Confucius once passed by near a mountain. A woman cried over the grave. As a tribute to the front of the chariot, Confucius listened to her crying. Then he sent his disciple to the woman, and he asked her:

- You are so killing - it seems like you are not grieving for the first time?

That is what it is, the woman replied. One day my brother-in-law died from the tiger’s nails. Then my husband died. And now from them my son died.

Why not leave these places? I asked Confucius.

“There are no brutal authorities here,” the woman replied.

“Remember this, disciple,” said Confucius. Harsh power is harsher than a tiger.