# Shen of the Sea/The Rain King's Daughter

THE RAIN KING'S DAUGHTER
The people of Shen Su were starving. A famine blighted all the land. Rice swamps yielded only empty husks. The millet fields were barren. The ti tan patches, for all their blossoms, produced no earth eggs—no potatoes. The chu groves gave no tender stalks. . . . And the people starved.
Every astrologer and wise man in the kingdom was summoned to King Ta Lang's palace. "Tell us, wise men, why we starve. Why is food denied us?" Thus the King questioned the graybeards, and they, the learned, consulted their charts, and sand trays, and crystal globes. One said: "The ​Shen of Falling Water, Yu Shih, is angry. We have burned no incense to him within a year." "It is a rat. A rat is eating our food," said another. The others, for the most part, echoed approval. "Yes," said they, "it is a rat."
"A rat? Where is the rat?"
"There, the mountain. The mountain we have called Che Chou."
King Ta Lang gazed in a line with their pointed fingers. At first, he saw merely a mountain. A longer look disclosed that the mountain was shaped like a crouching rat. "Trap the rat, and Shen Su will once more abound with food," declared the wise men.
"Yes, we must kill the rat," said King Ta Lang. "Ho, you carpenters, construct a giant mu mao (wooden cat) in the path of this terrible rat."
A huge wooden rat-trap was built at the end of the mountain. Yet, the famine continued. Food became more and more scarce. The wise men announced that the trap was not properly built. The rat would not enter. They advised that a spear be thrust through ​his heart. Forthwith, King Ta Lang ordered that a great spear be driven through the heart of the mountain. A spear would surely kill the rat. But not so. Beneath the earth of the mountainside was flint-iron hard flint. A thousand soldiers thrusting could not drive the spear deeper than its point.
While the soldiers struggled vainly to pierce the flinty core, a little blaze leaped from dry pine needles. Their iron had brought sparks from the stone. The little blaze leaped from the needles to a bush, and from the bush to a tree. Then it was a large blaze. Soon a whole acre of mountainside blazed fiercely. The soldiers ran away. At first, they were badly frightened, thinking the King would be angry. But the King said: "That is splendid. Why didn't my wise men think of it? The rat will be grandly singed. Ho. Ho. Ho. He will be burned to his death."
There was good reason for thinking as King Ta Lang thought. The fire spread up and down till the whole mountain blazed. The mountain was a solid wall of flame, and ​above it spread a vast sea of smoke. Only an extremely hardy rat could live through such intense heat and suffocating fumes.
Now there is no telling why the heavens opened. Perhaps the heat of blazing Mount Che Chou burned a hole in the sky. Perhaps the Rain Shen, Yu Shih, imagined the people had burned incense to his honor. However that may be, it is certain that the heavens did open. Upon burning Mount Che Chou, the rain leaped down in cataracts and the lightning played continuously. Over the plains of Shen Su also the waters fell, but there the rain was gentle, though persistent.
For seven days the skies dripped. Then, the grass was green as Jade. The cattle filled their so-loose coats. Quick-growing vegetables sprang up in every garden. There was life. All the people of Shen Su said: "The rat has been singed by the fire. The rat has been drowned by the waters. His head has been cleft by the lightnings. Now he is dead and cannot steal our food." And that was their belief. "The rat is no more—therefore, we have food and life."
​While the rain still plashed on the roof tiles, new life came to the palace. A son was born to King Ta Lang. At that same hour a basket was found in the garden.
At that same hour a basket was found in the garden.
In the basket was a tiny girl. No one had been seen to place the basket. Here was mystery. Again King Ta Lang summoned his ​soothsayers. He wished to learn what the coming years held in store for his son. Further, he wished to learn the past as well as the future of that chubby little girl so mysteriously cradled in his garden.
The wise men consulted book and glass and table. All in good time Ta Lang learned that his son must be named Tou Meng (Give Thanks) and that he would remain great so long as he remained thankful. The girl must be named Chai Mi (Enables Us to Live). Chai Mi was a daughter of the Rain King, Yu Shih, who had given her to become the wife of Tou Meng.
King Ta Lang was well pleased. Evidently the rain monarch meant to be friendly. Prince Tou Meng and the wee Princess Chai Mi were betrothed by royal decree. They played with the same golden calabash. They drank from the same porcelain bowl. Each cried because of the other's terrible misfortunes—toes will get bumped and favorite toys go astray, even in the royal nursery. Each laughed when the other was gay. In short, they played and laughed, and bickered ​and made up, much like brothers and sisters the wide world over.
Quickly sped the years. The prince added inch after inch to his stature. The height of the princess increased in proportion. If she was not so tall, she seemed equally strong and daring. She played ball with the prince. She climbed trees and rode donkeys. She could place her arrow in the target's eye, and she could swim where few would venture. More, the princess could 'broider, and sew, and dance most gracefully—not in the depraved and shameless manner of today; she danced the olden dances. And Chai Mi was a discreet maiden. She took good care not to excel Prince Tou Meng. If the prince's arrow struck the second ring, then her arrow came no inch closer to the mark. When swimming, the prince always won his races by the slightest margin. They were often in the water, those two. The river Lan cut its swift way through the palace grounds. Each summer day it felt the strokes of Chai Mi and Tou Meng.
