Tiger General is a very, very old cat now. His eyes are clouded with age, and even jumping onto the lowest hay…
Tiger General is a very, very old cat now. His eyes are clouded with age, and even jumping onto the lowest haystack leaves him panting for a long while.
But once... once, he was something else. At Hai Hour, he would sharpen his claws on the Grain Storehouse. At Zi Hour, he would patrol the rafters, a tiger ready to pounce at the slightest sound. At Chen Hour, he would collect fresh fish from his bowl, then nap on the highest haystack.
He remembers now... There was a person, once.
That person would hold him and say, "Thank you, Tiger General. When the grain piles up to the beams, the mountain will open."
Seasons passed. New wheat in the jars became old wheat. Squeak, squeak, those wretched mice were back. He flicked his tail weakly, stirring only dust. He was too old to catch mice now.
Why hadn't that person come back?