Kai Lung's Golden Hours

KAI LUNG’S GOLDEN HOURS

BY

ERNEST BRAMAH

With a Preface by

Hilaire Belloc

LONDON

GRANT RICHARDS LTD.

ST MARTIN’S STREET

MDCCCCXXII

PREFACE

_Homo faber_. Man is born to make. His business is to construct: to

plan: to carry out the plan: to fit together, and to produce a

finished thing.

That human art in which it is most difficult to achieve this end (and

in which it is far easier to neglect it than in any other) is the art

of writing. Yet this much is certain, that unconstructed writing is at

once worthless and ephemeral: and nearly the whole of our modern

English writing is unconstructed.

The matter of survival is perhaps not the most important, though it is

a test of a kind, and it is a test which every serious writer feels

most intimately. The essential is the matter of excellence: that a

piece of work should achieve its end. But in either character, the

character of survival or the character of intrinsic excellence,

construction deliberate and successful is the fundamental condition.

It may be objected that the mass of writing must in any age neglect

construction. We write to establish a record for a few days: or to

send a thousand unimportant messages: or to express for others or for

ourselves something very vague and perhaps very weak in the way of

emotion, which does not demand construction and at any rate cannot

command it. No writer can be judged by the entirety of his writings,

for these would include every note he ever sent round the corner;

every memorandum he ever made upon his shirt cuff. But when a man sets

out to write as a serious business, proclaiming that by the nature of

his publication and presentment that he is doing something he thinks

worthy of the time and place in which he lives and of the people to

whom he belongs, then if he does not construct he is negligible.

Yet, I say, the great mass of men to-day do not attempt it in the

English tongue, and the proof is that you can discover in their

slipshod pages nothing of a seal or stamp. You do not, opening a book

at random, say at once: “This is the voice of such and such a one.” It

is no one’s manner or voice. It is part of a common babel.

Therefore in such a time as that of our decline, to come across work

which is planned, executed and achieved has something of the effect

produced by the finding of a wrought human thing in the wild. It is

like finding, as I once found, deep hidden in the tangled rank grass

of autumn in Burgundy, on the edge of a wood not far from Dijon, a

neglected statue of the eighteenth century. It is like coming round

the corner of some wholly desolate upper valley in the mountains and

seeing before one a well-cultivated close and a strong house in the

midst.

It is now many years--I forget how many; it may be twenty or more, or

it may be a little less--since _The Wallet of Kai Lung_ was sent me by

a friend. The effect produced upon my mind at the first opening of its

pages was in the same category as the effect produced by the discovery

of that hidden statue in Burgundy, or the coming upon an unexpected

house in the turn of a high Pyrenean gorge. Here was something worth

doing and done. It was not a plan attempted and only part achieved

(though even that would be rare enough to-day, and a memorable

exception); it was a thing intended, wrought out, completed and

established. Therefore it was destined to endure and, what is more

important, it was a success.

The time in which we live affords very few of such moments of relief:

here and there a good piece of verse, in _The New Age_ or in the now

defunct _Westminster_: here and there a lapidary phrase such as a

score or more of Blatchford’s which remain fixed in my memory. Here

and there a letter written to the newspapers in a moment of

indignation when the writer, not trained to the craft, strikes out the

metal justly at white heat. But, I say, the thing is extremely rare,

and in the shape of a complete book rarest of all.

_The Wallet of Kai Lung_ was a thing made deliberately, in hard

material and completely successful. It was meant to produce a

particular effect of humour by the use of a foreign convention, the

Chinese convention, in the English tongue. It was meant to produce a

certain effect of philosophy and at the same time it was meant to

produce a certain completed interest of fiction, of relation, of a

short epic. It did all these things.

It is one of the tests of excellent work that such work is economic,

that is, that there is nothing redundant in order or in vocabulary,

and at the same time nothing elliptic--in the full sense of that word:

that is, no sentence in which so much is omitted that the reader is

left puzzled. That is the quality you get in really good statuary--in

Houdon, for instance, or in that triumph the archaic _Archer_ in the

Louvre. _The Wallet of Kai Lung_ satisfied all these conditions.

I do not know how often I have read it since I first possessed it. I

know how many copies there are in my house--just over a dozen. I know

with what care I have bound it constantly for presentation to friends.

I have been asked for an introduction to this its successor, _Kai

Lung’s Golden Hours_. It is worthy of its forerunner. There is the

same plan, exactitude, working-out and achievement; and therefore the

same complete satisfaction in the reading, or to be more accurate, in

the incorporation of the work with oneself.

All this is not extravagant praise, nor even praise at all in the

conventional sense of that term. It is merely a judgment: a putting

into as carefully exact words as I can find the appreciation I make of

this style and its triumph.

The reviewer in his art must quote passages. It is hardly the part of

a Preface writer to do that. But to show what I mean I can at least

quote the following:

“Your insight is clear and unbiased,” said the gracious

Sovereign. “But however entrancing it is to wander unchecked

through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing your

mind from another subject of almost equal importance?”

Or again:

“It has been said,” he began at length, withdrawing his eyes

reluctantly from an unusually large insect upon the ceiling and

addressing himself to the maiden, “that there are few

situations in life that cannot be honourably settled, and

without any loss of time, either by suicide, a bag of gold, or

by thrusting a despised antagonist over the edge of a

precipice on a dark night.”

Or again:

“After secretly observing the unstudied grace of her

movements, the most celebrated picture-maker of the province

burned the implements of his craft, and began life anew as a

trainer of performing elephants.”

You cannot read these sentences, I think, without agreeing with what

has been said above. If you doubt it, take the old test and try to

write that kind of thing yourself.

In connection with such achievements it is customary to-day to deplore

the lack of public appreciation. Either to blame the hurried millions

of chance readers because they have only bought a few thousands of a

masterpiece; or, what is worse still, to pretend that good work is for

the few and that the mass will never appreciate it--in reply to which

it is sufficient to say that the critic himself is one of the mass and

could not be distinguished from others of the mass by his very own

self were he a looker-on.

In the best of times (the most stable, the least hurried) the date at

which general appreciation comes is a matter of chance, and to-day the

presentation of any achieved work is like the reading of Keats to a

football crowd. It is of no significance whatsoever to English Letters

whether one of its glories be appreciated at the moment it issues from

the press or ten years later, or twenty, or fifty. Further, after a

very small margin is passed, a margin of a few hundreds at the most, it

matters little whether strong permanent work finds a thousand or fifty

thousand or a million of readers. Rock stands and mud washes away.

What is indeed to be deplored is the lack of communication between

those who desire to find good stuff and those who can produce it: it

is in the attempt to build a bridge between the one and the other that

men who have the privilege of hearing a good thing betimes write such

words as I am writing here.

HILAIRE BELLOC

KAI LUNG’S GOLDEN HOURS

CHAPTER I

The Encountering of Six within a Wood

Only at one point along the straight earth-road leading from Loo-chow

to Yu-ping was there any shade, a wood of stunted growth, and here Kai

Lung cast himself down in refuge from the noontide sun and slept.

When he woke it was with the sound of discreet laughter trickling

through his dreams. He sat up and looked around. Across the glade two

maidens stood in poised expectancy within the shadow of a wild

fig-tree, both their gaze and their manner denoting a fixed intention

to be prepared for any emergency. Not being desirous that this should

tend towards their abrupt departure, Kai Lung rose guardedly to his

feet, with many gestures of polite reassurance, and having bowed

several times to indicate his pacific nature, he stood in an attitude

of deferential admiration. At this display the elder and less

attractive of the maidens fled, uttering loud and continuous cries of

apprehension in order to conceal the direction of her flight. The

other remained, however, and even moved a few steps nearer to Kai

Lung, as though encouraged by his appearance, so that he was able to

regard her varying details more appreciably. As she advanced she

plucked a red blossom from a thorny bush, and from time to time she

shortened the broken stalk between her jade teeth.

“Courteous loiterer,” she said, in a very pearl-like voice, when they

had thus regarded one another for a few beats of time, “what is your

honourable name, and who are you who tarry here, journeying neither to

the east nor to the west?”

“The answer is necessarily commonplace and unworthy of your polite

interest,” was the diffident reply. “My unbecoming name is Kai, to

which has been added that of Lung. By profession I am an incapable

relater of imagined tales, and to this end I spread my mat wherever my

uplifted voice can entice together a company to listen. Should my

feeble efforts be deemed worthy of reward, those who stand around may

perchance contribute to my scanty store, but sometimes this is judged

superfluous. For this cause I now turn my expectant feet from Loo-chow

towards the untried city of Yu-ping, but the undiminished li

stretching relentlessly before me, I sought beneath these trees a

refuge from the noontide sun.”

“The occupation is a dignified one, being to no great degree removed

from that of the Sages who compiled The Books,” remarked the maiden,

with an encouraging smile. “Are there many stories known to your

retentive mind?”

“In one form or another, all that exist are within my mental grasp,”

admitted Kai Lung modestly. “Thus equipped, there is no arising

emergency for which I am unprepared.”

“There are other things that I would learn of your craft. What kind of

story is the most favourably received, and the one whereby your

collecting bowl is the least ignored?”

“That depends on the nature and condition of those who stand around,

and therein lies much that is essential to the art,” replied Kai Lung,

not without an element of pride. “Should the company be chiefly formed

of the illiterate and the immature of both sexes, stories depicting

the embarrassment of unnaturally round-bodied mandarins, the

unpremeditated flight of eccentrically-garbed passers-by into vats of

powdered rice, the despair of guardians of the street when assailed by

showers of eggs and overripe lo-quats, or any other variety of

humiliating pain inflicted upon the innocent and unwary, never fail to

win approval. The prosperous and substantial find contentment in

hearing of the unassuming virtues and frugal lives of the poor and

unsuccessful. Those of humble origin, especially tea-house maidens and

the like, are only really at home among stories of the exalted and

quick-moving, the profusion of their robes, the magnificence of their

palaces, and the general high-minded depravity of their lives.

Ordinary persons require stories dealing lavishly with all the

emotions, so that they may thereby have a feeling of sufficiency when

contributing to the collecting bowl.”

“These things being so,” remarked the maiden, “what story would you

consider most appropriate to a company composed of such as she who is

now conversing with you?”

“Such a company could never be obtained,” replied Kai Lung, with

conviction in his tone. “It is not credible that throughout the Empire

could be found even another possessing all the engaging attributes of

the one before me. But should it be my miraculous fortune to be given

the opportunity, my presumptuous choice for her discriminating ears

alone would be the story of the peerless Princess Taik and of the

noble minstrel Ch’eng, who to regain her presence chained his wrist to

a passing star and was carried into the assembly of the gods.”

“Is it,” inquired the maiden, with an agreeable glance towards the

opportune recumbence of a fallen tree, “is it a narration that would

lie within the passage of the sun from one branch of this willow to

another?”

“Adequately set forth, the history of the Princess Taik and of the

virtuous youth occupies all the energies of an agile story-teller for

seven weeks,” replied Kai Lung, not entirely gladdened that she should

deem him capable of offering so meagre an entertainment as that she

indicated. “There is a much-flattened version which may be compressed

within the narrow limits of a single day and night, but even that

requires for certain of the more moving passages the accompaniment of

a powerful drum or a hollow wooden fish.”

“Alas!” exclaimed the maiden, “though the time should pass like a

flash of lightning beneath the allurement of your art, it is

questionable if those who await this one’s returning footsteps would

experience a like illusion. Even now--” With a magnanimous wave of her

well-formed hand she indicated the other maiden, who, finding that the

danger of pursuit was not sustained, had returned to claim her part.

“One advances along the westward road,” reported the second maiden.

“Let us fly elsewhere, O allurer of mankind! It may be--”

“Doubtless in Yu-ping the sound of your uplifted voice--” But at this

point a noise upon the earth-road, near at hand, impelled them both to

sudden flight into the deeper recesses of the wood.

Thus deprived, Kai Lung moved from the shadow of the trees and sought

the track, to see if by chance he from whom they fled might turn to

his advantage. On the road he found one who staggered behind a

laborious wheel-barrow in the direction of Loo-chow. At that moment he

had stopped to take down the sail, as the breeze was bereft of power

among the obstruction of the trees, and also because he was weary.

“Greeting,” called down Kai Lung, saluting him. “There is here

protection from the fierceness of the sun and a stream wherein to wash

your feet.”

“Haply,” replied the other; “and a greatly over-burdened one would

gladly leave this ill-nurtured earth-road even for the fields of hell,

were it not that all his goods are here contained upon an utterly

intractable wheel-barrow.”

Nevertheless he drew himself up from the road to the level of the wood

and there reclined, yet not permitting the wheel-barrow to pass beyond

his sight, though he must thereby lie half in the shade and half in

the heat beyond. “Greeting, wayfarer.”

“Although you are evidently a man of some wealth, we are for the time

brought to a common level by the forces that control us,” remarked Kai

Lung. “I have here two onions, a gourd and a sufficiency of millet

paste. Partake equally with me, therefore, before you resume your way.

In the meanwhile I will procure water from the stream near by, and to

this end my collecting bowl will serve.”

When Kai Lung returned he found that the other had added to their

store a double handful of dates, some snuff and a little jar of oil.

As they ate together the stranger thus disclosed his mind:

“The times are doubtful and it behoves each to guard himself. In the

north the banners of the ‘Spreading Lotus’ and the ‘Avenging Knife’

are already raised and pressing nearer every day, while the signs and

passwords are so widely flung that every man speaks slowly and with a

double tongue. Lately there have been slicings and other forms of

vigorous justice no farther distant than Loo-chow, and now the

Mandarin Shan Tien comes to Yu-ping to flatten any signs of

discontent. The occupation of this person is that of a maker of

sandals and coverings for the head, but very soon there will be more

wooden feet required than leather sandals in Yu-ping, and artificial

ears will be greater in demand than hats. For this reason he has got

together all his goods, sold the more burdensome, and now ventures on

an untried way.”

“Prosperity attend your goings. Yet, as one who has set his face

towards Yu-ping, is it not possible for an ordinary person of simple

life and unassuming aims to escape persecution under this same Shan

Tien?”

“Of the Mandarin himself those who know speak with vague lips. What is

done is done by the pressing hand of one Ming-shu, who takes down his

spoken word; of whom it is truly said that he has little resemblance

to a man and still less to an angel.”

“Yet,” protested the story-teller hopefully, “it is wisely written:

‘He who never opens his mouth in strife can always close his eyes in

peace.’”

“Doubtless,” assented the other. “He can close his eyes assuredly.

Whether he will ever again open them is another matter.”

With this timely warning the sandal-maker rose and prepared to resume

his journey. Nor did he again take up the burden of his task until he

had satisfied himself that the westward road was destitute of traffic.

“A tranquil life and a painless death,” was his farewell parting.

“Jung, of the line of Hai, wishes you well.” Then, with many

imprecations on the relentless sun above, the inexorable road beneath,

and on every detail of the evilly-balanced load before him, he passed

out on his way.

It would have been well for Kai Lung had he also forced his reluctant

feet to raise the dust, but his body clung to the moist umbrage of his

couch, and his mind made reassurance that perchance the maiden would

return. Thus it fell that when two others, who looked from side to

side as they hastened on the road, turned as at a venture to the wood

they found him still there.

“Restrain your greetings,” said the leader of the two harshly, in the

midst of Kai Lung’s courteous obeisance; “and do not presume to

disparage yourself as if in equality with the one who stands before

you. Have two of the inner chamber, attired thus and thus, passed this

way? Speak, and that to a narrow edge.”

“The road lies beyond the perception of my incapable vision,

chiefest,” replied Kai lung submissively. “Furthermore, I have slept.”

“Unless you would sleep more deeply, shape your stubborn tongue to a

specific point,” commanded the other, touching a meaning sword. “Who

are you who loiter here, and for what purpose do you lurk? Speak

fully, and be assured that your word will be put to a corroding test.”

Thus encouraged, Kai Lung freely disclosed his name and ancestry, the

means whereby he earned a frugal sustenance and the nature of his

journey. In addition, he professed a willingness to relate his most

recently-acquired story, that entitled “Wu-yong: or The Politely

Inquiring Stranger”, but the offer was thrust ungracefully aside.

“Everything you say deepens the suspicion which your criminal-looking

face naturally provokes,” said the questioner, putting away his

tablets on which he had recorded the replies. “At Yu-ping the matter

will be probed with a very definite result. You, Li-loe, remain about

this spot in case she whom we seek should pass. I return to speak of

our unceasing effort.”

“I obey,” replied the dog-like Li-loe. “What men can do we have done.

We are no demons to see through solid matter.”

When they were alone, Li-loe drew nearer to Kai Lung and, allowing his

face to assume a more pacific bend, he cast himself down by the

story-teller’s side.

“The account which you gave of yourself was ill contrived,” he said.

“Being put to the test, its falsity cannot fail to be discovered.”

“Yet,” protested Kai Lung earnestly, “in no single detail did it

deviate from the iron line of truth.”

“Then your case is even more desperate than before,” exclaimed Li-loe.

“Know now that the repulsive-featured despot who has just left us is

Ming-shu, he who takes down the Mandarin Shan Tien’s spoken word. By

admitting that you are from Loo-chow, where disaffection reigns, you

have noosed a rope about your neck, and by proclaiming yourself as one

whose habit it is to call together a company to listen to your word,

you have drawn it tight.”

“Every rope has two ends,” remarked Kai Lung philosophically, “and

to-morrow is yet to come. Tell me rather, since that is our present

errand, who is she whom you pursue and to what intent?”

“That is not so simple as to be contained within the hollow of an

acorn sheath. Let it suffice that she has the left ear of Shan Tien,

even as Ming-shu has the right, but on which side his hearing is

better it might be hazardous to guess.”

“And her meritorious name?”

“She is of the house of K’ang, her name being Hwa-mei, though from the

nature of her charm she is ofttime called the Golden Mouse. But

touching this affair of your own immediate danger: we being both but

common men of the idler sort, it is only fitting that when high ones

threaten I should stand by you.”

“Speak definitely,” assented Kai Lung, “yet with the understanding

that the full extent of my store does not exceed four or five strings

of cash.”

“The soil is somewhat shallow for the growth of deep friendship, but

what we have we will share equally between us.” With these auspicious

words Li-loe possessed himself of three of the strings of cash and

displayed an empty sleeve. “I, alas, have nothing. The benefits I have

in mind are of a subtler and more priceless kind. At Yu-ping my office

will be that of the keeper of the doors of the yamen, including that

of the prison-house. Thus I shall doubtless be able to render you

frequent service of an inconspicuous kind. Do not forget the name of

Li-loe.”

By this time the approaching sound of heavy traffic, heralded by the

beating of drums, the blowing of horns and the discharge of an

occasional firework, indicated the passage of some dignified official.

This, declared Li-loe, could be none other than the Mandarin Shan

Tien, resuming his march towards Yu-ping, and the doorkeeper prepared

to join the procession at his appointed place. Kai Lung, however,

remained unseen among the trees, not being desirous of obtruding

himself upon Ming-shu unnecessarily. When the noise had almost died

away in the distance he came forth, believing that all would by this

time have passed, and approached the road. As he reached it a single

chair was hurried by, its carriers striving by increased exertion to

regain their fellows. It was too late for Kai Lung to retreat, whoever

might be within. As it passed a curtain moved somewhat, a symmetrical

hand came discreetly forth, and that which it held fell at his feet.

Without varying his attitude he watched the chair until it was out of

sight, then stooped and picked something up--a red blossom on a thorny

stalk, the flower already parched but the stem moist and softened to

his touch.

CHAPTER II

The Inexorable Justice of the Mandarin Shan Tien

“By having access to this enclosure you will be able to walk where

otherwise you must stand. That in itself is cheap at the price of

three reputed strings of inferior cash. Furthermore, it is possible to

breathe.”

“The outlook, in one direction, is an extensive one,” admitted Kai

Lung, gazing towards the sky. “Here, moreover, is a shutter through

which the vista doubtless lengthens.”

“So long as there is no chance of you exploring it any farther than

your neck, it does not matter,” said Li-loe. “Outside lies a barren

region of the yamen garden where no one ever comes. I will now leave

you, having to meet one with whom I would traffic for a goat. When I

return be prepared to retrace your steps to the prison cell.”

“The shadow moves as the sun directs,” replied Kai Lung, and with

courteous afterthought he added the wonted parting: “Slowly, slowly;

walk slowly.”

In such a manner the story-teller found himself in a highly-walled

enclosure, lying between the prison-house and the yamen garden, a few

days after his arrival in Yu-ping. Ming-shu had not eaten his word.

The yard itself possessed no attraction for Kai Lung. Almost before

Li-loe had disappeared he was at the shutter in the wall, had forced

it open and was looking out. Thus long he waited, motionless, but

observing every leaf that stirred among the trees and shrubs and

neglected growth beyond. At last a figure passed across a distant

glade and at the sight Kai Lung lifted up a restrained voice in song:

“At the foot of a bleak and inhospitable mountain

An insignificant stream winds its uncared way;

Although inferior to the Yangtze-kiang in every detail

Yet fish glide to and fro among its crannies

Nor would they change their home for the depths of the widest

river.

The palace of the sublime Emperor is made rich with hanging

curtains.

While here rough stone walls forbid repose.

Yet there is one who unhesitatingly prefers the latter;

For from an open shutter here he can look forth,

And perchance catch a glimpse of one who may pass by.

The occupation of the Imperial viceroy is both lucrative and

noble;

While that of a relater of imagined tales is by no means

esteemed.

But he who thus expressed himself would not exchange with the

other;

For around the identity of each heroine he can entwine the

personality of one whom he has encountered.

And thus she is ever by his side.”

“Your uplifted voice comes from an unexpected quarter, minstrel,” said

a melodious voice, and the maiden whom he had encountered in the wood

stood before him. “What crime have you now committed?”

“An ancient one. I presumed to raise my unworthy eyes--”

“Alas, story-teller,” interposed the maiden hastily, “it would seem

that the star to which you chained _your_ wrist has not carried you

into the assembly of the gods.”

“Yet already it has borne me half-way--into a company of malefactors.

Doubtless on the morrow the obliging Mandarin Shan Tien will arrange

for the journey to be complete.”

“Yet have you then no further wish to continue in an ordinary

existence?” asked the maiden.

“To this person,” replied Kai Lung, with a deep-seated look,

“existence can never again be ordinary. Admittedly it may be short.”

As they conversed together in this inoffensive manner she whom Li-loe

had called the Golden Mouse held in her delicately-formed hands a

priceless bowl filled with ripe fruit of the rarer kinds which she had

gathered. These from time to time she threw up to the opening, rightly

deciding that one in Kai Lung’s position would stand in need of

sustenance, and he no less dexterously held and retained them. When

the bowl was empty she continued for a space to regard it silently, as

though exploring the many-sided recesses of her mind.

“You have claimed to be a story-teller and have indeed made a boast

that there is no arising emergency for which you are unprepared,” she

said at length. “It now befalls that you may be put to a speedy test.

Is the nature of this imagined scene”--thus she indicated the

embellishment of the bowl--“familiar to your eyes?”

“It is that known as ‘The Willow,’” replied Kai Lung. “There is a

story--”

“There is a story!” exclaimed the maiden, loosening from her brow the

overhanging look of care. “Thus and thus. Frequently have I importuned

him before whom you will appear to explain to me the meaning of the

scene. When you are called upon to plead your cause, see to it well

that your knowledge of such a tale is clearly shown. He before whom

you kneel, craftily plied meanwhile by my unceasing petulance, will

then desire to hear it from your lips . . . At the striking of the

fourth gong the day is done. What lies between rests with your

discriminating wit.”

“You are deep in the subtler kinds of wisdom, such as the weak

possess,” confessed Kai Lung. “Yet how will this avail to any length?”

“That which is put off from to-day is put off from to-morrow,” was the

confident reply. “For the rest--at a corresponding gong-stroke of each

day it is this person’s custom to gather fruit. Farewell, minstrel.”

When Li-loe returned a little later Kai Lung threw his two remaining

strings of cash about that rapacious person’s neck and embraced him as

he exclaimed:

“Chieftain among doorkeepers, when I go to the Capital to receive the

all-coveted title ‘Leaf-crowned’ and to chant ceremonial odes before

the Court, thou shalt accompany me as forerunner, and an agile tribe

of selected goats shall sport about thy path.”

“Alas, manlet,” replied the other, weeping readily, “greatly do I fear

that the next journey thou wilt take will be in an upward or a

downward rather than a sideway direction. This much have I learned,

and to this end, at some cost admittedly, I enticed into loquacity one

who knows another whose brother holds the key of Ming-shu’s

confidence: that to-morrow the Mandarin will begin to distribute

justice here, and out of the depths of Ming-shu’s malignity the name

of Kai Lung is the first set down.”

“With the title,” continued Kai Lung cheerfully, “there goes a

sufficiency of taels; also a vat of a potent wine of a certain kind.”

“If,” suggested Li-loe, looking anxiously around, “you have really

discovered hidden about this place a secret store of wine, consider

well whether it would not be prudent to entrust it to a faithful

friend before it is too late.”

It was indeed as Li-loe had foretold. On the following day, at the

second gong-stroke after noon, the order came and, closely guarded,

Kai Lung was led forth. The middle court had been duly arranged, with

a formidable display of chains, weights, presses, saws, branding irons

and other implements for securing justice. At the head of a table

draped with red sat the Mandarin Shan Tien, on his right the secretary

of his hand, the contemptible Ming-shu. Round about were positioned

others who in one necessity or another might be relied upon to play an

ordered part. After a lavish explosion of fire-crackers had been

discharged, sonorous bells rung and gongs beaten, a venerable

geomancer disclosed by means of certain tests that all doubtful

influences had been driven off and that truth and impartiality alone

remained.

“Except on the part of the prisoners, doubtless,” remarked the

Mandarin, thereby imperilling the gravity of all who stood around.

“The first of those to prostrate themselves before your enlightened

clemency, Excellence, is a notorious assassin who, under another name,

has committed many crimes,” began the execrable Ming-shu. “He

confesses that, now calling himself Kai Lung, he has recently

journeyed from Loo-chow, where treason ever wears a smiling face.”

“Perchance he is saddened by our city’s loyalty,” interposed the

benign Shan Tien, “for if he is smiling now it is on the side of his

face removed from this one’s gaze.”

“The other side of his face is assuredly where he will be made to

smile ere long,” acquiesced Ming-shu, not altogether to his chief’s

approval, as the analogy was already his. “Furthermore, he has been

detected lurking in secret meeting-places by the wayside, and on

reaching Yu-ping he raised his rebellious voice inviting all to gather

round and join his unlawful band. The usual remedy in such cases

during periods of stress, Excellence, is strangulation.”

“The times are indeed pressing,” remarked the agile-minded Mandarin,

“and the penalty would appear to be adequate.” As no one suffered

inconvenience at his attitude, however, Shan Tien’s expression assumed

a more unbending cast.

“Let the witnesses appear,” he commanded sharply.

“In so clear a case it has not been thought necessary to incur the

expense of hiring the usual witnesses,” urged Ming-shu; “but they are

doubtless clustered about the opium floor and will, if necessary,

testify to whatever is required.”

“The argument is a timely one,” admitted the Mandarin. “As the result

cannot fail to be the same in either case, perhaps the accommodating

prisoner will assist the ends of justice by making a full confession

of his crimes?”

“High Excellence,” replied the story-teller, speaking for the first

time, “it is truly said that that which would appear as a mountain in

the evening may stand revealed as a mud-hut by the light of day. Hear

my unpainted word. I am of the abject House of Kai and my inoffensive

rice is earned as a narrator of imagined tales. Unrolling my

threadbare mat at the middle hour of yesterday, I had raised my

distressing voice and announced an intention to relate the Story of

Wong Ts’in, that which is known as ‘The Legend of the Willow Plate

Embellishment,’ when a company of armed warriors, converging upon

me--”

“Restrain the melodious flow of your admitted eloquence,” interrupted

the Mandarin, veiling his arising interest. “Is the story, to which

you have made reference, that of the scene widely depicted on plates

and earthenware?”

“Undoubtedly. It is the true and authentic legend as related by the

eminent Tso-yi.”

“In that case,” declared Shan Tien dispassionately, “it will be

necessary for you to relate it now, in order to uphold your claim.

Proceed.”

“Alas, Excellence,” protested Ming-shu from a bitter throat, “this

matter will attenuate down to the stroke of evening rice. Kowtowing

beneath your authoritative hand, that which the prisoner only had the

intention to relate does not come within the confines of his

evidence.”

“The objection is superficial and cannot be sustained,” replied Shan

Tien. “If an evilly-disposed one raised a sword to strike this person,

but was withheld before the blow could fall, none but a leper would

contend that because he did not progress beyond the intention thereby

he should go free. Justice must be impartially upheld and greatly do I

fear that we must all submit.”

With these opportune words the discriminating personage signified to

Kai Lung that he should begin.

The Story of Wong Ts’in and the Willow Plate Embellishment

Wong Ts’in, the rich porcelain maker, was ill at ease within himself.

He had partaken of his customary midday meal, flavoured the repast by

unsealing a jar of matured wine, consumed a little fruit, a few

sweetmeats and half a dozen cups of unapproachable tea, and then

retired to an inner chamber to contemplate philosophically from the

reposeful attitude of a reclining couch.

But upon this occasion the merchant did not contemplate restfully. He

paced the floor in deep dejection and when he did use the couch at all

it was to roll upon it in a sudden access of internal pain. The cause

of his distress was well known to the unhappy person thus concerned,

nor did it lessen the pangs of his emotion that it arose entirely from

his own ill-considered action.

When Wong Ts’in had discovered, by the side of a remote and obscure

river, the inexhaustible bed of porcelain clay that ensured his

prosperity, his first care was to erect adequate sheds and

labouring-places; his next to build a house sufficient for himself and

those in attendance round about him.

So far prudence had ruled his actions, for there is a keen edge to the

saying: “He who sleeps over his workshop brings four eyes into the

business,” but in one detail Wong Ts’in’s head and feet went on

different journeys, for with incredible oversight he omitted to secure

the experience of competent astrologers and omen-casters in fixing the

exact site of his mansion.

The result was what might have been expected. In excavating for the

foundations, Wong Ts’in’s slaves disturbed the repose of a small but

rapacious earth-demon that had already been sleeping there for nine

hundred and ninety-nine years. With the insatiable cunning of its

kind, this vindictive creature waited until the house was completed

and then proceeded to transfer its unseen but formidable presence to

the quarters that were designed for Wong Ts’in himself. Thenceforth,

from time to time, it continued to revenge itself for the trouble to

which it had been put by an insidious persecution. This frequently

took the form of fastening its claws upon the merchant’s digestive

organs, especially after he had partaken of an unusually rich repast

(for in some way the display of certain viands excited its unreasoning

animosity), pressing heavily upon his chest, invading his repose with

dragon-dreams while he slept, and the like. Only by the exercise of an

ingenuity greater than its own could Wong Ts’in succeed in baffling

its ill-conditioned spite.

On this occasion, recognizing from the nature of his pangs what was

taking place, Wong Ts’in resorted to a stratagem that rarely failed

him. Announcing in a loud voice that it was his intention to refresh

the surface of his body by the purifying action of heated vapour, and

then to proceed to his mixing-floor, the merchant withdrew. The demon,

being an earth-dweller with the ineradicable objection of this class

of creatures towards all the elements of moisture, at once

relinquished its hold, and going direct to the part of the works

indicated, it there awaited its victim with the design of resuming its

discreditable persecution.

Wong Ts’in had spoken with a double tongue. On leaving the inner

chamber he quickly traversed certain obscure passages of his house

until he reached an inferior portal. Even if the demon had suspected

his purpose it would not have occurred to a creature of its narrow

outlook that anyone of Wong Ts’in’s importance would make use of so

menial an outway. The merchant therefore reached his garden

unperceived and thenceforward maintained an undeviating face in the

direction of the Outer Expanses. Before he had covered many li he was

assured that he had indeed succeeded for the time in shaking off his

unscrupulous tormentor. His internal organs again resumed their

habitual calm and his mind was lightened as from an overhanging cloud.

There was another reason why Wong Ts’in sought the solitude of the

thinly-peopled outer places, away from the influence and distraction

of his own estate. For some time past a problem that had once been

remote was assuming dimensions of increasing urgency. This detail

concerns Fa Fai, who had already been referred to by a person of

literary distinction, in a poetical analogy occupying three written

volumes, as a pearl-tinted peach-blossom shielded and restrained by

the silken net-work of wise parental affection (and recognizing the

justice of the comparison, Wong Ts’in had been induced to purchase the

work in question). Now that Fa Fai had attained an age when she could

fittingly be sought in marriage the contingency might occur at any

time, and the problem confronting her father’s decision was this:

owing to her incomparable perfection Fa Fai must be accounted one of

Wong Ts’in’s chief possessions, the other undoubtedly being his secret

process of simulating the lustrous effect of pure gold embellishment

on china by the application of a much less expensive substitute. Would

it be more prudent to concentrate the power of both influences and let

it become known that with Fa Fai would go the essential part of his

very remunerative clay enterprise, or would it be more prudent to

divide these attractions and secure two distinct influences, both

concerned about his welfare? In the first case there need be no

reasonable limit to the extending vista of his ambition, and he might

even aspire to greet as a son the highest functionary of the

province--an official of such heavily-sustained importance that when

he went about it required six chosen slaves to carry him, and of late

it had been considered more prudent to employ eight.

If, on the other hand, Fa Fai went without any added inducement, a

mandarin of moderate rank would probably be as high as Wong Ts’in

could look, but he would certainly be able to adopt another of at

least equal position, at the price of making over to him the ultimate

benefit of his discovery. He could thus acquire either two sons of

reasonable influence, or one who exercised almost unlimited authority.

In view of his own childlessness, and of his final dependence on the

services of others, which arrangement promised the most regular and

liberal transmission of supplies to his expectant spirit when he had

passed into the Upper Air, and would his connection with one very

important official or with two subordinate ones secure him the greater

amount of honour and serviceable recognition among the more useful

deities?

To Wong Ts’in’s logical mind it seemed as though there must be a

definite answer to this problem. If one manner of behaving was right

the other must prove wrong, for as the wise philosopher Ning-hy was

wont to say: “Where the road divides, there stand two Ning-hys.” The

decision on a matter so essential to his future comfort ought not to

be left to chance. Thus it had become a habit of Wong Ts’in’s to

penetrate the Outer Spaces in the hope of there encountering a

specific omen.

Alas, it has been well written: “He who thinks that he is raising a

mound may only in reality be digging a pit.” In his continual search

for a celestial portent among the solitudes Wong Ts’in had of late

necessarily somewhat neglected his earthly (as it may thus be

expressed) interests. In these emergencies certain of the more

turbulent among his workers had banded themselves together into a

confederacy under the leadership of a craftsman named Fang. It was the

custom of these men, who wore a badge and recognized a mutual oath and

imprecation, to present themselves suddenly before Wong Ts’in and

demand a greater reward for their exertions than they had previously

agreed to, threatening that unless this was accorded they would cast

down the implements of their labour in unison and involve in idleness

those who otherwise would have continued at their task. This menace

Wong Ts’in bought off from time to time by agreeing to their

exactions, but it began presently to appear that this way of appeasing

them resembled Chou Hong’s method of extinguishing a fire by directing

jets of wind against it. On the day with which this related story has

so far concerned itself, a band of the most highly remunerated and

privileged of the craftsmen had appeared before Wong Ts’in with the

intolerable Fang at their head. These men were they whose skill

enabled them laboriously to copy upon the surfaces of porcelain a

given scene without appreciable deviation from one to the other, for

in those remote cycles of history no other method was yet known or

even dreamed of.

“Suitable greetings, employer of our worthless services,” remarked

their leader, seating himself upon the floor unbidden. “These who

speak through the mouth of the cringing mendicant before you are the

Bound-together Brotherhood of Colour-mixers and Putters-on of

Thought-out Designs, bent upon a just cause.”

“May their Ancestral Tablets never fall into disrepair,” replied Wong

Ts’in courteously. “For the rest--let the mouth referred to shape

itself into the likeness of a narrow funnel, for the lengthening

gong-strokes press round about my unfinished labours.”

“That which in justice requires the amplitude of a full-sized cask

shall be pressed down into the confines of an inadequate vessel,”

assented Fang. “Know then, O battener upon our ill-requited skill, how

it has come to our knowledge that one who is not of our Brotherhood

moves among us and performs an equal task for a less reward. This is

our spoken word in consequence: in place of one tael every man among

us shall now take two, and he who before has laboured eight gongs to

receive it shall henceforth labour four. Furthermore, he who is

speaking shall, as their recognized head and authority, always be

addressed by the honourable title of ‘Polished,’ and the dog who is

not one of us shall be cast forth.”

“My hand itches to reward you in accordance with the inner prompting

of a full heart,” replied the merchant, after a well-sustained pause.

“But in this matter my very deficient ears must be leading my

threadbare mind astray. The moon has not been eaten up since the day

when you stood before me in a like attitude and bargained that every

man should henceforth receive a full tael where hitherto a half had

been his portion, and that in place of the toil of sixteen

gong-strokes eight should suffice. Upon this being granted all bound

themselves by spoken word that the matter should stand thus and thus

between us until the gathering-in of the next rice harvest.”

“That may have been so at the time,” admitted Fang, with dog-like

obstinacy, “but it was not then known that you had pledged yourself to

Hien Nan for tenscore embellished plates of porcelain within a stated

time, and that our services would therefore be essential to your

reputation. There has thus arisen what may be regarded as a new vista

of eventualities, and this frees us from the bondage of our spoken

word. Having thus moderately stated our unbending demand, we will

depart until the like gong-stroke of to-morrow, when, if our claim be

not agreed to, all will cast down their implements of labour with the

swiftness of a lightning-flash and thereby involve the whole of your

too-profitable undertaking in well-merited stagnation. We go,

venerable head; auspicious omens attend your movements!”

“May the All-Seeing guide your footsteps,” responded Wong Ts’in, and

with courteous forbearance he waited until they were out of hearing

before he added--“into a vat of boiling sulphur!”

Thus may the position be outlined when Wei Chang, the unassuming youth

whom the black-hearted Fang had branded with so degrading a

comparison, sat at his appointed place rather than join in the

discreditable conspiracy, and strove by his unaided dexterity to

enable Wong Ts’in to complete the tenscore embellished plates by the

appointed time. Yet already he knew that in this commendable ambition

his head grew larger than his hands, for he was the slowest-working

among all Wong Ts’in’s craftsmen, and even then his copy could

frequently be detected from the original. Not to overwhelm his memory

with unmerited contempt it is fitting now to reveal somewhat more of

the unfolding curtain of events.

Wei Chang was not in reality a worker in the art of applying coloured

designs to porcelain at all. He was a student of the literary

excellences and had decided to devote his entire life to the engaging

task of reducing the most perfectly matched analogy to the least

possible number of words when the unexpected appearance of Fa Fai

unsettled his ambitions. She was restraining the impatience of a

powerful horse and controlling its movements by means of a leather

thong, while at the same time she surveyed the landscape with a

disinterested glance in which Wei Chang found himself becoming

involved. Without stopping even to consult the spirits of his revered

ancestors on so important a decision, he at once burned the greater

part of his collection of classical analogies and engaged himself, as

one who is willing to become more proficient, about Wong Ts’in’s

earth-yards. Here, without any reasonable intention of ever becoming

in any way personally congenial to her, he was in a position

occasionally to see the distant outline of Fa Fai’s movements, and

when a day passed and even this was withheld he was content that the

shadow of the many-towered building that contained her should obscure

the sunlight from the window before which he worked.

While Wei Chang was thus engaged the door of the enclosure in which he

laboured was thrust cautiously inwards, and presently he became aware

that the being whose individuality was never completely absent from

his thoughts was standing in an expectant attitude at no great

distance from him. As no other person was present, the craftsmen

having departed in order to consult an oracle that dwelt beneath an

appropriate sign, and Wong Ts’in being by this time among the Outer

Ways seeking an omen as to Fa Fai’s disposal, Wei Chang did not think

it respectful to become aware of the maiden’s presence until a

persistent distress of her throat compelled him to recognize the

incident.

“Unapproachable perfection,” he said, with becoming deference, “is it

permissible that in the absence of your enlightened sire you should

descend from your golden eminence and stand, entirely unattended, at

no great distance from so ordinary a person as myself?”

“Whether it be strictly permissible or not, it is only on like

occasions that she ever has the opportunity of descending from the

solitary pinnacle referred to,” replied Fa Fai, not only with no

outward appearance of alarm at being directly addressed by one of a

different sex, but even moving nearer to Wei Chang as she spoke. “A

more essential detail in the circumstances concerns the length of time

that he may be prudently relied upon to be away?”

“Doubtless several gong-strokes will intervene before his returning

footsteps gladden our expectant vision,” replied Wei Chang. “He is

spoken of as having set his face towards the Outer Ways, there

perchance to come within the influence of a portent.”

“Its probable object is not altogether unknown to the one who stands

before you,” admitted Fa Fai, “and as a dutiful and affectionate

daughter it has become a consideration with her whether she ought not

to press forward, as it were, to a solution on her own account. . . .

If the one whom I am addressing could divert his attention from the

embellishment of the very inadequate claw of a wholly superfluous

winged dragon, possibly he might add his sage counsel on that point.”

“It is said that a bull-frog once rent his throat in a well-meant

endeavour to advise an eagle in the art of flying,” replied Wei Chang,

concealing the bitterness of his heart beneath an easy tongue. “For

this reason it is inexpedient for earthlings to fix their eyes on

those who dwell in very high places.”

“To the intrepid, very high places exist solely to be scaled; with

others, however, the only scaling they attempt is lavished on the

armour of preposterous flying monsters, O youth of the House of Wei!”

“Is it possible,” exclaimed Wei Chang, moving forward with so sudden

an ardour that the maiden hastily withdrew herself several paces from

beyond his enthusiasm, “is it possible that this person’s hitherto

obscure and execrated name is indeed known to your incomparable lips?”

“As the one who periodically casts up the computations of the sums of

money due to those who labour about the earth-yards, it would be

strange if the name had so far escaped my notice,” replied Fa Fai,

with a distance in her voice that the few paces between them very

inadequately represented. “Certain details engrave themselves upon the

tablets of recollection by their persistence. For instance, the name

of Fang is generally at the head of each list; that of Wei Chang is

invariably at the foot.”

“It is undeniable,” admitted Wei Chang, in a tone of well-merited

humiliation; “and the attainment of never having yet applied a design

in such a manner that the copy might be mistaken for the original has

entirely flattened-out this person’s self-esteem.”

“Doubtless,” suggested Fa Fai, with delicate encouragement, “there are

other pursuits in which you would disclose a more highly developed

proficiency--as that of watching the gyrations of untamed horses, for

example. Our more immediate need, however, is to discover a means of

defeating the malignity of the detestable Fang. With this object I

have for some time past secretly applied myself to the task of

contriving a design which, by blending simplicity with picturesque

effect, will enable one person in a given length of time to achieve

the amount of work hitherto done by two.”

With these auspicious words the accomplished maiden disclosed a plate

of translucent porcelain, embellished in the manner which she had

described. At the sight of the ingenious way in which trees and

persons, stream and buildings, and objects of a widely differing

nature had been so arranged as to give the impression that they all

existed at the same time, and were equally visible without undue

exertion on the part of the spectator who regarded them, Wei Chang

could not restrain an exclamation of delight.

“How cunningly imagined is the device by which objects so varied in

size as an orange and an island can be depicted within the narrow

compass of a porcelain plate without the larger one completely

obliterating the smaller or the smaller becoming actually invisible by

comparison with the other! Hitherto this unimaginative person had not

considered the possibility of showing other than dragons, demons,

spirits, and the forces which from their celestial nature may be

regarded as possessing no real thickness of substance and therefore

being particularly suitable for treatment on a flat surface. But this

engaging display might indeed be a scene having an actual existence at

no great space away.”

