The High-minded Strategy of the Amiable Hwa-mei
Warned by the mischance attending his previous meeting with Hwa-mei,
Kai Lung sought the walled enclosure at the earliest moment of his
permitted freedom, and secreting himself among the interlacing growth
he anxiously awaited the maiden’s coming.
Presently a movement in the trees without betrayed a presence, and the
story-teller was on the point of disclosing himself at the shutter
when the approaching one displayed an unfamiliar outline. Instead of a
maiden of exceptional symmetry and peach-like charm an elderly and
deformed hag drew near. As she might be hostile to his cause, Kai Lung
deemed it prudent to remain concealed; but in case she should prove to
be an emissary from Hwa-mei seeking him, his purpose was to stand
revealed. To combine these two attitudes until she should declare
herself was by no means an easy task, but she looked neither near nor
far in scrutiny until she stood, mumbling and infirm, beneath the
shutter.
“It is well, minstrel,” she called aloud. “She whom you await bid me
greet you with a sign.” At Kai Lung’s feet there fell a crimson
flower, growing on a thorny stem. “What word shall I in turn bear
back? Speak freely, for her mind is as my open hand.”
“Tell me rather,” said Kai Lung, looking out, “how she fares and what
averts her footsteps?”
“That will appear in due time,” replied the aged one. “In the
meanwhile I have her message to declare. Three times foiled in his
malignant scheme the now obscene Ming-shu sets all the Axioms at
naught. Distrusting you and those about your path, it is his sinister
intention to call up for judgment Kai-moo, who lies within the
women’s cell beyond the Water Way.”
“What is her crime and how will this avail him?”
“Charged with the murder of her man by means of the supple splinter
her condemnation is assured. The penalty is piecemeal slicing, and in
it are involved those of her direct line, in the humane effort to
eradicate so treacherous a strain.”
“That is but just,” agreed Kai Lung.
“Truly. But on the slender ligament of a kindred name you will be
joined with her in that end. Ming-shu will see to it that records of
your kinship are not lacking. Being accused of no crime on your own
behalf there will be nothing for you to appear against.”
“It is written: ‘Even leprosy may be cured, but the enmity of an
official underling can never be dispelled,’ and the malice of the
persistent Ming-shu certainly points to the wisdom of the verse. Is
the person of Kai-moo known to you, and where is the prison-house you
speak of?”
To this the venerable creature replied that the cell in question was
in a distant quarter of the city. Kai-moo, she continued, might be
regarded as fashioned like herself, being deformed in shape and
repellent in appearance. Furthermore, she was of deficient
understanding, these things aiding Ming-shu’s plan, as she would be
difficult to reach and impossible to instruct when reached.
“The extremity is almost hopeless enough to be left to the
ever-protecting spirits of one’s all-powerful Ancestors,” declared Kai
Lung at length. “Did she from whom you come forecast any confidence?”
“She had some assurance in a certain plan, which it is my message to
declare to you.”
“Her wisdom is to be computed neither by a rule nor by a measure. Say
on.”
“The keeper of the women’s prison-house lies within her hollowed hand,
nor will silver be wanting to still any arising doubt. Wrapped in
prison garb, and with her face disguised by art, she whose word I bear
will come forth at the appointed call and, taking her place before
Shan Tien, will play a fictitious part.”
“Alas! dotard,” interrupted Kai Lung impatiently, “it would be well if
I spent my few remaining hours in kowtowing to the Powers whom I shall
shortly meet. An aged and unsightly hag! Know you not, O venerable
bat, that the smooth perfection of the one you serve would shine
dazzling through a beaten mask of tempered steel? Her matchless hair,
glossier than a starling’s wing, floats like an autumn cloud. Her eyes
strike fire from damp clay, or make the touch of velvet harsh and
stubborn, according to her several moods. Peach-bloom held against her
cheek withers incapably by comparison. Her feet, if indeed she has
such commonplace attributes at all, are smaller--”
“Yet,” interrupted the hag, in a changed and quite melodious voice,
“if it is possible to delude the imagination of one whose longing eyes
dwell so constantly on these threadbare charms, what then will be the
position of the obtuse Ming-shu and the superficial Mandarin Shan
Tien, burdened as they now are by outside cares?”
“There are times when the classical perfection of our graceful tongue
is strangely inadequate to express emotion,” confessed Kai Lung,
colouring deeply, as Hwa-mei stood revealed before him. “It is truly
said: ‘The ingenuity of a guileless woman will undermine nine
mountains.’ You have cut off all the words of my misgivings.”
“To that end have I wrought, for in this I also need your skill.
