang jesting. His first impulse was to strike off his head. Instead of doing so, however, he signed the order for two cents’ worth of resin.