Wei Xinggui of the Tang used to tell this story about himself. As a young man he was travelling west of the capital, and at dusk he stopped at an inn, though he meant to push on farther. An old man at the inn, busy at his work, said to him, "Don't travel by night, sir. There are a lot of robbers around here." Wei said, "I've trained hard with the bow. I've nothing to worry about." So he went on several dozen li. When it grew dark, someone rose out of the grass and followed him. Wei shouted at him and got no answer. He shot arrow after arrow and hit him, yet the man did not fall back. When his arrows were gone, Wei took fright and fled.
Before long, wind and thunder broke over him all at once. Wei leapt from his horse and set his back against a great tree. In the air he saw flashes of lightning chasing one another, swinging like polo sticks, closing in little by little on the treetop, and he felt things raining down in front of him. He looked: they were chips of wood. In a moment the chips had piled up to his knees. Terrified, Wei threw down his bow and arrows and begged the sky for his life. He bowed dozens of times; the flashes rose higher and higher and went out, and the wind and thunder died away. Wei looked back at the great tree: every branch and bough had been stripped away.
His saddle and pack were gone, so he went back to the inn he had left. There was the old man, hooping a barrel. Wei guessed he was no ordinary man, bowed to him and thanked him. The old man laughed. "Don't put your trust in bow and arrows, sir. You need to know the art of the sword." He led Wei into the back yard, pointed to the saddle and pack, and told him to take them back: he had only been testing him a little. Then he brought out a barrel stave, and every arrow from the night before was stuck in it. Wei asked to stay and serve him, but the old man would not allow it; he let slip a little about swordsmanship, and Wei picked up a thing or two.
