"Chang wang li chao," he won a great victory. . . . And, the king having died meanwhile, Ching Chung was placed upon the throne. There he was—upon the throne—a king. And hail to King Ching Chung.
On the other hand, consider Cheng Chang, the cook. Poor Cheng Chang. He was afraid of his wife. Horribly afraid. His wife had but to whisper "Chang," and Chang trembled like jelly, spilled on the king's highroad. His wife had but to say "Cheng Chang," and Cheng Chang fell upon the floor. It often happened that his wife said "Chang," just as the poor man seasoned a duck on the stove. Then Cheng Chang would tremble, and drop in too much salt or garlic or ginger, and the dinner would be ruined. Frequently Cheng Chang had to throw away a dozen ducks, before he dished up one that was really excellent. Of course, his own purse had to pay for the loss. Almost before one could say "Chang wang li chao," the timid Cheng Chang was a pauper. A lucky thing for him that his wages were raised as soon as Ching Chung became King.