“Such is assuredly the case,” admitted Fa Fai. “Within certain

limitations, imposed by this new art of depicting realities as they

are, we may be regarded as standing before an open window. The

important-looking building on the right is that erected by this

person’s venerated father. Its prosperity is indicated by the

luxurious profusion of the fruit-tree overhanging it. Pressed somewhat

to the back, but of dignified proportion, are the outer buildings of

those who labour among the clay.”

“In a state of actuality, they are of measurably less dignified

dimensions,” suggested Wei Chang.

“The objection is inept,” replied Fa Fai. “The buildings in question

undoubtedly exist at the indicated position. If, therefore, the

actuality is to be maintained, it is necessary either to raise their

stature or to cut down the trees obscuring them. To this gentle-minded

person the former alternative seemed the less drastic. As, however, it

is regarded in a spirit of no-satisfaction--”

“Proceed, incomparable one, proceed,” implored Wei Chang. “It was but

a breath of thought, arising from a recollection of the many times

that this incapable person has struck his unworthy head against the

roof-beams of those nobly-proportioned buildings.”

“The three stunted individuals crossing the bridge in undignified

attitudes are the debased Fang and two of his mercenary accomplices.

They are, as usual, bending their footsteps in the direction of the

hospitality of a house that announces its purpose beneath the sign of

a spreading bush. They are positioned as crossing the river to a set

purpose, and the bridge is devoid of a rail in the hope that on their

return they may all fall into the torrent in a helpless condition and

be drowned, to the satisfaction of the beholders.”

“It would be a fitting conclusion to their ill-spent lives,” agreed

Wei Chang. “Would it not add to their indignity to depict them as

struggling beneath the waves?”

“It might do so,” admitted Fa Fai graciously, “but in order to express

the arisement adequately it would be necessary to display them

twice--first on the bridge with their faces turned towards the west,

and then in the flood with their faces towards the east; and the

superficial might hastily assume that the three on the bridge would

rescue the three in the river.”

“You are all-wise,” said Wei Chang, with well-marked admiration in his

voice. “This person’s suggestion was opaque.”

“In any case,” continued Fa Fai, with a reassuring glance, “it is a

detail that is not essential to the frustration of Fang’s malignant

scheme, for already well on its way towards Hien Nan may be seen a

trustworthy junk, laden with two formidable crates, each one

containing fivescore plates of the justly esteemed Wong Ts’in

porcelain.”

“Nevertheless,” maintained Wei Chang mildly, “the out-passing of Fang

would have been a satisfactory detail of the occurrence.”

“Do not despair,” replied Fa Fai. “Not idly is it written: ‘Destiny

has four feet, eight hands and sixteen eyes: how then shall the

ill-doer with only two of each hope to escape?’ An even more

ignominious end may await Fang, should he escape drowning, for,

conveniently placed by the side of the stream, this person has

introduced a spreading willow-tree. Any of its lower branches is

capable of sustaining Fang’s weight, should a reliable rope connect

the two.”

“There is something about that which this person now learns is a

willow that distinguishes it above all the other trees of the design,”

remarked Wei Chang admiringly. “It has a wild and yet a romantic

aspect.”

“This person had not yet chanced upon a suitable title for the

device,” said Fa Fai, “and a distinguishing name is necessary, for

possibly scores of copies may be made before its utility is exhausted.

Your discriminating praise shall be accepted as a fortunate omen, and

henceforth this shall be known as the Willow Pattern Embellishment.”

“The honour of suggesting the title is more than this commonplace

person can reasonably carry,” protested Wei Chang, feeling that very

little worth considering existed outside the earth-shed. “Not only

scores, but even hundreds of copies may be required in the process of

time, for a crust of rice-bread and handful of dried figs eaten from

such a plate would be more satisfying than a repast of many-coursed

richness elsewhere.”

In this well-sustained and painless manner Fa Fai and Wei Chang

continued to express themselves agreeably to each other, until the

lengthening gong-strokes warned the former person that her absence

might inconvenience Wong Ts’in’s sense of tranquillity on his return,

nor did Wei Chang contest the desirability of a great space

intervening between them should the merchant chance to pass that way.

In the meanwhile Chang had explained many of the inner details of his

craft so that Fa Fai should the better understand the requirements of

her new art.

“Yet where is the Willow plate itself?” said the maiden, as she began

to arrange her mind towards departure. “As the colours were still in a

receptive state this person placed it safely aside for the time. It

was somewhat near the spot where you--”

During the amiable exchange of shafts of polished conversation Wei

Chang had followed Fa Fai’s indication and had seated himself upon a

low bench without any very definite perception of his movements. He

now arose with the unstudied haste of one who has inconvenienced a

scorpion.

“Alas!” he exclaimed, in a tone of the acutest mental distress; “can

it be possible that this utterly profane outcast has so desecrated--”

“Certainly comment of an admittedly crushing nature has been imposed

on this one’s well-meant handiwork,” said Fa Fai. With these

lightly-barbed words, which were plainly devised to restore the other

person’s face towards himself, the magnanimous maiden examined the

plate which Wei Chang’s uprising had revealed.

“Not only has the embellishment suffered no real detriment,” she

continued, after an adequate glance, “but there has been imparted to

the higher lights--doubtless owing to the nature of the fabric in

which your lower half is encased--a certain nebulous quality that adds

greatly to the successful effect of the various tones.”

At the first perception of the indignity to which he had subjected the

entrancing Fa Fai’s work, and the swift feeling that much more than

the coloured adornment of a plate would thereby be destroyed, all

power of retention had forsaken Wei Chang’s incapable knees and he

sank down heavily upon another bench. From this dejection the maiden’s

well-chosen encouragement recalled him to a position of ordinary

uprightness.

“A tombstone is lifted from this person’s mind by your

gracefully-placed words,” he declared, and he was continuing to

indicate the nature of his self-reproach by means of a suitable

analogy when the expression of Fa Fai’s eyes turned him to a point

behind himself. There, lying on the spot from which he had just risen,

was a second Willow plate, differing in no detail of resemblance from

the first.

“Shadow of the Great Image!” exclaimed Chang, in an awe-filled voice.

“It is no marvel that miracles should attend your footsteps, celestial

one, but it is incredible that this clay-souled person should be

involved in the display.”

“Yet,” declared Fa Fai, not hesitating to allude to things as they

existed, in the highly-raised stress of the discovery, “it would

appear that the miracle is not specifically connected with this

person’s feet. Would you not, in furtherance of this line of

suggestion, place yourself in a similar attitude on yet another plate,

Wei Chang?”

Not without many protests that it was scarcely becoming thus to sit

repeatedly in her presence, Chang complied with the request, and upon

Fa Fai’s further insistence he continued to impress himself, as it

were, upon a succession of porcelain plates, with a like result. Not

until the eleventh process was reached did the Willow design begin to

lose its potency.

“Ten perfect copies produced within as many moments, and not one

distinguishable from the first!” exclaimed Wei Chang, regarding the

array of plates with pleasurable emotion. “Here is a means of baffling

Fang’s crafty confederacy that will fill Wong Ts’in’s ears with waves

of gladness on his return.”

“Doubtless,” agreed Fa Fai, with a dark intent. She was standing by

the door of the enclosure in the process of making her departure, and

she regarded Wei Chang with a set deliberation. “Yet,” she continued

definitely, “if this person possessed that which was essential to Wong

Ts’in’s prosperity, and Wong Ts’in held that which was necessary for

this one’s tranquillity, a locked bolt would be upon the one until the

other was pledged in return.”

With these opportune words the maiden vanished, leaving Wei Chang

prostrating himself in spirit before the many-sidedness of her wisdom.

Wong Ts’in was not altogether benevolently inclined towards the

universe on his return a little later. The persistent image of Fang’s

overthreatening act still corroded the merchant’s throat with

bitterness, for on his right he saw the extinction of his business as

unremunerative if he agreed, and on his left he saw the extinction of

his business as undependable if he refused to agree.

Furthermore, the omens were ill-arranged.

On his way outwards he had encountered an aged man who possessed two

fruit-trees, on which he relied for sustenance. As Wong Ts’in drew

near, this venerable person carried from his dwelling two beaten cakes

of dog-dung and began to bury them about the root of the larger tree.

This action, on the part of one who might easily be a disguised

wizard, aroused Wong Ts’in’s interest.

“Why,” he demanded, “having two cakes of dung and two fruit-trees, do

you not allot one to each tree, so that both may benefit and return to

you their produce in the time of your necessity?”

“The season promises to be one of rigour and great need,” replied the

other. “A single cake of dung might not provide sufficient nourishment

for either tree, so that both should wither away. By reducing life to

a bare necessity I could pass from one harvest to another on the fruit

of this tree alone, but if both should fail I am undone. To this end I

safeguard my existence by ensuring that at least the better of the two

shall thrive.”

“Peace attend your efforts!” said Wong Ts’in, and he began to retrace

his footsteps, well content.

Yet he had not covered half the distance back when his progress was

impeded by an elderly hag who fed two goats, whose milk alone

preserved her from starvation. One small measure of dry grass was all

that she was able to provide them with, but she divided it equally

between them, to the discontent of both.

“The season promises to be one of rigour and great need,” remarked

Wong Ts’in affably, for the being before him might well be a creature

of another part who had assumed that form for his guidance. “Why do

you not therefore ensure sustenance to the better of the two goats by

devoting to it the whole of the measure of dry grass? In this way you

would receive at least some nourishment in return and thereby

safeguard your own existence until the rice is grown again.”

“In the matter of the two goats,” replied the aged hag, “there is no

better, both being equally stubborn and perverse, though one may be

finer-looking and more vainglorious than the other. Yet should I

foster this one to the detriment of her fellow, what would be this

person’s plight if haply the weaker died and the stronger broke away

and fled! By treating both alike I retain a double thread on life,

even if neither is capable of much.”

“May the Unseen weigh your labours!” exclaimed Wong Ts’in in a

two-edged voice, and he departed.

When he reached his own house he would have closed himself in his own

chamber with himself had not Wei Chang persisted that he sought his

master’s inner ear with a heavy project. This interruption did not

please Wong Ts’in, for he had begun to recognize the day as being

unlucky, yet Chang succeeded by a device in reaching his side, bearing

in his hands a guarded burden.

Though no written record of this memorable interview exists, it is now

generally admitted that Wei Chang either involved himself in an

unbearably attenuated caution before he would reveal his errand, or

else that he made a definite allusion to Fa Fai with a too sudden

conciseness, for the slaves who stood without heard Wong Ts’in clear

his voice of all restraint and express himself freely on a variety of

subjects. But this gave place to a subdued murmur, ending with the

ceremonial breaking of a plate, and later Wong Ts’in beat on a silver

bell and called for wine and fruit.

The next day Fang presented himself a few gong-strokes later than the

appointed time, and being met by an unbending word he withdrew the

labour of those whom he controlled. Thenceforth these men, providing

themselves with knives and axes, surrounded the gate of the

earth-yards and by the pacific argument of their attitudes succeeded

in persuading others who would willingly have continued at their task

that the air of Wong Ts’in’s sheds was not congenial to their health.

Towards Wei Chang, whose efforts they despised, they raised a cloud of

derision, and presently noticing that henceforth he invariably clad

himself in lower garments of a dark blue material (to a set purpose

that will be as crystal to the sagacious), they greeted his appearance

with cries of: “Behold the sombre one! Thou dark leg!” so that this

reproach continues to be hurled even to this day at those in a like

case, though few could answer why.

Long before the stipulated time the tenscore plates were delivered to

Hien Nan. So greatly were they esteemed, both on account of their

accuracy of unvarying detail and the ingenuity of their novel

embellishment, that orders for scores, hundreds and even thousands

began to arrive from all quarters of the Empire. The clay enterprise

of Wong Ts’in took upon itself an added lustre, and in order to deal

adequately with so vast an undertaking the grateful merchant adopted

Wei Chang and placed him upon an equal footing with himself. On the

same day Wong Ts’in honourably fulfilled his spoken word and the

marriage of Wei Chang and Fa Fai took place, accompanied by the most

lavish display of fireworks and coloured lights that the province had

ever seen. The controlling deities approved, and they had seven sons,

one of whom had seven fingers upon each hand. All these sons became

expert in Wei Chang’s process of transferring porcelain embellishment,

for some centuries elapsed before it was discovered that it was not

absolutely necessary to sit upon each plate to produce the desired

effect.

This chronicle of an event that is now regarded as almost classical

would not be complete without an added reference to the ultimate end

of the sordid Fang.

Fallen into disrepute among his fellows owing to the evil plight

towards which he had enticed them, it became his increasing purpose to

frequent the house beyond the river. On his return at nightfall he

invariably drew aside on reaching the bridge, well knowing that he

could not prudently rely upon his feet among so insecure a crossing,

and composed himself to sleep amid the rushes. While in this position

one night he was discovered and pushed into the river by a devout ox

(an instrument of high destinies), where he perished incapably.

Those who found his body, not being able to withdraw so formidable a

weight direct, cast a rope across the lower branch of a convenient

willow-tree and thus raised it to the shore. In this striking manner

Fa Fai’s definite opinion achieved a destined end.

CHAPTER III

The Degraded Persistence of the Effete Ming-shu

At about the same gong-stroke as before, Kai Lung again stood at the

open shutter, and to him presently came the maiden Hwa-mei, bearing in

her hands a gift of fruit.

“The story of the much-harassed merchant Wong Ts’in and of the

assiduous youth Wei Chang has reached this person’s ears by a devious

road, and though it doubtless lost some of the subtler qualities in

the telling, the ultimate tragedy had a convincing tone,” she remarked

pleasantly.

“It is scarcely to be expected that one who has spent his life beneath

an official umbrella should have at his command the finer analogies of

light and shade,” tolerantly replied Kai Lung. “Though by no means

comparable with the unapproachable history of the Princess Taik and

the minstrel Ch’eng as a means for conveying the unexpressed

aspirations of the one who relates towards the one who is receptive,

there are many passages even in the behaviour of Wei Chang into which

this person could infuse an unmistakable stress of significance were

he but given the opportunity.”

“The day of that opportunity has not yet dawned,” replied the Golden

Mouse; “nor has the night preceding it yet run its gloomy course.

Foiled in his first attempt, the vindictive Ming-shu now creeps

towards his end by a more tortuous path. Whether or not dimly

suspecting something of the strategy by which your imperishable life

was preserved to-day, it is no part of his depraved scheme that you

should be given a like opportunity again. To-morrow another will be

led to judgment, one Cho-kow, a tribesman of the barbarian land of

Khim.”

“With him I have already conversed and shared rice,” interposed Kai

Lung. “Proceed, elegance.”

“Accused of plundering mountain tombs and of other crimes now held in

disrepute, he will be offered a comparatively painless death if he

will implicate his fellows, of whom you will be held to be the chief.

By this ignoble artifice you will be condemned on his testimony in

your absence, nor will you have any warning of your fate until you are

led forth to suffer.”

Then replied Kai Lung, after a space of thought: “Not ineptly is it

written: ‘When the leading carriage is upset the next one is more

careful,’ and Ming-shu has taken the proverb to his heart. To

counteract his detestable plot will not be easy, but it should not be

beyond our united power, backed by a reasonable activity on the part

of our protecting ancestors.”

“The devotional side of the emergency has had this one’s early care,”

remarked Hwa-mei. “From daybreak to-morrow six zealous and

deep-throated monks will curse Ming-shu and all his ways unceasingly,

while a like number will invoke blessings and success upon your

enlightened head. In the matter of noise and illumination everything

that can contribute has been suitably prepared.”

“It is difficult to conjecture what more could be done in that

direction,” confessed Kai Lung gratefully.

“Yet as regards a more material effort--?” suggested the maiden, amid

a cloud of involving doubt.

“If there is a subject in which the imagination of the Mandarin Shan

Tien can be again enmeshed it might be yet accomplished,” replied Kai

Lung. “Have you a knowledge of any such deep concern?”

“Truly there is a matter that disturbs his peace of late. He has

dreamed a dream three times, and its meaning is beyond the skill of

any man to solve. Yet how shall this avail you who are no geomancer?”

“What is the nature of the dream?” inquired Kai Lung. “For remember,

‘Though Shen-fi has but one gate, many roads lead to it.’”

“The substance of the dream is this: that herein he who sleeps walks

freely in the ways of men wearing no robe or covering of any kind, yet

suffering no concern or indignity therefrom; that the secret and

hidden things of the earth are revealed to his seeing eyes; and that

he can float in space and project himself upon the air at will. These

three things are alien to his nature, and being three times repeated,

the uncertainty assails his ease.”

“Let it, under your persistent care, assail him more and that

unceasingly,” exclaimed Kai Lung, with renewed lightness in his voice.

“Breathe on the surface of his self-repose as a summer breeze moves

the smooth water of a mountain lake--not deeply, but never quite at

rest. Be assured: it is no longer possible to doubt that powerful

Beings are interested in our cause.”

“I go, oppressed one,” replied Hwa-mei. “May this period of your

ignoble trial be brought to a distinguished close.”

On the following day at the appointed hour Cho-kow was led before the

Mandarin Shan Tien, and the nature of his crimes having been explained

to him by the contemptible Ming-shu, he was bidden to implicate Kai

Lung and thus come to an earlier and less painful end.

“All-powerful,” he replied, addressing himself to the Mandarin, “the

words that have been spoken are bent to a deceptive end. They of our

community are a simple race and doubtless in the past their ways were

thus and thus. But, as it is truly said, ‘Tian went bare, his eyes

could pierce the earth and his body float in space, but they of his

seed do but dream the dream.’ We, being but the puny descendants--”

“You have spoken of one Tian whose attributes were such, and of those

who dream thereof,” interrupted the Mandarin, as one who performs a

reluctant duty. “That which you adduce to uphold your cause must bear

the full light of day.”

“Alas, omnipotence,” replied Cho-kow, “this concerns the doing of the

gods and those who share their line. Now I am but an ill-conditioned

outcast from the obscure land of Khim, and possess no lore beyond what

happens there. Haply the gods that rule in Khim have a different

manner of behaving from those in the Upper Air above Yu-ping, and this

person’s narration would avoid the semblance of the things that are

and he himself would thereby be brought to disrepute.”

“Suffer not that apprehension to retard your impending eloquence,”

replied Shan Tien affably. “Be assured that the gods have exactly the

same manner of behaving in every land.”

“Furthermore,” continued Cho-kow, with patient craft, “I am a man of

barbarian tongue, the full half of my speech being foreign to your

ear. The history of the much-accomplished Tian and the meaning of the

dreams that mark those of his race require for a full understanding

the subtle analogies of an acquired style. Now that same Kai Lung whom

you have implicated to my band--”

“Excellence!” protested Ming-shu, with a sudden apprehension in his

throat, “yesterday our labours dissolved in air through the very

doubtful precedent of allowing one to testify what he had had the

intention to relate. Now we are asked to allow a tomb-haunter to call

a parricide to disclose that which he himself is ignorant of. Press

down your autocratic thumb--”

“Alas, instructor,” interposed Shan Tien compassionately, “the

sympathetic concern of my mind overflows upon the spectacle of your

ill-used forbearance, yet you having banded together the two in a

common infamy, it is the ancient privilege of this one to call the

other to his cause. We are but the feeble mouthpieces of a benevolent

scheme of all-embracing justice and greatly do I fear that we must

again submit.”

With these well-timed words the broad-minded personage settled himself

more reposefully among his cushions and signified that Kai Lung should

be led forward and begin.

The Story of Ning, the Captive God, and the Dreams

that mark his Race

i. THE MALICE OF THE DEMON, LEOU

When Sun Wei definitely understood that the deities were against him

(for on every occasion his enemies prospered and the voice of his own

authority grew less), he looked this way and that with a

well-considering mind.

He did nothing hastily, but when once a decision was reached it was as

unbending as iron and as smoothly finished as polished jade. At about

the evening hour when others were preparing to offer sacrifice he took

the images and the altars of his Rites down from their honourable

positions and cast them into a heap on a waste expanse beyond his

courtyard. Then with an axe he unceremoniously detached their

incomparable limbs from their sublime bodies and flung the parts into

a fire that he had prepared.

“It is better,” declared Sun Wei, standing beside the pile, his hands

buried within his sleeves--“it is better to be struck down at once,

rather than to wither away slowly like a half-uprooted cassia-tree.”

When this act of defiance was reported in the Upper World the air grew

thick with the cries of indignation of the lesser deities, and the

sound of their passage as they projected themselves across vast

regions of space and into the presence of the supreme N’guk was like

the continuous rending of innumerable pieces of the finest silk.

In his musk-scented heaven, however, N’guk slept, as his habit was at

the close of each celestial day. It was with some difficulty that he

could be aroused and made to understand the nature of Sun Wei’s

profanity, for his mind was dull with the smoke of never-ending

incense.

“To-morrow,” he promised, with a benignant gesture, turning over again

on his crystal throne, “some time to-morrow impartial justice shall be

done. In the meanwhile--courteous dismissal attend your opportune

footsteps.”

“He is becoming old and obese,” murmured the less respectful of the

demons. “He is not the god he was, even ten thousand cycles ago. It

were well--”

“But, omnipotence,” protested certain conciliatory spirits, pressing

to the front, “consider, if but for a short breath of time. A day here

is as threescore of their years as these mortals live. By to-morrow

night not only Sun Wei, but most of those now dwelling down below,

will have Passed Beyond. But the story of his unpunished infamy will

live. We shall become discredited and our altar fires extinct.

Sacrifice of either food or raiment will cease to reach us. The Season

of White Rain is approaching and will find us ill provided. We who

speak are but Beings of small part--”

“Peace!” commanded N’guk, now thoroughly disturbed, for the voices of

the few had grown into a tumult; “how is it possible to consider with

a torrent like the Hoang-Ho in flood pouring through my very ordinary

ears? Your omniscient but quite inadequate Chief would think.”

At this rebuke the uproar ceased. So deep became the nature of N’guk’s

profound thoughts that they could be heard rolling like thunder among

the caverns of his gigantic brain. To aid the process, female slaves

on either side fanned his fiery head with celestial lotus leaves. On

the earth, far beneath, cyclones, sand-storms and sweeping

water-spouts were forced into being.

“Hear the contemptible wisdom of my ill-formed mouth,” said N’guk at

length. “If we at once put forth our strength, the degraded Wun Sei is

ground--”

“Sun Wei, All-knowing One,” murmured an attending spirit beneath his

breath.

“--the unmentionable outcast whom we are discussing is immediately

ground into powder,” continued the Highest, looking fixedly at a

distant spot situated directly beyond his painstaking attendant. “But

what follows? Henceforth no man can be allowed to whisper ill of us

but we must at once seek him out and destroy him, or the obtuse and

superficial will exclaim: ‘It was not so in the days of--of So-and-So.

Behold’”--here the Great One bent a look of sudden resentment on the

band of those who would have reproached him--“‘behold the gods become

old and obese. They are not the Powers they were. It would be better

to address ourselves to other altars.’”

At this prospect many of the more venerable spirits began to lose

their enthusiasm. If every mortal who spoke ill of them was to be

pursued what leisure for dignified seclusion would remain?

“If, however,” continued the dispassionate Being, “the profaner is

left to himself he will, sooner or later, in the ordinary course of

human intelligence, become involved in some disaster of his own

contriving. Then they who dwell around will say: ‘He destroyed the

altars! Truly the hands of the Unseen are slow to close, but their

arms are very long. Lo, we have this day ourselves beheld it. Come,

let us burn incense lest some forgotten misdeed from the past lurk in

our path.’”

When he had finished speaking all the more reputable of those present

extolled his judgment. Some still whispered together, however,

whereupon the sagacious N’guk opened his mouth more fully and shot

forth tongues of consuming fire among the murmurers so that they fled

howling from his presence.

Now among the spirits who had stood before the Pearly Ruler without

taking any share in the decision were two who at this point are drawn

into the narration, Leou and Ning. Leou was a revengeful demon, ever

at enmity with one or another of the gods and striving how he might

enmesh his feet in destruction. Ning was a better-class deity,

voluptuous but well-meaning, and little able to cope with Leou’s

subtlety. Thus it came about that the latter one, seeing in the

outcome a chance to achieve his end, at once dropped headlong down to

earth and sought out Sun Wei.

Sun Wei was reclining at his evening rice when Leou found him.

Becoming invisible, the demon entered a date that Sun Wei held in his

hand and took the form of a stone. Sun Wei recognized the doubtful

nature of the stone as it passed between his teeth, and he would have

spat it forth again, but Leou had the questionable agility of the

serpent and slipped down the other’s throat. He was thus able to

converse familiarly with Sun Wei without fear of interruption.

“Sun Wei,” said the voice of Leou inwardly, “the position you have

chosen is a desperate one, and we of the Upper Air who are well

disposed towards you find the path of assistance fringed with

two-edged swords.”

“It is well said: ‘He who lacks a single tael sees many bargains,’”

replied Sun Wei, a refined bitterness weighing the import of his

words. “Truly this person’s friends in the Upper Air are a

never-failing lantern behind his back.”

At this justly-barbed reproach Leou began to shake with disturbed

gravity until he remembered that the motion might not be pleasing to

Sun Wei’s inner feelings.

“It is not that the well-disposed are slow to urge your claims, but

that your enemies number some of the most influential demons in all

the Nine Spaces,” he declared, speaking with a false smoothness that

marked all his detestable plans. “Assuredly in the past you must have

led a very abandoned life, Sun Wei, to come within the circle of their

malignity.”

“By no means,” replied Sun Wei. “Until driven to despair this person

not only duly observed the Rites and Ceremonies, but he even avoided

the Six Offences. He remained by the side of his parents while they

lived, provided an adequate posterity, forbore to tread on any of the

benevolent insects, safeguarded all printed paper, did not consume the

meat of the industrious ox, and was charitable towards the needs of

hungry and homeless ghosts.”

“These observances are well enough,” admitted Leou, restraining his

narrow-minded impatience; “and with an ordinary number of written

charms worn about the head and body they would doubtless carry you

through the lesser contingencies of existence. But by, as it were,

extending contempt, you have invited the retaliatory propulsion of the

sandal of authority.”

“To one who has been pushed over the edge of a precipice, a rut across

the path is devoid of menace; nor do the destitute tremble at the

departing watchman’s cry: ‘Sleep warily; robbers are about.’”

“As regards bodily suffering and material extortion, it is possible to

attain such a limit as no longer to excite the cupidity of even the

most rapacious deity,” admitted Leou. “Other forms of flattening-out a

transgressor’s self-content remain however. For instance, it has come

within the knowledge of the controlling Powers that seven generations

of your distinguished ancestors occupy positions of dignified

seclusion in the Upper Air.”

For the first time Sun Wei’s attitude was not entirely devoid of an

emotion of concern.

“They would not--?”

“To mark their sense of your really unsupportable behaviour it has

been decided that all seven shall return to the humiliating scenes of

their former existences in admittedly objectionable forms,” replied

the outrageous Leou. “Sun Chen, your venerated sire, will become an

agile grasshopper; your incomparable grandfather, Yuen, will have the

similitude of a yellow goat; as a tortoise your leisurely-minded

ancestor Huang, the high public official--”

“Forbear!” exclaimed the conscience-stricken Sun Wei; “rather would

this person suffer every imaginable form of torture than that the

spirit of one of his revered ancestors should be submitted to so

intolerable a bondage. Is there no amiable form of compromise whereby

the ancestors of some less devoted and liberally-inspired son might be

imperceptibly, as it were, substituted?”

“In ordinary cases some such arrangement is generally possible,”

conceded Leou; “but not idly is it written: ‘There is a time to

silence an adversary with the honey of logical persuasion, and there

is a time to silence him with the argument of a heavily-directed

club.’ In your extremity a hostage is the only efficient safeguard.

Seize the person of one of the gods themselves and raise a strong wall

around your destiny by holding him to ransom.”

“‘Ho Tai, requiring a light for his pipe, stretched out his hand

towards the great sky-lantern,’” quoted Sun Wei.

“‘Do not despise Ching To because his armour is invisible,’” retorted

Leou, with equal point. “Your friends in the Above are neither feeble

nor inept. Do as I shall instruct you and no less a Being than Ning

will be delivered into your hand.”

Then replied Sun Wei dubiously: “A spreading mango-tree affords a

pleasant shade within one’s courtyard, and a captive god might for a

season undoubtedly confer an enviable distinction. But presently the

tree’s encroaching roots may disturb the foundation of the house so

that the walls fall and crush those who are within, and the head of a

restrained god would in the end certainly displace my very inadequate

roof-tree.”

“A too-prolific root can be pruned back,” replied Leou, “and the

activities of a bondaged god may be efficiently curtailed. How this

shall be accomplished will be revealed to you in a dream: take heed

that you do not fail by the deviation of a single hair.”

Having thus prepared his discreditable plot, Leou twice struck the

walls enclosing him, so that Sun Wei coughed violently. The demon was

thereby enabled to escape, and he never actually appeared in a

tangible form again, although he frequently communicated, by means of

signs and omens, with those whom he wished to involve in his sinister

designs.

ii. THE PART PLAYED BY THE SLAVE-GIRL, HIA

Among the remaining possessions that the hostility of the deities

still left to Sun Wei at the time of these happenings was a young

slave of many-sided attraction. The name of Hia had been given to her,

but she was generally known as Tsing-ai on account of the extremely

affectionate gladness of her nature.

On the day following that in which Sun Wei and the demon Leou had

conversed together, Hia was disporting herself in the dark shades of a

secluded pool, as her custom was after the heat of her labours, when a

phoenix, flying across the glade, dropped a pearl of unusual size and

lustre into the stream. Possessing herself of the jewel and placing it

in her mouth, so that it should not impede the action of her hands,

Hia sought the bank and would have drawn herself up when she became

aware of the presence of one having the guise of a noble commander. He

was regarding her with a look in which well-expressed admiration was

blended with a delicate intimation that owing to the unparalleled

brilliance of her eyes he was unable to perceive any other detail of

her appearance, and was, indeed, under the impression that she was

devoid of ordinary outline. At the same time, without permitting her

glance to be in any but an entirely opposite direction, Hia was able

to satisfy herself that the stranger was a person on whom she might

prudently lavish the full depths of her regard if the necessity arose.

His apparel was rich, voluminous and of colours then unknown within the

Empire; his hair long and abundant; his face placid but sincere. He

carried no weapons, but wherever he trod there came a yellow flame

from below his right foot and a white vapour from beneath his left.

His insignia were those of a royal prince, and when he spoke his voice

resembled the noise of arrows passing through the upper branches of a

prickly forest. His long and pointed nails indicated the high and

dignified nature of all his occupations; each nail was protected by a

solid sheath, there being amethyst, ruby, topaz, ivory, emerald, white

jade, iron, chalcedony, gold and malachite.

When the distinguished-looking personage had thus regarded Hia for

some moments he drew an instrument of hollow tubes from a fold of his

garment and began to sing of two who, as the outcome of a romantic

encounter similar to that then existing, had professed an agreeable

attachment for one another and had, without unnecessary delay, entered

upon a period of incomparable felicity. Doubtless Hia would have

uttered words of high-minded rebuke at some of the more detailed

analogies of the recital had not the pearl deprived her of the power

of expressing herself clearly on any subject whatever, nor did it seem

practicable to her to remove it without withdrawing her hands from the

modest attitudes into which she had at once distributed them. Thus

positioned, she was compelled to listen to the stranger’s

well-considered flattery, and this (together with the increasing

coldness of the stream as the evening deepened) convincingly explains

her ultimate acquiescence to his questionable offers.

Yet it cannot be denied that Ning (as he may now fittingly be

revealed) conducted the enterprise with a seemly liberality; for upon

receiving from Hia a glance not expressive of discouragement he at

once caused the appearance of a suitably-furnished tent, a train of

Nubian slaves offering rich viands, rare wine and costly perfumes,

companies of expert dancers and musicians, a retinue of discreet

elderly women to robe her and to attend her movements, a carpet of

golden silk stretching from the water’s edge to the tent, and all the

accessories of a high-class profligacy.

When the night was advanced and Hia and Ning, after partaking of a

many-coursed feast, were reclining on an ebony couch, the Being freely

expressed the delight that he discovered in her amiable society,

incautiously adding: “Demand any recompense that is within the power

of this one to grant, O most delectable of water-nymphs, and its

accomplishment will be written by a flash of lightning.” In this,

however, he merely spoke as the treacherous Leou (who had enticed him

into the adventure) had assured him was usual in similar

circumstances, he himself being privately of the opinion that the

expenditure already incurred was more than adequate to the occasion.

Then replied Hia, as she had been fully instructed against the

emergency: “The word has been spoken. But what is precious metal after

listening to the pure gold of thy lips, or who shall again esteem gems

while gazing upon the full round radiance of thy moon-like face? One

thing only remains: remove the various sheaths from off thy hands, for

they not only conceal the undoubted perfection of the nails within,

but their massive angularity renders the affectionate ardour of your

embrace almost intolerable.”

At this very ordinary request a sudden flatness overspread Ning’s

manner and he began to describe the many much more profitable rewards

that Hia might fittingly demand. As none of these appeared to entice

her imagination, he went on to rebuke her want of foresight, and,

still later, having unsuccessfully pointed out to her the inevitable

penury and degradation in which her thriftless perversity would

involve her later years, to kick the less substantial appointments

across the tent.

“The night thickens, with every indication of a storm,” remarked Hia

pleasantly. “Yet that same impending flash of promised lightning

tarries somewhat.”

“Truly is it written: ‘A gracious woman will cause more strife than

twelve armed men can quell,’” retorted Ning bitterly.

“Not, perchance, if one of them bares his nails?” Thus she lightly

mocked him, but always with a set intent, as a poised dragon-fly sips

water yet does not wet his wings. Whereupon, finally, Ning tore the

sheaths from off his fingers and cast them passionately about her

feet, immediately afterwards sinking into a profound sleep, for both

the measure and the potency of the wine he had consumed exceeded his

usual custom. Otherwise he would scarcely have acted in this incapable

manner, for each sheath was inscribed with one symbol of a magic charm

and in the possession of the complete sentence resided the whole of

the Being’s authority and power.

Then Hia, seeing that he could no longer control her movements, and

that the end to which she had been bending was attained, gathered

together the fruits of her conscientious strategy and fled.

When Ning returned to the condition of ordinary perceptions he was

lying alone in the field by the river-side. The great sky-fire made no

pretence of averting its rays from his uncovered head, and the lesser

creatures of the ground did not hesitate to walk over his once sacred

form. The tent and all the other circumstances of the quest of Hia had

passed into a state of no-existence, for with a somewhat narrow-minded

economy the deity had called them into being with the express

provision that they need only be of such a quality as would last for a

single night.

With this recollection, other details began to assail his mind. His

irreplaceable nail-sheaths--there was no trace of one of them. He

looked again. Alas! his incomparable nails were also gone, shorn off

to the level of his finger-ends. For all their evidence he might be

one who had passed his days in discreditable industry. Each moment a

fresh point of degradation met his benumbed vision. His profuse and

ornamental locks were reduced to a single roughly-plaited coil; his

sandals were inelegant and harsh; in place of his many-coloured

flowing robes a scanty blue gown clothed his form. He who had been a

god was undistinguishable from the labourers of the fields. Only in

one thing did the resemblance fail: about his neck he found a weighty

block of wood controlled by an iron ring: while they at least were

free he was a captive slave.

A shadow on the grass caused him to turn. Sun Wei approached, a

knotted thong in one hand, in the other a hoe. He pointed to an

unweeded rice-field and with many ceremonious bows pressed the hoe

upon Ning as one who confers high honours. As Ning hesitated, Sun Wei

pressed the knotted thong upon him until it would have been obtuse to

disregard his meaning. Then Ning definitely understood that he had

become involved in the workings of very powerful forces, hostile to

himself, and picking up the hoe he bent his submissive footsteps in

the direction of the laborious rice-field.

iii. THE IN-COMING OF THE YOUTH, TIAN

It was dawn in the High Heaven and the illimitable N’guk, waking to

his labours for the day, looked graciously around on the assembled

myriads who were there to carry his word through boundless space. Not

wanting are they who speak two-sided words of the Venerable One from

behind fan-like hands, but when his voice takes upon it the authority

of a brazen drum knees become flaccid.

“There is a void in the unanimity of our council,” remarked the

Supreme, his eye resting like a flash of lightning on a vacant place.

“Wherefore tarries Ning, the son of Shin, the Seed-sower?”

For a moment there was an edging of N’guk’s inquiring glance from each

Being to his neighbour. Then Leou stood audaciously forth.

“He is reported to be engaged on a private family matter,” he replied

gravely. “Haply his feet have become entangled in a mesh of hair.”

N’guk turned his benevolent gaze upon another--one higher in

authority.

“Perchance,” admitted the superior Being tolerantly. “Such things are.

How comes it else that among the earth-creatures we find the faces of

the deities--both the good and the bad?”

“How long has he been absent from our paths?”

They pressed another forward--keeper of the Outer Path of the West

Expanses, he.

“He went, High Excellence, in the fifteenth of the earth-ruler Chun,

whom your enlightened tolerance has allowed to occupy the lower dragon

throne for twoscore years, as these earthlings count. Thus and thus--”

“Enough!” exclaimed the Supreme. “Hear my iron word. When the

buffoon-witted Ning rises from his congenial slough this shall be his

lot: for sixty thousand ages he shall fail to find the path of his

return, but shall, instead, thread an aimless flight among the frozen

ambits of the outer stars, carrying a tormenting rain of fire at his

tail. And Leou, the Whisperer,” added the Divining One, with the

inscrutable wisdom that marked even his most opaque moments, “Leou

shall meanwhile perform Ning’s neglected task.”

*

For five and twenty years Ning had laboured in the fields of Sun Wei

with a wooden collar girt about his neck, and Sun Wei had prospered.

Yet it is to be doubted whether this last detail deliberately hinged

on the policy of Leou or whether Sun Wei had not rather been drawn

into some wider sphere of destiny and among converging lines of

purpose. The ways of the gods are deep and sombre, and water once

poured out will flow as freely to the north as to the south. The wise

kowtows acquiescently whatever happens and thus his face is to the

ground. “Respect the deities,” says the imperishable Sage, “but do not

become familiar with them.” Sun Wei was clearly wrong.

To Ning, however, standing on a grassy space on the edge of a flowing

river, such thoughts do not extend. He is now a little hairy man of

gnarled appearance, and his skin of a colour and texture like a ripe

lo-quat. As he stands there, something in the outline of the vista

stirs the retentive tablets of his mind: it was on this spot that he

first encountered Hia, and from that involvement began the cycle of

his unending ill.

As he stood thus, implicated with his own inner emotions, a figure

emerged from the river at its nearest point and, crossing the

intervening sward, approached. He had the aspect of being a young man

of high and dignified manner, and walked with the air of one

accustomed to a silk umbrella, but when Ning looked more closely, to

see by his insignia what amount of reverence he should pay, he

discovered that the youth was destitute of the meagrest garment.

“Rise, venerable,” said the stranger affably, for Ning had prostrated

himself as being more prudent in the circumstances. “The one before

you is only Tian, of obscure birth, and himself of no particular merit

or attainment. You, doubtless, are of considerably more honourable

lineage?”

“Far from that being the case,” replied Ning, “the one who speaks

bears now the commonplace name of Lieu, and is branded with the brand

of Sun Wei. Formerly, indeed, he was a god, moving in the Upper Space

and known to the devout as Ning, but now deposed by treachery.”

“Unless the subject is one that has painful associations,” remarked

Tian considerately, “it is one on which this person would willingly

learn somewhat deeper. What, in short, are the various differences

existing between gods and men?”

“The gods are gods; men are men,” replied Ning. “There is no other

difference.”

“Yet why do not the gods now exert their strength and raise from your

present admittedly inferior position one who is of their band?”

“Behind their barrier the gods laugh at all men. How much more, then,

is their gravity removed at the sight of one of themselves who has

fallen lower than mankind?”

“Your plight would certainly seem to be an ill-destined one,” admitted

Tian, “for, as the Verses say: ‘Gold sinks deeper than dross.’ Is

there anything that an ordinary person can do to alleviate your

subjection?”

“The offer is a gracious one,” replied Ning, “and such an occasion

undoubtedly exists. Some time ago a pearl of unusual size and lustre

slipped from its setting about this spot. I have looked for it in

vain, but your acuter eyes, perchance--”

Thus urged, the youth Tian searched the ground, but to no avail. Then

chancing to look upwards, he exclaimed:

“Among the higher branches of the tallest bamboo there is an ancient

phoenix nest, and concealed within its wall is a pearl such as you

describe.”

“That manifestly is what I seek,” said Ning. “But it might as well be

at the bottom of its native sea, for no ladder could reach to such a

height nor would the slender branch support a living form.”

“Yet the emergency is one easily disposed of.” With these opportune

words the amiable person rose from the ground without any appearance

of effort or conscious movement, and floating upward through the air

he procured the jewel and restored it to Ning.

When Ning had thus learned that Tian possessed these three attainments

which are united in the gods alone--that he could stand naked before

others without consciousness of shame, that his eyes were able to

penetrate matter impervious to those of ordinary persons, and that he

controlled the power of rising through the air unaided--he understood

that the one before him was a deity of some degree. He therefore

questioned him closely about his history, the various omens connected

with his life and the position of the planets at his birth. Finding

that these presented no element of conflict, and that, furthermore,

the youth’s mother was a slave, formerly known as Hia, Ning declared

himself more fully and greeted Tian as his undoubted son.

“The absence of such a relation is the one thing that has pressed

heavily against this person’s satisfaction in the past, and the

deficiency is now happily removed,” exclaimed Tian. “The distinction

of having a deity for a father outweighs even the present admittedly

distressing condition in which he reveals himself. His word shall

henceforth be my law.”

“The sentiment is a dutiful one,” admitted Ning, “and it is possible

that you are now thus discovered in pursuance of some scheme among my

more influential accomplices in the Upper Air for restoring to me my

former eminence.”

“In so meritorious a cause this person is prepared to immerse himself

to any depth,” declared Tian readily. “Nothing but the absence of

precise details restrains his hurrying feet.”

“Those will doubtless be communicated to us by means of omens and

portents as the requirement becomes more definite. In the meanwhile

the first necessity is to enable this person’s nails to grow again;

for to present himself thus in the Upper Air would be to cover him

with ridicule. When the Emperor Chow-sin endeavoured to pass himself

off as a menial by throwing aside his jewelled crown, the rebels who

had taken him replied: ‘Omnipotence, you cannot throw away your

knees.’ To claim kinship with those Above and at the same time to

extend towards them a hand obviously inured to probing among the stony

earth would be to invite the averted face of recognition.”

“Let recognition be extended in other directions and the task of

returning to a forfeited inheritance will be lightened materially,”

remarked a significant voice.

“Estimable mother,” exclaimed Tian, “this opportune stranger is my

venerated father, whose continuous absence has been an overhanging

cloud above my gladness, but now happily revealed and restored to our

domestic altar.”

“Alas!” interposed Ning, “the opening of this enterprise forecasts a

questionable omen. Before this person stands the one who enticed him

into the beginning of all his evil; how then--”

“Let the word remain unspoken,” interrupted Hia. “Women do not entice

men--though they admittedly accompany them, with an extreme absence of

reluctance, in any direction. In her youth this person’s feet

undoubtedly bore her occasionally along a light and fantastic path,

for in the nature of spring a leaf is green and pliable, and in the

nature of autumn it is brown and austere, and through changeless ages

thus and thus. But, as it is truly said: ‘Milk by repeated agitation

turns to butter,’ and for many years it has been this one’s ceaseless

study of the Arts whereby she might avert that which she helped to

bring about in her unstable youth.”

“The intention is a commendable one, though expressed with unnecessary

verbiage,” replied Ning. “To what solution did your incantations

trend?”

