Years ago, in southern China, lived a boy, Ah Tcha by name. Ah Tcha was
an orphan, but not according to rule. A most peculiar orphan was he. It
is usual for orphans to be very, very poor. That is the world-wide
custom. Ah Tcha, on the contrary, was quite wealthy. He owned seven
farms, with seven times seven horses to draw the plow. He owned seven
mills, with plenty of breezes to spin them. Furthermore, he owned seven
thousand pieces of gold, and a fine white cat.
The farms of Ah Tcha were fertile, were wide. His horses were brisk in
the furrow. His mills never lacked for grain, nor wanted for wind. And
his gold was good sharp gold, with not so much as a trace of copper.
Surely, few orphans have been better provided for than the youth named
Ah Tcha. And what a busy person was this Ah Tcha. His bed was always
cold when the sun arose. Early in the morning he went from field to
field, from mill to mill, urging on the people who worked for him. The
setting sun always found him on his feet, hastening from here to there,
persuading his laborers to more gainful efforts. And the moon of
midnight often discovered him pushing up and down the little teak-wood
balls of a counting board, or else threading cash, placing coins upon a
string. Eight farms, nine farms he owned, and more stout horses. Ten
mills, eleven, another white cat. It was Ah Tcha’s ambition to become
the richest person in the world.
They who worked for the wealthy orphan were inclined now and then to
grumble. Their pay was not beggarly, but how they did toil to earn that
pay which was not beggarly. It was go, and go, and go. Said the ancient
woman Nu Wu, who worked with a rake in the field: “Our master drives us
as if he were a fox and we were hares in the open. Round the field and
round and round, hurry, always hurry.” Said Hu Shu, her husband, who
bound the grain into sheaves: “Not hares, but horses. We are driven like
the horses of Lung Kuan, who . . .” It’s a long story.
But Ah Tcha, approaching the murmurers, said, “Pray be so good as to
hurry, most excellent Nu Wu, for the clouds gather blackly, with
thunder.” And to the scowling husband he said, “Speed your work, I beg
you, honorable Hu Shu, for the grain must be under shelter before the
smoke of Evening Rice ascends.”
[Illustration: When Ah Tcha had eaten his Evening Rice, he took lantern
and entered the largest of his mills.]
When Ah Tcha had eaten his Evening Rice, he took lantern and entered the
largest of his mills. A scampering rat drew his attention to the floor.
There he beheld no less than a score of rats, some gazing at him as if
undecided whether to flee or continue the feast, others gnawing—and who
are you, nibbling and caring not? And only a few short whisker-lengths
away sat an enormous cat, sleeping the sleep of a mossy stone. The cat
was black in color, black as a crow’s wing dipped in pitch, upon a night
of inky darkness. That describes her coat. Her face was somewhat more
black. Ah Tcha had never before seen her. She was not his cat. But his
or not, he thought it a trifle unreasonable of her to sleep, while the
rats held high carnival. The rats romped between her paws. Still she
slept. It angered Ah Tcha. The lantern rays fell on her eyes. Still she
slept. Ah Tcha grew more and more provoked. He decided then and there to
teach the cat that his mill was no place for sleepy heads.
Accordingly, he seized an empty grain sack and hurled it with such exact
aim that the cat was sent heels over head. “There, old
Crouch-by-the-hole,” said Ah Tcha in a tone of wrath. “Remember your
paining ear, and be more vigilant.” But the cat had no sooner regained
her feet than she changed into . . . Nu Wu . . . changed into Nu Wu, the
old woman who worked in the fields . . . a witch. What business she had
in the mill is a puzzle. However, it is undoubtedly true that mills hold
grain, and grain is worth money. And that may be an explanation. Her
sleepiness is no puzzle at all. No wonder she was sleepy, after working
so hard in the field, the day’s length through.
The anger of Nu Wu was fierce and instant. She wagged a crooked finger
at Ah Tcha, screeching: “Oh, you cruel money-grubber. Because you fear
the rats will eat a pennyworth of grain you must beat me with bludgeons.
You make me work like a slave all day—and wish me to work all night.
You beat me and disturb my slumber. Very well, since you will not let me
sleep, I shall cause you to slumber eleven hours out of every
dozen. . . . Close your eyes.” She swept her wrinkled hand across Ah
Tcha’s face. Again taking the form of a cat, she bounded downstairs.
She had scarce reached the third step descending when Ah Tcha felt a
compelling desire for sleep. It was as if he had taken gum of the white
poppy flower, as if he had tasted honey of the gray moon blossom. Eyes
half closed, he stumbled into a grain bin. His knees doubled beneath
him. Down he went, curled like a dormouse. Like a dormouse he slumbered.
From that hour began a change in Ah Tcha’s fortune. The spell gripped
him fast. Nine-tenths of his time was spent in sleep. Unable to watch
over his laborers, they worked when they pleased, which was seldom. They
idled when so inclined—and that was often, and long. Furthermore, they
stole in a manner most shameful. Ah Tcha’s mills became empty of grain.
His fields lost their fertility. His horses disappeared—strayed, so it
was said. Worse yet, the unfortunate fellow was summoned to a
magistrate’s _yamen_, there to defend himself in a lawsuit. A neighbor
declared that Ah Tcha’s huge black cat had devoured many chickens. There
were witnesses who swore to the deed. They were sure, one and all, that
Ah Tcha’s black cat was the cat at fault. Ah Tcha was sleeping too
soundly to deny that the cat was his. . . . So the magistrate could do
nothing less than make the cat’s owner pay damages, with all costs of
the lawsuit.
