“Yes, we must kill the rat,” said King Ta Lang. “Ho, you carpenters, construct a giant mu mao (wooden cat) in the path of this terrible rat.”
A huge wooden rat-trap was built at the end of the mountain. Yet, the famine continued. Food became more and more scarce. The wise men announced that the trap was not properly built. The rat would not enter. They advised that a spear be thrust through his heart. Forthwith, King Ta Lang ordered that a great spear be driven through the heart of the mountain. A spear would surely kill the rat. But not so. Beneath the earth of the mountainside was flint-iron hard flint. A thousand soldiers thrusting could not drive the spear deeper than its point.
While the soldiers struggled vainly to pierce the flinty core, a little blaze leaped from dry pine needles. Their iron had brought sparks from the stone. The little blaze leaped from the needles to a bush, and from the bush to a tree. Then it was a large blaze. Soon a whole acre of mountainside blazed fiercely. The soldiers ran away. At first, they were badly frightened, thinking the King would be angry. But the King said: “That is splendid. Why didn’t my wise men think of it? The rat will be grandly singed. Ho. Ho. Ho. He will be burned to his death.”
There was good reason for thinking as King Ta Lang thought. The fire spread up and down till the whole mountain blazed. The mountain was a solid wall of flame, and above it spread a vast sea of smoke. Only an extremely hardy rat could live through such intense heat and suffocating fumes.
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. Over the plains of Shen Su also the waters fell, but there the rain was gentle, though persistent.
For seven days the skies dripped. Then, the grass was green as jade. The cattle filled their so-loose coats. Quick-growing vegetables sprang up in every garden. There was life. All the people of Shen Su said: “The rat has been singed by the fire. The rat has been drowned by the waters. His head has been cleft by the lightnings. Now he is dead and cannot steal our food.” And that was their belief. “The rat is no more—therefore, we have food and life.”
While the rain still plashed on the roof tiles, new life came to the palace. A son was born to King Ta Lang. At that same hour a basket was found in the garden. In the basket was a tiny girl. No one had been seen to place the basket. Here was mystery. Again King Ta Lang summoned his soothsayers. He wished to learn what the coming years held in store for his son. Further, he wished to learn the past as well as the future of that chubby little girl so mysteriously cradled in his garden.
The wise men consulted book and glass and table. All in good time Ta Lang learned that his son must be named Tou Meng (Give Thanks) and that he would remain great so long as he remained thankful. The girl must be named Chai Mi (Enables Us to Live). Chai Mi was a daughter of the Rain King, Yu Shih, who had given her to become the wife of Tou Meng.
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.