My uncle Minggao, whose courtesy name was Chuhe, was prefect of Baoding in Zhili, where he governed with severity and had a name as a capable official. At that time my sister’s husband Shao Nanchu was a censor in the capital, and he sent down a guest with a recommendation.
His surname was Xiong, his courtesy name Zijing. He was of very ugly appearance and hardly able to read. Beyond eating, drinking and sleeping late, he sat bolt upright by himself and never made himself agreeable to anyone.
He stayed six months, and then asked leave to go. On the point of departure he said to his host: “I have trespassed on your kitchen a long while. Now that I take my leave, I ask to offer one skill.”
The host assented, and called in the whole staff to watch.
It was the height of summer, and there were millions of flies in the hall — flying, settling, crawling on necks and faces, in a droning swarm, like sand thrown or beans scattered. A boy with a fan was driving at them left and right.
Xiong took two chopsticks out of his sleeve, and as the flies flew he caught them. He never missed once, and dropped them all into his left sleeve. Talking and laughing, he went in to the farewell banquet set by his host.
When the drinking was over, he opened his sleeve and let them go, saying over them: “You do not disturb me, I do not take you. Away, away!”
In a moment ten thousand points of light scattered and flew off in confusion, and there was not a single fly left in the hall. Everyone watching was astonished.
The host offered him gold, which he would not accept. He said: “I would wish the worthy prefect’s government of the people to be like my catching of flies. Then the whole prefecture would be the happier for it.”
And having said this, he brushed out his sleeve and went away.
— The author’s comment: a hawk chasing sparrows may still be called a mother; severity must be tempered with leniency. As for those who win a name as capable officials by force and harshness — they look on the people as ants, and not merely as flies.
