The Street of Wang’s Broken Tea Cup lies between Seven Thieves Market
and the long wharf where ship bottoms from all the world (and, as some
say, the moon) discharge their varied cargoes. Queer sights are so
excessively common there that the Phoenix bird lighting a match to his
feathers would, probably, excite only ordinary interest. Nevertheless,
the people _do_ possess eyes, and they _are_ provided with ears. Now and
again they can be made to open those eyes, and sharpen those ears into
eager hearing. The ridiculous, in especial, rouses their attention.
There was the wit-wandering beggar, Weng Fu, as an instance.
Weng Fu walked in the Street of Wang’s Broken Tea Cup, bearing a great
bundle of bamboo switches upon his back, and shouting
thunderously. . . . “Who’ll buy? Who’ll buy? What young man wishes to
buy him a father?” Whereat, several persons gathered, laughing. “I, Weng
Fu, will sell myself as a father to any young man for only five cash.”
The crowd and the laughter increased. “Who’ll buy a pretty father? An
orphan may have me for only one cash. A most excellent father I’ll be to
my son. I promise to beat him twice each day. Of every hundred cash he
earns I’ll take only ninety-nine and he may keep one. I’ll even let him
sleep upon warm ashes in the bed-stove. Ho—young men, come buy—come
buy.”
The shopkeepers left their stalls unguarded as they gathered round Weng
Fu to mock and express their not-flattering opinions. “Surely,” said
they, “this is the oddest fellow we have had in a long while. He must
think our young men are silly as Ko Chih, who scrabbled in the deep snow
of January, searching for plums. Ho. Ho. Ho. Was there ever anything
more ridiculous? A pretty father he would make. Pretty indeed.” A crowd
of boys assembled to have sport with the fantastic beggar. “Here, most
honorable Father—here is five cash, and I will be your dutiful son.” A
richly dressed youth held out some money to Weng Fu. But when Weng Fu
grabbed at it, the boy shut his hand and ran away swiftly, cackling in
well-pleased laughter. After him plunged the greedy beggar, his tattered
clothing flapping like strings on a scarecrow. A bystander put out a
foot. The old man tripped heels over head in the deep black mud. Then
the crowd slip-slapped on, mildly interested in a fight between Wan the
hunchback who had only one leg, and a blackamoor who had no arms.
The boy Ah Tzu, an orphan, approached Weng and tugged to assist him. The
beggar’s rags tore away by the handful. A train of laden donkeys labored
down the street. “Ho. Good man, you must get out of this,” shouted Ah
Tzu, pulling. “The donkeys will shred your flesh from the bones. Come.”
“Will you buy me for a father?” “Certainly. Now see if you cannot
arise.” Ah Tzu pulled manfully, and the contrary old beggar moved his
limbs in helping. The two staggered aside just in time to avoid being
trampled. “Where shall we go—Father—where is your house?” asked Ah
Tzu. “In the Street of The Place Where The Cow Lost Her Horn,” answered
Weng Fu. “And don’t walk so fast, my son, else I shall beat you.”
The house of Weng Fu was luxurious in the extreme. A goat could have
leapt through any one of a dozen holes in the walls. The roof was made
of straw, so thin that the rain demon, Yu Shih, laughed at it, and the
stars peered in nightly. There was no _kang_ (bed-stove), no table.
Chairs were lacking. For furniture it had a heap of bean straw in a
corner, a dozen bricks in another corner, a cupboard on a wall—thus was
the house of Weng Fu furnished.
[Illustration: The house of Weng Fu was luxurious in the extreme.]
Weng Fu sat upon the earthen floor and bade Ah Tzu do likewise. “My
son,” said the beggar, “this is your future home—and excellent it is.
This is your home—provided you prove worthy. But I warn you, I am hard
to please. A son of mine must be as prompt as Ching Chi, as devoted as
Wei Sheng, as brave as Meng Feu. Faithful and honest must my son be. You
must ask no questions and do as I say. Otherwise, I shall beat you, and
turn you out in the street. . . . Open the cupboard and bring me a
bundle of straw.” Ah Tzu obeyed. His new father continued: “Braid this
straw into a pair of sandals. Work swiftly and have them finished by the
time I return. And give me what money you have so that I may purchase
food.” Ah Tzu turned over his tiny bag of money. Then his fingers worked
nimbly, braiding the straw.
Weng Fu returned in a very few minutes. His face was purple. His voice
pitched high. “What? _Ya shu_ (idle rascal). Are you not finished? Well,
you shall get no dinner till you complete the sandals.” With that he put
down a silver tray and began to eat. On the tray was roast duck. There
was celery and tea-soaked eggs and rice and bean sprouts and brine-aged
cabbage and almonds and garlic and many another dish of equal goodness.
Weng Fu’s teeth clicked busily. Every few seconds he grunted his
satisfaction. Ah Tzu braided straw.
The silver tray was emptied long before Ah Tzu completed his task.
Finally, “Here, my father, are the sandals, and I hope they will be to
your liking,” Weng Fu gazed. “They are not very well braided. But
perhaps in time you will learn. Reach in the cupboard and get a bean
cake for your dinner.” Ah Tzu searched in the cupboard and found a
small, hard, dry bean cake. “Here, give me half of it,” ordered the
queer father. “I am still hungry.” The old fellow took at least
three-fourths of the cake—all but a portion that had been nibbled by
mice. Then he put on his new sandals, took up the tray and departed. “Do
not go out,” he admonished Ah Tzu. “Stay here and guard the house
against thieves.” The door closed behind him. Just what a thief could
have desired in that house would be hard to decide. Nevertheless, Ah Tzu
stayed close at home, that night, and the following day, and the night
that came after.