“Concealed somewhere within the walled city of Ti-foo are the sacred

nail-sheaths on which your power so essentially depends, sent thither

by Sun Wei at the crafty instance of the demon Leou, who hopes at a

convenient time to secure them for himself. To discover these and bear

them forth will be the part allotted to Tian, and to this end has the

training of his youth been bent. By what means he shall strive to the

accomplishment of the project the unrolling curtain of the future

shall disclose.”

“It is as the destinies shall decide and as the omens may direct,”

said Tian. “In the meanwhile this person’s face is inexorably fixed in

the direction of Ti-foo.”

“Proceed with all possible discretion,” advised Ning. “In so critical

an undertaking you cannot be too cautious, but at the same time do not

suffer the rice to grow around your advancing feet.”

“A moment,” counselled Hia. “Tarry yet a moment. Here is one whose

rapidly-moving attitude may convey a message.”

“It is Lin Fa!” exclaimed Ning, as the one alluded to drew near--“Lin

Fa who guards the coffers of Sun Wei. Some calamity pursues him.”

“Hence!” cried Lin Fa, as he caught sight of them, yet scarcely

pausing in his flight: “flee to the woods and caves until the time of

this catastrophe be past. Has not the tiding reached you?”

“We be but dwellers on the farther bounds and no word has reached our

ear, O great Lin Fa. Fill in, we pray you, the warning that has been

so suddenly outlined.”

“The usurper Ah-tang has lit the torch of swift rebellion and is

flattening-down the land that bars his way. Already the villages of

Yeng, Leu, Liang-li and the Dwellings by the Three Pure Wells are as

dust beneath his trampling feet, and they who stayed there have passed

up in smoke. Sun Wei swings from the roof-tree of his own ruined

yamen. Ah-tang now lays siege to walled Ti-foo so that he may possess

the Northern Way. Guard this bag of silver meanwhile, for what I have

is more than I can reasonably bear, and when the land is once again at

peace, assemble to meet me by the Five-Horned Pagoda, ready with a

strict account.”

“All this is plainly part of an orderly scheme for my advancement,

brought about by my friends in the Upper World,” remarked Ning, with

some complacency. “Lin Fa has been influenced to the extent of

providing us with the means for our immediate need; Sun Wei has been

opportunely removed to the end that this person may now retire to a

hidden spot and there suffer his dishonoured nails to grow again:

Ah-tang has been impelled to raise the banner of insurrection outside

Ti-foo so that Tian may make use of the necessities of either side in

pursuit of his design. Assuredly the long line of our misfortunes is

now practically at an end.”

iv. EVENTS ROUND WALLED TI-FOO

Nevertheless, the alternative forced on Tian was not an alluring one.

If he joined the band of Ah-tang and the usurper failed, Tian himself

might never get inside Ti-foo; if, however, he allied himself with the

defenders of Ti-foo and Ah-tang did not fail, he might never get out

of Ti-foo. Doubtless he would have reverently submitted his cause to

the inspired decision of the Sticks, or some other reliable augur, had

he not, while immersed in the consideration, walked into the camp of

Ah-tang. The omen of this occurrence was of too specific a nature not

to be regarded as conclusive.

Ah-tang was one who had neglected the Classics from his youth upwards.

For this reason his detestable name is never mentioned in the

Histories, and the various catastrophes he wrought are charitably

ascribed to the action of earthquakes, thunderbolts and other admitted

forces. He himself, with his lamentable absence of literary style, was

wont to declare that while confessedly weak in analogies he was strong

in holocausts. In the end he drove the sublime emperor from his

capital and into the Outer Lands; with true refinement the annalists

of the period explain that the condescending monarch made a journey of

inspection among the barbarian tribes on the confines of his Empire.

When Tian, charged with being a hostile spy, was led into the presence

of Ah-tang, it was the youth’s intention to relate somewhat of his

history, but the usurper, excusing himself on the ground of literary

deficiency, merely commanded five of his immediate guard to bear the

prisoner away and to return with his head after a fitting interval.

Misunderstanding the exact requirement, Tian returned at the appointed

time with the heads of the five who had charge of him and the excuse

that in those times of scarcity it was easier to keep one head than

five. This aptitude so pleased Ah-tang (who had expected at the most a

farewell apophthegm) that he at once made Tian captain of a chosen

band.

Thus was Tian positioned outside the city of Ti-foo, materially

contributing to its ultimate surrender by the resourceful courage of

his arms. For the first time in the history of opposing forces he

tamed the strength and swiftness of wild horses to the use of man, and

placing copper loops upon their feet and iron bars between their

teeth, he and his band encircled Ti-foo with an ever-moving shield

through which no outside word could reach the town. Cut off in this

manner from all hope of succour, the stomachs of those within the

walls grew very small, and their eyes became weary of watching for

that which never came. On the third day of the third moon of their

encirclement they sent a submissive banner, and one bearing a written

message, into the camp of Ah-tang.

“We are convinced” (it ran) “of the justice of your cause. Let

six of your lordly nobles appear unarmed before our ill-kept

Lantern Gate at the middle gong-stroke of to-morrow and they

will be freely admitted within our midst. Upon receiving a

bound assurance safeguarding the limits of our temples, the

persons and possessions of our chiefs, and the undepreciated

condition of the first wives and virgin daughters of such as

be of mandarin rank or literary degree, the inadequate keys of

our broken-down defences will be laid at their sumptuous feet.

“With a fervent hand-clasp as of one brother to another, and a

passionate assurance of mutual good-will,

“KO’EN CHENG,

“_Important Official_.”

“It is received,” replied Ah-tang, when the message had been made

known to him. “Six captains will attend.”

Alas! it is well written: “There is often a space between the fish and

the fish-plate.” Mentally inflated at the success of their efforts and

the impending surrender of Ti-foo, Tian’s band suffered their energies

to relax. In the dusk of that same evening one disguised in the skin

of a goat browsed from bush to bush until he reached the town. There,

throwing off all restraint, he declared his errand to Ko’en Cheng.

“Behold!” he exclaimed, “the period of your illustrious suffering is

almost at an end. With an army capable in size and invincible in

determination, the ever-victorious Wu Sien is marching to your aid.

Defy the puny Ah-tang for yet three days more and great glory will be

yours.”

“Doubtless,” replied Ko’en Cheng, with velvet bitterness: “but the sun

has long since set and the moon is not yet risen. The appearance of a

solitary star yesterday would have been more foot-guiding than the

forecast of a meteor next week. This person’s thumb-signed word is

passed and to-morrow Ah-tang will hold him to it.”

Now there was present among the council one wrapped in a mantle made

of rustling leaves, who spoke in a smooth, low voice, very cunning and

persuasive, with a plan already shaped that seemed to offer well and

to safeguard Ko’en Cheng’s word. None remembered to have seen him

there before, and for this reason it is now held by some that this was

Leou, the Whisperer, perturbed lest the sacred nail-sheaths of Ning

should pass beyond his grasp. As to this, says not the Wise One: “When

two men cannot agree over the price of an onion who shall decide what

happened in the time of Yu?” But the voice of the unknown prevailed,

all saying: “At the worst it is but as it will be; perchance it may be

better.”

That night there was much gladness in the camp of Ah-tang, and men

sang songs of victory and cups of wine were freely passed, though in

the outer walks a strict watch was kept. When it was dark the word was

passed that an engaging company was approaching from the town, openly

and with lights. These being admitted revealed themselves as a band of

maidens, bearing gifts of fruit and wine and assurances of their

agreeable behaviour. Distributing themselves impartially about the

tents of the chiefs and upper ones, they melted the hours of the night

in graceful accomplishments and by their seemly compliance dispelled

all thought of treachery. Having thus gained the esteem of their

companions, and by the lavish persuasion of bemusing wine dimmed their

alertness, all this band, while it was still dark, crept back to the

town, each secretly carrying with her the arms, robes and insignia of

the one who had possessed her.

When the morning broke and the sound of trumpets called each man to an

appointed spot, direful was the outcry from the tents of all the

chiefs, and though many heads were out-thrust in rage of indignation,

no single person could be prevailed upon wholly to emerge. Only the

lesser warriors, the slaves and the bearers of the loads moved freely

to and fro and from between closed teeth and with fluttering eyelids

tossed doubtful jests among themselves.

It was close upon the middle gong-stroke of the day when Ah-tang,

himself clad in a shred torn from his tent (for in all the camp there

did not remain a single garment bearing a sign of noble rank), got

together a council of his chiefs. Some were clad in like attire,

others carried a henchman’s shield, a paper lantern or a branch of

flowers; Tian alone displayed himself without reserve.

“There are moments,” said Ah-tang, “when this person’s admitted

accomplishment of transfixing three foemen with a single javelin at a

score of measured paces does not seem to provide a possible solution.

Undoubtedly we are face to face with a crafty plan, and Ko’en Cheng

has surely heard that Wu Sien is marching from the west. If we fail to

knock upon the outer gate of Ti-foo at noon to-day Ko’en Cheng will

say: ‘My word returns. It is as naught.’ If they who go are clad as

underlings, Ko’en Cheng will cry: ‘What slaves be these! Do men break

plate with dogs? Our message was for six of noble style. Ah-tang but

mocks.’” He sat down again moodily. “Let others speak.”

“Chieftain”--Tian threw forth his voice--“your word must be as

iron--‘Six captains shall attend.’ There is yet another way.”

“Speak on,” Ah-tang commanded.

“The quality of Ah-tang’s chiefs resides not in a cloak of silk nor in

a silver-hilted sword, but in the sinews of their arms and the

lightning of their eyes. If they but carry these they proclaim their

rank for all to see. Let six attend taking neither sword nor shield,

neither hat nor sandal, nor yet anything between. ‘There are six

thousand more,’ shall be their taunt, ‘but Ko’en Cheng’s hospitality

drew rein at six. He feared lest they might carry arms; behold they

have come naked. Ti-foo need not tremble.”

“It is well,” agreed Ah-tang. “At least, nothing better offers. Let

five accompany you.”

Seated on a powerful horse Tian led the way. The others, not being of

his immediate band, had not acquired the necessary control, so that

they walked in a company. Coming to the Lantern Gate Tian turned his

horse suddenly so that its angry hoof struck the gate. Looking back he

saw the others following, with no great space between, and so passed

in.

When the five naked captains reached the open gate they paused. Within

stood a great concourse of the people, these being equally of both

sexes, but they of the inner chambers pressing resolutely to the

front. Through the throng of these their way must lead, and at the

sight the hearts of all became as stagnant water in the sun.

“Tarry not for me, O brothers,” said the one who led. “A thorn has

pierced my foot. Take honourable precedence while I draw it forth.”

“Never,” declared the second of the band, “never shall it be cast

abroad that Kang of the House of Ka failed his brother in necessity. I

sustain thy shoulder, comrade.”

“Alas!” exclaimed the third. “This person broke his fast on rhubarb

stewed in fat. Inopportunely--” So he too turned aside.

“Have we considered well,” said they who remained, “whether this be

not a subtle snare, and while the camp is denuded of its foremost

warriors a strong force--?”

Unconscious of these details, Tian went on alone. In spite of the

absence of gravity on the part of the more explicit portion of the

throng he suffered no embarrassment, partly because of his position,

but chiefly through his inability to understand that his condition

differed in any degree from theirs; for, owing to the piercing nature

of his vision, they were to him as he to them. In this way he came to

the open space known as the Space of the Eight Directions, where Ko’en

Cheng and his nobles were assembled.

“One comes alone,” they cried. “This guise is as a taunt.” “Naked to a

naked town--the analogy is plain.” “Shall the mocker be suffered to

return?”

Thus the murmur grew. Then one, more impetuous than the rest, swung

clear his sword and drew it. For the first time Tian understood that

treachery was afoot. He looked round for any of his band, but found

that he was as a foam-tossed cork upon a turbulent Whang Hai. Cries of

anger and derision filled the air; threatening arms waved

encouragement to each other to begin. The one with drawn sword raised

it above his head and made a step. Then Tian, recognizing that he was

unarmed, and that a decisive moment had arrived, stooped low and tore

a copper hoop from off his horse’s foot. High he swung its polished

brightness in the engaging sun, resolutely brought it down, so that it

pressed over the sword-warrior’s shattered head and hung about his

neck. Having thus effected as much bloodshed as could reasonably be

expected in the circumstances, Tian curved his feet about his horse’s

sides and imparting to it the virtue of his own condition they rose

into the air together. When those who stood below were able to exert

themselves a flight of arrows, spears and every kind of weapon

followed, but horse and rider were by that time beyond their reach,

and the only benevolent result attained was that many of their band

were themselves transfixed by the falling shafts.

In such a manner Tian continued his progress from the town until he

came above the Temple of Fire and Water Forces, where on a high tower

a strong box of many woods was chained beneath a canopy, guarded by an

incantation laid upon it by Leou, that no one should lift it down.

Recognizing the contents as the object of his search, Tian brought his

horse to rest upon the tower, and breaking the chains he bore the

magic sheaths away, the charm (owing to Leou’s superficial habits)

being powerless against one who instead of lifting the box down

carried it up.

In spite of this distinguished achievement it was many moons before

Tian was able to lay the filial tribute of restored power at Ning’s

feet, for with shallow-witted obstinacy Ti-foo continued to hold out,

and, scarcely less inept, Ah-tang declined to release Tian even to

carry on so charitable a mission. Yet when the latter one ultimately

returned and was, as the reward of his intrepid services, looking

forward to a period of domestic reunion under the benevolent guidance

of an affectionate father, it was but to point the seasoned proverb:

“The fuller the cup the sooner the spill,” for scarcely had Ning drawn

on the recovered sheaths and with incautious joy repeated the magic

sentence than he was instantly projected across vast space and into

the trackless confines of the Outer Upper Paths. If this were an

imagined tale, framed to entice the credulous, herein would its

falseness cry aloud, but even in this age Ning may still be seen from

time to time with a tail of fire in his wake, missing the path of his

return as N’guk ordained.

Thus bereft, Tian was on the point of giving way to a seemly despair

when a message concerned with Mu, the only daughter of Ko’en Cheng,

reached him. It professed a high-minded regard for his welfare, and

added that although the one who was inspiring the communication had

been careful to avoid seeing him on the occasion of his entry into

Ti-foo, it was impossible for her not to be impressed by the dignity

of his bearing. Ko’en Cheng having become vastly wealthy as the result

of entering into an arrangement with Ah-tang before Ti-foo was sacked,

it did not seem unreasonable to Tian that Ning was in some way

influencing his destiny from afar. On this understanding he ultimately

married Mu, and thereby founded a prolific posterity who inherited a

great degree of his powers. In the course of countless generations the

attributes have faded, but even to this day the true descendants of

the line of Ning are frequently vouchsafed dreams in which they stand

naked and without shame, see gems or metals hidden or buried in the

earth and float at will through space.

CHAPTER IV

The Inopportune Behaviour of the Covetous Li-loe

It was upon the occasion of his next visit to the shutter in the wall

that Kai Lung discovered the obtuse-witted Li-loe moving about the

enclosure. Though docile and well-meaning on the whole, the stunted

intelligence of the latter person made him a doubtful accomplice, and

Kai Lung stood aside, hoping to be soon alone.

Li-loe held in his hand an iron prong, and with this he industriously

searched the earth between the rocks and herbage. Ever since their

previous encounter upon that same spot it had been impossible to erase

from his deformed mind the conviction that a store of rare and potent

wine lay somewhere concealed within the walls of the enclosure.

Continuously he besought the story-teller to reveal the secret of its

hiding-place, saying: “What an added bitterness will assail your noble

throat if, when you are led forth to die, your eye closes upon the one

who has faithfully upheld your cause lying with a protruded tongue

panting in the noonday sun.”

“Peace, witless,” Kai Lung usually replied; “there is no such store.”

“Nevertheless,” the doorkeeper would stubbornly insist, “the cask

cannot yet be empty. It is beyond your immature powers.”

Thus it again befell, for despite Kai Lung’s desire to escape, Li-loe

chanced to look up suddenly and observed him.

“Alas, brother,” he remarked reproachfully, when they had thus

contended, “the vessel that returns whole the first time is chipped

the second and broken at the third essay, and it will yet be too late

between us. If it be as you claim, to what end did you boast of a cask

of wine and of running among a company of goats with leaves entwined

in your hair?”

“That,” replied Kai Lung, “was in the nature of a classical allusion,

too abstruse for your deficient wit. It concerned the story of Kiau

Sun, who first attained the honour.”

“Be that as it may,” replied Li-loe, with mulish iteration, “five

deficient strings of home-made cash are a meagre return for a

friendship such as mine.”

“There is a certain element of truth in what you claim,” confessed Kai

Lung, “but until my literary style is more freely recognized it will

be impossible to reward you adequately. In anything not of a pecuniary

nature, however, you may lean heavily upon my gratitude.”

“In the meanwhile, then,” demanded Li-loe, “relate to me the story to

which reference has been made, thereby proving the truth of your

assertion, and at the same time affording an entertainment of a

somewhat exceptional kind.”

“The shadows lengthen,” replied Kai Lung, “but as the narrative in

question is of an inconspicuous span I will raise no barrier against

your flattering request, especially as it indicates an awakening taste

hitherto unsuspected.”

“Proceed, manlet, proceed,” said Li-loe, with a final probe among the

surrounding rocks before selecting one to lean against. “Yet if this

person could but lay his hand--”

The Story of Wong Pao and the Minstrel

To Wong Pao, the merchant, pleasurably immersed in the calculation of

an estimated profit on a junk-load of birds’ nests, sharks’ fins and

other seasonable delicacies, there came a distracting interruption

occasioned by a wandering poet who sat down within the shade provided

by Wong Pao’s ornamental gate in the street outside. As he reclined

there he sang ballads of ancient valour, from time to time beating a

hollow wooden duck in unison with his voice, so that the charitable

should have no excuse for missing the entertainment.

Unable any longer to continue his occupation, Wong Pao struck an iron

gong.

“Bear courteous greetings to the accomplished musician outside our

gate,” he said to the slave who had appeared, “and convince him--by

means of a heavily-weighted club if necessary--that the situation he

has taken up is quite unworthy of his incomparable efforts.”

When the slave returned it was with an entire absence of the

enthusiasm of one who has succeeded in an enterprise.

“The distinguished mendicant outside disarmed the one who is relating

the incident by means of an unworthy stratagem, and then struck him

repeatedly on the head with the image of a sonorous wooden duck,”

reported the slave submissively.

Meanwhile the voice with its accompaniment continued to chant the

deeds of bygone heroes.

“In that case,” said Wong Pao coldly, “entice him into this inadequate

chamber by words suggestive of liberal entertainment.”

This device was successful, for very soon the slave returned with the

stranger. He was a youth of studious appearance and an engaging

openness of manner. Hung about his neck by means of a cord were a

variety of poems suitable to most of the contingencies of an ordinary

person’s existence. The name he bore was Sun and he was of the house

of Kiau.

“Honourable greeting, minstrel,” said Wong Pao, with dignified

condescension. “Why do you persist in exercising your illustrious

talent outside this person’s insignificant abode?”

“Because,” replied Sun modestly, “the benevolent mandarin who has just

spoken had not then invited me inside. Now, however, he will be able

to hear to greater advantage the very doubtful qualities of my

entertainment.”

With these words Kiau Sun struck the duck so proficiently that it

emitted a life-like call, and prepared to raise his voice in a chant.

“Restrain your undoubted capacity,” exclaimed Wong Pao hastily. “The

inquiry presented itself to you at an inaccurate angle. Why, to

restate it, did you continue before this uninviting hovel when, under

the external forms of true politeness, my slave endeavoured to remove

you hence?”

“In the circumstances this person may have overlooked the delicacy of

the message, for, as it is well written, ‘To the starving, a blow from

a skewer of meat is more acceptable than a caress from the hand of a

maiden,’” said Kiau Sun. “Whereunto remember, thou two-stomached

merchant, that although the house in question is yours, the street is

mine.”

“By what title?” demanded Wong Pao contentiously.

“By the same that confers this well-appointed palace upon you,”

replied Sun: “because it is my home.”

“The point is one of some subtlety,” admitted Wong Pao, “and might be

pursued to an extreme delicacy of attenuation if it were argued by

those whose profession it is to give a variety of meanings to the same

thing. Yet even allowing the claim, it is none the less an unendurable

affliction that your voice should disturb my peacefully conducted

enterprise.”

“As yours would have done mine, O concave-witted Wong Pao!”

“That,” retorted the merchant, “is a disadvantage that you could

easily have averted by removing yourself to a more distant spot.”

“The solution is equally applicable to your own case, mandarin,”

replied Kiau Sun affably.

“Alas!” exclaimed Wong Pao, with an obvious inside bitterness, “it is

a mistake to argue with persons of limited intelligence in terms of

courtesy. This, doubtless, was the meaning of the philosopher Nhy-hi

when he penned the observation, ‘Death, a woman and a dumb mute always

have the last word,’ Why did I have you conducted hither to convince

you dispassionately, rather than send an armed guard to force you away

by violence?”

“Possibly,” suggested the minstrel, “because my profession is a

legally recognized one, and, moreover, under the direct protection of

the exalted Mandarin Shen-y-ling.”

“Profession!” retorted Wong Pao, stung by the reference to

Shen-y-ling, for that powerful official’s attitude was indeed the

inner reason why he had not pushed violence to a keener edge against

Kiau Sun, “an abject mendicancy, yielding two hands’ grasp of copper

cash a day on a stock composed of half a dozen threadbare odes.”

“Compose me half a dozen better and one hand-count of cash shall be

apportioned to you each evening,” suggested Sun.

“A handful of cash for _my_ labour!” exclaimed the indignant Wong Pao.

“Learn, puny wayfarer, that in a single day the profit of my various

enterprises exceeds a hundred taels of silver.”

“That is less than the achievement of my occupation,” said Kiau Sun.

“Less!” repeated the merchant incredulously. “Can you, O boaster,

display a single tael?”

“Doubtless I should be the possessor of thousands if I made use of the

attributes of a merchant--three hands and two faces. But that was not

the angle of my meaning: your labour only compels men to remember;

mine enables them to forget.”

Thus they continued to strive, each one contending for the

pre-eminence of his own state, regardless of the sage warning: “In

three moments a labourer will remove an obstructing rock, but three

moons will pass without two wise men agreeing on the meaning of a

vowel”; and assuredly they would have persisted in their intellectual

entertainment until the great sky-lantern rose and the pangs of hunger

compelled them to desist, were it not for the manifestation of a very

unusual occurrence.

The Emperor, N’ang Wei, then reigning, is now generally regarded as

being in no way profound or inspired, but possessing the faculty of

being able to turn the dissensions among his subjects to a profitable

account, and other accomplishments useful in a ruler. As he passed

along the streets of his capital he heard the voices of two raised in

altercation, and halting the bearer of his umbrella, he commanded

that the persons concerned should be brought before him and state the

nature of their dispute.

“The rivalry is an ancient one,” remarked the Emperor when each had

made his claim. “Doubtless we ourselves could devise a judgment, but

in this cycle of progress it is more usual to leave decision to the

pronouncement of the populace--and much less exacting to our Imperial

ingenuity. An edict will therefore be published, stating that at a

certain hour Kiau Sun will stand upon the Western Hill of the city and

recite one of his incomparable epics, while at the same gong-stroke

Wong Pao will take his station on the Eastern Hill, let us say for the

purpose of distributing pieces of silver among any who are able to

absent themselves from the competing attraction. It will then be

clearly seen which entertainment draws the greater number.”

“Your mind, O all-wisest, is only comparable to the peacock’s tail in

its spreading brilliance!” exclaimed Wong Pao, well assured of an easy

triumph.

Kiau Sun, however, remained silent, but he observed closely the

benignly impartial expression of the Emperor’s countenance.

When the indicated time arrived, only two persons could have been

observed within the circumference of the Western Hill of the city--a

blind mendicant who had lost his way and an extremely round-bodied

mandarin who had been abandoned there by his carriers when they heard

the terms of the edict. But about the Eastern Hill the throng was so

great that for some time after it was unusual to meet a person whose

outline had not been permanently altered by the occasion. Even Kiau

Sun was present.

On a protected eminence stood N’ang Wei. Near him was Wong Pao,

confidently awaiting the moment when the Emperor should declare

himself. When, therefore, the all-wisest graciously made a gesture of

command, Wong Pao hastened to his side, an unbecoming elation gilding

the fullness of his countenance.

“Wong Pao,” said the Illimitable, “the people are here in gratifying

profusion. The moment has thus arrived for you to consummate your

triumph over Kiau Sun.”

“Omnipotence?” queried Wong Pao.

“The silver that you were to distribute freely to all who came.

Doubtless you have a retinue of slaves in attendance with weighty

sacks of money for the purpose?”

“But that was only in the nature of an imagined condition, Sublime

Being, designed to test the trend of their preference,” said Wong Pao,

with an incapable feeling of no-confidence in the innermost seat of

his self-esteem. “This abject person did not for a single

breathing-space contemplate or provide for so formidable an outlay.”

A shadow of inquiry appeared above the eyebrows of the Sublimest,

although his refined imperturbability did not permit him to display

any acute emotion.

“It is not entirely a matter of what you contemplated, merchant, but

what this multitudinous and, as we now perceive, generally well-armed

concourse imagined. Greatly do we fear that when the position has been

explained to them, the breathing-space remaining, O Wong Pao, will not

be in your body. What,” continued the liberal-minded sovereign,

turning to one of his attending nobles, “what was it that happened to

Ning-lo who failed to satisfy the lottery ticket holders in somewhat

similar circumstances?”

“The scorpion vat, Serenest,” replied the vassal.

“Ah,” commented the Enlightened One, “for the moment we thought it was

the burning sulphur plaster.”

“That was Ching Yan, who lost approval in the inlaid coffin raffle,

Benign Head,” prompted the noble.

“True--there is a certain oneness in these cases. Well, Wong Pao, we

are entirely surrounded by an expectant mob and their attitude, after

much patient waiting, is tending towards a clearly-defined tragedy. By

what means is it your intention to extricate us all from the position

into which your insatiable vanity has thrust us?”

“Alas, Imperishable Majesty, I only appear to have three pieces of

silver and a string of brass cash in my sleeve,” confessed Wong Pao

tremblingly.

“And that would not go very far--even if flung into the limits of the

press,” commented the Emperor. “We must look elsewhere for

deliverance, then. Kiau Sun, stand forth and try your means.”

Upon this invitation Sun appeared from the tent in which he had

awaited the summons and advanced to the edge of the multitude. With no

appearance of fear or concern, he stood before them, and bending his

energies to the great task imposed upon him, he struck the hollow duck

so melodiously that the note of expectancy vibrated into the farthest

confines of the crowd. Then modulating his voice in unison Kiau Sun

began to chant.

At first the narration was of times legendary, when dragons and demons

moved about the earth in more palpable forms than they usually

maintain to-day. A great mist overspread the Empire and men’s minds

were vaporous, nor was their purpose keen. Later, deities and

well-disposed Forces began to exercise their powers. The mist was

turned into a benevolent system of rivers and canals, and iron, rice

and the silk-worm then appeared. Next, heroes and champions, whose

names have been preserved, arose. They fought the giants and an era of

literature and peaceful tranquillity set in. After this there was the

Great Invasion from the north, but the people rallied and by means of

a war lasting five years, five moons and five days the land was freed

again. This prefaced the Golden Age when chess was invented, printed

books first made and the Examination System begun.

So far Kiau Sun had only sung of things that men knew dimly through a

web of time, but the melody of his voice and the valours of the deeds

he told had held their minds. Now he began skilfully to intertwine

among the narration scenes and doings that were near to all--of the

coming of Spring across the mountains that surround the capital;

sunrise on the great lagoon, with the splash of oars and the

cormorants in flight; the appearance of the blossom in the peach

orchards; the Festival of Boats and of Lanterns, their daily task, and

the reward each saw beyond. Finally he spoke quite definitely of the

homes awaiting their return, the mulberry-tree about the gate, the

fire then burning on the hearth, the pictures on the walls, the

ancestral tablets, and the voices calling each. And as he spoke and

made an end of speaking the people began silently to melt away, until

none remained but Kiau, Wong Pao and the Emperor and his band.

“Kiau Sun,” said the discriminating N’ang Wei, “in memory of this day

the office of Chanter of Congratulatory Odes in the Palace ceremonial

is conferred on you, together with the title ‘Leaf-crowned’ and the

yearly allowance of five hundred taels and a jar of rice wine. And

Wong Pao,” he added thoughtfully--“Wong Pao shall be permitted to

endow the post--also in memory of this day.”

CHAPTER V

The Timely Intervention of the Mandarin Shan Tien’s Lucky Day

When Kai Lung at length reached the shutter, after the delay caused by

Li-loe’s inopportune presence, he found that Hwa-mei was already

standing there beneath the wall.

“Alas!” he exclaimed, in an access of self-reproach, “is it possible

that I have failed to greet your arriving footsteps? Hear the

degrading cause of my--”

“Forbear,” interrupted the maiden, with a magnanimous gesture of the

hand that was not engaged in bestowing a gift of fruit. “There is a

time to scatter flowers and a time to prepare the soil. To-morrow a

further trial awaits you, for which we must conspire.”

“I am in your large and all-embracing grasp,” replied Kai Lung.

“Proceed to spread your golden counsel.”

“The implacable Ming-shu has deliberated with himself, and deeming it

unlikely that you should a third time allure the imagination of the

Mandarin Shan Tien by your art, he has ordered that you are again to

be the first led out to judgment. On this occasion, however, he has

prepared a cloud of witnesses who will, once they are given a voice,

quickly overwhelm you in a flood of calumny.”

“Even a silver trumpet may not prevail above a score of brazen horns,”

confessed the story-teller doubtfully. “Would it not be well to engage

an even larger company who will outlast the first?”

“The effete Ming-shu has hired all there are,” replied Hwa-mei, with a

curbing glance. “Nevertheless, do not despair. At a convenient hour a

trusty hand will let fall a skin of wine at their assembling place.

Their testimony, should any arrive, will entail some conflict.”

“I bow before the practical many-sidedness of your mind, enchanting

one,” murmured Kai Lung, in deep-felt admiration.

“To-morrow, being the first of the Month of Gathering-in, will be one

of Shan Tien’s lucky days,” continued the maiden, her look

acknowledging the fitness of the compliment, but at the same time

indicating that the moment was not a suitable one to pursue the detail

further. “After holding court the Mandarin will accordingly proceed to

hazard his accustomed stake upon the chances of certain of the

competitors in the approaching examinations. His mind will thus be

alertly watchful for a guiding omen. The rest should lie within your

persuasive tongue.”

“The story of Lao Ting--” began Kai Lung.

“Enough,” replied Hwa-mei, listening to a distant sound. “Already has

this one strayed beyond her appointed limit. May your virtuous cause

prevail!”

With this auspicious message the maiden fled, leaving Kai Lung more

than ever resolved to conduct the enterprise in a manner worthy of her

high regard.

On the following day, at the appointed hour, Kai Lung was again led

before the Mandarin Shan Tien. To the alert yet downcast gaze of the

former person it seemed as if the usually inscrutable expression of

that high official was not wholly stern as it moved in his direction.

Ming-shu, on the contrary, disclosed all his voracious teeth without

restraint.

“Calling himself Kai Lung,” began the detestable accuser, in a voice

even more repulsive than its wont, “and claiming--”

“The name has a somewhat familiar echo,” interrupted the Fountain of

Justice, with a genial interest in what was going on, rare in one of

his exalted rank. “Have we not seen the ill-conditioned thing before?”

“He has tasted of your unutterable clemency in the past,” replied

Ming-shu, “this being by no means his first appearance thus. Claiming

to be a story-teller--”

“What,” demanded the enlightened law-giver with leisurely precision,

“is a story-teller, and how is he defined?”

“A story-teller, Excellence,” replied the inscriber of his spoken

word, with the concise manner of one who is not entirely grateful to

another, “is one who tells stories. Having on--”

“The profession must be widely spread,” remarked the gracious

administrator thoughtfully. “All those who supplicate in this very

average court practise it to a more or less degree.”

“The prisoner,” continued the insufferable Ming-shu, so lost to true

refinement that he did not even relax his dignity at a remark handed

down as gravity-removing from times immemorial, “has already been

charged and made his plea. It only remains, therefore, to call the

witnesses and to condemn him.”

“The usual band appears to be more retiring than their custom is,”

observed Shan Tien, looking around. “Their lack of punctual respect

does not enlarge our sympathy towards their cause.”

“They are all hard-striving persons of studious or commercial habits,”

replied Ming-shu, “and have doubtless become immersed in their various

traffics.”

“Should the immersion referred to prove to be so deep--”

“A speedy messenger has already gone, but his returning footsteps

tarry,” urged Ming-shu anxiously. “In this extremity, Excellence, I

will myself--”

“High Excellence,” appealed Kai Lung, as soon as Ming-shu’s departing

sandals were obscured to view, “out of the magnanimous condescension

of your unworldly heart hear an added plea. Taught by the inoffensive

example of that Lao Ting whose success in the literary competitions

was brought about by a conjunction of miraculous omens--”

“Arrest the stream of your acknowledged oratory for a single

breathing-space,” commanded the Mandarin dispassionately, yet at the

same time unostentatiously studying a list that lay within his sleeve.

“What was the auspicious name of the one of whom you spoke?”

“Lao Ting, exalted; to whom at various periods were subjoined those

of Li, Tzu, Sun, Chu, Wang and Chin.”

“Assuredly. Your prayer for a fuller hearing will reach our lenient

ears. In the meanwhile, in order to prove that the example upon which

you base your claim is a worthy one, proceed to narrate so much of the

story of Lao Ting as bears upon the means of his success.”

The Story of Lao Ting and the Luminous Insect

It is of Lao Ting that the saying has arisen, “He who can grasp

Opportunity as she slips by does not need a lucky dream.”

So far, however, Lao Ting may be judged to have had neither

opportunities nor lucky dreams. He was one of studious nature and from

an early age had devoted himself to a veneration of the Classics. Yet

with that absence of foresight on the part of the providing deities

(for this, of course, took place during an earlier, and probably

usurping, dynasty), which then frequently resulted in the unworthy and

illiterate prospering, his sleeve was so empty that at times it seemed

almost impossible for him to continue in his high ambition.

As the date of the examinations drew near, Lao Ting’s efforts

increased, and he grudged every moment spent away from books. His few

available cash scarcely satisfied his ever-moving brush, and his

sleeve grew so light that it seemed as though it might become a

balloon and carry him into the Upper Air; for, as the Wisdom has it,

“A well-filled purse is a trusty earth anchor.” On food he spent even

less, but the inability to procure light after the sun had withdrawn

his benevolence from the narrow street in which he lived was an

ever-present shadow across his hopes. On this extremity he patiently

and with noiseless skill bored a hole through the wall into the house

of a wealthy neighbour, and by this inoffensive stratagem he was able

to distinguish the imperishable writings of the Sages far into the

night. Soon, however, the gross hearted person in question discovered

the device, owing to the symmetrical breathing of Lao Ting, and

applying himself to the opening unperceived, he suddenly blew a jet of

water through and afterwards nailed in a wooden skewer. This he did

because he himself was also entering for the competitions, though he

did not really fear Lao Ting.

Thus denied, Lao Ting sought other means to continue his study, if for

only a few minutes longer daily, and it became his custom to leave his

ill-equipped room when it grew dusk and to walk into the outer ways,

always with his face towards the west, so that he might prolong the

benefit of the great luminary to the last possible moment. When the

time of no-light definitely arrived he would climb up into one of the

high places to await the first beam of the great sky-lantern, and also

in the reasonable belief that the nearer he got to it the more

powerful would be its light.

It was upon such an occasion that Lao Ting first became aware of the

entrancing presence of Chun Hoa-mi, and although he plainly recognized

from the outset that the graceful determination with which she led a

water-buffalo across the landscape by means of a slender cord attached

to its nose was not conducive to his taking a high place in the

competitions, he soon found that he was unable to withdraw himself

from frequenting the spot at the same hour on each succeeding day.

Presently, however, he decided that his previous misgiving was

inaccurate, as her existence inspired him with an all-conquering

determination to outdistance every other candidate in so marked a

manner that his name would at once become famous throughout the

province, to attain high office without delay, to lead a victorious

army against the encroaching barbarian foe and thus to save the Empire

in a moment of emergency, to acquire vast riches (in a not clearly

defined manner), to become the intimate counsellor of the grateful

Emperor, and finally to receive posthumous honours of unique

distinction, the harmonious personality of Hoa-Mi being inextricably

entwined among these achievements.

At other times, however, he became subject to a funereal conviction

that he would fail discreditably in the examinations to an

accompaniment of the ridicule and contempt of all who knew him, that

he would never succeed in acquiring sufficient brass cash to ensure a

meagre sustenance even for himself, and that he would probably end his

lower existence by ignominious decapitation, so that his pale and

hungry ghost would be unable to find its way from place to place and

be compelled to remain on the same spot through all eternity. Yet so

quickly did these two widely diverging vistas alternate in Lao Ting’s

mind that on many occasions he was under the influence of both

presentiments at the same time.

It will thus be seen that Lao Ting was becoming involved in emotions

of a many-sided hue, by which his whole future would inevitably be

affected, when an event took place which greatly tended to restore his

tranquillity of mind. He was, at the usual hour, lurking unseen on the

path of Hoa-mi’s approach when the water-buffalo, with the perversity

of its kind, suddenly withdrew itself from the amiable control of its

attendant’s restraining hand and precipitated its resistless footsteps

towards the long grass in which Lao Ting lay concealed. Recognizing

that a decisive moment in the maiden’s esteem lay before him, the

latter, in spite of an incapable doubt as to the habits and manner of

behaviour of creatures of this part, set out resolutely to subdue

it. . . . At a later period, by clinging tenaciously to its tail, he

undoubtedly impeded its progress, and thereby enabled Hoa-mi to greet

him as one who had a claim upon her gratitude.

“The person who has performed this slight service is Ting, of the

outcast line of Lao,” said the student with an admiring bow in spite

of a benumbing pain that involved all his lower attributes. “Having as

yet achieved nothing, the world lies before him.”

“She who speaks is Hoa-mi, her father’s house being Chun,” replied the

maiden agreeably. “In addition to the erratic but now repentant animal

that has thus, as it were, brought us within the same narrow compass,

he possesses a wooden plough, two wheel-barrows, a red bow with

threescore arrows, and a rice-field, and is therefore a person of

some consequence.”

“True,” agreed Lao Ting, “though perhaps the dignity is less imposing

than might be imagined in the eye of one who, by means of successive

examinations, may ultimately become the Right hand of the Emperor.”

“Is the contingency an impending one?” inquired Hoa-mi, with polite

interest.

“So far,” admitted Lao Ting, “it is more in the nature of a vision.

There are, of necessity, many trials, and few can reach the ultimate

end. Yet even the Yangtze-kiang has a source.”

“Of your unswerving tenacity this person has already been witness,”

said the maiden, with a glance of refined encouragement.

“Your words are more inspiring than the example of the aged woman of

Shang-li to the student Tsung,” declared Lao Ting gratefully. “Unless

the Omens are asleep they should tend to the same auspicious end.”

“The exact instance of the moment escapes my recollection.” Probably

Hoa-mi was by no means willing that one of studious mind should

associate her exclusively with water-buffaloes. “Is it related in the

Classics?”

“Possibly, though in which actual masterpiece just now evades my

grasp. The youth referred to was on the point of abandoning a literary

career, appalled at the magnitude of the task before him, when he

encountered an aged woman who was employed in laboriously rubbing away

the surface of an iron crowbar on a block of stone. To his inquiry she

cheerfully replied: ‘The one who is thus engaged required a needle to

complete a task. Being unable to procure one she was about to give way

to an ignoble despair when chance put into her hands this bar, which

only requires bringing down to the necessary size.’ Encouraged by this

painstaking example Tsung returned to his books and in due course

became a high official.”

“Doubtless in the time of his prosperity he retraced his footsteps and

lavishly rewarded the one to whom he was thus indebted,” suggested

Hoa-mi gracefully.

“Doubtless,” admitted Lao Ting, “but the detail is not pursued to so

remote an extremity in the Classic. The delicate poise of the analogy

is what is chiefly dwelt upon, the sign for a needle harmonizing with

that for official, and there being a similar balance between crowbar

and books.”

“Your words are like a page written in vermilion ink,” exclaimed

Hoa-mi, with a sideway-expressed admiration.

“Alas!” he declared, with conscious humility, “my style is meagre and

almost wholly threadbare. To remedy this, each day I strive to

perfect myself in the correct formation of five new written signs.

When equipped with a knowledge of every one there is I shall be

competent to write so striking and original an essay on any subject

that it will no longer be possible to exclude my name from the list of

official appointments.”

“It will be a day of well-achieved triumph for the spirits of your

expectant ancestors,” said Hoa-mi sympathetically.

“It will also have a beneficial effect on my own material prospects,”

replied Lao Ting, with a commendable desire to awaken images of a more

specific nature in the maiden’s imagination. “Where hitherto it has

been difficult to support one, there will then be a lavish profusion

for two. The moment the announcement is made, my impatient feet will

carry me to this spot. Can it be hoped--?”

“It has long been this one’s favourite resort also,” confessed Hoa-mi,

with every appearance of having adequately grasped Lao Ting’s desired

inference, “Yet to what number do the written signs in question

stretch?”

“So highly favoured is our unapproachable language that the number can

only be faintly conjectured. Some claim fivescore thousand different

written symbols; the least exacting agree to fourscore thousand.”

“You are all-knowing,” responded the maiden absently. With her face in

an opposing direction her lips moved rapidly, as though she might be

in the act of addressing some petition to a Power. Yet it is to be

doubted if this accurately represents the nature of her inner

thoughts, for when she again turned towards Lao Ting the engaging

frankness of her expression had imperceptibly deviated, as she

continued:

“In about nine and forty years, then, O impetuous one, our converging

footsteps will doubtless again encounter upon this spot. In the

meanwhile, however, this person’s awaiting father is certainly

preparing something against her tardy return which the sign for a

crowbar would fittingly represent.”

Then urging the water-buffalo to increased exertion she fled, leaving

Lao Ting a prey to emotions of a very distinguished intensity.

In spite of the admittedly rough-edged nature of Hoa-mi’s

leave-taking, Lao Ting retraced his steps in an exalted frame of mind.

He had spoken to the maiden and heard her incomparable voice. He now

knew her name and the path leading to her father’s house. It only

remained for him to win a position worthy of her acceptance (if the

Empire could offer such a thing), and their future happiness might be

regarded as assured.

Thus engaged, Lao Ting walked on, seeing within his head the arrival

of the bridal chair, partaking of the well-spread wedding feast,

hearing the felicitations of the guests: “A hundred sons and a

thousand grandsons!” Something white fluttering by the wayside

recalled him to the realities of the day. He had reached the buildings

of the outer city, and on a wall before him a printed notice was

displayed.

It has already been set forth that the few solitary cash which from

time to time fell into the student’s sleeve were barely sufficient to

feed his thirsty brush with ink. For the material on which to write

and to practise the graceful curves essential to a style he was driven

to various unworthy expedients. It had thus become his habit to lurk

in the footsteps of those who affix public proclamations in the ways

and spaces of the city, and when they had passed on to remove, as

unostentatiously as possible, the more suitable pronouncements and to

carry them to his own abode. For this reason he regarded every notice

from a varying angle, being concerned less with what appeared upon it

than with what did not appear. Accordingly he now crossed the way and

endeavoured to secure the sheet that had attracted his attention. In

this he was unsuccessful, however, for he could only detach a meagre

fragment.

