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It was a time after all of the great Khans had died- when the People of the Steppes had reverted in most ways back to their nomadic life. They were called Mongols by the westerners who still dared cross the deserts to trade for silk and spices. At that time an old Kakhan approached his last years. He knew he needed to declare a successor from among the leaders of his domain, and devised a way to decide which was best. He called the four of them together and told them he would inspect their khanates in seven days time and from that inspection he would make his final decision.
When the time had passed he rode his horse to the nearest chieftain’s domain, but found the place was not ready for him. There were sweaty horses. The yurts had too new felts. The herds were depleted. And worse, in the old man’s eyes, they had no freshly cooked meal waiting for him. He did not even bother to get off of his horse.
The next chieftain showed off his new felt walls, some richly embroidered. He listened to his leader’s complaints about the first man and asked for leniency for the man, saying that the first visited man had sent his wives to help him with the embroidery, bring new felts, and to hang them in his yurts.
The third chieftain showed his kakhan the herds he had accumulated. Upon hearing the kakhan complain about his fellow chieftain’s depleted herds he urged patience, telling him that it was from that tribe’s herd that he had purchased his newly acquired blood in his own herd, and that the first chieftain’s own herders had delivered them early that very morning.
The fourth chieftain sat his Kakhan down for a great repast. While they ate he heard his leader’s complaints about the first man and he, too, urged restraint, saying that half of his fellow chieftain’s wives had come to help his own prepare the meal.
As he rode home, the Kakhan already knew who he would be naming as his successor.
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