The Jointed Snake

The people on O-mei Shan tell of a wonderful kind of snake that is said to live there.  Part of its life is spent among the branches of the trees; if by chance it falls to the ground it breaks up into two or more pieces.  These separate segments later on come together again and unite.

Many other marvellous and interesting tales are related of this mountain and its inhabitants.

The Casting of the Great Bell

In every province of China there is a legend relating to the casting of the great bell swung in the bell tower of the chief city.  These legends are curiously identical in almost every detail.  The following is the one current in Peking.

It was in the reign of Yung Lo, the third monarch of the Ming dynasty, that Peking first became the capital of China.  Till that period the ‘Son of Heaven’ had held his Court at Nanking, and Peking had been of comparatively little note.  Now, however, on being honoured by the ‘Sacred Presence,’ stately buildings arose in all directions for the accommodation of the Emperor and his courtiers.  Clever men from all parts of the Empire were attracted to the capital, and such as possessed talent were sure of lucrative employment.  About this time the Drum Tower and the Bell Tower were built; both of them as ‘look-out’ and ‘alarm’ towers.  The Drum Tower was furnished with a monster drum, which it still possesses, of such a size that the thunder of its tones might be heard all over the city, the sound being almost enough to waken the dead.

The Bell Tower had been completed some time before attempts were made to cast a bell proportionate to the size of the building.  At length Yung Lo ordered Kuan Yu, a mandarin of the second grade, who was skilled in casting guns, to cast a bell the sound of which should be heard, on the least alarm, in every part of the city.  Kuan Yu at once commenced the undertaking.  He secured the services of a great number of experienced workmen, and collected immense quantities of material.  Months passed, and at length it was announced to the Emperor that everything was ready for the casting.  A day was appointed; the Emperor, surrounded by a crowd of courtiers, and preceded by the Court musicians, went to witness the ceremony.  At a given signal, and to the crash of music, the melted metal rushed into the mould prepared for it.  The Emperor and his Court then retired, leaving Kuan Yu and his subordinates to await the cooling of the metal, which would tell of failure or success.  At length the metal was sufficiently cool to detach the mould from it.  Kuan Yu, in breathless trepidation, hastened to inspect it, but to his mortification and grief discovered it to be honeycombed in many places.  The circumstance was reported to the Emperor, who was naturally vexed at the expenditure of so much time, labour, and money with so unsatisfactory a result.  However, he ordered Kuan Yu to try again.