When Lao Ting reached his uninviting room the last pretence of

daylight had faded. He recognized that he had lost many precious

moments in Hoa-mi’s engaging society, and although he would willingly

have lost many more, there was now a deeper pang in his regret that he

could not continue his study further into the night. As this was

impossible, he drew his scanty night coverings around him and composed

his mind for sleep, conscious of an increasing rigour in the air; for,

as he found when the morning came, one who wished him well, passing in

his absence, had written a lucky saying on a stone and cast it through

the paper window.

When Lao Ting awoke it was still night, but the room was no longer

entirely devoid of light. As his custom was, an open page lay on the

floor beside him, ready to be caught up eagerly with the first gleam

of day; above this a faint but sufficient radiance now hung, enabling

him to read the written signs. At first the student regarded the

surroundings with some awe, not doubting that this was in the nature

of a visitation, but presently he discovered that the light was

provided by a living creature, winged but docile, which carried a

glowing lustre in its tail. When he had read to the end, Lao Ting

endeavoured to indicate by a sign that he wished to turn the page. To

his delight he found that the winged creature intelligently grasped

the requirement and at once transferred its presence to the required

spot. All through the night the youth eagerly read on, nor did this

miraculously endowed visitor ever fail him. By dawn he had more than

made up the time in which the admiration of Hoa-mi had involved him.

If such a state of things could be assured for the future, the vista

would stretch like a sunlit glade before his feet.

Early in the day he set out to visit an elderly monk, who lived in a

cave on the mountain above. Before he went, however, he did not fail

to procure a variety of leaves and herbs, and to display them about

the room in order to indicate to his unassuming companion that he had

a continued interest in his welfare. The venerable hermit received him

hospitably, and after inviting him to sit upon the floor and to

partake of such food as he had brought with him, listened attentively

to his story.

“Your fear that in this manifestation you may be the sport of a

malicious Force, conspiring to some secret ill, is merely

superstition,” remarked Tzu-lu when Lao Ting had reached an end.

“Although creatures such as you describe are unknown in this province,

they undoubtedly exist in outer barbarian lands, as do apes with the

tails of peacocks, ducks with their bones outside their skins, beings

whose pale green eyes can discover the precious hidden things of the

earth, and men with a hole through their chests so that they require

no chair to carry them, but are transposed from spot to spot by means

of poles.”

“Your mind is widely opened, esteemed,” replied Lao Ting respectfully.

“Yet the omen must surely tend towards a definite course?”

“Be guided by the mature philosophy of the resolute Heng-ki, who,

after an unfortunate augury, exclaimed to his desponding warriors: ‘Do

your best and let the Omens do their worst!’ What has happened is as

clear as the iridescence of a dragon’s eye. In the past you have lent

a sum of money to a friend who has thereupon passed into the Upper

Air, leaving you unrequited.”

“A friend receiving a sum of money from this person would have every

excuse for passing away suddenly.”

“Or,” continued the accommodating recluse, “you have in some other way

placed so formidable an obligation upon one now in the Beyond that his

disturbed spirit can no longer endure the burden. For this reason it

has taken the form of a luminous insect, and has thus returned to

earth in order that it may assist you and thereby discharge the debt.”

“The explanation is a convincing one,” replied Lao Ting. “Might it not

have been more satisfactory in the end, however, if the gracious

person in question had clothed himself with the attributes of the

examining chancellor or some high mandarin, so that he could have

upheld my cause in any extremity?”

Without actually smiling, a form of entertainment that was contrary to

his strict vow, the patriarchal anchorite moved his features somewhat

at the youth’s innocence.

“Do not forget that it is written: ‘Though you set a monkey on

horseback yet will his hands and feet remain hairy,’” he remarked.

“The one whose conduct we are discussing may well be aware of his own

deficiencies, and know that if he adopted such a course a humiliating

exposure would await him. Do not have any fear for the future,

however: thus protected, this person is inspired to prophesy that you

will certainly take a high place in the examinations. . . . Indeed,”

he added thoughtfully, “it might be prudent to venture a string of

cash upon your lucky number.”

With this auspicious leave-taking Tzu-lu dismissed him, and Lao Ting

returned to the city greatly refreshed in spirit by the encounter.

Instead of retiring to his home he continued into the more reputable

ways beyond, it then being about the hour at which the affixers of

official notices were wont to display their energies.

So it chanced indeed, but walking with his feet off the ground, owing

to the obliging solitary’s encouragement, Lao Ting forgot his usual

caution, and came suddenly into the midst of a band of these men at an

angle of the paths.

“Honourable greetings,” he exclaimed, feeling that if he passed them

by unregarded his purpose might be suspected. “Have you eaten your

rice?”

“How is your warmth and cold?” they replied courteously. “Yet why do

you arrest your dignified footsteps to converse with outcasts so

illiterate as ourselves?”

“The reason,” admitted Lao Ting frankly, “need not be buried in a

well. Had I avoided the encounter you might have said among

yourselves: ‘Here is one who shuns our gaze. This, perchance, is he

who of late has lurked within the shadow of our backs to bear away our

labour.’ Not to create this unworthy suspicion I freely came among

you, for, as the Ancient Wisdom says: ‘Do not adjust your sandals

while passing through a melon-field, nor yet arrange your hat beneath

an orange-tree.’”

“Yet,” said the leader of the band, “we were waiting thus in

expectation of the one whom you describe. The incredible leper who

rules our goings has, even at this hour and notwithstanding that now

is the appointed day and time for the gathering together of the

Harmonious Constellation of Paste Appliers and Long Brush Wielders,

thrust within our hands a double task.”

“May bats defile his Ancestral Tablets and goats propagate within his

neglected tomb!” chanted the band in unison. “May the sinews of his

hams snap suddenly in moments of achievement! May the principles of

his warmth and cold never be properly adjusted but--”

“Thus positioned,” continued the leader, indicating by a gesture that

while he agreed with these sentiments the moment was not opportune for

their full recital, “we await. If he who lurks in our past draws near

he will doubtless accept from our hands that which he will assuredly

possess behind our backs. Thus mutual help will lighten the toil of

all.”

“The one whom you require dwells beneath my scanty roof,” said the

youth. “He is now, however, absent on a secret mission. Entrust to me

the burden of your harassment and I will answer, by the sanctity of

the Four-eyed Image, that it shall reach his speedy hand.”

When Lao Ting gained his own room, bowed down but rejoicing beneath

the weight of his unexpected fortune, his eyes were gladdened by the

soft light that hung about his books. Although it was not yet dark,

the radiance of the glow seemed greater than before. Going to the spot

the delighted student saw that in place of one there were now four,

the grateful insect having meanwhile summoned others to his cause. All

these stood in an expectant attitude awaiting his control, so that

through the night he plied an untiring brush and leapt onward in the

garden of similitudes.

From this time forward Lao Ting could not fail to be aware that the

faces of those whom he familiarly encountered were changed towards

him. Men greeted him as one worthy of their consideration, and he even

heard his name spoken of respectfully in the society of learned

strangers. More than once he found garlands of flowers hung upon his

outer door, harmonious messages, and--once--a gift of food. Incredible

as it seemed to him it had come to be freely admitted that the unknown

scholar Lao Ting would take a very high place in the forthcoming

competition, and those who were alert and watchful did not hesitate to

place him first. To this general feeling a variety of portents had

contributed. Doubtless the beginning was the significant fact, known

to the few at first, that the miracle-working Tzu-lu had staked his

inner garment on Lao Ting’s success. Brilliant lights were seen

throughout the night to be moving in the meagre dwelling (for the four

efficacious creatures had by this time greatly added to their

numbers), and the one within was credited with being assisted by the

Forces. It is well said that that which passes out of one mouth passes

into a hundred ears, and before dawn had become dusk all the early and

astute were following the inspired hermit’s example. They who

conducted the lotteries, becoming suddenly aware of the burden of the

hazard they incurred, thereat declared that upon the venture of Lao

Ting’s success there must be set two taels in return for one.

Whereupon the desire of those who had refrained waxed larger than

before, and thus the omens grew.

When the days that remained before the opening of the trial could be

counted on the fingers of one hand, there came, at a certain hour, a

summons on the outer door of Lao Ting’s house, and in response to his

spoken invitation there entered one, Sheng-yin, a competitor.

“Lao Ting,” said this person, when they had exchanged formalities, “in

spite of the flattering attentions of the shallow”--he here threw upon

the floor a garland which he had conveyed from off Lao Ting’s

door--“it is exceedingly unlikely that at the first attempt your name

will be among those of the chosen, and the possibility of it heading

the list may be dismissed as vapid.”

“Your experience is deep and wide,” replied Lao Ting, the circumstance

that Sheng-yin had already tried and failed three and thirty times

adding an edge to the words; “yet if it is written it is written.”

“Doubtless,” retorted Sheng-yin no less capably; “but it will never be

set to music. Now, until your inconsiderate activities prevailed, this

person was confidently greeted as the one who would be first.”

“The names of Wang-san and Yin Ho were not unknown to the expectant,”

suggested Lao Ting mildly.

“The mind of Wang-san is only comparable with a wastepaper basket,”

exclaimed the visitor harshly; “and Yin Ho is in reality as dull as

split ebony. But in your case, unfortunately, there is nothing to go

on, and, unlikely though it be, it is just possible that this person’s

well-arranged ambitions may thereby be brought to a barren end. For

that reason he is here to discuss this matter as between virtuous

friends.”

“Let your auspicious mouth be widely opened,” replied Lao Ting

guardedly. “My ears will not refrain.”

“Is there not, perchance, some venerable relative in a distant part of

the province whose failing eyes crave, at this juncture, to rest upon

your wholesome features before he passes Upwards?”

“Assuredly some such inopportune person might be forthcoming,”

admitted Lao Ting. “Yet the cost of so formidable a journey would be

far beyond this necessitous one’s means.”

“In so charitable a cause affluent friends would not be lacking.

Depart on the third day and remain until the ninth and twenty taels of

silver will glide imperceptibly into your awaiting sleeve.”

“The prospect of not taking the foremost place in the

competition--added to the pangs of those who have hazarded their store

upon the unworthy name of Lao--is an ignoble one,” replied the

student, after a moment’s thought. “The journey will be a costly task

at this season of the rains; it cannot possibly be accomplished for

less than fifty taels.”

“It is well said, ‘Do not look at robbers sharing out their spoil:

look at them being executed,’” urged Sheng-yin. “Should you be so

ill-destined as to compete, and, as would certainly be the case, be

awarded a position of contempt, how unendurable would be your anguish

when, amidst the execrations of the deluded mob, you remembered that

thirty taels of the purest had slipped from your effete grasp.”

“Should the Bridge of the Camel Back be passable, five and forty might

suffice,” mused Lao Tung to himself.

“Thirty-seven taels, five hundred cash, are the utmost that your

obliging friends would hazard in the quest,” announced Sheng-yin

definitely. “On the day following that of the final competition the

sum will be honourably--”

“By no means,” interrupted the other, with unswerving firmness. “How

thus is the journey to be defrayed? In advance, assuredly.”

“The requirement is unusual. Yet upon satisfactory oaths being

offered--”

“This person will pledge the repose of the spirits of his venerated

ancestors practically back to prehistoric times,” agreed Lao Ting

readily. “From the third to the ninth day he will be absent from the

city and will take no part in anything therein. Should he eat his

words, may his body be suffocated beneath five cart-loads of books and

his weary ghost chained to that of a leprous mule. It is spoken.”

“Truly. But it may as well be written also.” With this expression of

narrow-minded suspicion Sheng-yin would have taken up one from a

considerable mass of papers lying near at hand, had not Lao Ting

suddenly restrained him.

“It shall be written with clarified ink on paper of a special

excellence,” declared the student. “Take the brush, Seng-yin, and

write. It almost repays this person for the loss of a degree to behold

the formation of signs so unapproachable as yours.”

“Lao Ting,” replied the visitor, pausing in his task, “you are

occasionally inspired, but the weakness of your character results in a

lack of caution. In this matter, therefore, be warned: ‘The crocodile

opens his jaws; the rat-trap closes his; keep yours shut.’”

When Lao Ting returned after a scrupulously observed six days of

absence he could not fail to become aware that the city was in an

uproar, and the evidence of this increased as he approached the cheap

and lightly esteemed quarter in which those of literary ambitions

found it convenient to reside. Remembering Sheng-yin’s parting, he

forbore to draw attention to himself by questioning any, but when he

reached the door of his own dwelling he discovered the one of whom he

was thinking, standing, as it were, between the posts.

“Lao Ting,” exclaimed Sheng-yin, without waiting to make any polite

reference to the former person’s food or condition, “in spite of this

calamity you are doubtless prepared to carry out the spirit of your

oath?”

“Doubtless,” replied Lao Ting affably. “Yet what is the nature of the

calamity referred to, and how does it affect the burden of my vow?”

“Has not the tiding reached your ear? The examinations, alas! have

been withheld for seven full days. Your journey has been in vain!”

“By no means!” declared the youth. “Debarred by your enticement from a

literary career this person turned his mind to other aims, and has now

gained a deep insight into the habits and behaviour of

water-buffaloes.”

“They who control the competitions from the Capital,” continued

Sheng-yin, without even hearing the other’s words, “when all had been

arranged, learned from the Chief Astrologer (may subterranean fires

singe his venerable moustaches!) that a forgotten obscuration of the

sun would take place on the opening day of the test. In the face of so

formidable a portent they acted thus and thus.”

“How then fares it that due warning of the change was not set forth?”

“The matter is as long as The Wall and as deep as seven wells,”

grumbled Sheng-yin, “and the Hoang Ho in flood is limpid by its side.

Proclamations were sent forth, yet none appeared, and they entrusted

with their wide disposal have a dragon-story of a shining lordly youth

who ever followed in their steps. . . . Thus in a manner of expressing

it, the spirit--”

“Sheng-yin,” said Lao Ting, with courteous firmness, yet so moving the

door so that while he passed in the former person remained outside,

“you have sought, at the expenditure of thirty-seven taels five

hundred cash, to deflect Destiny from her appointed line. The result

has been lamentable to all--or nearly all--concerned. The lawless

effort must not be repeated, for when heaven itself goes out of its

way to set a correcting omen in the sky, who dare disobey?”

When the list and order of the competition was proclaimed, the name of

Wang-san stood at the very head and that of Yin Ho was next. Lao Ting

was the very last of those who were successful; Sheng-yin was the

next, and was thus the first of those who were unsuccessful. It was as

much as the youth had secretly dared to hope, and much better than he

had generally feared. In Sheng-yin’s case, however, it was infinitely

worse than he had ever contemplated. Regarding Lao Ting as the cause

of his disgrace he planned a sordid revenge. Waiting until night had

fallen he sought the student’s door-step and there took a potent drug,

laying upon his ghost a strict injunction to devote itself to haunting

and thwarting the ambitions of the one who dwelt within. But even in

this he was inept, for the poison was less speedy than he thought, and

Lao Ting returned in time to convey him to another door.

On the strength of his degree Lao Ting found no difficulty in earning

a meagre competence by instructing others who wished to follow in his

footsteps. He was also now free to compete for the next degree, where

success would bring him higher honour and a slightly less meagre

competence. In the meanwhile he married Hoa-mi, being able to display

thirty-seven taels and nearly five hundred cash towards that end.

Ultimately he rose to a position of remunerative ease, but it is

understood that he attained this more by a habit of acting as the

necessities of the moment required than by his literary achievements.

Over the door of his country residence in the days of his profusion he

caused the image of a luminous insect to be depicted, and he engraved

its semblance on his seal. He would also have added the presentment of

a water-buffalo, but Hoa-mi deemed this inexpedient.

CHAPTER VI

The High-minded Strategy of the Amiable Hwa-mei

Warned by the mischance attending his previous meeting with Hwa-mei,

Kai Lung sought the walled enclosure at the earliest moment of his

permitted freedom, and secreting himself among the interlacing growth

he anxiously awaited the maiden’s coming.

Presently a movement in the trees without betrayed a presence, and the

story-teller was on the point of disclosing himself at the shutter

when the approaching one displayed an unfamiliar outline. Instead of a

maiden of exceptional symmetry and peach-like charm an elderly and

deformed hag drew near. As she might be hostile to his cause, Kai Lung

deemed it prudent to remain concealed; but in case she should prove to

be an emissary from Hwa-mei seeking him, his purpose was to stand

revealed. To combine these two attitudes until she should declare

herself was by no means an easy task, but she looked neither near nor

far in scrutiny until she stood, mumbling and infirm, beneath the

shutter.

“It is well, minstrel,” she called aloud. “She whom you await bid me

greet you with a sign.” At Kai Lung’s feet there fell a crimson

flower, growing on a thorny stem. “What word shall I in turn bear

back? Speak freely, for her mind is as my open hand.”

“Tell me rather,” said Kai Lung, looking out, “how she fares and what

averts her footsteps?”

“That will appear in due time,” replied the aged one. “In the

meanwhile I have her message to declare. Three times foiled in his

malignant scheme the now obscene Ming-shu sets all the Axioms at

naught. Distrusting you and those about your path, it is his sinister

intention to call up for judgment Kai-moo, who lies within the

women’s cell beyond the Water Way.”

“What is her crime and how will this avail him?”

“Charged with the murder of her man by means of the supple splinter

her condemnation is assured. The penalty is piecemeal slicing, and in

it are involved those of her direct line, in the humane effort to

eradicate so treacherous a strain.”

“That is but just,” agreed Kai Lung.

“Truly. But on the slender ligament of a kindred name you will be

joined with her in that end. Ming-shu will see to it that records of

your kinship are not lacking. Being accused of no crime on your own

behalf there will be nothing for you to appear against.”

“It is written: ‘Even leprosy may be cured, but the enmity of an

official underling can never be dispelled,’ and the malice of the

persistent Ming-shu certainly points to the wisdom of the verse. Is

the person of Kai-moo known to you, and where is the prison-house you

speak of?”

To this the venerable creature replied that the cell in question was

in a distant quarter of the city. Kai-moo, she continued, might be

regarded as fashioned like herself, being deformed in shape and

repellent in appearance. Furthermore, she was of deficient

understanding, these things aiding Ming-shu’s plan, as she would be

difficult to reach and impossible to instruct when reached.

“The extremity is almost hopeless enough to be left to the

ever-protecting spirits of one’s all-powerful Ancestors,” declared Kai

Lung at length. “Did she from whom you come forecast any confidence?”

“She had some assurance in a certain plan, which it is my message to

declare to you.”

“Her wisdom is to be computed neither by a rule nor by a measure. Say

on.”

“The keeper of the women’s prison-house lies within her hollowed hand,

nor will silver be wanting to still any arising doubt. Wrapped in

prison garb, and with her face disguised by art, she whose word I bear

will come forth at the appointed call and, taking her place before

Shan Tien, will play a fictitious part.”

“Alas! dotard,” interrupted Kai Lung impatiently, “it would be well if

I spent my few remaining hours in kowtowing to the Powers whom I shall

shortly meet. An aged and unsightly hag! Know you not, O venerable

bat, that the smooth perfection of the one you serve would shine

dazzling through a beaten mask of tempered steel? Her matchless hair,

glossier than a starling’s wing, floats like an autumn cloud. Her eyes

strike fire from damp clay, or make the touch of velvet harsh and

stubborn, according to her several moods. Peach-bloom held against her

cheek withers incapably by comparison. Her feet, if indeed she has

such commonplace attributes at all, are smaller--”

“Yet,” interrupted the hag, in a changed and quite melodious voice,

“if it is possible to delude the imagination of one whose longing eyes

dwell so constantly on these threadbare charms, what then will be the

position of the obtuse Ming-shu and the superficial Mandarin Shan

Tien, burdened as they now are by outside cares?”

“There are times when the classical perfection of our graceful tongue

is strangely inadequate to express emotion,” confessed Kai Lung,

colouring deeply, as Hwa-mei stood revealed before him. “It is truly

said: ‘The ingenuity of a guileless woman will undermine nine

mountains.’ You have cut off all the words of my misgivings.”

“To that end have I wrought, for in this I also need your skill.

Listen well and think deeply as I speak. Everywhere the outcome of the

strife grows more uncertain day by day and no man really knows which

side to favour yet. In this emergency each plays a double part. While

visibly loyal to the Imperial cause, the Mandarin Shan Tien fans the

whisper that in secret he upholds the rebellious banners. Ming-shu now

openly avers that if this and that are thus and thus the rising has

justice in its ranks, while at the same time he has it put abroad that

this is but a cloak the better to serve the state. Thus every man

maintains a double face in the hope that if the one side fails the

other will preserve him, and as a band all pledge to save (or if need

be to betray) each other.”

“This is the more readily understood as it is the common case on every

like occasion.”

“Then doubtless there are instances waiting on your lips. Teach me

such a story whereby the hope of those who are thus swayed may be

engaged and leave the rest to my arranging hand.”

On the following day at the appointed hour a bent and forbidding hag

was brought before Shan Tien, and the nature of her offence

proclaimed.

“It is possible to find an excuse for almost everything, regarding it

from one angle or another,” remarked the Mandarin impartially; “but

the crime of destroying a husband--and by a means so unpleasantly

insinuating--really seems to leave nothing to be said.”

“Yet, imperishable, even a bad coin must have two sides,” replied the

hag. “That I should be guilty and yet innocent would be no more

wonderful than the case of Weng Cho, who, when faced with the

alternative of either defying the Avenging Societies or of opposing

fixed authority found a way out of escaping both.”

“That should be worth--that is to say, if you base your defence upon

an existing case--”

“Providing the notorious thug Kai Lung is not thereby brought in,”

suggested the narrow-minded Ming-shu, who equally desired to learn the

stratagem involved.

“Weng Cho was the only one concerned,” replied the ancient

obtusely--“he who escaped the consequences. Is it permitted to this

one to make clear her plea?”

“If the fatigue is not more than your venerable personality can

reasonably bear,” replied Shan Tien courteously.

“To bear is the lot of every woman, be she young or old,” replied the

one before them. “I comply, omnipotence.”

The Story of Weng Cho; or, the One Devoid of Name

There was peach-blossom in the orchards of Kien-fi, a blue sky above,

and in the air much gladness; but in Wu Chi’s yamen gloom hung like

the herald of a thunderstorm. At one end of a table in the ceremonial

hall sat Wu Chi, heaviness upon his brow, deceit in his eyes, and a

sour enmity about the lines of his mouth; at the other end stood his

son Weng, and between them, as it were, his whole life lay.

Wu Chi was an official of some consequence and had two wives, as

became him. His union with the first had failed in its essential

purpose; therefore he had taken another to carry on the direct line

which alone could bring him contentment in this world and a reputable

existence in the next. This degree of happiness was supplied by Weng’s

mother, yet she must ever remain but a “secondary wife,” with no

rights and a very insecure position. In the heart of the chief wife

smouldered a most bitter hatred, but the hour of her ascendancy came,

for after many years she also bore her lord a son. Thenceforward she

was strong in her authority; but Weng’s mother remained, for she was

very beautiful, and despite all the arts of the other woman Wu Chi

could not be prevailed upon to dismiss her. The easy solution of this

difficulty was that she soon died--the “white powder death” was the

shrewd comment of the inner chambers of Kien-fi.

Wu Chi put on no mourning, custom did not require it; and now that the

woman had Passed Beyond he saw no necessity to honour her memory at

the expense of his own domestic peace. His wife donned her gayest

robes and made a feast. Weng alone stood apart, and in funereal

sackcloth moved through the house like an accusing ghost. Each day his

father met him with a frown, the woman whom alone he must regard as

his mother with a mocking smile, but he passed them without any word

of dutiful and submissive greeting. The period of all seemly mourning

ended--it touched that allotted to a legal parent; still Weng cast

himself down and made no pretence to hide his grief. His father’s

frown became a scowl, his mother’s smile framed a biting word. A wise

and venerable friend who loved the youth took him aside one day and

with many sympathetic words counselled restraint.

“For,” he said, “your conduct, though affectionate towards the dead,

may be urged by the ill-disposed as disrespectful towards the living.

If you have a deeper end in view, strive towards it by a less open

path.”

“You are subtle and esteemed in wisdom,” replied Weng, “but neither of

those virtues can restore a broken jar. The wayside fountain must one

day dry up at its source, but until then not even a mountain placed

upon its mouth can pen back its secret stores. So is it with unfeigned

grief.”

“The analogy may be exact,” replied the aged friend, shaking his head,

“but it is no less truly said: ‘The wise tortoise keeps his pain

inside.’ Rest assured, on the disinterested advice of one who has no

great experience of mountains and hidden springs, but a life-long

knowledge of Wu Chi and of his amiable wife, that if you mourn too

much you will have reason to mourn more.”

His words were pointed to a sharp edge. At that moment Wu Chi was

being confronted by his wife, who stood before him in his inner

chamber. “Who am I?” she exclaimed vehemently, “that my authority

should be denied before my very eyes? Am I indeed Che of the house of

Meng, whose ancestors wore the Yellow Scabbard, or am I some nameless

one? Or does my lord sleep, or has he fallen blind upon the side by

which Weng approaches?”

“His heart is bad and his instincts perverted,” replied Wu Chi dully.

“He ignores the rites, custom, and the Emperor’s example, and sets at

defiance all the principles of domestic government. Do not fear that I

shall not shortly call him to account with a very heavy call.”

“Do so, my lord,” said his wife darkly, “or many valiant champions of

the House of Meng may press forward to make a cast of that same

account. To those of our ancient line it would not seem a trivial

thing that their daughter should share her rights with a purchased

slave.”

“Peace, cockatrice! the woman was well enough,” exclaimed Wu Chi, with

slow resentment. “But the matter of this obstinacy touches the dignity

of my own authority, and before to-day has passed Weng shall bring up

his footsteps suddenly before a solid wall.”

Accordingly, when Weng returned at his usual hour he found his father

awaiting him with curbed impatience. That Wu Chi should summon him

into his presence in the great hall was of itself an omen that the

matter was one of moment, but the profusion of lights before the

Ancestral Tablets and the various symbols arranged upon the table

showed that the occasion was to be regarded as one involving

irrevocable issues.

“Weng Cho,” said his father dispassionately, from his seat at the head

of the table, “draw near, and first pledge the Ancient Ones whose

spirits hover above their Tablets in a vessel of wine.”

“I am drinking affliction and move under the compact of a solemn vow,”

replied Weng fixedly, “therefore I cannot do this; nor, as signs are

given me to declare, will the forerunners of our line, who from their

high places look down deep into the mind and measure the heart with an

impartial rod, deem this an action of disrespect to their illustrious

shades.”

“It is well to be a sharer of their councils,” said Wu Chi, with

pointed insincerity. “But,” he continued, in the same tone, “for whom

can Weng Cho of the House of Wu mourn? His father is before him in his

wonted health; in the inner chamber his mother plies an unfaltering

needle; while from the Dragon Throne the supreme Emperor still rules

the world. Haply, however, a thorn has pierced his little finger, or

does he perchance bewail the loss of a favourite bird?”

“That thorn has sunk deeply into his existence, and the memory of that

loss still dims his eyes with bitterness,” replied Weng. “Bid the rain

cease to fall when the clouds are heavy.”

“The comparison is ill-chosen,” cried Whu Chi harshly. “Rather should

the allusion be to the evil tendency of a self-willed branch which, in

spite of the continual watering of precept and affection, maintains

its perverted course, and must henceforth either submit to be bound

down into an appointed line, or be utterly cut off so that the tree

may not suffer. Long and patiently have I marked your footsteps, Weng

Cho, and they are devious. This is not a single offence, but it is no

light one. Appointed by the Board of Ceremony, approved of by the

Emperor, and observed in every loyal and high-minded subject are the

details of the rites and formalities which alone serve to distinguish

a people refined and humane from those who are rude and barbarous. By

setting these observances at defiance you insult their framers, act

traitorously towards your sovereign, and assail the foundations of

your House; for your attitude is a direct reflection upon others; and

if you render such a tribute to one who is incompetent to receive it,

how will you maintain a seemly balance when a greater occasion

arises?”

“When the earth that has nourished it grows cold the leaves of the

branch fall--doubtless the edicts of the Board referred to having

failed to reach their ears,” replied Weng bitterly. “Revered father,

is it not permitted that I should now depart? Behold I am stricken and

out of place.”

“You are evil and your heart is fat with presumptuous pride!”

exclaimed Wu Chi, releasing the cords of his hatred and anger so that

they leapt out from his throat like the sudden spring of a tiger from

a cave. “Evil in birth, grown under an evil star and now come to a

full maturity. Go you shall, Weng Cho, and that on a straight journey

forthwith or else bend your knees with an acquiescent face.” With

these words he beat furiously on a gong, and summoning the entire

household he commanded that before Weng should be placed a jar of wine

and two glass vessels, and on the other side a staff and a pair of

sandals. From an open shutter the face of the woman Che looked down in

mocking triumph.

The alternatives thus presented were simple and irrevocable. On the

one hand Weng must put from him all further grief, ignore his vows,

and join in mirth and feast; on the other he must depart, never to

return, and be deprived of every tie of kinship, relinquishing

ancestry, possessions and name. It was a course severer than anything

that Wu Chi had intended when he sent for his son, but resentment had

distorted his eyesight. It was a greater test than Weng had

anticipated, but his mind was clear, and his heart charged with

fragrant memories of his loss. Deliberately but with silent dignity he

poured the untasted wine upon the ground, drew his sword and touched

the vessels lightly so that they broke, took from off his thumb the

jade ring inscribed with the sign of the House of Wu, and putting on

the sandals grasped the staff and prepared to leave the hall.

“Weng Cho, for the last time spoken of as of the House of Wu, now

alienated from that noble line, and henceforth and for ever an

outcast, you have made a choice and chosen as befits your rebellious

life. Between us stretches a barrier wider and deeper than the Yellow

Sea, and throughout all future time no sign shall pass from that

distant shore to this. From every record of our race your name shall

be cut out; no mention of it shall profane the Tablets, and both in

this world and the next it shall be to us as though you have never

been. As I break this bowl so are all ties broken, as I quench this

candle so are all memories extinguished, and as, when you go, the

space is filled with empty air, so shall it be.”

“Ho, nameless stranger,” laughed the woman from above, “here is food

and drink to bear you on your way”; and from the grille she threw a

withered fig and spat.

“The fruit is the cankered effort of a barren tree,” cast back Weng

over his shoulder. “Look to your own offspring, basilisk. It is given

me to speak.” Even as he spoke there was a great cry from the upper

part of the house, the sound of many feet and much turmoil, but he

went on his way without another word.

Thus it was that Weng Cho came to be cut off from the past. From his

father’s house he stepped out into the streets of Kien-fi a being

without a name, destitute, and suffering the pangs of many keen

emotions. Friends whom he encountered he saluted distantly, not

desirous of sharing their affection until they should have learned his

state; but there was one who stood in his mind as removed above the

possibility of change, and to the summer-house of Tiao’s home he

therefore turned his steps.

Tiao was the daughter of a minor official, an unsuccessful man of no

particular descent. He had many daughters, and had encouraged Weng’s

affection, with frequent professions that he regarded only the youth’s

virtuous life and discernment, and would otherwise have desired one

not so highly placed. Tiao also had spoken of rice and contentment in

a ruined pagoda. Yet as she listened to Weng’s relation a new

expression gradually revealed itself about her face, and when he had

finished many paces lay between them.

“A breaker of sacred customs, a disobeyer of parents and an outcast!

How do you disclose yourself!” she exclaimed wildly. “What vile thing

has possessed you?”

“One hitherto which now rejects me,” replied Weng slowly. “I had

thought that here alone I might find a familiar greeting, but that

also fails.”

“What other seemly course presents itself?” demanded the maiden

unsympathetically. “How degrading a position might easily become that

of the one who linked her lot with yours if all fit and proper

sequences are to be reversed! What menial one might supplant her not

only in your affections but also in your Rites! He had defied the

Principles!” she exclaimed, as her father entered from behind a

screen.

“He has lost his inheritance,” muttered the little old man, eyeing him

contemptuously. “Weng Cho,” he continued aloud, “you have played a

double part and crossed our step with only half your heart. Now the

past is past and the future an unwritten sheet.”

“It shall be written in vermilion ink,” replied Weng, regaining an

impassive dignity; “and upon that darker half of my heart can now be

traced two added names.”

He had no aim now, but instinct drove him towards the mountains, the

retreat of the lost and despairing. A three days’ journey lay between.

He went forward vacantly, without food and without rest. A falling

leaf, as it is said, would have turned the balance of his destiny, and

at the wayside village of Li-yong so it chanced. The noisome smell of

burning thatch stung his face as he approached, and presently the

object came into view. It was the bare cabin of a needy widow who had

become involved in a lawsuit through the rapacity of a tax-gatherer.

As she had the means neither to satisfy the tax nor to discharge the

dues, the powerful Mandarin before whom she had been called ordered

all her possessions to be seized, and that she should then be burned

within her hut as a warning to others. This was the act of justice

being carried out, and even as Weng heard the tale the Mandarin in

question drew near, carried in his state chair to satisfy his eyes

that his authority was scrupulously maintained. All those villagers

who had not drawn off unseen at once fell upon their faces, so that

Weng alone remained standing, doubtful what course to take.

“Ill-nurtured dog!” exclaimed the Mandarin, stepping up to him,

“prostrate yourself! Do you not know that I am of the Sapphire Button,

and have fivescore bowmen at my yamen, ready to do my word?” And he

struck the youth across the face with a jewelled rod.

“I have only one sword, but it is in my hand,” cried Weng, reckless

beneath the blow, and drawing it he at one stroke cut down the

Mandarin before any could raise a hand. Then breaking in the door of

the hovel he would have saved the woman, but it was too late, so he

took the head and body and threw them into the fire, saying: “There,

Mandarin, follow to secure justice. They shall not bear witness

against you Up There in your absence.”

The chair-carriers had fled in terror, but the villagers murmured

against Weng as he passed through them. “It was a small thing that one

house and one person should be burned; now, through this, the whole

village will assuredly be consumed. He was a high official and visited

justice impartially on us all. It was our affair, and you, who are a

stranger, have done ill.”

“I did you wrong, Mandarin,” said Weng, resuming his journey; “you

took me for one of them. I pass you the parting of the woman Che,

burrowers in the cow-heap called Li-yong.”

“Oi-ye!” exclaimed a voice behind, “but yonder earth-beetles haply

have not been struck off the Tablets and found that a maiden with

well-matched eyes can watch two ways at once, all of a morning: and

thereby death through red spectacles is not that same death through

blue spectacles. Things in their appointed places, noble companion.”

“Greetings, wayfarer,” said Weng, stopping. “The path narrows somewhat

inconveniently hereabout. Take honourable precedence.”

“The narrower the better to defend then,” replied the stranger

good-humouredly. “Whereto, also, two swords cut a larger slice than

one. Without doubt fivescore valiant bowmen will soon be a-ranging

when they hear that the enemy goes upon two feet, and then ill befall

who knows not the passes.” As he spoke an arrow, shot from a distance,

flew above their heads.

“Why should you bear a part with me, and who are you who know these

recent things?” demanded Weng doubtfully.

“I am one of many, we being a branch of that great spreading lotus the

Triad, though called by the tillers here around the League of

Tomb-Haunters, because we must be sought in secret places. The things

I have spoken I know because we have many ears, and in our care a

whisper passes from east to west and from north to south without a

word being spilled.”

“And the price of your sword is that I should join the confederacy?”

asked Weng thoughtfully.

“I had set out to greet you before the estimable Mandarin who is now

saluting his ancestors was so inopportune as to do so,” replied the

emissary. “Yet it is not to be denied that we offer an adequate

protection among each other, while at the same time punishing guilt

and administering a rigorous justice secretly.”

“Lead me to your meeting-place, then,” said Weng determinedly. “I have

done with the outer things.”

The guide pointed to a rock, shaped like a locust’s head, which marked

the highest point of the steep mountain before them. Soon the fertile

lowlands ended and they passed beyond the limit of the inhabitable

region. Still ascending they reached the Tiger’s High Retreat, which

defines the spot where even the animal kind turn back and where

watercourses cease to flow. Beyond this the most meagre indication of

vegetable sustenance came to an end, and thenceforward their passage

was rendered more slow and laborious by frequent snow-storms, barriers

of ice, and sudden tempests which strove to hurl them to destruction.

Nevertheless, by about the hour of midnight they reached the rock

shaped like a locust’s head, which stood in the wildest and most

inaccessible part of the mountain, and masked the entrance to a

strongly-guarded cave. Here Weng suffered himself to be blindfolded,

and being led forward he was taken into the innermost council. Closely

questioned, he professed a spontaneous desire to be admitted into

their band, to join in their dangers and share their honours;

whereupon the oath was administered to him, the passwords and secret

signs revealed, and he was bound from that time forth, under the bonds

of a most painful death and torments in the afterworld, to submerge

all passions save those for the benefit of their community, and to

cherish no interests, wrongs or possessions that did not affect them

all alike.

For the space of seven years Weng remained about the shadow of the

mountain, carrying out, together with the other members of the band,

the instructions which from time to time they received from the higher

circles of the Society, as well as such acts of retributive justice as

they themselves determined upon, and in this quiet and unostentatious

manner maintaining peace and greatly purifying the entire province. In

this passionless subservience to the principles of the Order none

exceeded him; yet at no time have men been forbidden to burn

joss-sticks to the spirit of the destinies, and who shall say?

At the end of seven years the first breath from out of the past

reached Weng (or Thang, as he had announced himself to be when cast

out nameless). One day he was summoned before the chief of their

company and a mission laid upon him.

“You have proved yourself to be capable and sincere in the past, and

this matter is one of delicacy,” said the leader. “Furthermore, it is

reported that you know something of the paths about Kien-fi?”

“There is not a forgotten turn within those paths by which I might

stumble in the dark,” replied Weng, striving to subdue his mind.

“See that out of so poignant a memory no more formidable barrier than

a forgotten path arises,” said the leader, observing him closely.

“Know you, then a house bearing as a sign the figure of a golden

ibis?”

“Truly; I have noted it,” replied Weng, changing his position, so that

he now leaned against a rock. “There dwelt an old man of some lower

official rank, who had no son but many daughters.”

“He has Passed, and one of those--Tiao by name,” said the other,

referring to a parchment--“has schemingly driven out the rest and held

the patrimony. Crafty and ambitious, she has of late married a high

official who has ever been hostile to ourselves. Out of a private

enmity the woman seeks the lives of two who are under our most solemn

protection, and now uses her husband’s wealth and influence to that

end. It is on him that the blow must fall, for men kill only men, and

she, having no son, will then be discredited and impotent.”

“And concerning this official?” asked Weng.

“It has not been thought prudent to speak of him by name,” replied the

chief. “Stricken with a painful but not dangerous malady he has

retired for a time to the healthier seclusion of his wife’s house, and

there he may be found. The woman you will know with certainty by a

crescent scar--above the right eye.”

“Beneath the eye,” corrected Weng instantly.

“Assuredly, beneath: I misread the sign,” said the head, appearing to

consult the scroll. “Yet, out of a keen regard for your virtues,

Thang, let me point a warning that it is antagonistic to our strict

rule to remember these ancient scars too well. Further, in accordance

with that same esteem, do not stoop too closely nor too long to

identify the mark. By our pure and exacting standard no high

attainment in the past can justify defection. The pains and penalties

of failure you well know.”

“I bow, chieftain,” replied Weng acquiescently.

“It is well,” said the chief. “Your strategy will be easy. To cure

this lord’s disorder a celebrated physician is even now travelling

from the Capital towards Kien-fi. A day’s journey from that place he

will encounter obstacles and fall into the hands of those who will

take away his robes and papers. About the same place you will meet one

with a bowl on the roadside who will hail you, saying, ‘Charity, out

of your superfluity, noble mandarin coming from the north!’ To him you

will reply, ‘Do mandarins garb thus and thus and go afoot? It is I who

need a change of raiment and a chair; aye, by the token of the

Locust’s Head!’ He will then lead you to a place where you will find

all ready and a suitable chair with trusty bearers. The rest lies

beneath your grinding heel. Prosperity!”

Weng prostrated himself and withdrew. The meeting by the wayside

befell as he had received assurance--they who serve the Triad do not

stumble--and at the appointed time he stood before Tiao’s door and

called for admission. He looked to the right and the left as one who

examines a new prospect, and among the azalea flowers the burnished

roof of the summer-house glittered in the sun.

“Lucky omens attend your coming, benevolence,” said the chief

attendant obsequiously; “for since he sent for you an unpropitious

planet has cast its influence upon our master, so that his power

languishes.”

“Its malignity must be controlled,” said Weng, in a feigned voice, for

he recognized the one before him. “Does any watch?”

“Not now,” replied the attendant; “for he has slept since these two

hours. Would your graciousness have speech with the one of the inner

chamber?”

“In season perchance. First lead me to your lord’s side and then see

that we are undisturbed until I reappear. It may be expedient to

invoke a powerful charm without delay.”

In another minute Weng stood alone in the sick man’s room, between

them no more barrier than the silk-hung curtains of the couch. He slid

down his right hand and drew a keen-edged knife; about his left he

looped the even more fatal cord; then advancing with a noiseless step

he pulled back the drapery and looked down. It was the moment for

swift and silent action; nothing but hesitation and delay could

imperil him, yet in that supreme moment he stepped back, released the

curtain from his faltering grasp and, suffering the weapons to fall

unheeded to the floor, covered his face with his hands, for lying

before him he had seen the outstretched form, the hard contemptuous

features, of his father.

Yet most solemnly alienated from him in every degree. By Wu Chi’s own

acts every tie of kinship had been effaced between them: the bowl had

been broken, the taper blown out, empty air had filled his place. Wu

Chi acknowledged no memory of a son; he could claim no reverence as a

father. . . . Tiao’s husband. . . . Then he was doubly

childless. . . . The woman and her seed had withered, as he had

prophesied.

On the one hand stood the Society, powerful enough to protect him in

every extremity, yet holding failure as treason; most terrible and

inexorable towards set disobedience. His body might find a painless

escape from their earthly torments, but by his oaths his spirit lay in

their keeping to be punished through all eternity.

That he was no longer Wu Chi’s son, that he had no father--this

conviction had been strong enough to rule him in every contingency of

life save this. By every law of men and deities the ties between them

had been dissolved, and they stood as a man and man; yet the salt can

never be quite washed out of sea-water.

For a time which ceased to be hours or minutes, but seemed as a

fragment broken off eternity, he stood, motionless but most deeply

racked. With an effort he stooped to take the cord, and paused again;

twice he would have seized the dagger, but doubt again possessed him.

From a distant point of the house came the chant of a monk singing a

prayer and beating upon a wooden drum. The rays of the sun falling

upon the gilded roof in the garden again caught his eyes; nothing else

stirred.

“These in their turn have settled great issues lightly,” thought Weng

bitterly. “Must I wait upon an omen?”

“. . . submitting oneself to purifying scars,” droned the voice far

off; “propitiating if need be by even greater self-inflictions . . .”

“It suffices,” said Weng dispassionately, and picking up the knife he

turned to leave the room.

At the door he paused again, but not in an arising doubt. “I will

leave a token for Tiao to wear as a jest,” was the image that had

sprung from his new abasement, and taking a sheet of parchment he

quickly wrote thereon: “A wave has beat from that distant shore to

this, and now sinks in the unknown depths.”

Again he stepped noiselessly to the couch, drew the curtain and

dropped the paper lightly on the form. As he did so his breath

stopped; his fingers stiffened. Cautiously, on one knee, he listened

intently, lightly touched the face; then recklessly taking a hand he

raised the arm and suffered it to fall again. No power restrained it;

no alertness of awakening life came into the dull face. Wu Chi had

already Passed Beyond.

CHAPTER VII

Not Concerned with any Particular Attribute of

Those who are Involved

Unendurable was the intermingling of hopes and fears with which Kai

Lung sought the shutter on the next occasion after the avowal of

Hwa-mei’s devoted strategy. While repeatedly assuring himself that it

would have been better to submit to piecemeal slicing without a

protesting word rather than that she should incur so formidable a

risk, he was compelled as often to admit that when once her mind had

formed its image no effort on his part would have held her back.