Thereafter, trials at court were a daily occurrence. A second neighbor
said that Ah Tcha’s black cat had stolen a flock of sheep. Another
complained that the cat had thieved from him a herd of fattened
bullocks. Worse and worse grew the charges. And no matter how absurd, Ah
Tcha, sleeping in the prisoner’s cage, always lost and had to pay
damages. His money soon passed into other hands. His mills were taken
from him. His farms went to pay for the lawsuits. Of all his wide lands,
there remained only one little acre—and it was grown up in worthless
bushes. Of all his goodly buildings, there was left one little hut,
where the boy spent most of his time, in witch-imposed slumber.
Now, near by in the mountain of Huge Rocks Piled, lived a greatly
ferocious _loong_, or, as foreigners would say, a dragon. This immense
beast, from tip of forked tongue to the end of his shadow, was far
longer than a barn. With the exception of length, he was much the same
as any other _loong_. His head was shaped like that of a camel. His
horns were deer horns. He had bulging rabbit eyes, a snake neck. Upon
his many ponderous feet were tiger claws, and the feet were shaped very
like sofa cushions. He had walrus whiskers, and a breath of red-and-blue
flame. His voice was like the sound of a hundred brass kettles pounded.
Black fish scales covered his body, black feathers grew upon his limbs.
Because of his color he was sometimes called _Oo Loong_. From that it
would seem that _Oo_ means neither white nor pink.
The black _loong_ was not regarded with any great esteem. His habit of
eating a man—two men if they were little—every day made him rather
unpopular. Fortunately, he prowled only at night. Those folk who went to
bed decently at nine o’clock had nothing to fear. Those who rambled well
along toward midnight, often disappeared with a sudden and complete
thoroughness.
As every one knows, cats are much given to night skulking. The witch
cat, Nu Wu, was no exception. Midnight often found her miles afield. On
such a midnight, when she was roving in the form of a hag, what should
approach but the black dragon. Instantly the _loong_ scented prey, and
instantly he made for the old witch.
There followed such a chase as never was before on land or sea. Up hill
and down dale, by stream and wood and fallow, the cat woman flew and the
dragon coursed after. The witch soon failed of breath. She panted. She
wheezed. She stumbled on a bramble and a claw slashed through her
garments. Too close for comfort. The harried witch changed shape to a
cat, and bounded off afresh, half a li at every leap. The _loong_
increased his pace and soon was close behind, gaining. For a most
peculiar fact about the _loong_ is that the more he runs the easier his
breath comes, and the swifter grows his speed. Hence, it is not
surprising that his fiery breath was presently singeing the witch cat’s
back.
In a twinkling the cat altered form once more, and as an old hag
scuttled across a turnip field. She was merely an ordinarily powerful
witch. She possessed only the two forms—cat and hag. Nor did she have a
gift of magic to baffle or cripple the hungry black _loong_.
Nevertheless, the witch was not despairing. At the edge of the turnip
field lay Ah Tcha’s miserable patch of thick bushes. So thick were the
bushes as to be almost a wall against the hag’s passage. As a hag, she
could have no hope of entering such a thicket. But as a cat, she could
race through without hindrance. And the dragon would be sadly bothered
in following. Scheming thus, the witch dashed under the bushes—a cat
once more.
Ah Tcha was roused from slumber by the most outrageous noise that had
ever assailed his ears. There was such a snapping of bushes, such an
awful bellowed screeching that even the dead of a century must have
heard. The usually sound-sleeping Ah Tcha was awakened at the outset. He
soon realized how matters stood—or ran. Luckily, he had learned of the
only reliable method for frightening off the dragon. He opened his door
and hurled a red, a green, and a yellow firecracker in the monster’s
path.
In through his barely opened door the witch cat dragged her exhausted
self. “I don’t see why you couldn’t open the door sooner,” she scolded,
changing into a hag. “I circled the hut three times before you had the
gumption to let me in.”
“I am very sorry, good mother. I was asleep.” From Ah Tcha.
“Well, don’t be so sleepy again,” scowled the witch, “or I’ll make you
suffer. Get me food and drink.”
“Again, honored lady, I am sorry. So poor am I that I have only water
for drink. My food is the leaves and roots of bushes.”
“No matter. Get what you have—and quickly.”
Ah Tcha reached outside the door and stripped a handful of leaves from a
bush. He plunged the leaves into a kettle of hot water and signified
that the meal was prepared. Then he lay down to doze, for he had been
awake fully half a dozen minutes and the desire to sleep was returning
stronger every moment.
The witch soon supped and departed, without leaving so much as half a
“Thank you.” When Ah Tcha awoke again, his visitor was gone. The poor
boy flung another handful of leaves into his kettle and drank quickly.
He had good reason for haste. Several times he had fallen asleep with
the cup at his lips—a most unpleasant situation, and scalding. Having
taken several sips, Ah Tcha stretched him out for a resumption of his
slumber. Five minutes passed . . . ten minutes . . . fifteen. . . .
Still his eyes failed to close. He took a few more sips from the cup and
felt more awake than ever.
“I do believe,” said Ah Tcha, “that she has thanked me by bewitching my
bushes. She has charmed the leaves to drive away my sleepiness.”
And so she had. Whenever Ah Tcha felt tired and sleepy—and at first
that was often—he had only to drink of the bewitched leaves. At once
his drowsiness departed. His neighbors soon learned of the bushes that
banished sleep. They came to drink of the magic brew. There grew such a
demand that Ah Tcha decided to set a price on the leaves. Still the
demand continued. More bushes were planted. Money came.
Throughout the province people called for “the drink of Ah Tcha.” In
time they shortened it by asking for “Ah Tcha’s drink,” then for “Tcha’s
drink,” and finally for “Tcha.”
And that is its name at present, “Tcha,” or “Tay,” or “Tea,” as some
call it. And one kind of Tea is still called “Oo Loong”—“Black Dragon.”
[Illustration]