“Heigh-yah! but, Lí, thou art as fine as a magpie,” quoth she, raising her head from the pan of charcoal, over which she seemed to be simmering something in a small dish—“Heigh—and now I look at you again, I see you have drank of that cursed sam-shu—forever abhorred be the name of I-tih![[4]] with all thy wit dost thou not know the wise saying of Mencius—‘Like a crane among hens is a man of parts among fools.’ (It may be inferred, I think, that the good old Whanki was something of a scold.) And while thou hast been guzzling, see what I have prepared for thee—what had I to do with birds-nest soup, and with shark’s fins, and with pigeon’s eggs from the table of Hok-wan! My poor Lí will be too modest to eat with the great company, I said to myself, and I will not eat them, but warm them up to comfort him when he comes back—look, here they are,” (lifting the dish from the fire) “and yet thou comest home like a well-fed, stupid swine!”
“Now tu-h, mother,” answered Lí, “if thy son has been drinking with fools, they wore fine feathers—and now embrace me, for I am going to the capital.”
“Lí, thou art drunk—go to bed—the capital indeed! Ah cursed, cursed I-tih!” exclaimed the old woman.
But when at length Lí convinced her that he was neither drunk nor crazy, but in reality about to start for Nankin, as a candidate for honors in the Scientific Halls, and with a letter to the great Ho in his pouch, Whanki knocked her head reverently before the shrine of the household gods in token of gratitude.
The remainder of the night was passed in preparations for the journey, and just as the golden ripples of the lake danced in the rays of the rising sun, Lí tenderly embraced his aged parent, and set forth on foot for Nankin, more than a hundred miles distant.
“Ah, the blessed bug,” quoth the old woman, gazing after him so long as she could catch a glimpse of his large bamboo hat, “he will not want for rice any day—no sycee has he in his pockets, but such a tongue in his head, as will bring him food and honors.”
Whanki was right. In every hamlet he passed through—in every cottage by the wayside, Lí found a shelter and a welcome—the good people considering themselves amply repaid for their hospitality if the young stranger would but touch the strings of the pipa, or recite to them odes from the Shoo-king.
In this manner he reached the capital, and crossing the marble bridge over the great canal, upon the eastern side, entered the city at the Gate of Extensive Peace. Going into the first barber’s shop which offered, Lí carefully plucked out his beard, (hear this, ye exquisites of modern days!) shaved his head anew to the crown, and plaited his long black hair with red ribbons. Then entering an adjoining tavern, he exchanged his dusty, travel-worn garments for the rich dress presented him by Hok-wan, which he had preserved with great care for the occasion, and holding up his fan, to shield his eyes from the sun, stepped forth into the busy streets, to look for the dwelling of the illustrious Ho.
And next, within the Hall of Ceremony, in the elegant mansion of Ho, behold Lí in the presence of the great man himself—for with the same audacity which marked his behavior at the dinner of Hok-wan, had Lí given the door-keeper a vermilion card, leading Ho to expect a visiter of rank. Advancing three steps to meet him, Ho bows low to his stranger guest—then with graceful ease Lí also advances three step, and bows still lower—Ho again gravely steps forward and makes another salutation—upon which Lí again does the same—with a still lower bending of the body, Ho once more advances—whereupon Lí, nearly touching the marble pavements with his forehead, steps forward yet another three steps! By this time their united and solemn paces had brought them near the couch upon which visiters are expected to repose themselves. And here again the same formalities were gone through with, as to who should first be seated thereon. But being seated, Lí at once burst forth with such a flow of wit and fancy, that Ho was completely captivated ere he knew the name or business of the daring youth!
Now this was a capital stroke of Lí. For the academician cared not so much for any dignitary under the Emperor Supreme, as he did for a man of learning, or even for one who could tickle the moments as they flew with witty jests, provoking laughter. Ho saw at once that Lí not only possessed this recommendation, but that his knowledge could also ring on as many topics as there were bells to the Porcelain Tower. When, therefore, he had perused the letter of Hok-wan, which, after securing his ground, Lí put into his hand, and after having listened to the history which the youth gave of his hard struggles, of his poverty, and earnest desire to come before the judges on the day of examination, than Ho, embracing him, bade him be of good cheer.