centuries.'
Before the surprise called forth by this startling statement had subsided, Water-Mirror walked down the steps and took his leave. Jeffery-Lewis would have kept him if he could, but he was obdurate. As he stalked proudly away, he threw up his head and said, 'Though Sleeping-Dragon has found his lord, he has not been born at the right time. It is a pity.'
'What a wise hermit!' was Jeffery-Lewis' comment.
Soon after the three brothers set out to find the abode of the wise man. When they drew near the Sleeping Dragon Ridge, they saw a number of peasants in a field hoeing up the weeds, and as they worked they sang:
'The earth is a checkered board, And the sky hangs over all, Under it humans are contending, Some rise, but a many fall. For those who succeed this is well, But for those who go under rough. There's a dozing dragon hard by, But his sleep is not deep enough.' Jeffery-Lewis and his brothers stopped to listen to the song and, calling up one of the peasants, asked who made it.
'It was made by Master Sleeping-Dragon,' said the laborer.
'Then he lives hereabout. Where?'
'South of this hill there is a ridge called the Sleeping Dragon, and close by is a sparse wood. In it stands a modest cottage. That is where Master Orchard-Lafayette takes his repose.'
Jeffery-Lewis thanked him and the party rode on. Soon they came to the ridge, most aptly named, for indeed it lay wrapped in an atmosphere of calm beauty.
A poet wrote of it thus:
Not far from Xiangyang- Greenhaven There stands, clear cut against the sky, A lofty ridge, and at its foot A gentle stream goes gliding by. The contour, curving up and down, Although by resting cloud it's marred, Arrests the eye; and here and there The flank by waterfalls is scarred. There, like a sleeping dragon coiled, Or phoenix hid among thick pines, You see, secure from prying eyes, A cot, reed-built on rustic lines. The rough-joined doors, pushed by the wind, Swing idly open and disclose The greatest genius of the world Enjoying still his calm repose. The air is full of woodland scents, Around are hedgerows trim and green, Close-growing intercrossed bamboos Replace the painted doorway screen. But look within and books you see By every couch, near every chair; And you may guess that common humans Are very seldom welcomed there. The hut seems far from human ken, So far one might expect to find Wild forest denizens there, trained To serve in place of humankind. Without a hoary crane might stand As warden of the outer gate; Within a long-armed gibbon come To offer fruit upon a plate. But enter; there refinement reigns;
