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Kai Lung's Golden Hours

by Ernest Bramah · English · Gutenberg #1267 · 505,037 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Kai Lung's Golden Hours

Author: Ernest Bramah

Author of introduction, etc.: Hilaire Belloc


        
Release date: April 1, 1998 [eBook #1267]
                Most recently updated: October 29, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1267

Credits: John Bickers and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 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-

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