would be a sad day for his stomach. How it would growl at being deprived of an abundance of good cooking! Perhaps, Lo reflected, the rest would do it good. There could be no denying that for several moons it had been taxed beyond endurance. But endure it did, like a wrestler who though frequently thrown, returns to the fray.
A dozen days later on the road going westward, an envoy returning from Shu met Lo, who rode a small donkey.
They both paused and dismounted to converse.
"The Emperor is very angry," declared the Envoy. "He has given orders that you are to be captured and crushed to death in an oil-press."
Lo brushed the matter aside. "The Emperor was joking. Why should he be so vindictive? Besides what could he possibly do with such poor oil as my body would supply? Why if you were to shake me, my bones would rattle in the bag of my skin, so poorly supplied with flesh am I. As for fat, there is none."
The Envoy laughed. As directed, he shook Lo, who beat a couple of bamboo reeds together, making a pleasing success of the experiment.
The Envoy was impressed. "Why there would be scarcely any oil at all," he said.
When Ming Huang heard of the encounter from the lips of the Envoy, he said, "After all, if Lo were fed to an oil press, the resultant oil would be of poor quality. If a wick were placed in it and lighted, the flame would
at once disappear. Let it be known far and wide that
