“Better and better,” said Prince K’ang; “I beseech you to reveal it to me.”

“Yes,” said Hui Yang; “but this not having the will to injure does not necessarily connote a desire to love and do good.  But my secret is one whereby every man, woman, and child in the empire shall be inspired with the friendly desire to love and do good to each other.  This is much better than the possession of mere courage and strength.  Has Your Highness no mind to acquire such a secret as this?”

The Prince confessed that, on the contray, he was most anxious to learn it.

“It is nothing else than the teachings of Confucius and Mo Ti,” said Hui Yang.

A main idea of Taoism—­one with which the Confucius of orthodox Confucianism did not concern himself—­is the possibility of creating within one’s outer and mortal an inner and immortal self; by subduing desire, by sublimating away all impurities, by concentration.  The seed of that Immortality is hidden in us; the seed of mastery of the inner and outer worlds.  Faith is the key.  Shang Ch’iu K’ai, whose “faith had made him whole,” walked through fire.  “Whoso hath faith as a grain of mustard-seed,” said Jesus, can move mountains.  It sounds as if he had been reading the Book of Liehtse; which is at pains to show how the thing is done.  T’ai-hsing and Wang-wu, the mountains, stood not where they stand now, but in the south of the Chi district and north of Ho-yang.  I like the tale well, and shall tell it for its naive Chinesity.  The Simpleton of the North Mountain, an old man of ninety, dwelt opposite to them, and was vexed in spirit because their northern flanks blocked the way for travelers, who had to go round.  So he called his family together and broached a plan.—­“Let us put forth our utmost strength and clear away this obstacle,” said he; “let us cut right through the mountains till we come to Han-yin.”  All agreed except his wife.  “My goodman,” said she, “has not the strength to sweep away a dung-hill, let alone such mountains as T’ai-hsing and Wang-wu.  Besides, where will you put the earth and stones?” They answered that they would throw them on the promontory of P’o-hai.  So the old man, followed by his son and grandson, sallied forth with their pickaxes, and began hewing away at the rocks and cutting up the soil, and carting it away in baskets to the promontory.  A widow who lived near by had a little boy who, though he was only just shedding his milk-teeth, came skipping along to give them what help he could.  Engrossed in their toil they never went home except once at the turn of the season.

The Wise Old Man of the River-bend burst out laughing and urged them to stop.  “Great indeed is your witlessness!” said he.  “With the poor remaining strength of your declining years you will not succeed in removing a hair’s-breadth of the mountains, much less the whole vast mass of rock and soil.”  With a sigh the Simpleton of the North Mountain answered:—­“Surely