"'O these great mountains. . .
O these great mountains! They are filled with the winds,
And the water in the streams flows too fast.
Cold rain whistles, the withered trees are wet.'"
"It is magnificent poetry," said the Emperor.
"But liable to give one pains in the knees. The paroxysmal manifestations of malaria are due to disruption of the state of balance between the Yang and the Yin. Wise doctors know there is no cure save one that contains arsenic. As for myself, I write of mountains in the moonlight. There is no greater poetical inspiration under heaven."
"The Imperial Court is blessed indeed," Ming Huang reflected. "We have Wang Wei who writes and paints mountains in the snow, Tu Fu who writes exquisitely of mountains in the rain, and Li Po whose poems have the brilliance of moonlit mountains. Truly you are needed at Changan. At Court tomorrow I will bestow upon you the honor of a scholar of the third degree, together with a purple robe, a golden girdle, an official hat and an ivory tablet."
Li Po bowed, but remained silent.
He did not think it wise to tell the Emperor that a few years before when he had tried for the Hanlin Academy, the Examiner-in-Chief had caused him to be violently expelled from the Examination Halls. It would be exceedingly pleasurable to flaunt his new appointment before the eyes of the exasperated official.
