At a signal-gun the theme for composition was given out, and, like the velvet feet of butterflies, the pencils of the rival candidates glided smoothly and fleetly over the tinted paper. With perfect composure and ease, Lí wrote off his essay in the most beautiful characters, without a single erasure or omission—handling the subject with great skill and judgment, and gave it into the hands of Yang. “_Heigh!_” said Yang, without giving himself even the trouble to glance over it, but drawing his pencil derisively over the fair and beautiful characters, “I remember the name of Lí! What stuff is here—why the fellow is only fit to grind my ink!” “To grind your ink!” quoth Kau, “say rather he is only fit to lace my buskins!” And laughing loudly at their own wit, the great judges Yang and Kau turned their backs upon the unfortunate Lí. Overwhelmed with mortification and rage, he rushed to the lower end of the hall, and there was obliged to remain until evening, as not until then could the doors be thrown open to give egress to any one. Here he had the vexation of listening to the jibes and sneers of those around him, and of seeing others promoted to honors, who were as far inferior to him as owls to eagles! What a bitter day for poor Lí! and when at length dismissed with renewed contumely from the Scientific Halls, he rushed into the presence of Ho, swearing loudly that he would one day ride over the necks of the proud Yang and Kau, “and by the head of Confucius when I do—_Yang shall grind my ink, and Kau lace up my buskins!_” he cried with bitterness. Ho was terribly indignant at the treatment of his _protégé_, as well as incensed for the insult he imagined his own dignity had received. But, although he was himself high in favor with the emperor, Yang and Kau stood still higher, therefore he dissembled his anger, lest his head might pay the forfeit, should those two powerful courtiers incense the emperor against him. When he found Lí preparing to return home, he embraced him kindly, and bade him tarry yet another year in the capital. “In the end thou wilt surely succeed, O Lí. The next year the examiners will not be the same, and thou may’st then be certain of success,” said Ho. “Remain with me until the time comes round—thy days and nights shall roll off bright and rosy as morning clouds—wine, wit, and music, yes, and the smiles of women, shall make thee forget the insults thou hast received.” But Lí remembered his aged mother, sitting solitary in her humble home by the side of the lake, and his resolution strengthened. “Know, O Ho, that an old mother waits for Lí afar off. Summer and harvest will come, but Whanki has no one to sow her rice, and desolation will sit in her dwelling. The fish sport and gambol amid the waters of the lake—Whanki has no strength to draw them forth, therefore hunger and death will await her! What profit, O wise Ho, should I gain if my aged parent suffered! Would not the gods curse the race of Lí!”