Doubtless Hwa-mei readily grasped the emotion that would possess the

one whose welfare was now her chief concern, for without waiting to

gum her hair or to gild her lips she hastened to the spot beneath the

wall at the earliest moment that Kai Lung could be there.

“Seven marble tombstones are lifted from off my chest!” exclaimed the

story-teller when he could greet her. “How did your subterfuge

proceed, and with what satisfaction was the history of Weng Cho

received?”

“That,” replied Hwa-mei modestly, “will provide the matter for an

autumn tale, when seated around a pine-cone fire. In the meanwhile

this protracted ordeal takes an ambiguous bend.”

“To what further end does the malignity of the ill-made Ming-shu now

shape itself? Should it entail a second peril to your head--”

“The one whom you so justly name fades for a moment out of our

concern. Burdened with a secret mission he journeys to Hing-poo, nor

does the Mandarin Shan Tien hold another court until the day of his

return.”

“That gives a breathing space of time to our ambitions?”

“So much is assured. Yet even in that a subtle danger lurks. Certain

contingencies have become involved in the recital of your admittedly

ingenious stories which the future unfolding of events may not always

justify. For instance, the very speculative Shan Tien, casting his

usual moderate limit to the skies, has accepted the Luminous Insect as

a beckoning omen, and immersed himself deeply in the chances of every

candidate bearing the name of Lao, Ting, Li, Tzu, Sung, Chu, Wang or

Chin. Should all these fail incapably at the trials a very undignified

period in the Mandarin’s general manner of expressing himself may

intervene.”

“Had the time at the disposal of this person been sufficiently

enlarged he would not have omitted the various maxims arising from the

tale,” admitted Kai Lung, with a shadow of remorse. “That suited to

the need of a credulous and ill-balanced mind would doubtless be the

proverb: ‘He who believes in gambling will live to sell his sandals.’

It is regrettable if the well-intending Mandarin took the wrong one.

Fortunately another moon will fade before the results are known--”

“In the meantime,” continued the maiden, indicating by a glance that

what she had to relate was more essential to the requirements of the

moment than anything he was saying: “Shan Tien is by no means

indisposed towards your cause. Your unassuming attitude and deep

research have enlarged your wisdom in his eyes. To-morrow he will send

for you to lean upon your well-stored mind.”

“Is the emergency one for which any special preparation is required?”

questioned Kai Lung.

“That is the message of my warning. Of late a company of grateful

friends has given the Mandarin an inlaid coffin to mark the sense of

their indebtedness, the critical nature of the times rendering the

gift peculiarly appropriate. Thus provided, Shan Tien has cast his

eyes around to secure a burial robe worthy of the casket. The

merchants proffer many, each endowed with all the qualities, but

meanwhile doubts arise, and now Shan Tien would turn to you to learn

what is the true and ancient essential of the garment, and wherein its

virtue should reside.”

“The call will not find me inept,” replied Kai Lung. “The story of

Wang Ho--”

“It is enough,” exclaimed the maiden warningly. “The time for

wandering together in the garden of the imagination has not yet

arrived. Ming-shu’s feet are on a journey, it is true, but his eyes

are doubtless left behind. Until a like hour to-morrow gladdens our

expectant gaze, farewell!”

On the following day, at about the stroke of the usual court, Li-loe

approached Kai Lung with a grievous look.

“Alas, manlet,” he exclaimed, “here is one direct from the presence of

our high commander, requiring you against his thumb-signed bond. Go

you must, and that alone, whether it be for elevation on a tree or on

a couch. Out of an insatiable friendship this one would accompany you,

were it possible, equally to hold your hand if you are to die or hold

your cup if you are to feast. Yet touching that same cask of hidden

wine there is still time--”

“Cease, mooncalf,” replied Kai Lung reprovingly. “This is but an eddy

on the surface of a moving stream. It comes, it goes; and the waters

press on as before.”

Then Kai Lung, neither bound nor wearing the wooden block, was led

into the presence of Shan Tien, and allowed to seat himself upon the

floor as though he plied his daily trade.

“Sooner or later it will certainly devolve upon this person to condemn

you to a violent end,” remarked the far-seeing Mandarin reassuringly.

“In the ensuing interval, however, there is no need for either of us

to dwell upon what must be regarded as an unpleasant necessity.”

“Yet no crime has been committed, beneficence,” Kai Lung ventured to

protest; “nor in his attitude before your virtuous self has this one

been guilty of any act of disrespect.”

“You have shown your mind to be both wide and deep, and suitably

lined,” declared Shan Tien, dexterously avoiding the weightier part of

the story-teller’s plea. “A question now arises as to the efficacy of

embroidered coffin cloths, and wherein their potent merit lies. Out of

your well-stored memory declare your knowledge of this sort, conveying

the solid information in your usual palatable way.”

“I bow, High Excellence,” replied Kai Lung. “This concerns the story

of Wang Ho.”

The Story of Wang Ho and the Burial Robe

There was a time when it did not occur to anyone in this pure and

enlightened Empire to question the settled and existing order of

affairs. It would have been well for the merchant Wang Ho had he lived

in that happy era. But, indeed, it is now no unheard-of thing for an

ordinary person to suggest that customs which have been established

for centuries might with advantage be changed--a form of impiety which

is in no degree removed from declaring oneself to be wiser or more

profound than one’s ancestors! Scarcely more seemly is this than

irregularity in maintaining the Tablets or observing the Rites; and

how narrow is the space dividing these delinquencies from the actual

crimes of overturning images, counselling rebellion, joining in

insurrection and resorting to indiscriminate piracy and bloodshed.

Certainly the merchant Wang Ho would be a thousand taels wealthier

to-day if he had fully considered this in advance. Nor would Cheng

Lin--but who attempts to eat an orange without first disposing of the

peel, or what manner of a dwelling could be erected unless an adequate

foundation be first provided?

Wang Ho, then, let it be stated, was one who had early in life amassed

a considerable fortune by advising those whose intention it was to

hazard their earnings in the State Lotteries as to the numbers that

might be relied upon to be successful, or, if not actually successful,

those at least that were not already predestined by malign influences

to be absolutely incapable of success. These chances Wang Ho at first

forecast by means of dreams, portents and other manifestations of an

admittedly supernatural tendency, but as his name grew large and the

number of his clients increased vastly, while his capacity for

dreaming remained the same, he found it no less effective to close his

eyes and to become inspired rapidly of numbers as they were thus

revealed to him.

Occasionally Wang Ho was the recipient of an appropriate bag of money

from one who had profited by his advice, but it was not his custom to

rely upon this contingency as a source of income, nor did he in any

eventuality return the amount which had been agreed upon (and

invariably deposited with him in advance) as the reward of his

inspired efforts. To those who sought him in a contentious spirit,

inquiring why he did not find it more profitable to secure the prizes

for himself, Wang Ho replied that his enterprise consisted in

forecasting the winning numbers for State Lotteries and not in solving

enigmas, writing deprecatory odes, composing epitaphs or conducting

any of the other numerous occupations that could be mentioned. As this

plausible evasion was accompanied by the courteous display of the many

weapons which he always wore at different convenient points of his

attire, the incident invariably ended in a manner satisfactory to Wang

Ho.

Thus positioned Wang Ho prospered, and had in the course of years

acquired a waist of honourable proportions, when the unrolling course

of events influenced him to abandon his lucrative enterprise. It was

not that he failed in any way to become as inspired as before; indeed,

with increasing practice he attained a fluency that enabled him to

outdistance every rival, so that on the occasion of one lottery he

afterwards privately discovered that he had predicted the success of

every possible combination of numbers, thus enabling those who followed

his advice (as he did not fail to announce in inscriptions of

vermilion assurance) to secure--among them--every variety of prize

offered.

But, about this time, the chief wife of Wang Ho having been greeted

with amiable condescension by the chief wife of a high official of the

Province, and therefrom in an almost equal manner by the wives of even

higher officials, the one in question began to abandon herself to a

more rapidly outlined manner of existence than formerly, and to

involve Wang Ho in a like attitude, so that presently this

ill-considering merchant, who but a short time before would have

unhesitatingly cast himself bodily to earth on the approach of a city

magistrate, now acquired the habit of alluding to mandarins in casual

conversation by names of affectionate abbreviation. Also, being

advised of the expediency by a voice speaking in an undertone, he

sought still further to extend beyond himself by suffering his nails

to grow long and obliterating his name from the public announcements

upon the city walls.

In spite of this ambitious sacrifice Wang Ho could not entirely shed

from his habit a propensity to associate with those requiring advice

on matters involving financial transactions. He could no longer

conduct enterprises which entailed many clients and the lavish display

of his name, but in the society of necessitous persons who were

related to others of distinction he allowed it to be inferred that he

was benevolently disposed and had a greater sufficiency of taels than

he could otherwise make use of. He also involved himself, for the

benefit of those whom he esteemed, in transactions connected with

pieces of priceless jade, jars of wine of an especially fragrant

character, and pictures of reputable antiquity. In the written manner

of these transactions (for it is useless to conceal the fact that Wang

Ho was incapable of tracing the characters of his own name) he

employed a youth whom he never suffered to appear from beyond the

background. Cheng Lin is thus brought naturally and unobtrusively into

the narrative.

Had Cheng Lin come into the world when a favourably disposed band of

demons was in the ascendant he would certainly have merited an earlier

and more embellished appearance in this written chronicle. So far,

however, nothing but omens of an ill-destined obscurity had beset his

career. For many years two ambitions alone had contained his mind,

both inextricably merged into one current and neither with any

appearance of ever flowing into its desired end. The first was to pass

the examination of the fourth degree of proficiency in the great

literary competitions, and thereby qualify for a small official post

where, in the course of a few years, he might reasonably hope to be

forgotten in all beyond the detail of being allotted every third moon

an unostentatious adequacy of taels. This distinction Cheng Lin felt

to be well within his power of attainment could he but set aside three

uninterrupted years for study, but to do this would necessitate the

possession of something like a thousand taels of silver, and Lin might

as well fix his eyes upon the great sky-lantern itself.

Dependent on this, but in no great degree removed from it, was the

hope of being able to entwine into that future the actuality of Hsi

Mean, a very desirable maiden whom it was Cheng Lin’s practice to meet

by chance on the river bank when his heavily-weighted duties for the

day were over.

To those who will naturally ask why Cheng Lin, if really sincere in

his determination, could not imperceptibly acquire even so large a sum

as a thousand taels while in the house of the wealthy Wang Ho,

immersed as the latter person was with the pursuit of the full face of

high mandarins and further embarrassed by a profuse illiteracy, it

should be sufficient to apply the warning: “Beware of helping yourself

to corn from the manger of the blind mule.”

In spite of his preoccupation Wang Ho never suffered his mind to

wander when sums of money were concerned, and his inability to express

himself by written signs only engendered in his alert brain an

ever-present decision not to be entrapped by their use. Frequently,

Cheng Lin found small sums of money lying in such a position as to

induce the belief that they had been forgotten, but upon examining

them closely he invariably found upon them marks by which they could

be recognized if the necessity arose; he therefore had no hesitation

in returning them to Wang Ho with a seemly reference to the extreme

improbability of the merchant actually leaving money thus unguarded,

and to the lack of respect which it showed to Cheng Lin himself to

expect that a person of his integrity should be tempted by so

insignificant an amount. Wang Ho always admitted the justice of the

reproach, but he did not on any future occasion materially increase

the sum in question, so that it is to be doubted if his heart was

sincere.

It was on the evening of such an incident that Lin walked with Mean by

the side of the lotus-burdened Hoang-keng expressing himself to the

effect that instead of lilies her hair was worthy to be bound up with

pearls of a like size, and that beneath her feet there should be

spread a carpet not of verdure, but of the finest Chang-hi silk,

embroidered with five-clawed dragons and other emblems of royal

authority, nor was Mean in any way displeased by this indication of

extravagant taste on her lover’s part, though she replied:

“The only jewels that this person desires are the enduring glances of

pure affection with which you, O my phoenix one, entwined the lilies

about her hair, and the only carpet that she would crave would be the

embroidered design created by the four feet of the two persons who are

now conversing together for ever henceforth walking in uninterrupted

harmony.”

“Yet, alas!” exclaimed Lin, “that enchanting possibility seems to be

more remotely positioned than ever. Again has the clay-souled Wang Ho,

on the pretext that he can no longer make his in and out taels meet,

sought to diminish the monthly inadequacy of cash with which he

rewards this person’s conscientious services.”

“Undoubtedly that opaque-eyed merchant will shortly meet a revengeful

fire-breathing vampire when walking alone on the edge of a narrow

precipice,” exclaimed Mean sympathetically. “Yet have you pressingly

laid the facts before the spirits of your distinguished ancestors with

a request for their direct intervention?”

“The expedient has not been neglected,” replied Lin, “and appropriate

sacrifices have accompanied the request. But even while in the form of

an ordinary existence the venerable ones in question were becoming

distant in their powers of hearing, and doubtless with increasing

years the ineptitude has grown. It would almost seem that in the case

of a person so obtuse as Wang Ho is, more direct means would have to

be employed.”

“It is well said,” assented Mean, “that those who are unmoved by the

threat of a vat of flaming sulphur in the Beyond, rend the air if they

chance to step on a burning cinder here on earth.”

“The suggestion is a timely one,” replied Lin. “Wang Ho’s weak spot

lies between his hat and his sandals. Only of late, feeling the

natural infirmities of time pressing about him, he has expended a

thousand taels in the purchase of an elaborate burial robe, which he

wears on every fit occasion, so that the necessity for its ultimate

use may continue to be remote.”

“A thousand taels!” repeated Mean. “With that sum you could--”

“Assuredly. The coincidence may embody something in the nature of an

omen favourable to ourselves. At the moment, however, this person has

not any clear-cut perception of how the benefit may be attained.”

“The amount referred to has already passed into the hands of the

merchant in burial robes?”

“Irrevocably. In the detail of the transference of actual sums of

money Wang Ho walks hand in hand with himself from door to door. The

pieces of silver are by this time beneath the floor of Shen Heng’s

inner chamber.”

“Shen Heng?”

“The merchant in silk and costly fabrics, who lives beneath the sign

of the Golden Abacus. It was from him--”

“Truly. It is for him that this person’s sister Min works the finest

embroideries. Doubtless this very robe--”

“It is of blue silk edged with sand pearls in a line of three depths.

Felicitations on long life and a list of the most venerable persons of

all times serve to remind the controlling deities to what length human

endurance can proceed if suitably encouraged. These are designed in

letters of threaded gold. Inferior spirits are equally invoked in

characters of silver.”

“The description is sharp-pointed. It is upon this robe that the one

referred to has been ceaselessly engaged for several moons. On account

of her narrow span of years, no less than her nimble-jointed

dexterity, she is justly esteemed among those whose wares are

guaranteed to be permeated with the spirit of rejuvenation.”

“Thereby enabling the enterprising Shen Heng to impose a special

detail into his account: ‘For employing the services of one who will

embroider into the fabric of the robe the vital principles of youth

and long-life-to-come--an added fifty taels.’ Did she of your house

benefit to a proportionate extent?”

Mean indicated a contrary state of things by a graceful movement of

her well-arranged eyebrows.

“Not only that,” she added, “but the sordid-minded Shen Heng, on a

variety of pretexts, has diminished the sum Min was to receive at the

completion of the work, until that which should have required a full

hand to grasp could be efficiently covered by two attenuated fingers.

From this cause Min is vindictively inclined towards him and,

steadfastly refusing to bend her feet in the direction of his

workshop, she has, between one melancholy and another, involved

herself in a dark distemper.”

As Mean unfolded the position lying between her sister Min and the

merchant Shen Heng, Lin grew thoughtful, and, although it was not his

nature to express the changing degrees of emotion by varying the

appearance of his face, he did not conceal from Mean that her words

had fastened themselves upon his imagination.

“Let us rest here a while,” he suggested presently. “That which you

say, added to what I already know, may, under the guidance of a

sincere mind, put a much more rainbow-like outlook on our combined

future than hitherto appeared probable.”

So they composed themselves about the bank of the river, while Lin

questioned her more closely as to those things of which she had

spoken. Finally, he laid certain injunctions upon her for her

immediate guidance. Then, it being now the hour of middle light, they

returned, Mean accompanying her voice to the melody of stringed wood,

as she related songs of those who have passed through great endurances

to a state of assured contentment. To Lin it seemed as though the city

leapt forward to meet them, so narrow was the space of time involved

in reaching it.

A few days later Wang Ho was engaged in the congenial occupation of

marking a few pieces of brass cash before secreting them where Cheng

Lin must inevitably displace them, when the person in question quietly

stood before him. Thereupon Wang Ho returned the money to his inner

sleeve, ineptly remarking that when the sun rose it was futile to

raise a lantern to the sky to guide the stars.

“Rather is it said, ‘From three things cross the road to avoid: a

falling tree, your chief and second wives whispering in agreement, and

a goat wearing a leopard’s tail,’” replied Lin, thus rebuking Wang Ho,

not only for his crafty intention, but also as to the obtuseness of

the proverb he had quoted. “Nevertheless, O Wang Ho, I approach you on

a matter of weighty consequence.”

“To-morrow approaches,” replied the merchant evasively. “If it

concerns the detail of the reduction of your monthly adequacy, my word

has become unbending iron.”

“It is written: ‘Cho Sing collected feathers to make a garment for his

canary when it began to moult,’” replied Lin acquiescently. “The care

of so insignificant a person as myself may safely be left to the

Protecting Forces, esteemed. This matter touches your own condition.”

“In that case you cannot be too specific.” Wang Ho lowered himself

into a reclining couch, thereby indicating that the subject was not

one for hasty dismissal, at the same time motioning to Lin that he

should sit upon the floor. “Doubtless you have some remunerative form

of enterprise to suggest to me?”

“Can a palsied finger grasp a proffered coin? The matter strikes more

deeply at your very existence, honoured chief.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Wang Ho, unable to retain the usual colour of his

appearance, “the attention of a devoted servant is somewhat like

Tohen-hi Yang’s spiked throne--it torments those whom it supports.

However, the word has been spoken--let the sentence be filled in.”

“The full roundness of your illustrious outline is as a display of

coloured lights to gladden my commonplace vision,” replied Lin

submissively. “Admittedly of late, however, an element of dampness has

interfered with the brilliance of the display.”

“Speak clearly and regardless of polite evasion,” commanded Wang Ho.

“My internal organs have for some time suspected that hostile

influences were at work. For how long have you noticed this, as it may

be expressed, falling off?”

“My mind is as refined crystal before your compelling glance,”

admitted Lin. “Ever since it has been your custom to wear the funeral

robe fashioned by Shen Heng has your noble shadow suffered erosion.”

This answer, converging as it did upon the doubts that had already

assailed the merchant’s satisfaction, convinced him of Cheng Lin’s

discrimination, while it increased his own suspicion. He had for some

little time found that after wearing the robe he invariably suffered

pangs that could only be attributed to the influence of malign and

obscure Beings. It is true that the occasions of his wearing the robe

were elaborate and many-coursed feasts, when he and his guests had

partaken lavishly of birds’ nests, sharks’ fins, sea snails and other

viands of a rich and glutinous nature. But if he could not both wear

the funeral robe and partake unstintingly of well-spiced food, the

harmonious relation of things was imperilled; and, as it was since the

introduction of the funeral robe into his habit that matters had

assumed a more poignant phase, it was clear that the influence of the

funeral robe was at the root of the trouble.

“Yet,” protested Wang Ho, “the Mandarin Ling-ni boasts that he has

already lengthened the span of his natural life several years by such

an expedient, and my friend the high official T’cheng asserts that,

while wearing a much less expensive robe than mine, he feels the

essence of an increased vitality passing continuously into his being.

Why, then, am I marked out for this infliction, Cheng Lin?”

“Revered,” replied Lin, with engaging candour, “the inconveniences of

living in a country so densely populated with demons, vampires,

spirits, ghouls, dragons, omens, forces and influences, both good and

bad, as our own unapproachably favoured Empire is, cannot be evaded

from one end of life to the other. How much greater is the difficulty

when the prescribed forms for baffling the ill-disposed among the

unseen appear to have been wrongly angled by those framing the Rites!”

Wang Ho made a gesture of despair. It conveyed to Lin’s mind the wise

reminder of N’sy-hing: “When one is inquiring for a way to escape from

an advancing tiger, flowers of speech assume the form of noisome

bird-weed.” He therefore continued:

“Hitherto it has been assumed that for a funeral robe to exercise its

most beneficial force it should be the work of a maiden of immature

years, the assumption being that, having a prolonged period of

existence before her, the influence of longevity would pass through

her fingers into the garment and in turn fortify the wearer.”

“Assuredly,” agreed Wang Ho anxiously. “Thus was the analogy outlined

to me by one skilled in the devices, and the logic of it seems

unassailable.”

“Yet,” objected Lin, with sympathetic concern in his voice, “how

unfortunate must be the position of a person involved in a robe that

has been embroidered by one who, instead of a long life, has been

marked out by the Destinies for premature decay and an untimely death!

For in that case the influence--”

“Such instances,” interrupted Wang Ho, helping himself profusely to

rice-spirit from a jar near at hand, “must providentially be of rare

occurrence?”

“Esteemed head,” replied Lin, helping Wang Ho to yet another

superfluity of rice-spirit, “there are moments when it behoves each of

us to maintain an unflaccid outline. Suspecting the true cause of your

declining radiance, I have, at an involved expenditure of seven taels

and three hand counts of brash cash, pursued this matter to its

ultimate source. The robe in question owes its attainment to one Min,

of the obscure house of Hsi, who recently ceased to have an existence

while her years yet numbered short of a score. Not only was it the last

work upon which she was engaged, but so closely were the two

identified that her abrupt Passing Beyond must certainly exercise a

corresponding effect upon any subsequent wearer.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Wang Ho, feeling many of the symptoms of contagion

already manifesting themselves about his body. “Was the infliction of

a painless nature?”

“As to whether it was leprosy, the spotted plague, or acute demoniacal

possession, the degraded Shen Heng maintains an unworthy silence.

Indeed, at the mention of Hsi Min’s name he wraps his garment about

his head and rolls upon the floor--from which the worst may be

inferred. They of Min’s house, however, are less capable of guile, and

for an adequate consideration, while not denying that Shen Heng has

paid them to maintain a stealthy silence, they freely admit that the

facts are as they have been stated.”

“In that case, Shen Heng shall certainly return the thousand taels in

exchange for this discreditable burial robe,” exclaimed Wang Ho

vindictively.

“Venerated personality,” said Lin, with unabated loyalty, “the

essential part of the development is to safeguard your own

incomparable being against every danger. Shen Heng may be safely left

to the avenging demons that are ever lying in wait for the

contemptible.”

“The first part of your remark is inspired,” agreed Wang Ho, his

incapable mind already beginning to assume a less funereal forecast.

“Proceed, regardless of all obstacles.”

“Consider the outcome of publicly compelling Shen Heng to undo the

transaction, even if it could be legally achieved! Word of the

calamity would pass on heated breath, each succeeding one becoming

more heavily embroidered than the robe itself. The yamens and palaces

of your distinguished friends would echo with the once honoured name

of Wang Ho, now associated with every form of malignant distemper and

impending fate. All would hasten to withdraw themselves from the

contagion of your overhanging end.”

“Am I, then,” demanded Wang Ho, “to suffer the loss of a thousand

taels and retain an inadequate and detestable burial robe that will

continue to exercise its malign influence over my being?”

“By no means,” replied Lin confidently. “But be warned by the precept:

‘Do not burn down your house in order to inconvenience even your chief

wife’s mother.’ Sooner or later a relation of Shen Heng’s will turn

his steps towards your inner office. You can then, without undue

effort, impose on him the thousand taels that you have suffered loss

from those of his house. In the meantime a device must be sought for

exchanging your dangerous but imposing-looking robe for one of proved

efficiency.”

“It begins to assume a definite problem in this person’s mind as to

whether such a burial robe exists,” declared Wang Ho stubbornly.

“Yet it cannot be denied, when a reliable system is adopted in the

fabrication,” protested Lin. “For a score and five years the one to

whom this person owes his being has worn such a robe.”

“To what age did your venerated father attain?” inquired the merchant,

with courteous interest.

“Fourscore years and three parts of yet another score.”

“And the robe in question eventually accompanied him when he Passed

Beyond?”

“Doubtless it will. He is still wearing it,” replied Lin, as one who

speaks of casual occurrences.

“Is he, then, at so advanced an age, in the state of an ordinary

existence?”

“Assuredly. Fortified by the virtue emanating from the garment

referred to, it is his deliberate intention to continue here for yet

another score of years at least.”

“But if such robes are of so dubious a nature how can reliance be

placed on any one?”

“Esteemed,” replied Lin, “it is a matter that has long been suspected

among the observant. Unfortunately, the Ruby Buttons of the past

mistakenly formulated that the essence of continuous existence was

imparted to a burial robe through the hands of a young maiden--hence

so many deplorable experiences. The proper person to be so employed is

undoubtedly one of ripe attainment, for only thereby can the claim to

possess the vital principle be assured.”

“Was the robe which has so effectively sustained your meritorious

father thus constructed?” inquired Wang Ho, inviting Lin to recline

himself upon a couch by a gesture as of one who discovers for the

first time that an honoured guest has been overlooked.

“It is of ancient make, and thereby in the undiscriminating eye

perhaps somewhat threadbare; but to the desert-traveller all wells are

sparkling,” replied Lin. “A venerable woman, inspired of certain magic

wisdom, which she wove into the texture, to the exclusion of the

showier qualities, designed it at the age of threescore years and

three short of another score. She was engaged upon its fabrication yet

another seven, and finally Passed Upwards at an attainment of three

hundred and thirty-three years, three moons, and three days, thus

conforming to all the principles of allowed witchcraft.”

“Cheng Lin,” said Wang Ho amiably, pouring out for the one whom he

addressed a full measure of rice-spirit, “the duty that an obedient

son owes even to a grasping and self-indulgent father has in the past

been pressed to a too-conspicuous front, at the expense of the

harmonious relation that should exist between a comfortably-positioned

servant and a generous and broad-minded master. Now in the matter of

these two coffin cloths--”

“My ears are widely opened towards your auspicious words,

benevolence,” replied Lin.

“You, Cheng Lin, are still too young to be concerned with the question

of Passing Beyond; your imperishable father is, one is compelled to

say, already old enough to go. As regards both persons, therefore, the

assumed virtue of one burial robe above another should be merely a

matter of speculative interest. Now if some arrangement should be

suggested, not unprofitable to yourself, by which one robe might be

imperceptibly substituted for another--and, after all, one burial robe

is very like another--”

“The prospect of deceiving a trustful and venerated sire is so ignoble

that scarcely any material gain would be a fitting compensation--were

it not for the fact that an impending loss of vision renders the

deception somewhat easy to accomplish. Proceed, therefore,

munificence, towards a precise statement of your open-handed

prodigality.”

*

Indescribable was the bitterness of Shen Heng’s throat when Cheng Lin

unfolded his burden and revealed the Wang Ho thousand-tael burial

robe, with an unassuming request for the return of the purchase money,

either in gold or honourable paper, as the article was found

unsuitable. Shen Heng shook the rafters of the Golden Abacus with

indignation, and called upon his domestic demons, the spirits of

eleven generations of embroidering ancestors, and the illuminated

tablets containing the High Code and Authority of the Distinguished

Brotherhood of Coffin Cloth and Burial Robe Makers in protest against

so barbarous an innovation.

Bowing repeatedly and modestly expressing himself to the effect that

it was incredible that he was not justly struck dead before the

sublime spectacle of Shen Heng’s virtuous indignation, Cheng Lin

carefully produced the written lines of the agreement, gently

directing the Distinguished Brother’s fire-kindling eyes to an

indicated detail. It was a provision that the robe should be returned

and the purchase money restored if the garment was not all that was

therein stipulated: with his invariable painstaking loyalty Lin had

insisted upon this safeguard when he drew up the form, although,

probably from a disinclination to extol his own services, he had

omitted mentioning the fact to Wang Ho in their recent conversation.

With deprecating firmness Lin directed Shen Heng’s reluctant eyes to

another line--the unfortunate exaction of fifty taels in return for

the guarantee that the robe should be permeated with the spirit of

rejuvenation. As the undoubted embroiderer of the robe--one Min of the

family of Hsi--had admittedly Passed Beyond almost with the last

stitch, it was evident that she could only have conveyed by her touch

an entirely contrary emanation. If, as Shen Heng never ceased to

declare, Min was still somewhere alive, let her be produced and a

fitting token of reconciliation would be forthcoming; otherwise,

although with the acutest reluctance, it would be necessary to carry

the claim to the court of the chief District Mandarin, and (Cheng Lin

trembled at the sacrilegious thought) it would be impossible to

conceal the fact that Shen Heng employed persons of inauspicious omen,

and the high repute of coffin cloths from the Golden Abacus would be

lost. The hint arrested Shen Heng’s fingers in the act of tearing out

a handful of his beautiful pigtail. For the first time he noticed,

with intense self-reproach, that Lin was not reclining on a couch.

The amiable discussion that followed, conducted with discriminating

dignity by Shen Heng and conscientious humility on the part of Cheng

Lin, extended from one gong-stroke before noon until close upon the

time for the evening rice. The details arrived at were that Shen Heng

should deliver to Lin eight-hundred and seventy-five taels against the

return of the robe. He would also press upon that person a silk purse

with an onyx clasp, containing twenty-five taels, as a deliberate mark

of his individual appreciation and quite apart from anything to do

with the transaction on hand. All suggestions of anything other than

the strictest high-mindedness were withdrawn from both sides. In order

that the day should not be wholly destitute of sunshine at the Golden

Abacus, Lin declared his intention of purchasing, at a price not

exceeding three taels and a half, the oldest and most unattractive

burial robe that the stock contained. So moved was Shen Heng by this

delicate consideration that he refused to accept more than two taels

and three-quarters. Moreover, he added for Lin’s acceptance a small

jar of crystallized limpets.

To those short-sighted ones who profess to discover in the conduct of

Cheng Lin (now an official of the seventeenth grade and drawing his

quarterly sufficiency of taels in a distant province) something not

absolutely honourably arranged, it is only necessary to display the

ultimate end as it affected those persons in any way connected.

Wang Ho thus obtained a burial robe in which he was able to repose

absolute confidence. Doubtless it would have sustained him to an

advanced age had he not committed self-ending, in the ordinary way of

business, a few years later.

Shen Heng soon disposed of the returned garment for two thousand taels

to a person who had become prematurely wealthy owing to the distressed

state of the Empire. In addition he had sold, for more than two taels,

a robe which he had no real expectation of ever selling at all.

Min, made welcome at the house of Mean and Lin, removed with them to

that distant province. There she found that the remuneration for

burial robe embroidery was greater than she had ever obtained before.

With the money thus amassed she was able to marry an official of noble

rank.

The father of Cheng Lin had passed into the Upper Air many years

before the incidents with which this related narrative concerns

itself. He is thus in no way affected. But Lin did not neglect, in the

time of his prosperity, to transmit to him frequent sacrifices of

seasonable delicacies suited to his condition.

CHAPTER VIII

The Timely Disputation among Those of an

Inner Chamber of Yu-ping

For the space of three days Ming-shu remained absent from Yu-ping, and

the affections of Kai Lung and Hwa-mei prospered. On the evening of

the third day the maiden stood beneath the shutter with a more

definite look, and Kai Lung understood that a further period of

unworthy trial was now at hand.

“Behold!” she explained, “at dawn the corrupt Ming-shu will pass

within our gates again, nor is it prudent to assume that his enmity

has lessened.”

“On the contrary,” replied Kai Lung, “like that unnatural reptile that

lives on air, his malice will have grown upon the voidness of its

cause. As the wise Ling-kwang remarks: ‘He who plants a vineyard with

one hand--’”

“Assuredly, beloved,” interposed Hwa-mei dexterously. “But our

immediate need is less to describe Ming-shu’s hate in terms of

classical analogy than to find a potent means of baffling its venom.”

“You are all-wise as usual,” confessed Kai Lung, with due humility. “I

will restrain my much too verbose tongue.”

“The invading Banners from the north have for the moment failed and

those who drew swords in their cause are flying to the hills. In

Yu-ping, therefore, loyalty wears a fully round face and about the

yamen of Shan Tien men speak almost in set terms. While these

conditions prevail, justice will continue to be administered precisely

as before. We have thus nothing to hope in that direction.”

“Yet in the ideal state of purity aimed at by the illustrious founders

of our race--” began Kai Lung, and ceased abruptly, remembering.

“As it is, we are in the state of Tsin in the fourteenth of the

heaven-sent Ching,” retorted Hwa-mei capably. “The insatiable Ming-shu

will continue to seek your life, calling to his aid every degraded

subterfuge. When the nature of these can be learned somewhat in

advance, as the means within my power have hitherto enabled us to do,

a trusty shield is raised in your defence.”

Kai Lung would have spoken of the length and the breadth of his

indebtedness, but she who stood below did not encourage this.

“Ming-shu’s absence makes this plan fruitless here to-day, and as a

consequence he may suddenly disclose a subtle snare to which your feet

must bend. In this emergency my strategy has been towards safeguarding

your irreplaceable life to-morrow at all hazard. Should this avail,

Ming-shu’s later schemes will present no baffling veil.”

“Your virtuous little finger is as strong as Ming-shu’s offensive

thumb,” remarked Kai Lung. “This person has no fear.”

“Doubtless,” acquiesced Hwa-mei. “But she who has spun the thread

knows the weakness of the net. Heed well to the end that no ineptness

may arise. Shan Tien of late extols your art, claiming that in every

circumstance you have a story fitted to the need.”

“He measures with a golden rule,” agreed Kai Lung. “Left to himself,

Shan Tien is a just, if superficial, judge.”

The knowledge of this boast, Hwa-mei continued to relate, had spread

to the inner chambers of the yamen, where the lesser ones vied with

each other in proclaiming the merit of the captive minstrel. Amid this

eulogy Hwa-mei moved craftily and played an insidious part, until she

who was their appointed head was committed to the claim. Then the

maiden raised a contentious voice.

“Our lord’s trout were ever salmon,” she declared, “and lo! here is

another great and weighty fish! Assuredly no living man is thus and

thus; or are the T’ang epicists returned to earth? Truly our noble one

is easily pleased--in many ways!” With these well-fitted words she

fixed her eyes upon the countenance of Shan Tien’s chief wife and

waited.

“The sun shines through his words and the moon adorns his utterances,”

replied the chief wife, with unswerving loyalty, though she added, no

less suitably: “That one should please him easily and another therein

fail, despite her ceaseless efforts, is as the Destinies provide.”

“You are all-seeing,” admitted Hwa-mei generously; “nor is a locked

door any obstacle to your discovering eye. Let this arisement be

submitted to a facile test. Dependent from my ill-formed ears are

rings of priceless jade that have ever tinged your thoughts, while

about your shapely neck is a crystal charm, to which an unclouded

background would doubtless give some lustre. I will set aside the

rings and thou shalt set aside the charm. Then, at a chosen time, this

vaunted one shall attend before us here, and I having disclosed the

substance of a theme, he shall make good the claim. If he so does,

capably and without delay, thou shalt possess the jewels. But if, in

the judgment of these around, he shall fail therein, then are both

jewels mine. Is it so agreed?”

“It is agreed!” cried those who were the least concerned, seeing some

entertainment to themselves. “Shall the trial take place at once?”

“Not so,” replied Hwa-mei. “A sufficient space must be allowed for

this one wherein to select the matter of the test. To-morrow let it

be, before the hour of evening rice. And thou?”

“Inasmuch as it will enlarge the prescience of our lord in minds that

are light and vaporous, I also do consent,” replied the chief wife.

“Yet must he too be of our company, to be witness of the upholding of

his word and, if need be, to cast a decisive voice.”

“Thus,” continued Hwa-mei, as she narrated these events, “Shan Tien

is committed to the trial and thereby he must preserve you until that

hour. Tell me now the answer to the test, that I may frame the

question to agree.”

Kai Lung thought a while, then said:

“There is the story of Chang Tao. It concerns one who, bidden to do an

impossible task, succeeded though he failed, and shows how two

identically similar beings may be essentially diverse. To this should

be subjoined the apophthegm that that which we are eager to obtain may

be that which we have striven to avoid.”

“It suffices,” agreed Hwa-mei. “Bear well your part.”

“Still,” suggested Kai Lung, hoping to detain her retiring footsteps

for yet another span, “were it not better that I should fall short at

the test, thus to enlarge your word before your fellows?”

“And in so doing demean yourself, darken the face of Shan Tien’s

present regard, and alienate all those who stand around! O most obtuse

Kai Lung!”

“I will then bare my throat,” confessed Kai Lung. “The barbed thought

had assailed my mind that perchance the rings of precious jade lay

coiled around your heart. Thus and thus I spoke.”

“Thus also will I speak,” replied Hwa-mei, and her uplifted eyes held

Kai Lung by the inner fibre of his being. “Did I value them as I do,

and were they a single hair of my superfluous head, the whole head

were freely offered to a like result.”

With these noticeable words, which plainly testified the strength of

her emotion, the maiden turned and hastened on her way, leaving Kai

Lung gazing from the shutter in a very complicated state of

disquietude.

The Story of Chang Tao, Melodious Vision and the Dragon

After Chang Tao had reached the age of manhood his grandfather took

him apart one day and spoke of a certain matter, speaking as a

philosopher whose mind has at length overflowed.

“Behold!” he said, when they were at a discreet distance aside, “your

years are now thus and thus, but there are still empty chairs where

there should be occupied cradles in your inner chamber, and the only

upraised voice heard in this spacious residence is that of your

esteemed father repeating the Analects. The prolific portion of the

tree of our illustrious House consists of its roots; its existence

onwards narrows down to a single branch which as yet has put forth no

blossoms.”

“The loftiest tower rises from the ground,” remarked Chang Tao

evasively, not wishing to implicate himself on either side as yet.

“Doubtless; and as an obedient son it is commendable that you should

close your ears, but as a discriminating father there is no reason why

I should not open my mouth,” continued the venerable Chang in a voice

from which every sympathetic modulation was withdrawn. “It is

admittedly a meritorious resolve to devote one’s existence to

explaining the meaning of a single obscure passage of one of the Odes,

but if the detachment necessary to the achievement results in a

hitherto carefully-preserved line coming to an incapable end, it would

have been more satisfactory to the dependent shades of our revered

ancestors that the one in question should have collected street

garbage rather than literary instances, or turned somersaults in place

of the pages of the Classics, had he but given his first care to

providing you with a wife and thereby safeguarding our unbroken

continuity.”

“My father is all-wise,” ventured Chang Tao dutifully, but observing

the nature of the other’s expression he hastened to add considerately,

“but my father’s father is even wiser.”

“Inevitably,” assented the one referred to; “not merely because he is

the more mature by a generation, but also in that he is thereby nearer

to the inspired ancients in whom the Cardinal Principles reside.”

“Yet, assuredly, there must be occasional exceptions to this rule of

progressive deterioration?” suggested Chang Tao, feeling that the

process was not without a definite application to himself.

“Not in our pure and orthodox line,” replied the other person firmly.

“To suggest otherwise is to admit the possibility of a son being the

superior of his own father, and to what a discordant state of things

would that contention lead! However immaturely you may think at

present, you will see the position at its true angle when you have

sons of your own.”

“The contingency is not an overhanging one,” said Chang Tao. “On the

last occasion when I reminded my venerated father of my age and

unmarried state, he remarked that, whether he looked backwards or

forwards, extinction seemed to be the kindest destiny to which our

House could be subjected.”

“Originality, carried to the length of eccentricity, is a censurable

accomplishment in one of official rank,” remarked the elder Chang

coldly. “Plainly it is time that I should lengthen the authority of my

own arm very perceptibly. If a father is so neglectful of his duty, it

is fitting that a grandfather should supply his place. This person

will himself procure a bride for you without delay.”

“The function might perhaps seem an unusual one,” suggested Chang Tao,

who secretly feared the outcome of an enterprise conducted under these

auspices.

“So, admittedly, are the circumstances. What suitable maiden suggests

herself to your doubtless better-informed mind? Is there one of the

house of Tung?”

“There are eleven,” replied Chang Tao, with a gesture of despair, “all

reputed to be untiring with their needle, skilled in the frugal

manipulation of cold rice, devout, discreet in the lines of their

attire, and so sombre of feature as to be collectively known to the

available manhood of the city as the Terror that Lurks for the Unwary.

Suffer not your discriminating footsteps to pause before that house, O

father of my father! Now had you spoken of Golden Eyebrows, daughter

of Kuo Wang--”

“It would be as well to open a paper umbrella in a thunderstorm as to

seek profit from an alliance with Kuo Wang. Crafty and ambitious, he

is already deep in questionable ventures, and high as he carries his

head at present, there will assuredly come a day when Kuo Wang will

appear in public with his feet held even higher than his crown.”

“The rod!” exclaimed Chang Tao in astonishment. “Can it really be that

one who is so invariably polite to me is not in every way immaculate?”

“Either bamboo will greet his feet or hemp adorn his neck,” persisted

the other, with a significant movement of his hands in the proximity

of his throat. “Walk backwards in the direction of that house, son of

my son. Is there not one Ning of the worthy line of Lo, dwelling

beneath the emblem of a Sprouting Aloe?”

“Truly,” agreed the youth, “but at an early age she came under the

malign influence of a spectral vampire, and in order to deceive the

creature she was adopted to the navigable portion of the river here,

and being announced as having Passed Above was henceforth regarded as

a red mullet.”

“Yet in what detail does that deter you?” inquired Chang, for the

nature of his grandson’s expression betrayed an acute absence of

enthusiasm towards the maiden thus concerned.

“Perchance the vampire was not deceived after all. In any case this

person dislikes red mullet,” replied the youth indifferently.

The venerable shook his head reprovingly.

“It is imprudent to be fanciful in matters of business,” he remarked.

“Lo Chiu, her father, is certainly the possessor of many bars of

silver, and, as it is truly written: ‘With wealth one may command

demons; without it one cannot summon even a slave.’”

“It is also said: ‘When the tree is full the doubtful fruit remains

upon the branch,’” retorted Chang Tao. “Are not maidens in this city

as the sand upon a broad seashore? If one opens and closes one’s hands

suddenly out in the Ways on a dark night, the chances are that three

or four will be grasped. A stone cast at a venture--”

“Peace!” interrupted the elder. “Witless spoke thus even in the days

of this person’s remote youth--only the virtuous did not then open and

close their hands suddenly in the Ways on dark nights. Is aught

reported of the inner affairs of Shen Yi, a rich philosopher who

dwells somewhat remotely on the Stone Path, out beyond the Seven

Terraced Bridge?”

Chang Tao looked up with a sharply awakening interest.

“It is well not to forget that one,” he replied. “He is spoken of as

courteous but reserved, in that he drinks tea with few though his

position is assured. Is not his house that which fronts on a

summer-seat domed with red copper?”

“It is the same,” agreed the other. “Speak on.”

“What I recall is meagre and destitute of point. Nevertheless, it so

chanced that some time ago this person was proceeding along the

further Stone Path when an aged female mendicant, seated by the

wayside, besought his charity. Struck by her destitute appearance he

bestowed upon her a few unserviceable broken cash, such as one retains

for the indigent, together with an appropriate blessing, when the hag

changed abruptly into the appearance of a young and alluring maiden,

who smilingly extended to this one her staff, which had meanwhile

become a graceful branch of flowering lotus. The manifestation was not

sustained, however, for as he who is relating the incident would have

received the proffered flower he found that his hand was closing on

the neck of an expectant serpent, which held in its mouth an agate

charm. The damsel had likewise altered, imperceptibly merging into the

form of an overhanging fig-tree, among whose roots the serpent twined

itself. When this person would have eaten one of the ripe fruit of the

tree he found that the skin was filled with a bitter dust, whereupon

he withdrew, convinced that no ultimate profit was likely to result

from the encounter. His departure was accompanied by the sound of

laughter, mocking yet more melodious than a carillon of silver gongs

hung in a porcelain tower, which seemed to proceed from the

summer-seat domed with red copper.”

