An old astrologer said: “Hush, Chieh Kuo (Dunce), do you not see that the youth makes a bridge? Come with me.” They went closer to have a more complete view. The flowing water had formed a little island in the street. Upon the island were many ants. As the water rose, the island grew smaller—and the number of ants grew smaller, many being swept away to their death. Han Hsin raised a bridge from island to mainland. The ants quickly discovered his bridge and crossed to safety. “It is a sign,” said the old astrologer, “Chi li (a good omen). He has befriended the ants. The ants will remember. Some day they will do him an equal service—helping him to become great.”
Han Hsin discovered in the King’s paved road a hatchet of better than fair metal. None of the villagers could prove ownership. Little Han was permitted to keep his treasure. Quite soon a spirited chopping was heard—steel ringing upon stone. A foolish villager said: “Look. Han Hsin uses his fine hatchet to chop the old millstone—thus demonstrating his great genius. Ho. Ho. Ho. He uses valuable edged steel to chip stone.”
The old astrologer said, “Hush, Sha Tzu (Imbecile), come with me, and behold.” A wornout millstone lay at the edge of the road. Through the hole in its center grew a bamboo tree. The hole was small. Already it hindered the tree’s growth. Retarded as it was, the bamboo could never reach a full growth. Han Hsin belabored the stone till it split in two pieces. Then there was plenty of room for the tree. There was nothing to “pull its elbow.”
“That is good,” asserted the astrologer. “He saves the bamboo from death. Some day the bamboo will reward him—help him to become great.”
Shortly afterward, the astrologer gave Han Hsin a note of recommendation to the King. Han went to the King, seeking employ. He wished a command in the army. But His Majesty was in a sulky mood and would not see the boy. Therefore, Han continued his journey into Chin Chou, a neighboring country. He went to the ruler, Prince Chin, and exhibited his note. The prince read—and laughed. “You are too small to serve in my army. My soldiers are giants, all—very strong. You—are Ko Tsao (Little hopping insect). No.” Han solemnly declared that his strength was that of a river in flood, and begged for a trial. “Well, if you are determined,” said the prince, “take my spear and raise it above your head.” The prince’s spear was solid iron from point to heel, and longer than the mast of a sea-venturing junk. Furthermore, it had been greased with tiger fat to prevent rust. Han grasped the spear to raise it. His fingers slipped. Down crashed the heavy weapon. “Take whips and lash him out of the city—clumsy knave that he is,” Prince Chin roared in a great voice—angrily. The spear had missed His Royal Person by the merest mite.
An old councillor spoke. “Your Highness, surely it cannot be that you intend to let the rogue live? He will some day return with an army to take revenge.” “Nonsense,” said the prince. “He is no more than an ant—and idiotic besides. How could such a fellow secure an army?” “Nevertheless, I fear the ant will work your downfall. He must be killed.” The councillor insisted. He argued so strongly for Han’s death that, rather than hear more, the prince consented. “It is useless. But do as you wish. Send a squad of horse to overtake him and fetch back his head.”
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.
Hastily tying a cord to his bamboo staff, he threw the staff into a tiny, shallow puddle of water that lay beside the road. The soldiers galloped up to find him seated on the bank—fishing—and weeping. “And what ails you, simpleton?” a soldier asked. “Have you lost your nurse?” Between sobs Han answered, “I am hungry and I can’t catch any fish.” “What a booby,” said another soldier. “He fishes in a puddle no larger than a copper cash.” “Look,” said yet another, “he throws in the pole, and holds the hook in his hand. What a chieh kuo; as foolish as Nu Wa, who melted stones to mend a hole in the sky.” “Do you suppose this is the creature we were told to kill?” He was answered: “Nonsense. Prince Chin doesn’t send his cavalry to kill an ant. Spur your horses.”
When the troops returned and reported their lack of success, there was much talk. The councillor raged, offering to resign. He was positive that so long as Han Hsin lived the government would be in danger. He was bitter because the troops had mistaken Han’s cunning for imbecility. Merely to humor the councillor, Prince Chin mounted a horse and galloped away with his troops.
Han Hsin put his best foot foremost, hurrying toward the border. He longed to trudge the turf of his own country once more. It was not that homesickness urged his steps. Han felt reasonably sure that his friends, the soldiers, would shortly take the road again. 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.