During the second night three men came to the door and tried to gain
entrance, saying that they must have gold. Ah Tzu fanned about him so
earnestly with a cudgel that all three were piled in a heap on the
threshold. They went away limping and howling, one holding his hands to
his pate, as if troubled with _nao tai teng_ (as if troubled with head
aching badly).
The next day saw Weng Fu’s return. He asked Ah Tzu many questions, and
Ah Tzu answered them. But the boy showed no inquisitiveness about the
large bandage round Weng Fu’s head, nor did he ask questions about
Weng’s bundle. The beggar finally opened his bundle and from it took
food. He shared the food with his son—and this time he himself ate
little. This time Ah Tzu had sufficient.
When the meal was finished, the beggar again opened his bundle and
disclosed garments such as very young babies wear. “Put on these
garments, my son. They will make you look many years younger. And I,
seeing my son so young, will feel the years drop from my shoulders and
be again in the prime of my manhood—at least ten years younger.” Ah Tzu
did as he was told. “_Cha, Tieh tieh_ (Certainly, Papa).” On went the
small garments. “Now, Ah Tzu, we’ll go for a walk. Here is a calabash
for you to rattle.”
They went into the street. Ten steps and a crowd gathered. Such jeering.
Such laughter. “Ho. Ho. Ho. Here is old _back of the hands turned down_
(a beggar) and his infant son. What a pretty baby. _Tieh tieh_, has your
baby cut his teeth?” Ah Tzu rattled his calabash and tried hard to keep
from blushing. Weng Fu sauntered on in utter unconcern. When they
reached Seven Thieves Market, all shopkeepers boarded up their stalls,
thinking a mob had come to plunder.
At home once more, Weng Fu produced more food and told Ah Tzu to eat.
Then he cupped his hand to his ear as if listening. “I thought I heard
someone shout my name. There it is a second time.” He dashed out. At the
door a bag fell from his girdle. The bag flew open and from it rolled
rubies and pearls, to a value of at least ten bars of gold. Ah Tzu
called to his father, but receiving no answer, he hastily gathered up
the baubles and hid them.
Night came, but with it no father. When the moon had been set for an
hour, a noise brought Ah Tzu to his feet. The thieves? Let them come.
The boy was expecting some such visitation. He had a stouter club and a
kettle of hot water in readiness. . . . There was little short of murder
done in the Street of The Place Where The Cow Lost Her Horn. Ah Tzu had
eaten strengthening food that night. Though he wore the clothes of an
infant, that is no sign that his arm was the arm of an infant. Such
howling.
Old Weng Fu merely grunted when he received the bag of rubies and
pearls. Counting them he said, “I thought there were fifty large
pearls.” And he gazed keenly at Ah Tzu. If he expected to see a guilty
flush, he was disappointed. “I did not count them, my father. All that I
found I put in the bag.” The beggar grunted. “So—here is the missing
one. . . . But perhaps there were fifty-one. Look outside the door. You
may find another.”
As Ah Tzu sifted the earth, his nostrils told him of a smoke. Even as he
straightened up Weng Fu rushed from the house. No need to yell “Fire.”
Flames were darting like dragons’ tongues out of the thatch, out of the
walls. The old beggar ran in a circle, screaming: “Now what shall I
crack nuts on? What? What? Oh. Oh. Oh. Ah Tzu, my son, get me the brick
that lies on the floor in the northeast corner. The brick. The brick.”
Ah Tzu thought it strange that his father should set such high value on
a brick. But strange or not strange, an order was an order—to be
obeyed. Shielding his face with a sleeve he entered the house. Wisps of
burning straw fell upon him. Smoke seared his eyes. Smoke griped his
throat, periling his life. Straight he went to the farthest corner. He
stooped. A quick dash. He was safe, beyond the door. Ah Tzu’s task had
been accomplished. He handed to his father a brick . . . a worthless
yellow brick . . . a chipped and fissured brick. For that he had been
made to risk his life.
Weng Fu spoke no word of praise. He did not so much as look at Ah Tzu.
Only a close observer could have noticed that his lips quivered ever so
slightly. Finally he said: “I have one more errand for you, my son, then
you may rest. See—I have lost the string that bound my queue. Go you to
the Emperor and ask His Majesty for an old ribbon. Tell the Emperor you
wish to borrow a queue ribbon for Weng Fu, the beggar.”
Sadly troubled, Ah Tzu hastened toward the palace. He had every reason
for thinking that his impudent request would gain him not a ribbon for
Weng Fu but a rope for his own neck . . . and death for Weng Fu.
It was the hour when Shang Tien Hao, The Emperor, sat in public
audience. Any citizen might approach the throne. The aspen leaves never
tremble so violently as Ah Tzu trembled, kneeling before his monarch.
With much stammering, he stated the business that brought him. All the
time his forehead was tight pressed to the floor.
[Illustration: He kept his forehead tight-pressed to the floor.]
Strangely enough, the Emperor made no beckon to the executioner.
Instead, he smiled and said: “No, my son, I sha’n’t give you a ribbon
for old Weng Fu. He no longer exists. However, I shall give you ribbons
a-plenty and fine clothing for your own wear. You must learn that I,
being without heir, dressed as a beggar and wandered the streets to find
me a son brave as Meng, pure as Pao Shu, and devoted as Wei. Such I
found in you. No longer are you Ah Tzu, the orphan. Henceforth you are
Lieh Shih—hero—and beloved son of Shang Tien Hao, The Emperor.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]