Prince Hui’s cook was cutting up a goat. Every blow of his hand, every heave of his shoulders, every knock of the chopper, was in perfect harmony. “What skill!” the Prince exclaimed. “Sir,” replied the cook, “I’ve devoted myself to Tao. It is better than skill. When I first began to cut up goats, I saw before me whole animals. After three years of practice, I no more saw them as whole. “Now I work with my mind, not with the eye. I follow openings or cavities according to the natural constitution of the animal. I do not try to cut through joints; still less through large bones. “A good cook changes his chopper once a year—because he cuts. An ordinary cook, once a month—because he hacks. But I’ve had this chopper for 19 years now. For at the joints there are always interstices, where I insert the edge of the chopper which is without thickness. By doing this the gap is enlarged, and the blade finds plenty of room.” “Bravo,” said the Prince. “From the words of this cook I have learnt how to take care of my life.”