General Chang was jubilant. Surely the King would be highly pleased. The King—good gracious—King Ho Chu, himself, on a breathless steed, stumbled across the battlefield. “Why didn’t you return?” panted the King. “I—I—I——” stammered General Chang. But the King said more. “The Tartars swooped down just a few hours ago, carrying off my Queen, raiding my treasury (though it was empty), and forcing me to flee for my life. They carried off the Queen.”
“How terrible,” exclaimed General Chang, looking into his sleeve. “And my army is so tired that it can’t march a step—besides the roads will soon be pu neng chu (can’t go) with the rain.”
HIGH AS HAN HSIN
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 night that saw Han Hsin’s birth was no ordinary night. It was a night of fear and grandeur. 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.
But, amid the falling stars, was one that rose, as if the Shen had tossed it, as if the Shen had thrown it high. One large star mounted higher and higher the while its companions fell. Wise men, astrologers, they who scan the heavens, said: “The stars that fall—are mighty men who die. The star that rises—that is the star of a future great man—born this night.”
The wise men of the village kept careful watch over Han Hsin. He had been born on the night of the Rising Star. They thought perhaps he might be the ward of the Star. They watched closely for signs to strengthen their belief. But for some years Han Hsin disappointed them. He rattled his calabash in an extremely ordinary manner. There was no hint of greatness in the way he bounced a ball. Yet the astrologers held to their faith and watched—and finally were rewarded.
There came a rain, not a hard rain, nevertheless a wetting rain, sufficient to drive the villagers under shelter. But Han Hsin remained in the open where quick drops pelted. A foolish villager noticed him and said, laughing: “Look you at our future great man. He knows not enough to seek cover from the storm. Ho. Ho. Ho. How wise.”