“Some omen doubtless lay within the meeting,” said the elder Chang.

“Had you but revealed the happening fully on your return, capable

geomancers might have been consulted. In this matter you have fallen

short.”

“It is admittedly easier to rule a kingdom than to control one’s

thoughts,” confessed Chang Tao frankly. “A great storm of wind met

this person on his way back, and when he had passed through it, all

recollection of the incident had, for the time, been magically blown

from his mind.”

“It is now too late to question the augurs. But in the face of so

involved a portent it would be well to avert all thought from

Melodious Vision, wealthy Shen Yi’s incredibly attractive daughter.”

“It is unwise to be captious in affairs of negotiation,” remarked the

young man thoughtfully. “Is the smile of the one referred to such that

at the vision of it the internal organs of an ordinary person begin to

clash together, beyond the power of all control?”

“Not in the case of the one who is speaking,” replied the grandfather

of Chang Tao, “but a very illustrious poet, whom Shen Yi charitably

employed about his pig-yard, certainly described it as a ripple on the

surface of a dark lake of wine, when the moon reveals the hidden

pearls beneath; and after secretly observing the unstudied grace of

her movements, the most celebrated picture-maker of the province

burned the implements of his craft, and began life anew as a trainer

of performing elephants. But when maidens are as numerous as the

grains of sand--”

“Esteemed,” interposed Chang Tao, with smooth determination, “wisdom

lurks in the saying: ‘He who considers everything decides nothing.’

Already this person has spent an unprofitable score of years through

having no choice in the matter; at this rate he will spend yet another

score through having too much. Your timely word shall be his beacon.

Neither the disadvantage of Shen Yi’s oppressive wealth nor the

inconvenience of Melodious Vision’s excessive beauty shall deter him

from striving to fulfil your delicately expressed wish.”

“Yet,” objected the elder Chang, by no means gladdened at having the

decision thus abruptly lifted from his mouth, “so far, only a

partially formed project--”

“To a thoroughly dutiful grandson half a word from your benevolent

lips carries further than a full-throated command does from a less

revered authority.”

“Perchance. This person’s feet, however, are not liable to a similar

acceleration, and a period of adequate consideration must intervene

before they are definitely moving in the direction of Shen Yi’s

mansion. ‘Where the road bends abruptly take short steps,’ Chang Tao.”

“The necessity will be lifted from your venerable shoulders, revered,”

replied Chang Tao firmly. “Fortified by your approving choice, this

person will himself confront Shen Yi’s doubtful countenance, and that

same bend in the road will be taken at a very sharp angle and upon a

single foot.”

“In person! It is opposed to the Usages!” exclaimed the venerable; and

at the contemplation of so undignified a course his voice prudently

withdrew itself, though his mouth continued to open and close for a

further period.

“‘As the mountains rise, so the river winds,’” replied Chang Tao, and

with unquenchable deference he added respectfully as he took his

leave, “Fear not, eminence; you will yet remain to see five

generations of stalwart he-children, all pressing forward to worship

your imperishable memory.”

In such a manner Chang Tao set forth to defy the Usages and--if

perchance it might be--to speak to Shen Yi face to face of Melodious

Vision. Yet in this it may be that the youth was not so much hopeful

of success by his own efforts as that he was certain of failure by the

elder Chang’s. And in the latter case the person in question might

then irrevocably contract him to a maiden of the house of Tung, or to

another equally forbidding. Not inaptly is it written: “To escape from

fire men will plunge into boiling water.”

Nevertheless, along the Stone Path many doubts and disturbances arose

within Chang Tao’s mind. It was not in this manner that men of weight

and dignity sought wives. Even if Shen Yi graciously overlooked the

absence of polite formality, would not the romantic imagination of

Melodious Vision be distressed when she learned that she had been

approached with so indelicate an absence of ceremony? “Here, again,”

said Chang Tao’s self-reproach accusingly, “you have, as usual, gone

on in advance of both your feet and of your head. ‘It is one thing to

ignore the Rites: it is quite another to expect the gods to ignore the

Penalties.’ Assuredly you will suffer for it.”

It was at this point that Chang Tao was approached by one who had

noted his coming from afar, and had awaited him, for passers-by were

sparse and remote.

“Prosperity attend your opportune footsteps,” said the stranger

respectfully. “A misbegotten goat-track enticed this person from his

appointed line by the elusive semblance of an avoided li. Is there,

within your enlightened knowledge, the house of one Shen Yi, who makes

a feast to-day, positioned about this inauspicious region? It is

further described as fronting on a summer-seat domed with red copper.”

“There is such a house as you describe, at no great distance to the

west,” replied Chang Tao. “But that he marks the day with music had

not reached these superficial ears.”

“It is but among those of his inner chamber, this being the name-day

of one whom he would honour in a refined and at the same time

inexpensive manner. To that end am I bidden.”

“Of what does your incomparable exhibition consist?” inquired Chang

Tao.

“Of a variety of quite commonplace efforts. It is entitled

‘Half-a-gong-stroke among the No-realities; or Gravity-removing devoid

of Inelegance.’ Thus, borrowing the neck-scarf of the most

dignified-looking among the lesser ones assembled I will at once

discover among its folds the unsuspected presence of a family of

tortoises; from all parts of the person of the roundest-bodied

mandarin available I will control the appearance of an inexhaustible

stream of copper cash, and beneath the scrutinizing eyes of all a

bunch of paper chrysanthemums will change into the similitude of a

crystal bowl in whose clear depth a company of gold and silver carp

glide from side to side.”

“These things are well enough for the immature, and the sight of an

unnaturally stout official having an interminable succession of white

rabbits produced from the various recesses of his waistcloth

admittedly melts the austerity of the superficial of both sexes. But

can you, beneath the undeceptive light of day, turn a sere and

unattractive hag into the substantial image of a young and beguiling

maiden, and by a further complexity into a fruitful fig-tree; or

induce a serpent so far to forsake its natural instincts as to poise

on the extremity of its tail and hold a charm within its mouth?”

“None of these things lies within my admitted powers,” confessed the

stranger. “To what end does your gracious inquiry tend?”

“It is in the nature of a warning, for within the shadow of the house

you seek manifestations such as I describe pass almost without remark.

Indeed it is not unlikely that while in the act of displaying your

engaging but simple skill you may find yourself transformed into a

chameleon or saddled with the necessity of finishing your

gravity-removing entertainment under the outward form of a Manchurian

ape.”

“Alas!” exclaimed the other. “The eleventh of the moon was ever this

person’s unlucky day, and he would have done well to be warned by a

dream in which he saw an unsuspecting kid walk into the mouth of a

voracious tiger.”

“Undoubtedly the tiger was an allusion to the dangers awaiting you,

but it is not yet too late for you to prove that you are no kid,”

counselled Chang Tao. “Take this piece of silver so that the

enterprise of the day may not have been unfruitful and depart with all

speed on a homeward path. He who speaks is going westward, and at the

lattice of Shen Yi he will not fail to leave a sufficient excuse for

your no-appearance.”

“Your voice has the compelling ring of authority, beneficence,”

replied the stranger gratefully. “The obscure name of the one who

prostrates himself is Wo, that of his degraded father being Weh. For

this service he binds his ghost to attend your ghost through three

cycles of time in the After.”

“It is remitted,” said Chang Tao generously, as he resumed his way.

“May the path be flattened before your weary feet.”

Thus, unsought as it were, there was placed within Chang Tao’s grasp a

staff that might haply bear his weight into the very presence of

Melodious Vision herself. The exact strategy of the undertaking did

not clearly yet reveal itself, but “When fully ripe the fruit falls of

its own accord,” and Chang Tao was content to leave such detail to the

guiding spirits of his destinies. As he approached the outer door he

sang cheerful ballads of heroic doings, partly because he was glad,

but also to reassure himself.

“One whom he expects awaits,” he announced to the keeper of the gate.

“The name of Wo, the son of Weh, should suffice.”

“It does not,” replied the keeper, swinging his roomy sleeve

specifically. “So far it has an empty, short-stopping sound. It lacks

sparkle; it has no metallic ring. . . . He sleeps.”

“Doubtless the sound of these may awaken him,” said Chang Tao, shaking

out a score of cash.

“Pass in munificence. Already his expectant eyes rebuke the unopen

door.”

Although he had been in a measure prepared by Wo, Chang Tao was

surprised to find that three persons alone occupied the chamber to

which he was conducted. Two of these were Shen Yi and a trusted slave;

at the sight of the third Chang Tao’s face grew very red and the

deficiencies of his various attributes began to fill his mind with

dark forebodings, for this was Melodious Vision and no man could look

upon her without her splendour engulfing his imagination. No record of

her pearly beauty is preserved beyond a scattered phrase or two; for

the poets and minstrels of the age all burned what they had written,

in despair at the inadequacy of words. Yet it remains that whatever a

man looked for, that he found, and the measure of his requirement was

not stinted.

“Greeting,” said Shen Yi, with easy-going courtesy. He was a more

meagre man than Chang Tao had expected, his face not subtle, and his

manner restrained rather than oppressive. “You have come on a long and

winding path; have you taken your rice?”

“Nothing remains lacking,” replied Chang Tao, his eyes again

elsewhere. “Command your slave, Excellence.”

“In what particular direction do your agreeable powers of

leisure-beguiling extend?”

So far Chang Tao had left the full consideration of this inevitable

detail to the inspiration of the moment, but when the moment came the

prompting spirits did not disclose themselves. His hesitation became

more elaborate under the expression of gathering enlightenment that

began to appear in Melodious Vision’s eyes.

“An indifferent store of badly sung ballads,” he was constrained to

reply at length, “and--perchance--a threadbare assortment of involved

questions and replies.”

“Was it your harmonious voice that we were privileged to hear raised

beneath our ill-fitting window a brief space ago?” inquired Shen Yi.

“Admittedly at the sight of this noble palace I was impelled to put my

presumptuous gladness into song.”

“Then let it fain be the other thing,” interposed the maiden, with

decision. “Your gladness came to a sad end, minstrel.”

“Involved questions are by no means void of divertisement,” remarked

Shen Yi, with conciliatory mildness in his voice. “There was one,

turning on the contradictory nature of a door which under favourable

conditions was indistinguishable from an earthenware vessel, that

seldom failed to baffle the unalert in the days before the binding of

this person’s hair.”

“That was the one which it had been my feeble intention to propound,”

confessed Chang Tao.

“Doubtless there are many others equally enticing,” suggested Shen Yi

helpfully.

“Alas,” admitted Chang Tao with conscious humiliation; “of all those

wherein I retain an adequate grasp of the solution, the complication

eludes me at the moment, and thus in a like but converse manner with

the others.”

“Esteemed parent,” remarked Melodious Vision, without emotion, “this

is neither a minstrel nor one in any way entertaining. It is merely

Another.”

“Another!” exclaimed Chang Tao in refined bitterness. “Is it possible

that after taking so extreme and unorthodox a course as to ignore the

Usages and advance myself in person I am to find that I have not even

the mediocre originality of being the first, as a recommendation?”

“If the matter is thus and thus, so far from being the first, you are

only the last of a considerable line of worthy and enterprising youths

who have succeeded in gaining access to the inner part of this not

really attractive residence on one pretext or another,” replied the

tolerant Shen Yi. “In any case you are honourably welcome. From the

position of your various features I now judge you to be Tao, only son

of the virtuous house of Chang. May you prove more successful in your

enterprise than those who have preceded you.”

“The adventure appears to be tending in unforeseen directions,” said

Chang Tao uneasily. “Your felicitation, benign, though doubtless gold

at heart, is set in a doubtful frame.”

“It is for your stalwart endeavour to assure a happy picture,” replied

Shen Yi, with undisturbed cordiality. “You bear a sword.”

“What added involvement is this?” demanded Chang Tao. “This one’s

thoughts and intention were not turned towards savagery and arms, but

in the direction of a pacific union of two distinguished lines.”

“In such cases my attitude has invariably been one of sympathetic

unconcern,” declared Shen Yi. “The weight of either side produces an

atmosphere of absolute poise that cannot fail to give full play to the

decision of the destinies.”

“But if this attitude is maintained on your part how can the proposal

progress to a definite issue?” inquired Chang Tao.

“So far, it never has so progressed,” admitted Shen Yi. “None of the

worthy and hard-striving young men--any of whom I should have been

overjoyed to greet as a son-in-law had my inopportune sense of

impartiality permitted it--has yet returned from the trial to claim

the reward.”

“Even the Classics become obscure in the dark. Clear your throat of

all doubtfulness, O Shen Yi, and speak to a definite end.”

“That duty devolves upon this person, O would-be propounder of

involved questions,” interposed Melodious Vision. Her voice was more

musical than a stand of hanging jewels touched by a rod of jade, and

each word fell like a separate pearl. “He who ignores the Usages must

expect to find the Usages ignored. Since the day when K’ung-tsz framed

the Ceremonies much water has passed beneath the Seven Terraced

Bridge, and that which has overflowed can never be picked up again. It

is no longer enough that you should come and thereby I must go; that

you should speak and I be silent; that you should beckon and I meekly

obey. Inspired by the uprisen sisterhood of the outer barbarian lands,

we of the inner chambers of the Illimitable Kingdom demand the right

to express ourselves freely on every occasion and on every subject,

whether the matter involved is one that we understand or not.”

“Your clear-cut words will carry far,” said Chang Tao deferentially,

and, indeed, Melodious Vision’s voice had imperceptibly assumed a

penetrating quality that justified the remark. “Yet is it fitting that

beings so superior in every way should be swayed by the example of

those who are necessarily uncivilized and rude?”

“Even a mole may instruct a philosopher in the art of digging,”

replied the maiden, with graceful tolerance. “Thus among those uncouth

tribes it is the custom, when a valiant youth would enlarge his face

in the eyes of a maiden, that he should encounter forth and slay

dragons, to the imperishable glory of her name. By this beneficent

habit not only are the feeble and inept automatically disposed of, but

the difficulty of choosing one from among a company of suitors, all

apparently possessing the same superficial attributes, is materially

lightened.”

“The system may be advantageous in those dark regions,” admitted Chang

Tao reluctantly, “but it must prove unsatisfactory in our more

favoured land.”

“In what detail?” demanded the maiden, pausing in her attitude of

assured superiority.

“By the essential drawback that whereas in those neglected outer parts

there really are no dragons, here there really are. Thus--”

“Doubtless there are barbarian maidens for those who prefer to

encounter barbarian dragons, then,” exclaimed Melodious Vision, with a

very elaborately sustained air of no-concern.

“Doubtless,” assented Chang Tao mildly. “Yet having set forth in the

direction of a specific Vision it is this person’s intention to pursue

it to an ultimate end.”

“The quiet duck puts his foot on the unobservant worm,” murmured Shen

Yi, with delicate encouragement, adding “This one casts a more

definite shadow than those before.”

“Yet,” continued the maiden, “to all, my unbending word is this: he

who would return for approval must experience difficulties, overcome

dangers and conquer dragons. Those who do not adventure on the quest

will pass outward from this person’s mind.”

“And those who do will certainly Pass Upward from their own bodies,”

ran the essence of the youth’s inner thoughts. Yet the network of her

unevadable power and presence was upon him; he acquiescently replied:

“It is accepted. On such an errand difficulties and dangers will not

require any especial search. Yet how many dragons slain will suffice

to win approval?”

“Crocodile-eyed one!” exclaimed Melodious Vision, surprised into

wrathfulness. “How many--” Here she withdrew in abrupt vehemence.

“Your progress has been rapid and profound,” remarked Shen Yi, as,

with flattering attention, he accompanied Chang Tao some part of the

way towards the door. “Never before has that one been known to leave a

remark unsaid; I do not altogether despair of seeing her married yet.

As regards the encounter with the dragon--well, in the case of the one

whispering in your ear there was the revered mother of the one whom he

sought. After all, a dragon is soon done with--one way or the other.”

In such a manner Chang Tao set forth to encounter dragons, assured

that difficulties and dangers would accompany him on either side. In

this latter detail he was inspired, but as the great light faded and

the sky-lantern rose in interminable succession, while the

unconquerable li ever stretched before his expectant feet, the

essential part of the undertaking began to assume a dubious facet. In

the valleys and fertile places he learned that creatures of this part

now chiefly inhabited the higher fastnesses, such regions being more

congenial to their wild and intractable natures. When, however, after

many laborious marches he reached the upper peaks of pathless

mountains the scanty crag-dwellers did not vary in their assertion

that the dragons had for some time past forsaken those heights for the

more settled profusion of the plains. Formerly, in both places they

had been plentiful, and all those whom Chang Tao questioned spoke

openly of many encounters between their immediate forefathers and such

Beings.

It was in the downcast frame of mind to which the delays in

accomplishing his mission gave rise that Chang Tao found himself

walking side by side with one who bore the appearance of an affluent

merchant. The northernward way was remote and solitary, but seeing

that the stranger carried no outward arms Chang Tao greeted him

suitably and presently spoke of the difficulty of meeting dragons, or

of discovering their retreats from dwellers in that region.

“In such delicate matters those who know don’t talk, and those who

talk don’t know,” replied the other sympathetically. “Yet for what

purpose should one who would pass as a pacific student seek to

encounter dragons?”

“For a sufficient private reason it is necessary that I should kill a

certain number,” replied Chang Tao freely. “Thus their absence

involves me in much ill-spared delay.”

At this avowal the stranger’s looks became more sombre, and he

breathed inwards several times between his formidable teeth before he

made reply.

“This is doubtless your angle, but there is another; nor is it well to

ignore the saying, ‘Should you miss the tiger be assured that he will

not miss you,’” he remarked at length. “Have you sufficiently

considered the eventuality of a dragon killing you?”

“It is no less aptly said: ‘To be born is in the course of nature, but

to die is according to the decree of destiny.’”

“That is a two-edged weapon, and the dragon may be the first to apply

it.”

“In that case this person will fall back upon the point of the adage:

‘It is better to die two years too soon than to live one year too

long,’” replied Chang Tao. “Should he fail in the adventure and thus

lose all hope of Melodious Vision, of the house of Shen, there will be

no further object in prolonging a wearisome career.”

“You speak of Melodious Vision, she being of the house of Shen,” said

the stranger, regarding his companion with an added scrutiny. “Is the

unmentioned part of her father’s honourable name Yi, and is his

agreeable house so positioned that it fronts upon a summer-seat domed

with red copper?”

“The description is exact,” admitted Chang Tao. “Have you, then, in

the course of your many-sided travels, passed that way?”

“It is not unknown to me,” replied the other briefly. “Learn now how

incautious had been your speech, and how narrowly you have avoided the

exact fate of which I warned you. The one speaking to you is in

reality a powerful dragon, his name being Pe-lung, from the

circumstance that the northern limits are within his sway. Had it not

been for a chance reference you would certainly have been struck dead

at the parting of our ways.”

“If this is so it admittedly puts a new face upon the matter,” agreed

Chang Tao. “Yet how can reliance be spontaneously placed upon so

incredible a claim? You are a man of moderate cast, neither diffident

nor austere, and with no unnatural attributes. All the dragons with

which history is concerned possess a long body and a scaly skin, and

have, moreover, the power of breathing fire at will.”

“That is easily put to the test.” No sooner had Pe-lung uttered these

words than he faded, and in his place appeared a formidable monster

possessing all the terror-inspiring characteristics of his kind. Yet

in spite of his tree-like eyebrows, fiercely-moving whiskers and

fire-breathing jaws, his voice was mild and pacific as he continued:

“What further proof can be required? Assuredly, the self-opinionated

spirit in which you conduct your quest will bring you no nearer to a

desired end.”

“Yet this will!” exclaimed Chang Tao, and suddenly drawing his

reliable sword he drove it through the middle part of the dragon’s

body. So expertly was the thrust weighted that the point of the weapon

protruded on the other side and scarred the earth. Instead of falling

lifeless to the ground, however, the Being continued to regard its

assailant with benignant composure, whereupon the youth withdrew the

blade and drove it through again, five or six times more. As this

produced no effect beyond rendering the edge of the weapon unfit for

further use, and almost paralysing the sinews of his own right arm,

Chang Tao threw away the sword and sat down on the road in order to

recall his breath. When he raised his head again the dragon had

disappeared and Pe-lung stood there as before.

“Fortunately it is possible to take a broad-minded view of your

uncourteous action, owing to your sense of the fitnesses being for the

time in abeyance through allegiance to so engaging a maiden as

Melodious Vision,” said Pe-lung in a voice not devoid of reproach.

“Had you but confided in me more fully I should certainly have

cautioned you in time. As it is, you have ended by notching your

otherwise capable weapon beyond repair and seriously damaging the

scanty cloak I wear”--indicating the numerous rents that marred his

dress of costly fur. “No wonder dejection sits upon your downcast

brow.”

“Your priceless robe is a matter of profuse regret and my self-esteem

can only be restored by your accepting in its place this threadbare

one of mine. My rust-eaten sword is unworthy of your second thought.

But certainly neither of these two details is the real reason of my

dark despair.”

“Disclose yourself more openly,” urged Pe-lung.

“I now plainly recognize the futility of my well-intentioned quest.

Obviously it is impossible to kill a dragon, and I am thus the sport

either of Melodious Vision’s deliberate ridicule or of my own

ill-arranged presumption.”

“Set your mind at rest upon that score: each blow was competently

struck and convincingly fatal. You may quite fittingly claim to have

slain half a dozen dragons at the least--none of the legendary

champions of the past has done more.”

“Yet how can so arrogant a claim be held, seeing that you stand before

me in the unimpaired state of an ordinary existence?”

“The explanation is simple and assuring. It is, in reality, very easy

to kill a dragon, but it is impossible to keep him dead. The reason

for this is that the Five Essential Constituents of fire, water,

earth, wood and metal are blended in our bodies in the Sublime or

Indivisible proportion. Thus although it is not difficult by extreme

violence to disturb the harmonious balance of the Constituents, and so

bring about the effect of no-existence, they at once re-tranquillize

again, and all effect of the ill usage is spontaneously repaired.”

“That is certainly a logical solution, but it stands in doubtful stead

when applied to the familiar requirements of life; nor is it probable

that one so acute-witted as Melodious Vision would greet the claim

with an acquiescent face,” replied Chang Tao. “Not unnaturally is it

said: ‘He who kills tigers does not wear rat-skin sleeves.’ It would

be one thing to make a boast of having slain six dragons; it would be

quite another to be bidden to bring in their tails.”

“That is a difficulty which must be considered,” admitted Pe-lung,

“but a path round it will inevitably be found. In the meantime night

is beginning to encircle us, and many dark Powers will be freed and

resort to these inaccessible slopes. Accompany me, therefore, to my

bankrupt hovel, where you will be safe until you care to resume your

journey.”

To this agreeable proposal Chang Tao at once assented. The way was

long and laborious, “For,” remarked Pe-lung, “in an ordinary course I

should fly there in a single breath of time; but to seize an honoured

guest by the body-cloth and thus transfer him over the side of a

mountain is toilsome to the one and humiliating to the other.”

To beguile the time he spoke freely of the hardships of his lot.

“We dragons are frequently objects of envy at the hands of the

undiscriminating, but the few superficial privileges we enjoy are

heavily balanced by the exacting scope of our duties. Thus to-night it

is my degraded task to divert the course of the river flowing below

us, so as to overwhelm the misguided town of Yang, wherein swells a

sordid outcast who has reviled the Sacred Claw. In order to do this

properly it will be my distressing part to lie across the bed of the

stream, my head resting upon one bank and my tail upon the other, and

so remain throughout the rigour of the night.”

As they approached the cloudy pinnacle whereon was situated the

dragon’s cave, one came forth at a distance to meet them. As she drew

near, alternating emotions from time to time swayed Chang Tao’s mind.

From beneath a well-ruled eyebrow Pe-lung continued to observe him

closely.

“Fuh-sang, the unattractive daughter of my dwindling line,” remarked

the former person, with refined indifference. “I have rendered you

invisible, and she, as her custom is, would advance to greet me.”

“But this enchanting apparition is Melodious Vision!” exclaimed Chang

Tao. “What new bewilderment is here?”

“Since you have thus expressed yourself, I will now throw off the mask

and reveal fully why I have hitherto spared your life, and for what

purpose I have brought you to these barren heights,” replied Pe-lung.

“In the past Shen Yi provoked the Deities, and to mark their

displeasure it was decided to take away his she-child and to

substitute for it one of demoniac birth. Accordingly Fuh-sang, being

of like age, was moulded to its counterpart, and an attendant gnome

was despatched with her secretly to make the change. Becoming

overwhelmed with the fumes of rice-spirit, until then unknown to his

simple taste, this clay-brained earth-pig left the two she-children

alone for a space while he slept. Discovering each other to be the

creature of another part, they battled together and tore from one

another the signs of recognition. When the untrustworthy gnome

recovered from his stupor he saw what he had done, but being

terror-driven he took up one of the she-children at a venture and

returned with a pliant tale. It was not until a few moons ago that

while in a close extremity he confessed his crime. Meanwhile Shen Yi

had made his peace with those Above and the order being revoked the

she-children had been exchanged again. Thus the matter rests.”

“Which, then, of the twain is she inherent of your house and which

Melodious Vision?” demanded Chang Tao in some concern. “The matter can

assuredly not rest thus.”

“That,” replied Pe-lung affably, “it will be your engaging task to

unravel, and to this end will be your opportunity of closely watching

Fuh-sang’s unsuspecting movements in my absence through the night.”

“Yet how should I, to whom the way of either maiden is as yet no more

than the title-page of a many-volumed book, succeed where the father

native to one has failed?”

“Because in your case the incentive will be deeper. Destined, as you

doubtless are, to espouse Melodious Vision, the Forces connected with

marriage and its Rites will certainly endeavour to inspire you. This

person admittedly has no desire to nurture one who should prove to be

of merely human seed, but your objection to propagating a race of

dragonets turns on a keener edge. Added to all, a not unnatural

disinclination to be dropped from so great a height as this into so

deep and rocky a valley as that will conceivably lend wings to your

usually nimble-footed mind.”

While speaking to Chang Tao in this encouraging strain, Pe-lung was

also conversing suitably with Fuh-sang, who had by this time joined

them, warning her of his absence until the dawn, and the like. When he

had completed his instruction he stroked her face affectionately,

greeting Chang Tao with a short but appropriate farewell, and changing

his form projected himself downwards into the darkness of the valley

below. Recognizing that the situation into which he had been drawn

possessed no other outlet, Chang Tao followed Fuh-sang on her backward

path, and with her passed unsuspected into the dragon’s cave.

Early as was Pe-lung’s return on the ensuing morning, Chang Tao stood

on a rocky eminence to greet him, and the outline of his face, though

not altogether free of doubt, was by no means hopeless. Pe-lung still

retained the impressive form of a gigantic dragon as he cleft the

Middle Air, shining and iridescent, each beat of his majestic wings

being as a roll of thunder and the skittering of sand and water from

his crepitant scales leaving blights and rain-storms in his wake. When

he saw Chang Tao he drove an earthward angle and alighting near at

hand considerately changed into the semblance of an affluent merchant

as he approached.

“Greeting,” he remarked cheerfully. “Did you find your early rice?”

“It has sufficed,” replied Chang Tao. “How is your own incomparable

stomach?”

Pe-lung pointed to the empty bed of the deflected river and moved his

head from side to side as one who draws an analogy to his own

condition. “But of your more pressing enterprise,” he continued, with

sympathetic concern: “have you persevered to a fruitful end, or will

it be necessary--?” And with tactful feeling he indicated the gesture

of propelling an antagonist over the side of a precipice rather than

allude to the disagreeable contingency in spoken words.

“When the oil is exhausted the lamp goes out,” admitted Chang Tao,

“but my time is not yet come. During the visionary watches of the

night my poising mind was sustained by Forces as you so presciently

foretold, and my groping hand was led to an inspired solution of the

truth.”

“This points to a specific end. Proceed,” urged Pe-lung, for Chang Tao

had hesitated among his words as though their import might not be

soothing to the other’s mind.

“Thus it is given me to declare: she who is called Melodious Vision is

rightly of the house of Shen, and Fuh-sang is no less innate of your

exalted tribe. The erring gnome, in spite of his misdeed, was but a

finger of the larger hand of destiny, and as it is, it is.”

“This assurance gladdens my face, no less for your sake than for my

own,” declared Pe-lung heartily. “For my part, I have found a way to

enlarge you in the eyes of those whom you solicit. It is a custom with

me that every thousand years I should discard my outer skin--not that

it requires it, but there are certain standards to which we

better-class dragons must conform. These sloughs are hidden beneath a

secret stone, beyond the reach of the merely vain or curious. When you

have disclosed the signs by which I shall have securance of Fuh-sang’s

identity I will pronounce the word and the stone being thus released

you shall bear away six suits of scales in token of your prowess.”

Then replied Chang Tao: “The signs, assuredly. Yet, omnipotence,

without your express command the specific detail would be elusive to

my respectful tongue.”

“You have the authority of my extended hand,” conceded Pe-lung

readily, raising it as he spoke. “Speak freely.”

“I claim the protection of its benignant shadow,” said Chang Tao, with

content. “You, O Pe-lung, are one who has mingled freely with

creatures of every kind in all the Nine Spaces. Yet have you not, out

of your vast experience thus gained, perceived the essential wherein

men and dragons differ? Briefly and devoid of graceful metaphor, every

dragon, esteemed, would seem to possess a tail; beings of my part have

none.”

For a concise moment the nature of Pe-lung’s reflection was clouded in

ambiguity, though the fact that he became entirely enveloped in a

dense purple vapour indicated feelings of more than usual vigour. When

this cleared away it left his outer form unchanged indeed, but the

affable condescension of his manner was merged into one of dignified

aloofness.

“Certainly all members of our enlightened tribe have tails,” he

replied, with distant precision, “nor does this one see how any other

state is possible. Changing as we constantly do, both male and female,

into Beings, Influences, Shadows and unclothed creatures of the lower

parts, it is essential for our mutual self-esteem that in every

manifestation we should be thus equipped. At this moment, though in

the guise of a substantial trader, I possess a tail--small but

adequate. Is it possible that you and those of your insolvent race are

destitute?”

“In this particular, magnificence, I and those of my threadbare

species are most lamentably deficient. To the proving of this end

shall I display myself?”

“It is not necessary,” said Pe-lung coldly. “It is inconceivable that,

were it otherwise, you would admit the humiliating fact.”

“Yet out of your millenaries of experience you must already--”

“It is well said that after passing a commonplace object a hundred

times a day, at nightfall its size and colour are unknown to one,”

replied Pe-lung. “In this matter, from motives which cannot have been

otherwise than delicate, I took too much for granted it would

seem. . . . Then you--all--Shen Yi, Melodious Vision, the military

governor of this province, even the sublime Emperor--all--?”

“All tailless,” admitted Chang Tao, with conscious humility.

“Nevertheless there is a tradition that in distant aeons--”

“Doubtless on some issue you roused the High Ones past forgiveness and

were thus deprived as the most signal mark of their displeasure.”

“Doubtless,” assented Chang Tao, with unquenchable politeness.

“Coming to the correct attitude that you have maintained throughout, it

would appear that during the silent gong-strokes of the night, by some

obscure and indirect guidance it was revealed to you that Fuh--that

any Being of my superior race was, on the contrary--” The menace of

Pe-lung’s challenging eye, though less direct and assured than

formerly, had the manner of being uncertainly restrained by a single

much-frayed thread, but Chang Tao continued to meet it with respectful

self-possession.

“The inference is unflinching,” he replied acquiescently. “I prostrate

myself expectantly.”

“You have competently performed your part,” admitted Pe-lung, although

an occasional jet of purple vapour clouded his upper person and the

passage of his breath among his teeth would have been distasteful to

one of sensitive refinement. “Nothing remains but the fulfilling of my

iron word.”

Thereupon he pronounced a mystic sign and revealing the opening to a

cave he presently brought forth six sets of armoured skin. Binding

these upon Chang Tao’s back, he dismissed him, yet the manner of his

parting was as of one who is doubtful even to the end.

Thus equipped--

But who having made a distant journey into Outer Land speaks lengthily

of the level path of his return, or of the evening glow upon the

gilded roof of his awaiting home? Thus, this limit being reached in

the essential story of Chang Tao, Melodious Vision and the Dragon, he

who relates their commonplace happenings bows submissively.

Nevertheless it is true that once again in a later time Chang Tao

encountered in the throng one whom he recognized. Encouraged by the

presence of so many of his kind, he approached the other and saluted

him.

“Greeting, O Pe-lung,” he said, with outward confidence. “What bends

your footsteps to this busy place of men?”

“I come to buy an imitation pig-tail to pass for one,” replied

Pe-lung, with quiet composure. “Greeting, valorous champion! How fares

Melodious Vision?”

“Agreeably so,” admitted Chang Tao, and then, fearing that so far his

reply had been inadequate, he added: “Yet, despite the facts, there

are moments when this person almost doubts if he did not make a wrong

decision in the matter after all.”

“That is a very common complaint,” said Pe-lung, becoming most

offensively amused.

CHAPTER IX

The Propitious Dissension between Two whose General

Attributes have already been sufficiently Described

When Kai Lung had related the story of Chang Tao and had made an end

of speaking, those who were seated there agreed with an undivided

voice that he had competently fulfilled his task. Nor did Shan Tien

omit an approving word, adding:

“On one point the historical balance of a certain detail seemed open

to contention. Accompany me, therefore, to my own severe retreat,

where this necessarily flat and unentertaining topic can be looked at

from all round.”

When they were alone together the Mandarin unsealed a jar of wine,

apportioned melon seeds, and indicated to Kai Lung that he should sit

upon the floor at a suitable distance from himself.

“So long as we do not lose sight of the necessity whereby my official

position will presently involve me in condemning you to a painful

death, and your loyal subjection will necessitate your whole-hearted

co-operation in the act, there is no reason why the flower of literary

excellence should wither for lack of mutual husbandry,” remarked the

broad-minded official tolerantly.

“Your enlightened patronage is a continual nourishment to the soil of

my imagination,” replied the story teller.

“As regards the doings of Chang Tao and of the various other

personages who unite with him to form the fabric of the narrative,

would not a strict adherence to the fable in its classical simplicity

require the filling in of certain details which under your elusive

tongue seemed, as you proceeded, to melt imperceptibly into a discreet

background?”

“Your voice is just,” confessed Kai Lung, “and your harmonious ear

corrects the deficiencies of my afflicted style. Admittedly in the

story of Chang Tao there are here and there analogies which may be

fittingly left to the imagination as the occasion should demand. Is it

not rightly said: ‘Discretion is the handmaiden of Truth’? and in that

spacious and well-appointed palace there is every kind of vessel, but

the meaner are not to be seen in the more ceremonial halls. Thus he

who tells a story prudently suits his furnishing to the condition of

his hearers.”

“Wisdom directs your course,” replied Shan Tien, “and propriety sits

beneath your supple tongue. As the necessity for this very seemly

expurgation is now over, I would myself listen to your recital of the

fullest and most detailed version--purely, let it be freely stated, in

order to judge whether its literary qualities transcend those of the

other.”

“I comply, benevolence,” replied Kai Lung. “This rendering shall be to

the one that has gone before as a spreading banyan-tree overshadowing

an immature shrub.”

“Forbear!” exclaimed a discordant voice, and the sour-eyed Ming-shu

revealed his inopportune presence from behind a hanging veil. “Is it

meet, O eminence, that in this person’s absence you should thus

consort on terms of fraternity with tomb-riflers and grain-thieves?”

“The reproach is easily removed,” replied Shan Tien hospitably. “Join

the circle of our refined felicity and hear at full length by what

means the ingenious Chang Tao--”

“There are moments when one despairs before the spectacle of authority

thus displayed,” murmured Ming-shu, his throat thickening with

acrimony. “Understand, pre-eminence,” he continued more aloud, “that

not this one’s absence but your own presence is the distressing

feature, as being an obstacle in the path of that undeviating justice

in which our legal system is embedded. From the first moment of our

encountering it had been my well-intentioned purpose that loyal

confidence should be strengthened and rebellion cowed by submitting

this opportune but otherwise inoffensive stranger to a sordid and

degrading end. Yet how shall this beneficent example be attained if on

every occasion--”

“Your design is a worthy and enlightened one,” interposed the

Mandarin, with dignity. “What you have somewhat incapably overlooked,

Ming-shu, is the fact that I never greet this intelligent and

painstaking young man without reminding him of the imminence of his

fate and of his suitability for it.”

“Truth adorns your lips and accuracy anoints your palate,”

volunteered Kai Lung.

“Be this as the destinies permit, there is much that is circuitous in

the bending of events,” contended Ming-shu stubbornly. “Is it by

chance or through some hidden tricklage that occasion always finds Kai

Lung so adequately prepared?”

“It is, as the story of Chang Tao has this day justified, and as this

discriminating person has frequently maintained, that the one in

question has a story framed to meet the requirement of every

circumstance,” declared Shan Tien.

“Or that each requirement is subtly shaped to meet his preparation,”

retorted Ming-shu darkly. “Be that as it shall perchance ultimately

appear, it is undeniable that your admitted weaknesses--”

“Weaknesses!” exclaimed the astonished Mandarin, looking around the

room as though to discover in what crevice the unheard-of attributes

were hidden. “This person’s weaknesses? Can the sounding properties of

this ill-constructed roof thus pervert one word into the semblance of

another? If not, the bounds set to the admissible from the taker-down

of the spoken word, Ming-shu, do not in their most elastic moods

extend to calumny and distortion. . . . The one before you has no

weaknesses. . . . Doubtless before another moon has changed you will

impute to him actual faults!”

“Humility directs my gaze,” replied Ming-shu, with downcast eyes, and

he plainly recognized that his presumption had been too maintained.

“Yet,” he added, with polished irony, “there is a well-timed adage

that rises to the lips: ‘Do not despair; even Yuen Yan once cast a

missile at the Tablets!’”

“Truly,” agreed Shan Tien, with smooth concurrence, “the line is not

unknown to me. Who, however, was the one in question and under what

provocation did he so behave?”

“That is beyond the province of the saying,” replied Ming-shu. “Nor is

it known to my remembrance.”

“Then out of your own mouth a fitting test is set, which if Kai Lung

can agreeably perform will at once demonstrate a secret and a guilty

confederacy between you both. Proceed, O story-teller, to incriminate

Ming-shu together with yourself!”

“I proceed, High Excellence, but chiefly to the glorification of your

all-discerning mind,” replied Kai Lung.

The Story of Yuen Yan, of the Barber Chou-hu,

and His Wife Tsae-che

“Do not despair; even Yuen Yan once cast a missile at the Tablets,” is

a proverb of encouragement well worn throughout the Empire; but

although it is daily on the lips of some it is doubtful if a single

person could give an intelligent account of the Yuen Yan in question

beyond repeating the outside facts that he was of a humane and

consistent disposition and during the greater part of his life

possessed every desirable attribute of wealth, family and virtuous

esteem. If more closely questioned with reference to the specific

incident alluded to, these persons would not hesitate to assert that

the proverb was not to be understood in so superficial a sense,

protesting, with much indignation, that Yuen Yan was of too courteous

and lofty a nature to be guilty of so unseemly an action, and

contemptuously inquiring what possible reason one who enjoyed every

advantage in this world and every prospect of an unruffled felicity in

The Beyond could have for behaving in so outrageous a manner. This

explanation by no means satisfied the one who now narrates, and after

much research he has brought to light the forgotten story of Yuen

Yan’s early life, which may be thus related.

At the period with which this part of the narrative is concerned, Yuen

Yan dwelt with his mother in one of the least attractive of the arches

beneath the city wall. As a youth it had been his intention to take an

exceptionally high place in the public examinations, and, rising at

once to a position of responsible authority, to mark himself out for

continual promotion by the exercise of unfailing discretion and

indomitable zeal. Having saved his country in a moment of acute

national danger, he contemplated accepting a title of unique

distinction and retiring to his native province, where he would build

an adequate palace which he had already planned out down to the most

trivial detail. There he purposed spending the remainder of his life,

receiving frequent tokens of regard from the hand of the gratified

Emperor, marrying an accomplished and refined wife who would doubtless

be one of the princesses of the Imperial House, and conscientiously

regarding The Virtues throughout. The transition from this sumptuously

contrived residence to a damp arch in the city wall, and from the high

destiny indicated to the occupation of leading from place to place a

company of sightless mendicants, had been neither instantaneous nor

painless, but Yuen Yan had never for a moment wavered from the

enlightened maxims which he had adopted as his guiding principles, nor

did he suffer unending trials to lessen his reverence for The Virtues.

“Having set out with the full intention of becoming a wealthy

mandarin, it would have been a small achievement to have reached that

position with unshattered ideals,” he frequently remarked; “but having

thus set out it is a matter for more than ordinary congratulation to

have fallen to the position of leading a string of blind beggars about

the city and still to retain unimpaired the ingenuous beliefs and

aspirations of youth.”

“Doubtless,” replied his aged mother, whenever she chanced to overhear

this honourable reflection, “doubtless the foolish calf who innocently

puts his foot into the jelly finds a like consolation. This person,

however, would gladly exchange the most illimitable moral satisfaction

engendered by acute poverty for a few of the material comforts of a

sordid competence, nor would she hesitate to throw into the balance

all the aspirations and improving sayings to be found within the

Classics.”

“Esteemed mother,” protested Yan, “more than three thousand years ago

the royal philosopher Nin-hyo made the observation: ‘Better an

earth-lined cave from which the stars are visible than a golden pagoda

roofed over with iniquity,’ and the saying has stood the test of

time.”

“The remark would have carried a weightier conviction if the

broad-minded sovereign had himself first stood the test of lying for a

few years with enlarged joints and afflicted bones in the abode he so

prudently recommended for others,” replied his mother, and without

giving Yuen Yan any opportunity of bringing forward further proof of

their highly-favoured destiny she betook herself to her own straw at

the farthest end of the arch.

Up to this period of his life Yuen Yan’s innate reverence and courtesy

of manner had enabled him to maintain an impassive outlook in the face

of every discouragement, but now he was exposed to a fresh series of

trials in addition to the unsympathetic attitude which his mother

never failed to unroll before him. It has already been expressed that

Yuen Yan’s occupation and the manner by which he gained his livelihood

consisted in leading a number of blind mendicants about the streets of

the city and into the shops and dwelling-places of those who might

reasonably be willing to pay in order to be relieved of their

presence. In this profession Yan’s venerating and custom-regarding

nature compelled him to act as leaders of blind beggars had acted

throughout all historical times and far back into the dim recesses of

legendary epochs and this, in an era when the leisurely habits of the

past were falling into disuse, and when rivals and competitors were

springing up on all sides, tended almost daily to decrease the

proceeds of his labour and to sow an insidious doubt even in his

unquestioning mind.

In particular, among those whom Yan regarded most objectionably was

one named Ho. Although only recently arrived in the city from a

country beyond the Bitter Water, Ho was already known in every quarter

both to the merchants and stallkeepers, who trembled at his

approaching shadow, and to the competing mendicants who now counted

their cash with two fingers where they had before needed both hands.

This distressingly active person made no secret of his methods and

intention; for, upon his arrival, he plainly announced that his object

was to make the foundations of benevolence vibrate like the strings of

a many-toned lute, and he compared his general progress through the

haunts of the charitably disposed to the passage of a highly-charged

firework through an assembly of meditative turtles. He was usually

known, he added, as “the rapidly-moving person,” or “the one devoid of

outline,” and it soon became apparent that he was also quite destitute

of all dignified restraint. Selecting the place of commerce of some

wealthy merchant, Ho entered without hesitation and thrusting aside

the waiting customers he continued to strike the boards impatiently

until he gained the attention of the chief merchant himself.