In the river, Princess Chai Mi found a roll ​of parchment, written upon with characters she did not know. She took it to the King. Then there was excitement intense, with soldiers gathering from all directions. For the letter that the river had given to Chai Mi was a secret letter written by an enemy. It disclosed that the enemy was marching on Shen Su.
So Chu Mi sat beside the river and sewed and wept.
"Here," said the wise men, "is fresh proof that the king of rains is our friend. He has disclosed our terrible enemy's perfidy."
The drums sounded a continuous call as King Ta Lang mustered his army. Prince Meng buckled on a sword that dragged the ​earth. But Chai Mi—sewed. "You cannot go, Thousand Pieces of Gold," they told her. "You have done more than well in discovering the danger, but you cannot fight." So Chai Mi sat beside the river and sewed and wept, while the sound of drums grew fainter and fainter.
Then there was silence. Shen Su City was peopled only by women. Not only the women wept, but the skies. For three days it rained without ceasing and the river Lan became fat with much water; too large for its bed. It rose above its banks and there was no crossing. Its voice was loud, threatening—the voice of Yu Shih, master of waters, shouting defiance.
Down to the river by cover of night hurried a silent army. At the water's edge it halted. No mortal man could dare that snarling current and live. No soldier with spear and shield could hope to swim such a maddened torrent. And boats, there were none—Yu Shih had torn them from their ropes, had carried them down to the sea. The army ​must wait. Let it rest in the mud and await Yu Shih's permission to cross.
When day came, the women of Shen Su City beheld an immense army on the river's far side. It was the hostile army that King Ta Lang had marched to intercept. Beyond a doubt, the King had taken a wrong road. The enemy had eluded him, slipped past him unseen. Only Lan River in flood prevented the hostiles from entering Shen Su. And the river could sink as suddenly as it rose.
Now when King Ta Lang marched away, he went in haste and lightly burdened. All heavy armor was left behind, all heavy spears and shields. This was known to the Princess Chai Mi. She thought of the empty armor, thought of the long-shafted spears. With men to hold them, those spears could save the city. But-there were no men-only a few who were unable to march.
However, there were women, many of them badly frightened, some who were calm and unafraid. Chai Mi quickly made known her plan. Then Shen Su City awoke from its ​silence. Hammers clashed on armor, making the rivets secure.
In the enemy camp appeared a man who knew no fear of the river. He swam the raging Ho Lan and drew himself up on the other shore. Girdling his waist was a rope. The rope was soon tied to a willow stump. After that the passage was much easier. One at a time, bearing only their bows, the enemy crossed. Their chieftain, to set an example, was among the first. Thus, by aid of the rope, a number of the enemy swarmed over. They felt perfectly safe from attack. Their information was that Ta Lang had taken all his soldiers with him. Shen Su would be an easy prey. Five hundred men should be sufficient. And that many had crossed the river.
From Shen Su City marched a thousand braves, clad in glistening armor, bearing those tremendously long spears called chang chiang. Of course, they wore hideous false faces. That was the custom of all eastern soldiers. Behind the spear bearers marched a thousand archers. The wall of Shen Su suddenly ​ Of course they wore hideous false faces.
​bristled with spears, a thousand more. The enemy could not retreat. There was the river to hinder. To advance seemed utter folly. What effect could little arrows have on weighty armor? And how could five hundred prevail against six times and more their number? To surrender seemed the only course, and that is what they did. But it was grievous hard. Their leader was of royal blood. No worse disgrace could have been his lot.
Those on the shore beyond were made to cast their weapons in the river. With their royal leader a prisoner, they dared not disobey, for fear he would be slain. Their captors looked quite capable of such action. The crestfallen enemy had no faintest dream that those captors were . . . girls . . . led by Chai Mi. How could they know? The deceit was well concealed. An ancient little tailor did the talking, and he, proud of his chance to swagger, talked with a terrible voice—violently threatening. But Chai Mi, resplendent in the King's golden armor, told him what to say. And the other maids ​clashed their spears upon the river stones, as if angry at being deprived of living targets.
King Ta Lang in his swan-shaped sampan was crossing Lan River when he heard of Chai Mi's stirring deed. He could scarce believe his ears. The couriers vowed that they spoke no exaggeration. Convinced at last, the King said: "Then Chai Mi has done us a great service. She shall receive honors without stint." But the King's chief general was more than jealous because Chai Mi had succeeded where he had failed. This general said, "Has Your Majesty forgotten the law?"
"What law?" asked King Ta Lang.
"The law made by your illustrious ancestor, Liu Ti. The law of Liu Ti says that no woman may put on the habiliments of a King. Death is the penalty for so doing. The maiden put on Your Majesty's armor."
The King heard with grief. He said: "That is truth. There is such a law, and laws, good or bad, must be enforced. By the law of my noble ancestor, the maiden Chai Mi must lose her head by the sword."
​And the jealous general said, "Here is a death warrant for your signature."
Now whether the King would really have beheaded Chai Mi, no man can say. His boat suddenly disappeared beneath the waters and was seen no more. The wise men said that he had excited the wrath of Yu Shih, Master of Waters, and father of the maiden. That may, or may not, be true. Again, no man can say.
But this can be said, without fear of dispute. King Meng and his Queen ruled over Shen Su for many a year, and there was neither flood nor famine—only a great tranquillity.
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