Sing. That illustrious monarch was having a fine time in the ruling of his realm. He dined in heavy armor and slept with a saddle for pillow. It was war here, and battle there, and fighting in between. A dozen of his generals were in revolt. No sooner was a rebellion put down than two new ones, and worse, took its place. And there was trouble elsewhere—outside the empire. Fierce Barbarians, led and, inspired by their haughty chieftain, Wolf Heart, grew every day more impudent and threatening. Wolf Heart openly boasted that with the coming of pleasant weather he intended to leap his horse over the Great Wall. Is it any wonder that Wong Sing's noble beard soon took on a hue like that of the lime which boys splash on fences?
But Wong Sing was no weakling monarch, to lose his crown and his head, saying: "It was willed by the Fates. What else could I do?" He called in a fearless old councillor known as Ching Who Speaks Only Enough. Said the Emperor: "Good Ching, although you are ever up to your ears in a book, per-