“Honourable salutations,” he would say, “but do not entreat this

illiterate person to enter the inner room, for he cannot tarry to

discuss the movements of the planets or the sublime Emperor’s health.

Behold, for half-a-tael of silver you may purchase immunity from his

discreditable persistence for seven days; here is the acknowledgement

duly made out and attested. Let the payment be made in pieces of metal

and not in paper obligations.” Unless immediate compliance followed Ho

at once began noisily to cast down the articles of commerce, to roll

bodily upon the more fragile objects, to become demoniacally possessed

on the floor, and to resort to a variety of expedients until all the

customers were driven forth in panic.

In the case of an excessively stubborn merchant he had not hesitated

to draw a formidable knife and to gash himself in a superficial but

very imposing manner; then he had rushed out uttering cries of terror,

and sinking down by the door had remained there for the greater part

of the day, warning those who would have entered to be upon their

guard against being enticed in and murdered, at the same time groaning

aloud and displaying his own wounds. Even this seeming disregard of

time was well considered, for when the tidings spread about the city

other merchants did not wait for Ho to enter and greet them, but

standing at their doors money in hand they pressed it upon him the

moment he appeared and besought him to remove his distinguished

presence from their plague-infected street. To the ordinary mendicants

of the city this stress of competition was disastrous, but to Yuen Yan

it was overwhelming. Thoroughly imbued with the deferential systems of

antiquity, he led his band from place to place with a fitting regard

for the requirements of ceremonial etiquette and a due observance of

leisurely unconcern. Those to whom he addressed himself he approached

with obsequious tact, and in the face of refusal to contribute to his

store his most violent expedient did not go beyond marshalling his

company of suppliants in an orderly group upon the shop floor, where

they sang in unison a composed chant extolling the fruits of

munificence and setting forth the evil plight which would certainly

attend the flinty-stomached in the Upper Air. In this way Yuen Yan had

been content to devote several hours to a single shop in the hope of

receiving finally a few pieces of brass money; but now his

persecutions were so mild that the merchants and vendors rather

welcomed him by comparison with the intolerable Ho, and would on no

account pay to be relieved of the infliction of his presence. “Have we

not disbursed in one day to the piratical Ho thrice the sum which we

had set by to serve its purpose for a hand-count of moons; and do we

possess the Great Secret?” they cried. “Nevertheless, dispose your

engaging band of mendicants about the place freely until it suits your

refined convenience to proceed elsewhere, O meritorious Yuen Yan, for

your unassuming qualities have won our consistent regard; but an

insatiable sponge has already been laid upon the well-spring of our

benevolence and the tenacity of our closed hand is inflexible.”

Even the passive mendicants began to murmur against his leadership,

urging him that he should adopt some of the simpler methods of the

gifted Ho and thereby save them all from an otherwise inevitable

starvation. The Emperor Kai-tsing, said the one who led their voices

(referring in his malignant bitterness to a sovereign of the previous

dynasty), was dead, although the fact had doubtless escaped Yuen Yan’s

deliberate perception. The methods of four thousand years ago were

becoming obsolete in the face of a strenuous competition, and unless

Yuen Yan was disposed to assume a more highly-coiled appearance they

must certainly address themselves to another leader.

It was on this occasion that the incident took place which has passed

down in the form of an inspiriting proverb. Yuen Yan had

conscientiously delivered at the door of his abode the last of his

company and was turning his footsteps towards his own arch when he

encountered the contumelious Ho, who was likewise returning at the

close of a day’s mendicancy--but with this distinction: that, whereas

Ho was followed by two stalwart attendants carrying between them a

sack full of money, Yan’s share of his band’s enterprise consisted

solely of one base coin of a kind which the charitable set aside for

bestowing upon the blind and quite useless for all ordinary purposes

of exchange. A few paces farther on Yan reached the Temple of the

Unseen Forces and paused for a moment, as his custom was, to cast his

eyes up to the tablets engraved with The Virtues, before which some

devout person nightly hung a lantern. Goaded by a sudden impulse, Yan

looked each way about the deserted street, and perceiving that he was

alone he deliberately extended his out-thrust tongue towards the

inspired precepts. Then taking from an inner sleeve the base coin he

flung it at the inscribed characters and observed with satisfaction

that it struck the verse beginning, “The Rewards of a Quiescent and

Mentally-introspective Life are Unbounded--”

When Yan entered his arch some hours later his mother could not fail

to perceive that a subtle change had come over his manner of behaving.

Much of the leisurely dignity had melted out of his footsteps, and he

wore his hat and outer garments at an angle which plainly testified

that he was a person who might be supposed to have a marked objection

to returning home before the early hours of the morning. Furthermore,

as he entered he was chanting certain melodious words by which he

endeavoured to convey the misleading impression that his chief

amusement consisted in defying the official watchers of the town, and

he continually reiterated a claim to be regarded as “one of the

beardless goats.” Thus expressing himself, Yan sank down in his

appointed corner and would doubtlessly soon have been floating

peacefully in the Middle Distance had not the door been again thrown

open and a stranger named Chou-hu entered.

“Prosperity!” said Chou-hu courteously, addressing himself to Yan’s

mother. “Have you eaten your rice? Behold, I come to lay before you a

very attractive proposal regarding your son.”

“The flower attracts the bee, but when he departs it is to his lips

that the honey clings,” replied the woman cautiously; for after Yan’s

boastful words on entering she had a fear lest haply this person might

be one on behalf of some guardian of the night whom her son had flung

across the street (as he had specifically declared his habitual

treatment of them to be) come to take him by stratagem.

“Does the pacific lamb become a wolf by night?” said Chou-hu,

displaying himself reassuringly. “Wrap your ears well round my words,

for they may prove very remunerative. It cannot be a matter outside

your knowledge that the profession of conducting an assembly of blind

mendicants from place to place no longer yields the wage of even a

frugal existence in this city. In the future, for all the sympathy

that he will arouse, Yan might as well go begging with a silver bowl.

In consequence of his speechless condition he will be unable to

support either you or himself by any other form of labour, and your

line will thereupon become extinct and your standing in the Upper Air

be rendered intolerable.”

“It is a remote contingency, but, as the proverb says, ‘The wise hen

is never too old to dread the Spring,’” replied Yan’s mother, with

commendable prudence. “By what means, then, may this calamity be

averted?”

“The person before you,” continued Chou-hu, “is a barber and

embellisher of pig-tails from the street leading to the Three-tiered

Pagoda of Eggs. He has long observed the restraint and moderation of

Yan’s demeanour and now being in need of one to assist him his

earliest thought turns to him. The affliction which would be an

insuperable barrier in all ordinary cases may here be used to

advantage, for being unable to converse with those seated before him,

or to hear their salutations, Yan will be absolved from the necessity

of engaging in diffuse and refined conversation, and in consequence he

will submit at least twice the number of persons to his dexterous

energies. In that way he will secure a higher reward than this person

could otherwise afford and many additional comforts will doubtless

fall into the sleeve of his engaging mother.”

At this point the woman began to understand that the sense in which

Chou-hu had referred to Yan’s speechless condition was not that which

she had at the time deemed it to be. It may here be made clear that it

was Yuen Yan’s custom to wear suspended about his neck an inscribed

board bearing the words, “Speechless, and devoid of the faculty of

hearing,” but this originated out of his courteous and deferential

nature (for to his self-obliterative mind it did not seem respectful

that he should appear to be better endowed than those whom he led),

nor could it be asserted that he wilfully deceived even the passing

stranger, for he would freely enter into conversation with anyone whom

he encountered. Nevertheless an impression had thus been formed in

Chou-hu’s mind and the woman forbore to correct it, thinking that it

would be scarcely polite to assert herself better informed on any

subject than he was, especially as he had spoken of Yan thereby

receiving a higher wage. Yan himself would certainly have revealed

something had he not been otherwise employed. Hearing the conversation

turn towards his afflictions, he at once began to search very

industriously among the straw upon which he lay for the inscribed

board in question; for to his somewhat confused imagination it seemed

at the time that only by displaying it openly could he prove to

Chou-hu that he was in no way deficient. As the board was found on the

following morning nailed to the great outer door of the Hall of Public

Justice (where it remained for many days owing to the official

impression that so bold and undeniable a pronouncement must have

received the direct authority of the sublime Emperor), Yan was not

unnaturally engaged for a considerable time, and in the meanwhile his

mother contrived to impress upon him by an unmistakable sign that he

should reveal nothing, but leave the matter in her hands.

Then said Yan’s mother: “Truly the proposal is not altogether wanting

in alluring colours, but in what manner will Yan interpret the

commands of those who place themselves before him, when he has

attained sufficient proficiency to be entrusted with the knife and the

shearing irons?”

“The objection is a superficial one,” replied Chou-hu. “When a person

seats himself upon the operating stool he either throws back his head,

fixing his eyes upon the upper room with a set and resolute air, or

inclines it slightly forward as in a reverent tranquillity. In the

former case he requires his uneven surfaces to be made smooth; in the

latter he is desirous that his pig-tail should be drawn out and

trimmed. Do not doubt Yan’s capability to conduct himself in a

discreet and becoming manner, but communicate to him, by the usual

means which you adopt, the offer thus laid out, and unless he should

be incredibly obtuse or unfilial to a criminal degree he will present

himself at the Sign of the Gilt Thunderbolt at an early hour

to-morrow.”

There is a prudent caution expressed in the proverb, “The hand that

feeds the ox grasps the knife when it is fattened: crawl backwards

from the presence of a munificent official.” Chou-hu, in spite of his

plausible pretext, would have experienced no difficulty in obtaining

the services of one better equipped to assist him than was Yuen Yan,

so that in order to discover his real object it becomes necessary to

look underneath his words. He was indeed, as he had stated, a barber

and an embellisher of pig-tails, and for many years he had grown rich

and round-bodied on the reputation of being one of the most skilful

within his quarter of the city. In an evil moment, however, he had

abandoned the moderation of his past life and surrounded himself with

an atmosphere of opium smoke and existed continually in the

mind-dimming effects of rice-spirit. From this cause his custom began

to languish; his hand no longer swept in the graceful and unhesitating

curves which had once been the admiration of all beholders, but

displayed on the contrary a very disconcerting irregularity of

movement, and on the day of his visit he had shorn away the venerable

moustaches of the baker Heng-cho under a mistaken impression as to the

reality of things and a wavering vision of their exact position. Now

the baker had been inordinately proud of his long white moustaches and

valued them above all his possessions, so that, invoking the spirits

of his ancestors to behold his degradation and to support him in his

resolve, and calling in all the passers-by to bear witness to his

oath, he had solemnly bound himself either to cut down Chou-hu

fatally, or, should that prove too difficult an accomplishment, to

commit suicide within his shop. This twofold danger thoroughly

stupefied Chou-hu and made him incapable of taking any action beyond

consuming further and more unstinted portions of rice-spirit and

rending article after article of his apparel until his wife Tsae-che

modestly dismissed such persons as loitered, and barred the outer

door.

“Open your eyes upon the facts by which you are surrounded, O

contemptible Chou-hu,” she said, returning to his side and standing

over him. “Already your degraded instincts have brought us within

measurable distance of poverty, and if you neglect your business to

avoid Heng-cho, actual want will soon beset us. If you remain openly

within his sight you will certainly be removed forcibly to the Upper

Air, leaving this inoffensive person destitute and abandoned, and if

by the exercise of unfailing vigilance you escape both these dangers,

you will be reserved to an even worse plight, for Heng-cho in

desperation will inevitably carry out the latter part of his threat,

dedicating his spirit to the duty of continually haunting you and

frustrating your ambitions here on earth and calling to his assistance

myriads of ancestors and relations to torment you in the Upper Air.”

“How attractively and in what brilliantly-coloured outlines do you

present the various facts of existence!” exclaimed Chou-hu, with

inelegant resentment. “Do not neglect to add that, to-morrow being the

occasion of the Moon Festival, the inexorable person who owns this

residence will present himself to collect his dues, that, in

consequence of the rebellion in the south, the sagacious viceroy has

doubled the price of opium, that some irredeemable outcast has carried

away this person’s blue silk umbrella, and then doubtless the alluring

picture of internal felicity around the Ancestral Altar of the Gilt

Thunderbolt will be complete.”

“Light words are easily spoken behind barred doors,” said his wife

scornfully. “Let my lord, then, recline indolently upon the floor of

his inner chamber while this person sumptuously lulls him into

oblivion with the music of her voice, regardless of the morrow and of

the fate in which his apathy involves us both.”

“By no means!” exclaimed Chou-hu, rising hastily and tearing away much

of his elaborately arranged pigtail in his uncontrollable rage; “there

is yet a more pleasurable alternative than that and one which will

ensure to this person a period of otherwise unattainable domestic calm

and at the same time involve a detestable enemy in confusion.

Anticipating the dull-witted Heng-cho _this_ one will now proceed

across the street and, committing suicide within _his_ door, will

henceforth enjoy the honourable satisfaction of haunting _his_

footsteps and rending his bakehouses and ovens untenable.” With this

assurance Chou-hu seized one of his most formidable business weapons

and caused it to revolve around his head with great rapidity, but at

the same time with extreme carefulness.

“There is a ready saying: ‘The new-born lamb does not fear a tiger,

but before he becomes a sheep he will flee from a wolf,’” said

Tsae-che without in any way deeming it necessary to arrest Chou-hu’s

hand. “Full confidently will you set out, O Chou-hu, but to reach the

shop of Heng-cho it is necessary to pass the stall of the dealer in

abandoned articles, and next to it are enticingly spread out the wares

of Kong, the merchant in distilled spirits. Put aside your reliable

scraping iron while you still have it, and this not ill-disposed

person will lay before you a plan by which you may even yet avoid all

inconveniences and at the same time regain your failing commerce.”

“It is also said: ‘The advice of a wise woman will ruin a walled

city,’” replied Chou-hu, somewhat annoyed at his wife so opportunely

comparing him to a sheep, but still more concerned to hear by what

possible expedient she could successfully avert all the contending

dangers of his position. “Nevertheless, proceed.”

“In one of the least reputable quarters of the city there dwells a

person called Yuen Yan,” said the woman. “He is the leader of a band

of sightless mendicants and in this position he has frequently passed

your open door, though--probably being warned by the benevolent--he

has never yet entered. Now this Yuen Yan, save for one or two

unimportant details, is the reflected personification of your own

exalted image, nor would those most intimate with your form and

outline be able to pronounce definitely unless you stood side by side

before them. Furthermore, he is by nature unable to hear any remark

addressed to him, and is incapable of expressing himself in spoken

words. Doubtless by these indications my lord’s locust-like

intelligence will already have leapt to an inspired understanding of

the full project?”

“Assuredly,” replied Chou-hu, caressing himself approvingly. “The

essential details of the scheme are built about the ease with which

this person could present himself at the abode of Yuen Yan in his

absence and, gathering together that one’s store of wealth

unquestioned, retire with it to a distant and unknown spot and thereby

elude the implacable Heng-cho’s vengeance.”

“Leaving your menial one in the ‘walled city’ referred to, to share

its fate, and, in particular, to undertake the distressing obligation

of gathering up the atrocious Heng-cho after he has carried his final

threat into effect? Truly must the crystal stream of your usually

undimmed intelligence have become vaporized. Listen well. Disguising

your external features slightly so that the resemblance may pass

without remark, present yourself openly at the residence of the Yuen

Yan in question--”

“First learning where it is situated?” interposed Chou-hu, with a

desire to grasp the details competently.

“Unless a person of your retrospective taste would prefer to leave so

trivial a point until afterwards,” replied his wife in a tone of

concentrated no-sincerity. “In either case, however, having arrived

there, bargain with the one who has authority over Yuen Yan’s

movements, praising his demeanour and offering to accept him into the

honours and profits of your craft. The words of acquiescence should

spring to meet your own, for the various branches of mendicancy are

languishing, and Yuen Yan can have no secret store of wealth. Do not

hesitate to offer a higher wage than you would as an affair of

ordinary commerce, for your safety depends upon it. Having secured

Yan, teach him quickly the unpolished outlines of your business and

then clothing him in robes similar to your own let him take his stand

within the shop and withdraw yourself to the inner chamber. None will

suspect the artifice, and Yuen Yan is manifestly incapable of

betraying it. Heng-cho, seeing him display himself openly, will not

deem it necessary to commit suicide yet, and, should he cut down Yan

fatally, the officials of the street will seize him and your own

safety will be assured. Finally, if nothing particular happens, at

least your prosperity will be increased, for Yuen Yan will prove

_industrious_, _frugal_, _not addicted to excesses_ and in every way

_reliable_, and towards the shop of so exceptional a barber customers

will turn in an unending stream.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Chou-hu, “when you boasted of an inspired scheme

this person for a moment foolishly allowed his mind to contemplate the

possibility of your having accidentally stumbled upon such an

expedient haply, but your suggestion is only comparable with a company

of ducks attempting to cross an ice-bound stream--an excessive outlay

of action but no beneficial progress. Should Yuen Yan freely present

himself here on the morrow, pleading destitution and craving to be

employed, this person will consider the petition with an open head,

but it is beneath his dignity to wait upon so low-class an object.”

Affecting to recollect an arranged meeting of some importance, Chou-hu

then clad himself in other robes, altered the appearance of his face,

and set out to act in the manner already described, confident that the

exact happening would never reach his lesser one’s ears.

On the following day Yuen Yan presented himself at the door of the

Gilt Thunderbolt, and quickly perfecting himself in the simpler

methods of smoothing surfaces and adorning pig-tails he took his stand

within the shop and operated upon all who came to submit themselves to

his embellishment. To those who addressed him with salutations he

replied by a gesture, tactfully bestowing an agreeable welcome yet at

the same time conveying the impression that he was desirous of

remaining undisturbed in the philosophical reflection upon which he

was engaged. In spite of this it was impossible to lead his mind

astray from any weighty detail, and those who, presuming upon his

absorbed attitude, endeavoured to evade a just payment on any pretext

whatever invariably found themselves firmly but courteously pressed to

the wall by the neck, while a highly polished smoothing blade was

flashed to and fro before their eyes with an action of unmistakable

significance. The number of customers increased almost daily, for Yan

quickly proved himself to be expert above all comparison, while others

came from every quarter of the city to test with their own eyes and

ears the report that had reached them, to the effect that in the

street leading to the Three-tiered Pagoda of Eggs there dwelt a barber

who made no pretence of elegant and refined conversation and who did

not even press upon those lying helpless in his power miraculous

ointments and infallible charm-waters. Thus Chou-hu prospered greatly,

but Yan still obeyed his mother’s warning and raised a mask before his

face so that Chou-hu and his wife never doubted the reality of his

infirmities. From this cause they did not refrain from conversing

together freely before him on subjects of the most poignant detail,

whereby Yan learned much of their past lives and conduct while

maintaining an attitude of impassive unconcern.

Upon a certain evening in the month when the grass-blades are

transformed into silk-worms Yan was alone in the shop, improving the

edge and reflecting brilliance of some of his implements, when he heard

the woman exclaim from the inner room: “Truly the air from the desert

is as hot and devoid of relief as the breath of the Great Dragon. Let

us repose for the time in the outer chamber.” Whereupon they entered

the shop and seating themselves upon a couch resumed their

occupations, the barber fanning himself while he smoked, his wife

gumming her hair and coiling it into the semblance of a bird with

outstretched wings.

“The necessity for the elaborate caution of the past no longer

exists,” remarked Chou-hu presently. “The baker Heng-cho is desirous

of becoming one of those who select the paving-stones and regulate the

number of hanging lanterns for the district lying around the

Three-tiered Pagoda. In this ambition he is opposed by Kong, the

distilled-spirit vendor, who claims to be a more competent judge of

paving-stones and hanging lanterns and one who will exercise a

lynx-eyed vigilance upon the public outlay and especially devote

himself to curbing the avarice of those bread-makers who habitually

mix powdered white earth with their flour. Heng-cho is therefore very

concerned that many should bear honourable testimony of his engaging

qualities when the day of trial arrives, and thus positioned he has

inscribed and sent to this person a written message offering a

dignified reconciliation and adding that he is convinced of the

necessity of an enactment compelling all persons to wear a smooth face

and a neatly braided pig-tail.”

“It is a creditable solution of the matter,” said Tsae-che, speaking

between the ivory pins which she held in her mouth. “Henceforth, then,

you will take up your accustomed stand as in the past?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Chou-hu. “Yuen Yan is painstaking, and has

perhaps done as well as could be expected of one of his shallow

intellect, but the absence of suave and high-minded conversation

cannot fail to be alienating the custom of the more polished. Plainly

it is a short-sighted policy for a person to try and evade his destiny.

Yan seems to have been born for the express purpose of leading blind

beggars about the streets of the city and to that profession he must

return.”

“O distressingly superficial Chou-hu!” exclaimed his wife, “do men

turn willingly from wine to partake of vinegar, or having been clothed

in silk do they accept sackcloth without a struggle? Indeed, your

eyes, which are large to regard your own deeds and comforts, grow

small when they are turned towards the attainments of another. In no

case will Yan return to his mendicants, for his band is by this time

scattered and dispersed. His sleeve being now well lined and his hand

proficient in every detail of his craft, he will erect a stall,

perchance even directly opposite or next to ourselves, and by

subtlety, low charges and diligence he will draw away the greater part

of your custom.”

“Alas!” cried Chou-hu, turning an exceedingly inferior yellow, “there

is a deeper wisdom in the proverb, ‘Do not seek to escape from a flood

by clinging to a tiger’s tail,’ than appears at a casual glance. Now

that this person is contemplating gathering again into his own hands

the execution of his business, he cannot reasonably afford to employ

another, yet it is an intolerable thought that Yan should make use of

his experience to set up a sign opposed to the Gilt Thunderbolt.

Obviously the only really safe course out of an unpleasant dilemma

will be to slay Yan with as little delay as possible. After receiving

continuous marks of our approval for so long it is certainly very

thoughtless of him to put us to so unpardonable an inconvenience.”

“It is not an alluring alternative,” confessed Tsae-che, crossing the

room to where Yan was seated in order to survey her hair to greater

advantage in a hanging mirror of three sides composed of burnished

copper; “but there seems nothing else to be done in the difficult

circumstances.”

“The street is opportunely empty and there is little likelihood of

anyone approaching at this hour,” suggested Chou-hu. “What better

scheme could be devised than that I should indicate to Yan by signs

that I would honour him, and at the same time instruct him further in

the correct pose of some of the recognized attitudes, by making smooth

the surface of his face? Then during the operation I might perchance

slip upon an overripe whampee lying unperceived upon the floor; my

hand--”

“Ah-_ah_!” cried Tsae-che aloud, pressing her symmetrical fingers

against her gracefully-proportioned ears; “do not, thou dragon-headed

one, lead the conversation to such an extremity of detail, still less

carry the resolution into effect before the very eyes of this

delicately-susceptible person. Now to-morrow, after the midday meal,

she will be journeying as far as the street of the venders of woven

fabrics in order to procure a piece of silk similar to the pearl-grey

robe which she is wearing. The opportunity will be a favourable one,

for to-morrow is the weekly occasion on which you raise the shutters

and deny customers at an earlier hour; and it is really more modest

that one of my impressionable refinement should be away from the house

altogether and not merely in the inner chamber when that which is now

here passes out.”

“The suggestion is well timed,” replied Chou-hu. “No interruption will

then be possible.”

“Furthermore,” continued his wife, sprinkling upon her hair a perfumed

powder of gold which made it sparkle as it engaged the light at every

point with a most entrancing lustre, “would it not be desirable to use

a weapon less identified with your own hand? In the corner nearest to

Yan there stands a massive and heavily knotted club which could

afterwards be burned. It would be an easy matter to call the simple

Yan’s attention to some object upon the floor and then as he bent down

suffer him to Pass Beyond.”

“Assuredly,” agreed Chou-hu, at once perceiving the wisdom of the

change; “also, in that case, there would be less--”

“_Ah_!” again cried the woman, shaking her upraised finger reprovingly

at Chou-hu (for so daintily endowed was her mind that she shrank from

any of the grosser realities of the act unless they were clothed in

the very gilded flowers of speech). “Desist, O crimson-minded

barbarian! Let us now walk side by side along the river bank and drink

in the soul-stirring melody of the musicians who at this hour will be

making the spot doubly attractive with the concord of stringed woods

and instruments of brass struck with harmonious unison.”

The scheme for freeing Chou-hu from the embarrassment of Yan’s position

was not really badly arranged, nor would it have failed in most cases,

but the barber was not sufficiently broad-witted to see that many of

the inspired sayings which he used as arguments could be taken in

another light and conveyed a decisive warning to himself. A pleasantly

devised proverb has been aptly compared to a precious jewel, and as

the one has a hundred light-reflecting surfaces, so has the other a

diversity of applications, until it is not infrequently beyond the

comprehension of an ordinary person to know upon which side wisdom and

prudence lie. On the following afternoon Yan was seated in his

accustomed corner when Chou-hu entered the shop with uneven feet. The

barriers against the street had been raised and the outer door was

barred so that none might intrude, while Chou-hu had already carefully

examined the walls to ensure that no crevices remained unsealed. As he

entered he was seeking, somewhat incoherently, to justify himself by

assuring the deities that he had almost changed his mind until he

remembered the many impious acts on Yan’s part in the past, to avenge

which he felt himself to be their duly appointed instrument.

Furthermore, to convince them of the excellence of his motive (and

also to protect himself against the influence of evil spirits) he

advanced repeating the words of an invocation which in his youth he

had been accustomed to say daily in the temple, and thereupon Yan knew

that the moment was at hand.

“Behold, master!” he exclaimed suddenly, in clearly expressed words,

“something lies at your feet.”

Chou-hu looked down to the floor and lying before him was a piece of

silver. To his dull and confused faculties it sounded an inaccurate

detail of his pre-arranged plan that Yan should have addressed him,

and the remark itself seemed dimly to remind him of something that he

had intended to say, but he was too involved with himself to be able

to attach any logical significance to the facts and he at once stooped

greedily to possess the coin. Then Yan, who had an unfaltering grasp

upon the necessities of each passing second, sprang agilely forward,

swung the staff, and brought it so proficiently down upon Chou-hu’s

lowered head that the barber dropped lifeless to the ground and the

weapon itself was shattered by the blow. Without a pause Yan clothed

himself with his master’s robes and ornaments, wrapped his own garment

about Chou-hu instead, and opening a stone door let into the ground

rolled the body through so that it dropped down into the cave beneath.

He next altered the binding of his hair a little, cut his lips deeply

for a set purpose, and then reposing upon the couch of the inner

chamber he took up one of Chou-hu’s pipes and awaited Tsae-che’s

return.

“It is unendurable that they of the silk market should be so

ill-equipped,” remarked Tsae-che discontentedly as she entered. “This

pitiable one has worn away the heels of her sandals in a vain

endeavour to procure a suitable embroidery, and has turned over the

contents of every stall to no material end. How have the events of the

day progressed with you, my lord?”

“To the fulfilling of a written destiny. Yet in a measure darkly, for

a light has gone out,” replied Yuen Yan.

“There was no unanticipated divergence?” inquired the woman with

interest and a marked approval of this delicate way of expressing the

operation of an unpleasant necessity.

“From detail to detail it was as this person desired and contrived,”

said Yan.

“And, of a surety, this one also?” claimed Tsae-che, with an internal

emotion that something was insidiously changed in which she had no

adequate part.

“The language may be fully expressed in six styles of writing, but who

shall read the mind of a woman?” replied Yan evasively. “Nevertheless,

in explicit words, the overhanging shadow has departed and the future

is assured.”

“It is well,” said Tsae-che. “Yet how altered is your voice, and for

what reason do you hold a cloth before your mouth?”

“The staff broke and a splinter flying upwards pierced my lips,” said

Yan, lowering the cloth. “You speak truly, for the pain attending each

word is by no means slight, and scarcely can this person recognize his

own voice.”

“Oh, incomparable Chou-hu, how valiantly do you bear your sufferings!”

exclaimed Tsae-che remorsefully. “And while this heedless one has been

passing the time pleasantly in handling rich brocades you have been

lying here in anguish. Behold now, without delay she will prepare food

to divert your mind, and to mark the occasion she had already

purchased a little jar of gold-fish gills, two eggs branded with the

assurance that they have been earth-buried for eleven years, and a

small serpent preserved in oil.”

When they had eaten for some time in silence Yuen Yan again spoke.

“Attend closely to my words,” he said, “and if you perceive any

disconcerting oversight in the scheme which I am about to lay before

you do not hesitate to declare it. The threat which Heng-cho the baker

swore he swore openly, and many reputable witnesses could be gathered

together who would confirm his words, while the written message of

reconciliation which he sent will be known to none. Let us therefore

take that which lies in the cave beneath and clothing it in my robes

bear it unperceived as soon as the night has descended and leave it in

the courtyard of Heng-cho’s house. Now Heng-cho has a fig plantation

outside the city, so that when he rises early, as his custom is, and

finds the body, he will carry it away to bury it secretly there,

remembering his impetuous words and well knowing the net of entangling

circumstances which must otherwise close around him. At that moment

you will appear before him, searching for your husband, and suspecting

his burden raise an outcry that may draw the neighbours to your side

if necessary. On this point, however, be discreetly observant, for if

the tumult calls down the official watch it will go evilly with

Heng-cho, but we shall profit little. The greater likelihood is that

as soon as you lift up your voice the baker will implore you to

accompany him back to his house so that he may make a full and

honourable compensation. This you will do, and hastening the

negotiation as much as is consistent with a seemly regard for your

overwhelming grief, you will accept not less than five hundred taels

and an undertaking that a suitable funeral will be provided.”

“O thrice-versatile Chou-hu!” exclaimed Tsae-che, whose eyes had

reflected an ever-increasing sparkle of admiration as Yan unfolded the

details of his scheme, “how insignificant are the minds of others

compared with yours! Assuredly you have been drinking at some magic

well in this one’s absence, for never before was your intellect so

keen and lustreful. Let us at once carry your noble stratagem into

effect, for this person’s toes vibrate to bear her on a project of

such remunerative ingenuity.”

Accordingly they descended into the cave beneath and taking up Chou-hu

they again dressed him in his own robes. In his inner sleeve Yan

placed some parchments of slight importance; he returned the jade

bracelet to his wrist and by other signs he made his identity

unmistakable; then lifting him between them, when the night was well

advanced, they carried him through unfrequented ways and left him

unperceived within Heng-cho’s gate.

“There is yet another precaution which will ensure to you the

sympathetic voices of all if it should become necessary to appeal

openly,” said Yuen Yan when they had returned. “I will make out a deed

of final intention conferring all I possess upon Yuen Yan as a mark of

esteem for his conscientious services, and this you can produce if

necessary in order to crush the niggard baker in the wine-press of

your necessitous destitution.” Thereupon Yan drew up such a document

as he had described, signing it with Chou-hu’s name and sealing it

with his ring, while Tsae-che also added her sign and attestation. He

then sent her to lurk upon the roof, strictly commanding her to keep

an undeviating watch upon Heng-cho’s movements.

It was about the hour before dawn when Heng-cho appeared, bearing

across his back a well-filled sack and carrying in his right hand a

spade. His steps were turned towards the fig orchard of which Yan had

spoken, so that he must pass Chou-hu’s house, but before he reached it

Tsae-che had glided out and with loosened hair and trailing robes she

sped along the street. Presently there came to Yuen Yan’s waiting ear

a long-drawn cry and the sounds of many shutters being flung open and

the tread of hurrying feet. The moments hung about him like the wings

of a dragon-dream, but a prudent restraint chained him to the inner

chamber.

It was fully light when Tsae-che returned, accompanied by one whom she

dismissed before she entered. “Felicity,” she explained, placing

before Yan a heavy bag of silver. “Your word has been accomplished.”

“It is sufficient,” replied Yan in a tone from which every tender

modulation was absent, as he laid the silver by the side of the

parchment which he had drawn up. “For what reason is the outer door

now barred and they who drink tea with us prevented from entering to

wish Yuen Yan prosperity?”

“Strange are my lord’s words, and the touch of his breath is cold to

his menial one,” said the woman in doubting reproach.

“It will scarcely warm even the roots of Heng-cho’s fig-trees,”

replied Yuen Yan with unveiled contempt. “Stretch across your hand.”

In trembling wonder Tsae-che laid her hand upon the ebony table which

stood between them and slowly advanced it until Yan seized it and held

it firmly in his own. For a moment he held it, compelling the woman to

gaze with a soul-crushing dread into his face, then his features

relaxed somewhat from the effort by which he had controlled them, and

at the sight Tsae-che tore away her hand and with a scream which

caused those outside to forget the memory of every other cry they had

ever heard, she cast herself from the house and was seen in the city

no more.

These are the pages of the forgotten incident in the life of Yuen Yan

which this narrator has sought out and discovered. Elsewhere, in the

lesser Classics, it may be read that the person in question afterwards

lived to a venerable age and finally Passed Above surrounded by every

luxury, after leading an existence consistently benevolent and marked

by an even exceptional adherence to the principles and requirements of

The Virtues.

CHAPTER X

The Incredible Obtuseness of Those who had Opposed

the Virtuous Kai Lung

It was later than the appointed hour that same day when Kai Lung and

Hwa-mei met about the shutter, for the Mandarin’s importunity had

disturbed the harmonious balance of their fixed arrangement. As the

story-teller left the inner chamber a message of understanding, veiled

from those who stood around, had passed between their eyes, and so

complete was the sympathy that now directed them that without a spoken

word their plans were understood. Li-loe’s acquiescence had been

secured by the bestowal of a flask of wine (provided already by

Hwa-mei against such an emergency), and though the door-keeper had

indicated reproach by a variety of sounds, he forbore from speaking

openly of any vaster store.

“Let the bitterness of this one’s message be that which is first

spoken, so that the later and more enduring words of our remembrance

may be devoid of sting. A star has shone across my mediocre path which

now an envious cloud has conspired to obscure. This meeting will

doubtless be our last.”

Then replied Kai Lung from the darkness of the space above, his voice

unhurried as its wont:

“If this is indeed the end, then to the spirits of the destinies I

prostrate myself in thanks for those golden hours that have gone

before, and had there been no others to recall then would I equally

account myself repaid in life and death by this.”

“My words ascend with yours in a pale spiral to the bosom of the

universal mother,” Hwa-mei made response. “I likewise am content,

having tasted this felicity.”

“There is yet one other thing, esteemed, if such a presumption is to

be endured,” Kai Lung ventured to request. “Each day a stone has been

displaced from off the wall and these now lie about your gentle feet.

If you should inconvenience yourself to the extent of standing upon

the mound thus raised, and would stretch up your hand, I, leaning

forth, could touch it with my finger-tips.”

“This also will I dare to do and feel it no reproach,” replied

Hwa-mei; thus for the first time their fingers met.

“Let me now continue the ignoble message that my unworthy lips must

bear,” resumed the maiden, with a gesture of refined despair.

“Ming-shu and Shan Tien, recognizing a mutual need in each, have

agreed to forego their wordy strife and have entered upon a common

cause. To mark this reconciliation the Mandarin to-morrow night will

make a feast of wine and song in honour of Ming-shu and into this

assembly you will be led, bound and wearing the wooden cang, to

contribute to their offensive mirth. To this end you will not be

arraigned to-morrow, but on the following morning at a special court

swift sentence will be passed and carried out, neither will Shan Tien

suffer any interruption nor raise an arresting hand.”

The darkness by this time encompassed them so that neither could see

the other’s face, but across the scent-laden air Hwa-mei was conscious

of a subtle change, as of a poise or the tightening of a responsive

cord.

“This is the end?” she whispered up, unable to sustain. “Ah, is it not

the end?”

“In the high wall of destiny that bounds our lives there is ever a

hidden gap to which the Pure Ones may guide our unconscious steps

perchance, if they see fit to intervene. . . . So that to-morrow,

being the eleventh of the Moon of Gathering-in, is to be celebrated by

the noble Mandarin with song and wine? Truly the nimble-witted

Ming-shu must have slumbered by the way!”

“Assuredly he has but now returned from a long journey.”

“Haply he may start upon a longer. Have the musicians been commanded

yet?”

“Even now one goes to inform the leader of their voices and to bid him

hold his band in readiness.”

“Let it be your continual aim that nothing bars their progress. Where

does that just official dwell of whom you lately spoke?”

“The Censor K’o-yih, he who rebuked Shan Tien’s ambitions and made him

mend his questionable life? His yamen is about the Three-eyed Gate of

Tai, a half-day’s journey to the south.”

“The lines converge and the issues of Shan Tien, Ming-shu and we who

linger here will presently be brought to a very decisive point where

each must play a clear-cut part. To that end is your purpose firm?”

“Lay your commands,” replied Hwa-mei steadfastly, “and measure not the

burden of their weight.”

“It is well,” agreed Kai Lung. “Let Shan Tien give the feast and the

time of acquiescence will have passed. . . . The foothold of to-morrow

looms insecure, yet a very pressing message must meanwhile reach your

hands.”

“At the feast?”

“Thus: about the door of the inner hall are two great jars of shining

brass, one on either side, and at their approach a step. Being led, at

that step I shall stumble. . . . the message you will thereafter find

in the jar from which I seek support.”

“It shall be to me as your spoken word. Alas! the moment of recall is

already here.”

“Doubt not; we stand on the edge of an era that is immeasurable. For

that emergency I now go to consult the spirits who have so far guided

us.”

On the following day at an evening hour Kai Lung received an imperious

summons to accompany one who led him to the inner courts. Yet neither

the cords about his arms nor the pillory around his neck could contain

the gladness of his heart. From within came the sounds of instruments

of wood and string with the measured beating of a drum; nothing had

fallen short, for on that forbidden day, incredibly blind to the

depths of his impiety, the ill-starred Mandarin Shan Tien was having

music!

“Gall of a misprocured she-mule!” exclaimed the unsympathetic voice of

the one who had charge of him, and the rope was jerked to quicken his

loitering feet. In an effort to comply Kai Lung missed the step that

crossed his path and stumbling blindly forward would have fallen had

he not struck heavily against a massive jar of lacquered brass, one of

two that flanked the door.

“Thy province is to tell a tale rather than to dance a grotesque, as I

understand the matter,” said the attendant, mollified by the

amusement. “In any case, restrain thy admitted ardour for a while;

the call is not yet for us.”

From a group that stood apart some distance from the door one moved

forth and leisurely crossed the hall. Kai Lung’s wounded head ceased

to pain him.

“What slave is this,” she demanded of the other in a slow and level

tone, “and wherefore do the two of you intrude on this occasion?”

“The exalted lord commands that this one of the prisoners should

attend here thus, to divert them with his fancies, he having a certain

wit of the more foolish kind. Kai Lung, the dog’s name is.”

“Approach yet nearer to the inner door,” enjoined the maiden,

indicating the direction; “so that when the message comes there shall

be no inept delay.” As they moved off to obey she stood in languid

unconcern, leaning across the opening of a tall brass vase, one hand

swinging idly in its depths, until they reached their station. Kai

Lung did not need his eyes to know.

Presently the music ceased, and summoned to appear in turn, Kai Lung

stood forth among the guests. On the right hand of the Mandarin

reclined the base Ming-shu, his mind already vapoury with the fumes of

wine, the secret malice of his envious mind now boldly leaping from

his eyes.

“The overrated person now about to try your refined patience to its

limit is one who calls himself Kai Lung,” declared Ming-shu

offensively. “From an early age he has combined minstrelsy with other

and more lucrative forms of crime. It is the boast of this

contumacious mendicant that he can recite a story to fit any set of

circumstances, this, indeed, being the only merit claimed for his

feeble entertainment. The test selected for your tolerant amusement on

this very second-rate occasion is that he relates the story of a

presuming youth who fixes his covetous hopes upon one so far above his

degraded state that she and all who behold his uncouth efforts are

consumed by helpless laughter. Ultimately he is to be delivered to a

severe but well-earned death by a conscientious official whose

leisurely purpose is to possess the maiden for himself. Although

occasionally bordering on the funereal, the details of the narrative

are to be of a light and gravity-removing nature on the whole.

Proceed.”

The story-teller made obeisance towards the Mandarin, whose face

meanwhile revealed a complete absence of every variety of emotion.

“Have I your genial permission to comply, nobility?” he asked.

“The word is spoken,” replied Shan Tien unwillingly. “Let the vaunt be

justified.”

“I obey, High Excellence. This involves the story of Hien and the

Chief Examiner.”

The Story of Hien and the Chief Examiner

In the reign of the Emperor K’ong there lived at Ho Chow an official

named Thang-li, whose degree was that of Chief Examiner of Literary

Competitions for the district. He had an only daughter, Fa Fei, whose

mind was so liberally stored with graceful accomplishments as to give

rise to the saying that to be in her presence was more refreshing than

to sit in a garden of perfumes listening to the wisdom of seven

elderly philosophers, while her glossy floating hair, skin of crystal

lustre, crescent nails and feet smaller and more symmetrical than an

opening lotus made her the most beautiful creature in all Ho Chow.

Possessing no son, and maintaining an open contempt towards all his

nearer relations, it had become a habit for Thang-li to converse with

his daughter almost on terms of equality, so that she was not

surprised on one occasion, when, calling her into his presence, he

graciously commanded her to express herself freely on whatever subject

seemed most important in her mind.

“The Great Middle Kingdom in which we live is not only inhabited by

the most enlightened, humane and courteous-minded race, but is itself

fittingly the central and most desirable point of the Universe,

surrounded by other less favoured countries peopled by races of

pig-tailless men and large-footed women, all destitute of refined

intelligence,” replied Fa Fei modestly. “The sublime Emperor is of all

persons the wisest, purest and--”

“Undoubtedly,” interrupted Thang-li. “These truths are of gem-like

brilliance, and the ears of a patriotic subject can never be closed to

the beauty and music of their ceaseless repetition. Yet between father

and daughter in the security of an inner chamber there not unnaturally

arise topics of more engrossing interest. For example, now that you

are of a marriageable age, have your eyes turned in the direction of

any particular suitor?”

“Oh, thrice-venerated sire!” exclaimed Fa Fei, looking vainly round

for some attainable object behind which to conceal her honourable

confusion, “should the thoughts of a maiden dwell definitely on a

matter of such delicate consequence?”

“They should not,” replied her father; “but as they invariably do, the

speculation is one outside our immediate concern. Nor, as it is your

wonted custom to ascend upon the outside roof at a certain hour of the

morning, is it reasonable to assume that you are ignorant of the

movements of the two young men who daily contrive to linger before

this in no way attractive residence without any justifiable pretext.”

“My father is all-seeing,” replied Fa Fei in a commendable spirit of

dutiful acquiescence, and also because it seemed useless to deny the

circumstance.

“It is unnecessary,” said Thang-li. “Surrounded, as he is, by a

retinue of eleven female attendants, it is enough to be all-hearing.

But which of the two has impressed you in the more favourable light?”

“How can the inclinations of an obedient daughter affect the matter?”

said Fa Fei evasively. “Unless, O most indulgent, it is your amiable

intention to permit me to follow the inspiration of my own unfettered

choice?”

“Assuredly,” replied the benevolent Thang-li. “Provided, of course,

that the choice referred to should by no evil mischance run in a

contrary direction to my own maturer judgment.”

“Yet if such an eventuality did haply arise?” persisted Fa Fei.

“None but the irredeemably foolish spend their time in discussing the

probable sensation of being struck by a thunderbolt,” said Thang-li

more coldly. “From this day forth, also, be doubly guarded in the

undeviating balance of your attitude. Restrain the swallow-like

flights of your admittedly brilliant eyes, and control the movements

of your expressive fan within the narrowest bounds of necessity. This

person’s position between the two is one of exceptional delicacy and

he has by no means yet decided which to favour.”

