Then his face fell, for on the corner of the sheet were the name and seal of the writer. “This will never do,” said he. “I want to send [[73]]it in as my own, and how can I? Alas! I must still delay to copy it to-night.”
The next day he presented it to the Emperor as his own “mean effort,” and humbly begged for pardon that he could do no better for his great and mighty sovereign. The Emperor was much pleased and gave Yen Sung costly presents and high literary honours.
Shortly after came the triennial examinations for the advanced degrees.
Yen Sung was one of the judges of the essays. He knew that Chi Hsiao Tang would probably be promoted as he was a man of such ability, and he feared that the story of the poem would in some way reach the ears of the Emperor.
After much thought as to how to avert such a calamity, he issued a proclamation that no one by the name of Chi be admitted to the examination.
Chi Hsiao Tang presented himself at the hall on the opening day, but was refused a place among the aspirants for degrees, the only reason given being that an order barring all of his surname had been issued by the powerful minister and judge, Yen Sung. In great sorrow and disappointment the scholar returned to his inn and wrote to his wife, telling her to sell some of their land and come to Peking to await [[74]]with him the next opportunity for examination, three years later. This she did. They rented a place and there, day by day, he studied, hoping to see the ban lifted.
One day while out for a walk he saw a great crowd gathered. Drawing near he found that a man of eminence was to be executed. He asked, “Who is the prisoner?” and was told, “An official by the name of Pai.”
“What has he done that he should be so degraded?” asked Chi Hsiao Tang of a man standing near. “How can you ask that?” replied the man, “when Yen Sung is the head of the Empire. He has but to nod and officials lose their heads.”
As the already disappointed scholar turned away he said, “What can I hope for when such a man as that is executed?” Sadly musing, he continued, “I had hoped to become an official, serve my country, and receive honour, but I see the life of a minister is a most dangerous one. If he would be upright, he has not the rest and quiet of the common citizen. All is weakness and evil under the sun. I will no longer mingle with men, but will go apart and seek to prepare myself for a higher existence among those who by contemplation and renunciation have become fit for companionship with the gods.” [[75]]
He went home, told his wife what he had seen, and said, “I have given up my plan for an official life. At our home in the country are houses and land, all you can ever need.” “Why not return at once, care for our property, and live in quiet?” asked his wife. “No! There is no hope for me. I give all our possessions to you,” was his reply.