Meanwhile, the onward swept hat-shoes disappeared from view. Chueh Chun raced along the bank, calling, and anxiously scanning the water for a trace of his lost property. The neighbors, too, hurried after, one leading the donkey. Rounding a willow-draped elbow of the river, Chueh Chun stumbled over a boat that had drifted ashore. He fell headlong and heavily, his chin plowing a prodigious furrow in the sand. Up panted the neighbors, shouting: “Alas, likewise alack. What woe. Such woe. Poor Chueh Chun, how we ache for you. Our own bones pain out of sympathy. What a horrible calamity.”
Chueh Chun stretched out a hand to pick up his two hat-shoes, drifted against a willow bough. Said he, rather indistinctly because of the sand in his mouth: “Nothing of the kind, greatly respected neighbors. My fall was most beneficial, for it placed me nearly atop my lost shoes. Otherwise I might never have found them.” He sobbed to prove his joy.
It is doubtful if the others heard. They, inquisitive fellows that they were, had hands and eyes and tongues busy as they investigated the boat that had caused Chueh Chun’s downfall. Lifting a drab and unpromising rain-cloth, they discovered underneath a cargo of precious tribute silks—only the best—stuffs such as are sent in tribute to His Majesty, The Emperor. There were bales of silk and sewn garments of silk. There were reds and greens and purples, brown and black and gold. Orange, blue, and pink, they surpassed the rainbow in vivid hue. “How marvelous,” gasped the neighbors. “Your fortune is made, Chueh Chun. What stupendous good luck. We who have always been your truest friends, aiding you with turnips and money in time of need, now rejoice with you.”
Chueh Chun nodded. “I must beg leave to disagree on that,” was his contradiction. “It is no very good luck. I would sooner have stepped on a fretful tiger. Really, it is terrible—finding this boat.”
The neighbors squinted eyes at each other and spoke. “A pity that you won’t take of the find. Howbeit—good for us. We can make profitable use of these things.” They were silly to say that.
Chueh Chun promptly loaded his donkey with silks, a burden worth, even in a beggars’ market, double or more the thirty thousand cash left by his aunt. He donned a most sightly lilac-colored coat and departed.
Thus with his donkey laden and his own back resplendent, Chueh Chun fared onward toward Tsun Pu. Scarce had he gone two li when a band of brigands espied him. “There goes old Chueh Chun,” said a brigand. “He is too poor to rob. That donkey of his is older than my own dear great-grandfather, and possesses a most deplorable temper.” But the robber chief spoke. “Nonsense, you shallow pate. Look at his lilac robe. Look at the silks upon his beast. We could scarcely have better fortune though we opened sacks within our noble Emperor’s treasury.” So the robbers fell upon Chueh Chun and stripped him of his stuffs. His donkey, his robe, his purse, all they took.
It was a well-plucked traveler who returned to Tien Ting Village and related his misadventure. The villagers, to a man, sympathized greatly. “Our hearts go out to you, most excellent Chueh Chun,” they condoled. “Undoubtedly, you have suffered. How you must grieve. And we also grieve. It is all pleasure swept away.”
Stubborn Chueh Chun could not agree. Said he: “Who knows but that it was good luck? Had I continued through the mountains I might have been killed by falling rocks. Think of that. Beyond doubt the robbers saved my life. Yet you, my supposed friends, say it was bad luck.”
