These two failures will but enhance the glory of your eventual success, for success this time must crown your efforts.  I am only a girl, and cannot assist you but with my prayers; these I will daily and hourly offer up for your success; and the prayers of a daughter for a loved parent must be heard.”  Somewhat soothed by the endearments of Ko-ai, Kuan Yu again devoted himself to his task with redoubled energy, Ko-ai meanwhile constantly praying for him in his absence, and ministering to his wants when he returned home.  One day it occurred to the maiden to go to a celebrated astrologer to ascertain the cause of these failures, and to ask what means could be taken to prevent a recurrence of them.  She thus learned that the next casting would also be a disappointment if the blood of a maiden were not mixed with the ingredients.  She returned home full of horror at this information, yet inwardly resolving to immolate herself rather than allow her father to fail.  The day for the casting at length came, and Ko-ai requested her father to allow her to witness the ceremony and “to exult in his success,” as she laughingly said.  Kuan Yu gave his consent, and accompanied by several servants she went, taking up a position near the mould.

Everything was prepared as before.  An immense concourse assembled to witness the third and final casting, which was to result either in honour or degradation and death for Kuan Yu.  A dead silence prevailed through the vast assemblage as the melted metal once more rushed to its destination; this was broken by a shriek, and a cry, “For my father!” and Ko-ai was seen to throw herself headlong into the seething, hissing metal.  One of her servants attempted to seize her while in the act of plunging into the boiling fluid, but succeeded only in grasping one of her shoes, which came off in his hand.  The father was frantic, and had to be kept by force from following her example; he was taken home a raving maniac.  The prediction of the astrologer was fulfilled, for, on uncovering the bell after it had cooled, it was found to be perfect, but not a vestige of Ko-ai was to be seen; the blood of a maiden had indeed been infused with the ingredients.

After a time the bell was suspended by order of the Emperor, and expectation was at its height to hear it rung for the first time.  The Emperor himself was present.  The bell was struck, and far and near was heard the deep tone of its sonorous boom.  This indeed was a triumph!  Here was a bell surpassing in size and sound any other that had ever been cast!  But—­and the surrounding multitudes were horror-struck as they listened—­the heavy boom of the bell was followed by a low wailing sound like the agonized cry of a woman, and the word hsieh (shoe) was distinctly heard.  To this day the bell, each time it is rung, after every boom appears to utter the word ‘hsieh,’ and people when they hear it shudder and say, “There’s poor Ko-ai’s voice calling for her shoe.”