“In such a case,” inquired Fa Fei, caressing his pig-tail

persuasively, “how does a wise man act, and by what manner of omens is

he influenced in his decision?”

“In such a case,” replied Thang-li, “a very wise man does not act; but

maintaining an impassive countenance, he awaits the unrolling of

events until he sees what must inevitably take place. It is thus that

his reputation for wisdom is built up.”

“Furthermore,” said Fa Fei hopefully, “the ultimate pronouncement

rests with the guarding deities?”

“Unquestionably,” agreed Thang-li. “Yet, by a venerable custom, the

esteem of the maiden’s parents is the detail to which the suitors

usually apply themselves with the greatest diligence.”

*

Of the two persons thus referred to by Thang-li, one, Tsin Lung, lived

beneath the sign of the Righteous Ink Brush. By hereditary right Tsin

Lung followed the profession of copying out the more difficult

Classics in minute characters upon parchments so small that an entire

library could be concealed among the folds of a garment, in this

painstaking way enabling many persons who might otherwise have failed

at the public examination, and been driven to spend an idle and

perhaps even dissolute life, to pass with honourable distinction to

themselves and widespread credit to his resourceful system. One

gratified candidate, indeed, had compared his triumphal passage

through the many grades of the competition to the luxurious ease of

being carried in a sedan-chair, and from that time Tsin Lung was

jestingly referred to as a “sedan-chair.”

It might reasonably be thought that a person enjoying this enviable

position would maintain a loyal pride in the venerable traditions of

his house and suffer the requirements of his craft to become the four

walls of his ambition. Alas! Tsin Lung must certainly have been born

under the influence of a very evil planet, for the literary quality of

his profession did not entice his imagination at all, and his sole and

frequently-expressed desire was to become a pirate. Nothing but the

necessity of obtaining a large sum of money with which to purchase a

formidable junk and to procure the services of a band of capable and

bloodthirsty outlaws bound him to Ho Chow, unless, perchance, it might

be the presence there of Fa Fei after he had once cast his piratical

eye upon her overwhelming beauty.

The other of the two persons was Hien, a youth of studious desires and

unassuming manner. His father had been the chief tax-collector of the

Chunling mountains, beyond the town, and although the exact nature of

the tax and the reason for its extortion had become forgotten in the

process of interminable ages, he himself never admitted any doubt of

his duty to collect it from all who passed over the mountains, even

though the disturbed state of the country made it impossible for him

to transmit the proceeds to the capital. To those who uncharitably

extended the envenomed tongue of suspicion towards the very existence

of any Imperial tax, the father of Hien replied with unshaken loyalty

that in such a case the sublime Emperor had been very treacherously

served by his advisers, as the difficulty of the paths and the

intricate nature of the passes rendered the spot peculiarly suitable

for the purpose, and as he was accompanied by a well-armed and

somewhat impetuous band of followers, his arguments were inevitably

successful. When he Passed Beyond, Hien accepted the leadership, but

solely out of a conscientious respect for his father’s memory, for his

heart was never really in the occupation. His time was almost wholly

taken up in reading the higher Classics, and even before he had seen

Fa Fei his determination had been taken that when once he had

succeeded in passing the examination for the second degree and thereby

become entitled to an inferior mandarinship he would abandon his

former life forever. From this resolution the entreaties of his

devoted followers could not shake him, and presently they ceased to

argue, being reassured by the fact that although Hien presented

himself unfailingly for every examination his name appeared at the

foot of each successive list with unvarying frequency. It was at this

period that he first came under the ennobling spell of Fa Fei’s

influence and from that time forth he redoubled his virtuous efforts.

After conversing with her father, as already related, Fa Fei spent the

day in an unusually thoughtful spirit. As soon as it was dark she

stepped out from the house and veiling her purpose under the pretext

of gathering some herbs to complete a charm she presently entered a

grove of overhanging cedars where Hien had long been awaiting her

footsteps.

“Rainbow of my prosaic existence!” he exclaimed, shaking hands with

himself courteously, “have you yet carried out your bold suggestion?”

and so acute was his anxiety for her reply that he continued to hold

his hand unconsciously until Fa Fei turned away her face in very

becoming confusion.

“Alas, O my dragon-hearted one,” she replied at length, “I have indeed

dared to read the scroll, but how shall this person’s inelegant lips

utter so detestable a truth?”

“It is already revealed,” said Hien, striving to conceal from her his

bitterness. “When the list of competitors at the late examination is

publicly proclaimed to-morrow at the four gates of the city, the last

name to be announced will again, and for the eleventh time, be that of

the degraded Hien.”

“Beloved,” exclaimed Fa Fei, resolved that as she could not honourably

deny that her Hien’s name was again indeed the last one to appear she

would endeavour to lead his mind subtly away to the contemplation of

more pleasurable thoughts, “it is as you have said, but although your

name is the last, it is by far the most dignified and

romantic-sounding of all, nor is there another throughout the list

which can be compared to it for the ornamental grace of its flowing

curves.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Hien, in a violent access of self-contempt,

“it is a name of abandoned omen and is destined only to reach the ears

of posterity to embellish the proverb of scorn, ‘The lame duck should

avoid the ploughed field.’ Can there--can there by no chance have been

some hope-inspiring error?”

“Thus were the names inscribed on the parchment which after the public

announcement will be affixed to the Hall of Ten Thousand Lustres,”

replied Fa Fei. “With her own unworthy eyes this incapable person

beheld it.”

“The name ‘Hien’ is in no way striking or profound,” continued the one

in question, endeavouring to speak as though the subject referred to

some person standing at a considerable distance away. “Furthermore, so

commonplace and devoid of character are its written outlines that it

has very much the same appearance whichever way up it is looked

at. . . . The possibility that in your graceful confusion you held the

list in such a position that what appeared to be the end was in

reality the beginning is remote in the extreme, yet--”

In spite of an absorbing affection Fa Fei could not disguise from

herself that her feelings would have been more pleasantly arranged if

her lover had been inspired to accept his position unquestioningly.

“There is a detail, hitherto unrevealed, which disposes of all such

amiable suggestions,” she replied. “After the name referred to,

someone in authority had inscribed the undeniable comment ‘As usual.’”

“The omen is a most encouraging one,” exclaimed Hien, throwing aside

all his dejection. “Hitherto this person’s untiring efforts had met

with no official recognition whatever. It is now obvious that far from

being lost in the crowd he is becoming an object of honourable

interest to the examiners.”

“One frequently hears it said, ‘After being struck on the head with an

axe it is a positive pleasure to be beaten about the body with a

wooden club,’” said Fa Fei, “and the meaning of the formerly elusive

proverb is now explained. Would it not be prudent to avail yourself at

length of the admittedly outrageous Tsin Lung’s services, so that this

period of unworthy trial may be brought to a distinguished close?”

“It is said, ‘Do not eat the fruit of the stricken branch,’” replied

Hien, “and this person will never owe his success to one who is so

detestable in his life and morals that with every facility for a

scholarly and contemplative existence he freely announces his

barbarous intention of becoming a pirate. Truly the Dragon of Justice

does but sleep for a little time, and when he awakens all that will be

left of the mercenary Tsin Lung and those who associate with him will

scarcely be enough to fill an orange skin.”

“Doubtless it will be so,” agreed Fa Fei, regretting, however, that

Hien had not been content to prophesy a more limited act of vengeance,

until, at least, her father had come to a definite decision regarding

her own future. “Alas, though, the Book of Dynasties expressly says,

‘The one-legged never stumble,’ and Tsin Lung is so morally

ill-balanced that the proverb may even apply to him.”

“Do not fear,” said Hien. “It is elsewhere written, ‘Love and leprosy

few escape,’ and the spirit of Tsin Lung’s destiny is perhaps even at

this moment lurking unsuspected behind some secret place.”

“If,” exclaimed a familiar voice, “the secret place alluded to should

chance to be a hollow cedar-tree of inadequate girth, the unfortunate

spirit in question will have my concentrated sympathy.”

“Just and magnanimous father!” exclaimed Fa Fei, thinking it more

prudent not to recognize that he had learned of their meeting-place

and concealing himself there had awaited their coming, “when your

absence was discovered a heaven-sent inspiration led me to this spot.

Have I indeed been permitted here to find you?”

“Assuredly you have,” replied Thang-li, who was equally desirous of

concealing the real circumstances, although the difficulty of the

position into which he had hastily and incautiously thrust his body on

their approach compelled him to reveal himself. “The same inspiration

led me to lose myself in this secluded spot, as being the one which

you would inevitably search.”

“Yet by what incredible perversity does it arise, venerable Thang-li,

that a leisurely and philosophical stroll should result in a person of

your dignified proportions occupying so unattractive a position?” said

Hien, who appeared to be too ingenuous to suspect Thang-li’s craft, in

spite of a warning glance from Fa Fei’s expressive eyes.

“The remark is a natural one, O estimable youth,” replied Thang-li,

doubtless smiling benevolently, although nothing of his person could

be actually seen by Hien or Fa Fei, “but the recital is not devoid of

humiliation. While peacefully studying the position of the heavens

this person happened to glance into the upper branches of a tree and

among them he beheld a bird’s nest of unusual size and richness--one

that would promise to yield a dish of the rarest flavour. Lured on by

the anticipation of so sumptuous a course, he rashly trusted his body

to an unworthy branch, and the next moment, notwithstanding his

unceasing protests to the protecting Powers, he was impetuously

deposited within this hollow trunk.”

“Not unreasonably is it said, ‘A bird in the soup is better than an

eagle’s nest in the desert,’” exclaimed Hien. “The pursuit of a fair

and lofty object is set about with hidden pitfalls to others beyond

you, O noble Chief Examiner! By what nimble-witted act of adroitness

is it now your enlightened purpose to extricate yourself?”

At this admittedly polite but in no way inspiring question a silence

of a very acute intensity seemed to fall on that part of the forest.

The mild and inscrutable expression of Hien’s face did not vary, but

into Fa Fei’s eyes there came an unexpected but not altogether

disapproving radiance, while, without actually altering, the

appearance of the tree encircling Thang-li’s form undoubtedly conveyed

the impression that the benevolent smile which might hitherto have

been reasonably assumed to exist within had been abruptly withdrawn.

“Your meaning is perhaps well-intentioned, gracious Hien,” said

Thang-li at length, “but as an offer of disinterested assistance your

words lack the gong-like clash of spontaneous enthusiasm.

Nevertheless, if you will inconvenience yourself to the extent of

climbing this not really difficult tree for a short distance you will

be able to grasp some outlying portion of this one’s body without any

excessive fatigue.”

“Mandarin,” replied Hien, “to touch even the extremity of your

incomparable pig-tail would be an honour repaying all earthly

fatigue--”

“Do not hesitate to seize it, then,” said Thang-li, as Hien paused.

“Yet, if this person may without ostentation continue the analogy, to

grasp him firmly by the shoulders must confer a higher distinction and

would be even more agreeable to his own feelings.”

“The proposal is a flattering one,” continued Hien, “but my hands are

bound down by the decree of the High Powers, for among the most

inviolable of the edicts is it not written: ‘Do the lame offer to

carry the footsore; the blind to protect the one-eyed? Distrust the

threadbare person who from an upper back room invites you to join him

in an infallible process of enrichment; turn aside from the one devoid

of pig-tail who says, “Behold, a few drops daily at the hour of the

morning sacrifice and your virtuous head shall be again like a

well-sown rice-field at the time of harvest”; and towards the passing

stranger who offers you that mark of confidence which your friends

withhold close and yet again open a different eye. So shall you grow

obese in wisdom’?”

“Alas!” exclaimed Thang-li, “the inconveniences of living in an Empire

where a person has to regulate the affairs of his everyday life by the

sacred but antiquated proverbial wisdom of his remote ancestors are by

no means trivial. Cannot this possibly mythical obstacle be

flattened-out by the amiable acceptance of a jar of sea snails or some

other seasonable delicacy, honourable Hien?”

“Nothing but a really well-grounded encouragement as regards Fa Fei

can persuade this person to regard himself as anything but a solitary

outcast,” replied Hien, “and one paralysed in every useful impulse.

Rather than abandon the opportunity of coming to such an arrangement

he would almost be prepared to give up all idea of ever passing the

examination for the second degree.”

“By no means,” exclaimed Thang-li hastily. “The sacrifice would be too

excessive. Do not relinquish your sleuth-hound-like persistence, and

success will inevitably reward your ultimate end.”

“Can it really be,” said Hien incredulously, “that my contemptible

efforts are a matter of sympathetic interest to one so high up in

every way as the renowned Chief Examiner?”

“They are indeed,” replied Thang-li, with that ingratiating candour

that marked his whole existence. “Doubtless so prosaic a detail as the

system of remuneration has never occupied your refined thoughts, but

when it is understood that those in the position of this person are

rewarded according to the success of the candidates you will begin to

grasp the attitude.”

“In that case,” remarked Hien, with conscious humiliation, “nothing

but a really sublime tolerance can have restrained you from upbraiding

this obscure competitor as a thoroughly corrupt egg.”

“On the contrary,” replied Thang-li reassuringly, “I have long

regarded you as the auriferous fowl itself. It is necessary to

explain, perhaps, that the payment by result alluded to is not based

on the number of successful candidates, but--much more reasonably as

all those have to be provided with lucrative appointments by the

authorities--on the economy effected to the State by those whom I can

conscientiously reject. Owing to the malignant Tsin Lung’s sinister

dexterity these form an ever-decreasing band, so that you may now be

fittingly deemed the chief prop of a virtuous but poverty-afflicted

line. When you reflect that for the past eleven years you have thus

really had the honour of providing the engaging Fa Fei with all the

necessities of her very ornamental existence you will see that you

already possess practically all the advantages of matrimony.

Nevertheless, if you will now bring our agreeable conversation to an

end by releasing this inauspicious person he will consider the matter

with the most indulgent sympathies.”

“Withhold!” exclaimed a harsh voice before Hien could reply, and from

behind a tree where he had heard Thang-li’s impolite reference to

himself Tsin Lung stood forth. “How does it chance, O two-complexioned

Chief Examiner, that after weighing this one’s definite

proposals--even to the extent of demanding a certain proportion in

advance--you are now engaged in holding out the same alluring hope to

another? Assuredly, if your existence is so critically imperilled this

person and none other will release you and claim the reward.”

“Turn your face backwards, imperious Tsin Lung,” cried Hien. “These

incapable hands alone shall have the overwhelming distinction of

drawing forth the illustrious Thang-li.”

“Do not get entangled among my advancing footsteps, immature one,”

contemptuously replied Tsin Lung, shaking the massive armour in which

he was encased from head to foot. “It is inept for pigmies to stand

before one who has every intention of becoming a rapacious pirate

shortly.”

“The sedan-chair is certainly in need of new shafts,” retorted Hien,

and drawing his sword with an expression of ferocity he caused it to

whistle around his head so loudly that a flock of migratory doves

began to arrive, under the impression that others of their tribe were

calling them to assemble.

“Alas!” exclaimed Thang-li, in an accent of despair, “doubtless the

wise Nung-yu was surrounded by disciples all eager that no other

should succour him when he remarked: ‘A humble friend in the same

village is better than sixteen influential brothers in the Royal

Palace.’ In all this illimitable Empire is there not room for one

whose aspirations are bounded by the submerged walls of a predatory

junk and another whose occupation is limited to the upper passes of the

Chunling mountains? Consider the poignant nature of this person’s vain

regrets if by a couple of evilly directed blows you succeeded at this

inopportune moment in exterminating one another!”

“Do not fear, exalted Thang-li,” cried Hien, who, being necessarily

somewhat occupied in preparing himself against Tsin Lung’s attack,

failed to interpret these words as anything but a direct encouragement

to his own cause. “Before the polluting hands of one who disdains the

Classics shall be laid upon your sacred extremities this tenacious

person will fix upon his antagonist with a serpent-like embrace and,

if necessary, suffer the spirits of both to Pass Upward in one

breath.” And to impress Tsin Lung with his resolution he threw away

his scabbard and picked it up again several times.

“Grow large in hope, worthy Chief Examiner,” cried Tsin Lung, who from

a like cause was involved in a similar misapprehension. “Rather shall

your imperishable bones adorn the interior of a hollow cedar-tree

throughout all futurity than you shall suffer the indignity of being

extricated by an earth-nurtured sleeve-snatcher.” And to intimidate

Hien by the display he continued to clash his open hand against his

leg armour until the pain became intolerable.

“Honourable warriors!” implored Thang-li in so agonized a voice--and

also because they were weary of the exercise--that Hien and Tsin Lung

paused, “curb your bloodthirsty ambitions for a breathing-space and

listen to what will probably be a Last Expression. Believe the

passionate sincerity of this one’s throat when he proclaims that there

would be nothing repugnant to his very keenest susceptibilities if an

escaping parricide, who was also guilty of rebellion, temple-robbing,

book-burning, murder and indiscriminate violence, and the pollution of

tombs, took him familiarly by the hand at this moment. What,

therefore, would be his gratified feelings if two such nobly-born

subjects joined forces and drew him up dexterously by the body-cloth?

Accept his definite assurance that without delay a specific

pronouncement would be made respecting the bestowal of the one around

whose jade-like personality this encounter has arisen.”

“The proposal casts a reasonable shadow, gracious Hien,” remarked

Tsin Lung, turning towards the other with courteous deference. “Shall

we bring a scene of irrational carnage to an end and agree to regard

the incomparable Thang-li’s benevolent tongue as an outstretched olive

branch?”

“It is admittedly said, ‘Every road leads in two directions,’ and the

alternative you suggest, O virtue-loving Tsin Lung, is both reputable

and just,” replied Hien pleasantly. In this amiable spirit they

extricated Thang-li and bore him to the ground. At an appointed hour

he received them with becoming ceremony and after a many-coursed

repast rose to fulfil the specific terms of his pledge.

“The Line of Thang,” he remarked with inoffensive pride, “has for

seven generations been identified with a high standard of literary

achievement. Undeniably it is a very creditable thing to control the

movements of an ofttime erratic vessel and to emerge triumphantly from

a combat with every junk you encounter, and it is no less worthy of

esteem to gather round about one, on the sterile slopes of the

Chunlings, a devoted band of followers. Despite these virtues,

however, neither occupation is marked by any appreciable literary

flavour, and my word is, therefore, that both persons shall present

themselves for the next examination, and when in due course the result

is declared the more successful shall be hailed as the chosen suitor.

Lo, I have spoken into a sealed bottle, and my voice cannot vary.”

Then replied Tsin Lung: “Truly, it is as it is said, astute Thang-li,

though the encircling wall of a hollow cedar-tree, for example, might

impart to the voice in question a less uncompromising ring of finality

than it possesses when raised in a silk-lined chamber and surrounded

by a band of armed retainers. Nevertheless the pronouncement is one

which appeals to this person’s sense of justice, and the only

improvement he can suggest is that the superfluous Hien should hasten

that ceremony at which he will be an honoured guest by now signifying

his intention of retiring from so certain a defeat. For by what

expedient,” he continued, with arrogant persistence, “can you avert

that end, O ill-destined Hien? Have you not burned joss-sticks to the

deities, both good and bad, for eleven years unceasingly? Can you, as

this person admittedly can, inscribe the Classics with such inimitable

delicacy that an entire volume of the Book of Decorum, copied in his

most painstaking style, may be safely carried about within a hollow

tooth, a lengthy ode, traced on a shred of silk, wrapped undetectably

around a single eyelash?”

“It is true that the one before you cannot bend his brush to such

deceptive ends,” replied Hien modestly. “A detail, however, has

escaped your reckoning. Hitherto Hien has been opposed by a thousand,

and against so many it is true that the spirits of his ancestors have

been able to afford him very little help. On this occasion he need

regard one adversary alone. Giving those Forces which he invokes

clearly to understand that they need not concern themselves with any

other, he will plainly intimate that after so many sacrifices on his

part something of a really tangible affliction is required to

overwhelm Tsin Lung. Whether this shall take the form of mental

stagnation, bodily paralysis, demoniacal possession, derangement of

the internal faculties, or being changed into one of the lower

animals, it might be presumptuous on this person’s part to stipulate,

but by invoking every accessible power and confining himself to this

sole petition a very definite tragedy may be expected. Beware, O

contumacious Lung, ‘However high the tree the shortest axe can reach

its trunk.’”

*

As the time for the examination drew near the streets of Ho Chow began

to wear a fuller and more animated appearance both by day and night.

Tsin Lung’s outer hall was never clear of anxious suppliants all

entreating him to supply them with minute and reliable copies of the

passages which they found most difficult in the selected works, but

although his low and avaricious nature was incapable of rejecting this

means of gain he devoted his closest energies and his most inspired

moments to his own personal copies, a set of books so ethereal that

they floated in the air without support and so cunningly devised in

the blending of their colour as to be, in fact, quite invisible to any

but his microscopic eyes. Hien, on the other hand, devoted himself

solely to interesting the Powers against his rival’s success by every

variety of incentive, omen, sacrifice, imprecation, firework,

inscribed curse, promise, threat or combination of inducements.

Through the crowded streets and by-ways of Ho Chow moved the

imperturbable Thang-li, smiling benevolently on those whom he

encountered and encouraging each competitor, and especially Hien and

Tsin Lung, with a cheerful proverb suited to the moment.

An outside cause had further contributed to make this period one of

the most animated in the annals of Ho Chow, for not only was the city,

together with the rest of the imperishable Empire, celebrating a great

and popular victory, but, as a direct consequence of that event, the

sublime Emperor himself was holding his court at no great distance

away. An armed and turbulent rabble of illiterate barbarians had

suddenly appeared in the north and, not giving a really sufficient

indication of their purpose, had traitorously assaulted the capital.

Had he followed the prompting of his own excessive magnanimity, the

charitable Monarch would have refused to take any notice whatever of

so puny and contemptible a foe, but so unmistakable became the wishes

of the Ever-victorious Army that, yielding to their importunity, he

placed himself at their head and resolutely led them backward. Had the

opposing army been more intelligent, this crafty move would certainly

have enticed them on into the plains, where they would have fallen an

easy victim to the Imperial troops and all perished miserably. Owing

to their low standard of reasoning, however, the mule-like invaders

utterly failed to grasp the advantage which, as far as the appearance

tended, they might reasonably be supposed to reap by an immediate

pursuit. They remained incapably within the capital slavishly

increasing its defences, while the Ever-victorious lurked

resourcefully in the neighbourhood of Ho Chow, satisfied that with so

dull-witted an adversary they could, if the necessity arose, go still

further.

Upon a certain day of the period thus indicated there arrived at the

gate of the royal pavilion one having the appearance of an aged seer,

who craved to be led into the Imperial Presence.

“Lo, Mightiest,” said a slave, bearing in this message, “there stands

at the outer gate one resembling an ancient philosopher, desiring to

gladden his failing eyesight before he Passes Up with a brief vision

of your illuminated countenance.”

“The petition is natural but inopportune,” replied the agreeable

Monarch. “Let the worthy soothsayer be informed that after an

exceptionally fatiguing day we are now snatching a few short hours of

necessary repose, from which it would be unseemly to recall us.”

“He received your gracious words with distended ears and then observed

that it was for your All-wisdom to decide whether an inspired message

which he had read among the stars was not of more consequence than

even a refreshing sleep,” reported the slave, returning.

“In that case,” replied the Sublimest, “tell the persevering wizard

that we have changed our minds and are religiously engaged in

worshipping our ancestors, so that it would be really sacrilegious to

interrupt us.”

“He kowtowed profoundly at the mere mention of your charitable

occupation and proceeded to depart, remarking that it would indeed be

corrupt to disturb so meritorious an exercise with a scheme simply for

your earthly enrichment,” again reported the message-bearer.

“Restrain him!” hastily exclaimed the broadminded Sovereign. “Give the

venerable necromancer clearly to understand that we have worshipped

them enough for one day. Doubtless the accommodating soothsayer has

discovered some rare jewel which he is loyally bringing to embellish

our crown.”

“There are rarer jewels than those which can be pasted in a crown,

Supreme Head,” said the stranger, entering unperceived behind the

attending slave. He bore the external signs of an infirm magician,

while his face was hidden in a cloth to mark the imposition of a

solemn vow. “With what apter simile,” he continued, “can this person

describe an imperishable set of verses which he heard this morning

falling from the lips of a wandering musician like a seven-roped cable

of pearls pouring into a silver bucket? The striking and original

title was ‘Concerning Spring,’ and although the snow lay deep at the

time several bystanders agreed that an azalea bush within hearing came

into blossom at the eighty-seventh verse.”

“We have heard of the poem to which you refer with so just a sense of

balance,” said the impartial Monarch encouragingly. (Though not to

create a two-sided impression it may be freely stated that he himself

was the author of the inspired composition.) “Which part, in your

mature judgment, reflected the highest genius and maintained the most

perfectly-matched analogy?”

“It is aptly said: ‘When it is dark the sun no longer shines, but who

shall forget the colours of the rainbow?’” replied the astrologer

evasively. “How is it possible to suspend topaz in one cup of the

balance and weigh it against amethyst in the other; or who in a single

language can compare the tranquillizing grace of a maiden with the

invigorating pleasure of witnessing a well-contested rat-fight?”

“Your insight is clear and unbiased,” said the gracious Sovereign.

“But however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of

bright images, are we not enticing your mind from another subject of

almost equal importance?”

“There is yet another detail, it is true,” admitted the sage, “but

regarding its comparative importance a thoroughly loyal subject may be

permitted to amend the remark of a certain wise Emperor of a former

dynasty: ‘Any person in the City can discover a score of gold mines if

necessary, but One only could possibly have written “Concerning

Spring.”’”

“The arts may indeed be regarded as lost,” acquiesced the magnanimous

Head, “with the exception of a solitary meteor here and there. Yet in

the trivial matter of mere earthly enrichment--”

“Truly,” agreed the other. “There is, then, a whisper in the province

that the floor of the Imperial treasury is almost visible.”

“The rumour, as usual, exaggerates the facts grossly,” replied the

Greatest. “The floor of the Imperial treasury is quite visible.”

“Yet on the first day of the next moon the not inconsiderable revenue

contributed by those who present themselves for the examination will

flow in.”

“And by an effete and unworthy custom almost immediately flow out

again to reward the efforts of the successful,” replied the Wearer of

the Yellow in an accent of refined bitterness. “On other occasions it

is possible to assist the overworked treasurer with a large and

glutinous hand, but from time immemorial the claims of the competitors

have been inviolable.”

“Yet if by a heaven-sent chance none, or very few, reached the

necessary standard of excellence--?”

“Such a chance, whether proceeding from the Upper Air or the Other

Parts would be equally welcome to a very hard-lined Ruler,” replied

the one who thus described himself.

“Then listen, O K’ong-hi, of the imperishable dynasty of Chung,” said

the stranger. “Thus was it laid upon me in the form of a spontaneous

dream. For seven centuries the Book of the Observances has been the

unvarying Classic of the examinations because during that period it

has never been surpassed. Yet as the Empire has admittedly existed

from all time, and as it would be impious not to agree that the

immortal System is equally antique, it is reasonable to suppose that

the Book of the Observances displaced an earlier and inferior work,

and is destined in the cycle of time to be itself laid aside for a

still greater.”

“The inference is self-evident,” acknowledged the Emperor uneasily,

“but the logical development is one which this diffident Monarch

hesitates to commit to spoken words.”

“It is not a matter for words but for a stroke of the Vermilion

Pencil,” replied the other in a tone of inspired authority. “Across

the faint and puny effusions of the past this person sees written in

very large and obliterating strokes the words ‘Concerning Spring.’

Where else can be found so novel a conception combined with so unique

a way of carrying it out? What other poem contains so many thoughts

that one instinctively remembers as having heard before, so many

involved allusions that baffle the imagination of the keenest, and so

much sound in so many words? With the possible exception of Meng-hu’s

masterpiece, ‘The Empty Coffin,’ what other work so skilfully conveys

the impression of being taken down farther than one can ever again

come up and then suddenly upraised beyond the possible descent? Where

else can be found so complete a defiance of all that has hitherto been

deemed essential, and, to insert a final wedge, what other poem is

half so long?”

“Your criticism is severe but just,” replied the Sovereign, “except

that part having reference to Meng-hu. Nevertheless, the atmosphere of

the proposal, though reasonable, looms a degree stormily into a

troubled future. Can it be permissible even for--”

“Omnipotence!” exclaimed the seer.

“The title is well recalled,” confessed the Emperor. “Yet although

unquestionably omnipotent there must surely be some limits to our

powers in dealing with so old established a system as that of the

examinations.”

“Who can doubt a universal admission that the composer of ‘Concerning

Spring’ is capable of doing anything?” was the profound reply. “Let

the mandate be sent out--but, to an obvious end, let it be withheld

until the eve of the competitions.”

“The moment of hesitancy has faded; go forth in the certainty,

esteemed,” said the Emperor reassuringly. “You have carried your

message with a discreet hand. Yet before you go, if there is any

particular mark of Imperial favour that we can show--something of a

special but necessarily honorary nature--do not set an iron screen

between your ambition and the light of our favourable countenance.”

“There is indeed such a signal reward,” assented the aged person, with

an air of prepossessing diffidence. “A priceless copy of the immortal

work--”

“By all means,” exclaimed the liberal-minded Sovereign, with an

expression of great relief. “Take three or four in case any of your

fascinating relations have large literary appetites. Or, still more

conveniently arranged, here is an unopened package from the stall of

those who send forth the printed leaves--‘thirteen in the semblance of

twelve,’ as the quaint and harmonious phrase of their craft has it.

Walk slowly, revered, and a thousand rainbows guide your retiring

footsteps.”

Concerning the episode of this discreetly-veiled personage the

historians who have handed down the story of the imperishable

affection of Hien and Fa Fei have maintained an illogical silence. Yet

it is related that about the same time, as Hien was walking by the

side of a bamboo forest of stunted growth, he was astonished by the

maiden suddenly appearing before him from the direction of the royal

camp. She was incomparably radiant and had the appearance of being

exceptionally well satisfied with herself. Commanding him that he

should stand motionless with closed eyes, in order to ascertain what

the presiding deities would allot him, she bound a somewhat weighty

object to the end of his pig-tail, at the same time asking him in how

short a period he could commit about nineteen thousand lines of

atrociously ill-arranged verse to the tablets of his mind.

“Then do not suffer the rice to grow above your ankles,” she

continued, when Hien had modestly replied that six days with good

omens should be sufficient, “but retiring to your innermost chamber

bar the door and digest this scroll as though it contained the last

expression of an eccentric and vastly rich relation,” and with a laugh

more musical than the vibrating of a lute of the purest Yun-nan jade

in the Grotto of Ten Thousand Echoes she vanished.

It has been sympathetically remarked that no matter how painstakingly

a person may strive to lead Destiny along a carefully-prepared path

and towards a fit and thoroughly virtuous end there is never lacking

some inopportune creature to thrust his superfluous influence into an

opposing balance. This naturally suggests the intolerable Tsin Lung,

whose ghoulish tastes led him to seek the depths of that same glade on

the following day. Walking with downcast eyes, after his degraded

custom, he presently became aware of an object lying some distance

from his way. To those who have already fathomed the real character of

this repulsive person it will occasion no surprise to know that, urged

on by the insatiable curiosity that was deeply grafted on to his

avaricious nature, he turned aside to probe into a matter with which

he had no possible concern, and at length succeeded in drawing a

package from the thick bush in which it had been hastily concealed.

Finding that it contained twelve lengthy poems entitled “Concerning

Spring”, he greedily thrust one in his sleeve, and upon his return,

with no other object than the prompting of an ill-regulated mind, he

spent all the time that remained before the contest in learning it

from end to end.

There have been many remarkable scenes enacted in the great

Examination Halls and in the narrow cells around, but it can at once

be definitely stated that nothing either before or since has

approached the unanimous burst of frenzy that shook the dynasty of

Chung when in the third year of his reign the well-meaning but

too-easily-led-aside Emperor K’ong inopportunely sought to replace the

sublime Classic then in use with a work that has since been recognized

to be not only shallow but inept. At Ho Chow nine hundred and

ninety-eight voices blended into one soul-benumbing cry of rage,

having all the force and precision of a carefully drilled chorus, when

the papers were opened, and had not the candidates been securely

barred within their solitary pens a popular rising must certainly have

taken place. There they remained for three days and nights, until the

clamour had subsided into a low but continuous hum, and they were too

weak to carry out a combined effort.

Throughout this turmoil Hien and Tsin Lung each plied an unfaltering

brush. It may here be advantageously stated that the former person was

not really slow or obtuse and his previous failures were occasioned

solely by the inequality he strove under in relying upon his memory

alone when every other competitor without exception had provided

himself with a concealed scrip. Tsin Lung also had a very retentive

mind. The inevitable consequence was, therefore, that when the papers

were collected Hien and Tsin Lung had accomplished an identical number

of correct lines and no other person had made even an attempt.

In explaining Thang-li’s subsequent behaviour it has been claimed by

many that the strain of being compelled, in the exercise of his duty,

to remain for three days and three nights in the middle of the Hall

surrounded by that ferocious horde, all clamouring to reach him, and

the contemplation of the immense sum which he would gain by so

unparalleled a batch of rejections, contorted his faculties of

discrimination and sapped the resources of his usually active mind.

Whatever cause is accepted, it is agreed that as soon as he returned

to his house he summoned Hien and Tsin Lung together and leaving them

for a moment presently returned, leading Fa Fei by the hand. It is

further agreed by all that these three persons noticed upon his face a

somewhat preoccupied expression, and on the one side much has been

made of the admitted fact that as he spoke he wandered round the room

catching flies, an occupation eminently suited to his age and

leisurely tastes but, it may be confessed, not altogether well chosen

at so ceremonious a moment.

“It has been said,” he began at length, withdrawing his eyes

reluctantly from an unusually large insect upon the ceiling and

addressing himself to the maiden, “that there are few situations in

life that cannot be honourably settled, and without loss of time,

either by suicide, a bag of gold, or by thrusting a despised

antagonist over the edge of a precipice upon a dark night. This

inoffensive person, however, has striven to arrive at the conclusion

of a slight domestic arrangement both by passively waiting for the

event to unroll itself and, at a later period, by the offer of a

definite omen. Both of the male persons concerned have applied

themselves so tenaciously to the ordeal that the result, to this

simple one’s antique mind, savours overmuch of the questionable arts.

The genial and light-witted Emperor appears to have put his foot into

the embarrassment ineffectually; and Destiny herself has every

indication of being disinclined to settle so doubtful a point. As a

last resort it now remains for you yourself to decide which of these

strenuous and evenly-balanced suitors I may acclaim with ten thousand

felicitations.”

“In that case, venerated and commanding sire,” replied Fa Fei simply,

yet concealing her real regard behind the retiring mask of a modest

indifference, “it shall be Hien, because his complexion goes the more

prettily with my favourite heliotrope silk.”

When the results of the examination were announced it was at once

assumed by those with whom he had trafficked that Tsin Lung had been

guilty of the most degraded treachery. Understanding the dangers of

his position, that person decided upon an immediate flight. Disguised

as a wild-beast tamer, and leading several apparently ferocious

creatures by a cord, he succeeded in making his way undetected through

the crowds of competitors watching his house, and hastily collecting

his wealth together he set out towards the coast. But the evil spirits

which had hitherto protected him now withdrew their aid. In the

wildest passes of the Chunlings Hien’s band was celebrating his

unexpected success by a costly display of fireworks, varied with music

and dancing. . . . So heavily did they tax him that when he reached

his destination he was only able to purchase a small and dilapidated

junk and to enlist the services of three thoroughly incompetent

mercenaries. The vessels which he endeavoured to pursue stealthily in

the hope of restoring his fortunes frequently sailed towards him under

the impression that he was sinking and trying to attract their

benevolent assistance. When his real intention was at length

understood both he and his crew were invariably beaten about the head

with clubs, so that although he persevered until the three hired

assassins rebelled, he never succeeded in committing a single act of

piracy. Afterwards he gained a precarious livelihood by entering into

conversation with strangers, and still later he stood upon a board and

dived for small coins which the charitable threw into the water. In

this pursuit he was one day overtaken by a voracious sea-monster and

perished miserably.

The large-meaning but never fully-accomplishing Emperor K’ong reigned

for yet another year, when he was deposed by the powerful League of

the Three Brothers. To the end of his life he steadfastly persisted

that the rebellion was insidiously fanned, if not actually carried

out, by a secret confederacy of all the verse-makers of the Empire,

who were distrustful of his superior powers. He spent the years of his

exile in composing a poetical epitaph to be carved upon his tomb, but

his successor, the practical-minded Liu-yen, declined to sanction the

expense of procuring so fabulous a supply of marble.

*

When Kai Lung had repeated the story of the well-intentioned youth

Hien and of the Chief Examiner Thang-li and had ceased to speak, a

pause of questionable import filled the room, broken only by the

undignified sleep-noises of the gross Ming-shu. Glances of implied

perplexity were freely passed among the guests, but it remained for

Shan Tien to voice their doubt.

“Yet wherein is the essence of the test maintained,” he asked, “seeing

that the one whom you call Hien obtained all that which he desired and

he who chiefly opposed his aims was himself involved in ridicule and

delivered to a sudden end?”

“Beneficence,” replied Kai Lung, with courteous ease, despite the

pinions that restrained him, “herein it is one thing to demand and

another to comply, for among the Platitudes is the admission made: ‘No

needle has two sharp points.’ The conditions which the subtlety of

Ming-shu imposed ceased to bind, for their corollary was inexact. In

no romance composed by poet or sage are the unassuming hopes of

virtuous love brought to a barren end or the one who holds them

delivered to an ignominious doom. That which was called for does not

therefore exist, but the story of Hien may be taken as indicating the

actual course of events should the case arise in an ordinary state of

life.”

This reply was not deemed inept by most of those who heard, and they

even pressed upon the one who spoke slight gifts of snuff and wine.

The Mandarin Shan Tien, however, held himself apart.

“It is doubtful if your lips will be able thus to frame so confident a

boast when to-morrow fades,” was his dark forecast.

“Doubtless their tenor will be changed, revered, in accordance with

your far-seeing word,” replied Kai Lung submissively as he was led

away.

CHAPTER XI

Of Which it is Written: “In Shallow Water Dragons

become the Laughing-stock of Shrimps”

At an early gong-stroke of the following day Kai Lung was finally

brought up for judgment in accordance with the venomous scheme of the

reptilian Ming-shu. In order to obscure their guilty plans all

justice-loving persons were excluded from the court, so that when the

story-teller was led in by a single guard he saw before him only the

two whose enmity he faced, and one who stood at a distance prepared to

serve their purpose.

“Committer of every infamy and inceptor of nameless crimes,” began

Ming-shu, moistening his brush, “in the past, by the variety of

discreditable subterfuges, you have parried the stroke of a just

retribution. On this occasion, however, your admitted powers of

evasion will avail you nothing. By a special form of administration,

designed to meet such cases, your guilt will be taken as proved. The

technicalities of passing sentence and seeing it carried out will

follow automatically.”

“In spite of the urgency of the case,” remarked the Mandarin, with an

assumption of the evenly-balanced expression that at one time

threatened to obtain for him the title of “The Just”, “there is one

detail which must not be ignored--especially as our ruling will

doubtless become a lantern to the feet of later ones. You appear,

malefactor, to have committed crimes--and of all these you have been

proved guilty by the ingenious arrangement invoked by the learned

recorder of my spoken word--which render you liable to hanging,

slicing, pressing, boiling, roasting, grilling, freezing, vatting,

racking, twisting, drawing, compressing, inflating, rending, spiking,

gouging, limb-tying, piecemeal-pruning and a variety of less tersely

describable discomforts with which the time of this court need not be

taken up. The important consideration is, in what order are we to

proceed and when, if ever, are we to stop?”

“Under your benumbing eye, Excellence,” suggested Ming-shu

resourcefully, “the precedent of taking first that for which the

written sign is the longest might be established. Failing that, the

names of all the various punishments might be inscribed on separate

shreds of parchment and these deposited within your state umbrella.

The first withdrawn by an unbiased--”

“High Excellence,” Kai Lung ventured to interrupt, “a further plan

suggests itself which--”

“If,” exclaimed Ming-shu in irrational haste, “if the criminal

proposes to narrate a story of one who in like circumstances--”

“Peace!” interposed Shan Tien tactfully. “The felon will only be

allowed the usual ten short measures of time for his suggestion, nor

must he, under that guise, endeavour to insert an imagined tale.”

“Your ruling shall keep straight my bending feet, munificence,”

replied Kai Lung. “Hear now my simplifying way. In place of cited

wrongs--which, after all, are comparatively trivial matters, as being

merely offences against another or in defiance of a local

usage--substitute one really overwhelming crime for which the penalty

is sharp and explicit.”

“To that end you would suggest--?” Uncertainty sat upon the brow of

both Shan Tien and Ming-shu.

“To straighten out the entangled thread this person would plead guilty

to the act--in a lesser capacity and against his untrammelled will--of

rejoicing musically on a day set apart for universal woe: a crime

aimed directly at the sacred person of the Sublime Head and all those

of his Line.”

At this significant admission the Mandarin’s expression faded; he

stroked the lower part of his face several times and unostentatiously

indicated to the two attendants that they should retire to a more

distant obscurity. Then he spoke.

“When did this--this alleged indiscretion occur, Kai Lung?” he asked

in a considerate voice.

“It is useless to raise a cloud of evasion before the sun of your

penetrating intellect,” replied the story-teller. “The eleventh day of

the existing moon was its inauspicious date.”

“That being yesterday? Ming-shu, you upon whom the duty of regulating

my admittedly vagarious mind devolves, what happened officially on the

eleventh day of the Month of Gathering-in?” demanded the Mandarin in

an ominous tone.

“On such and such a day, benevolence, threescore and fifteen years

ago, the imperishable founder of the existing dynasty ascended on a

fiery dragon to be a guest on high,” confessed the conscience-stricken

scribe, after consulting his printed tablets. “Owing to the stress of

a sudden journey significance of the date had previously escaped my

weed-grown memory, tolerance.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Shan Tien bitterly, “among the innumerable drawbacks

of an exacting position the enforced reliance upon an unusually inept

and more than ordinarily self-opinionated inscriber of the spoken word

is perhaps the most illimitable. Owing to your profuse incompetence

that which began as an agreeable prelude to a busy day has turned into

a really serious matter.”

“Yet, lenience,” pleaded the hapless Ming-shu, lowering his voice for

the Mandarin’s private ear, “so far the danger resides in this one

throat alone. That disposed of--”

“Perchance,” replied Shan Tien; then turning to Kai Lung: “Doubtless,

O story-teller, you were so overcome by the burden of your guilt that

until this moment you have hidden the knowledge of it deep within your

heart?”

“Magnificence, the commanding quality of your enduring voice would

draw the inner matter from a marrow-bone,” frankly replied Kai Lung.

“Fearful lest this crime might go unconfessed and my weak and

trembling ghost therefrom be held to bear its weight unto the end of

time, I set out the full happening in a written scroll and sent it at

daybreak by a sure and secret hand to a scrupulous official to deal

with as he sees fit.”

“Your worthy confidant would assuredly be a person of incorruptible

integrity?”

“The repute of the upright Censor K’o-yih had reached even these

stunted ears.”

“Inevitably: the Censor K’o-yih!” Shan Tien’s hasty glance took in the

angle of the sun and for a moment rested on the door leading to the

part where his swiftest horses lay. “By this time the message will

have reached him?”

“Omnipotence,” replied Kai Lung, spreading out his hands to indicate

the full extent of his submission, “not even a piece of the finest

Ping-hi silk could be inserted between the deepest secret of this

person’s heart and your all-extracting gaze. Should you, in your