Listen well and think deeply as I speak. Everywhere the outcome of the
strife grows more uncertain day by day and no man really knows which
side to favour yet. In this emergency each plays a double part. While
visibly loyal to the Imperial cause, the Mandarin Shan Tien fans the
whisper that in secret he upholds the rebellious banners. Ming-shu now
openly avers that if this and that are thus and thus the rising has
justice in its ranks, while at the same time he has it put abroad that
this is but a cloak the better to serve the state. Thus every man
maintains a double face in the hope that if the one side fails the
other will preserve him, and as a band all pledge to save (or if need
be to betray) each other.”
“This is the more readily understood as it is the common case on every
like occasion.”
“Then doubtless there are instances waiting on your lips. Teach me
such a story whereby the hope of those who are thus swayed may be
engaged and leave the rest to my arranging hand.”
On the following day at the appointed hour a bent and forbidding hag
was brought before Shan Tien, and the nature of her offence
proclaimed.
“It is possible to find an excuse for almost everything, regarding it
from one angle or another,” remarked the Mandarin impartially; “but
the crime of destroying a husband--and by a means so unpleasantly
insinuating--really seems to leave nothing to be said.”
“Yet, imperishable, even a bad coin must have two sides,” replied the
hag. “That I should be guilty and yet innocent would be no more
wonderful than the case of Weng Cho, who, when faced with the
alternative of either defying the Avenging Societies or of opposing
fixed authority found a way out of escaping both.”
“That should be worth--that is to say, if you base your defence upon
an existing case--”
“Providing the notorious thug Kai Lung is not thereby brought in,”
suggested the narrow-minded Ming-shu, who equally desired to learn the
stratagem involved.
“Weng Cho was the only one concerned,” replied the ancient
obtusely--“he who escaped the consequences. Is it permitted to this
one to make clear her plea?”
“If the fatigue is not more than your venerable personality can
reasonably bear,” replied Shan Tien courteously.
“To bear is the lot of every woman, be she young or old,” replied the
one before them. “I comply, omnipotence.”
The Story of Weng Cho; or, the One Devoid of Name
There was peach-blossom in the orchards of Kien-fi, a blue sky above,
and in the air much gladness; but in Wu Chi’s yamen gloom hung like
the herald of a thunderstorm. At one end of a table in the ceremonial
hall sat Wu Chi, heaviness upon his brow, deceit in his eyes, and a
sour enmity about the lines of his mouth; at the other end stood his
son Weng, and between them, as it were, his whole life lay.
Wu Chi was an official of some consequence and had two wives, as
became him. His union with the first had failed in its essential
purpose; therefore he had taken another to carry on the direct line
which alone could bring him contentment in this world and a reputable
existence in the next. This degree of happiness was supplied by Weng’s
mother, yet she must ever remain but a “secondary wife,” with no
rights and a very insecure position. In the heart of the chief wife
smouldered a most bitter hatred, but the hour of her ascendancy came,
for after many years she also bore her lord a son. Thenceforward she
was strong in her authority; but Weng’s mother remained, for she was
very beautiful, and despite all the arts of the other woman Wu Chi
could not be prevailed upon to dismiss her. The easy solution of this
difficulty was that she soon died--the “white powder death” was the
shrewd comment of the inner chambers of Kien-fi.
Wu Chi put on no mourning, custom did not require it; and now that the
woman had Passed Beyond he saw no necessity to honour her memory at
the expense of his own domestic peace. His wife donned her gayest
robes and made a feast. Weng alone stood apart, and in funereal
sackcloth moved through the house like an accusing ghost. Each day his
father met him with a frown, the woman whom alone he must regard as
his mother with a mocking smile, but he passed them without any word
of dutiful and submissive greeting. The period of all seemly mourning
ended--it touched that allotted to a legal parent; still Weng cast
himself down and made no pretence to hide his grief. His father’s
frown became a scowl, his mother’s smile framed a biting word. A wise
and venerable friend who loved the youth took him aside one day and
with many sympathetic words counselled restraint.
“For,” he said, “your conduct, though affectionate towards the dead,
may be urged by the ill-disposed as disrespectful towards the living.
If you have a deeper end in view, strive towards it by a less open
path.”
“You are subtle and esteemed in wisdom,” replied Weng, “but neither of
those virtues can restore a broken jar. The wayside fountain must one
day dry up at its source, but until then not even a mountain placed
upon its mouth can pen back its secret stores. So is it with unfeigned
grief.”
“The analogy may be exact,” replied the aged friend, shaking his head,
“but it is no less truly said: ‘The wise tortoise keeps his pain
inside.’ Rest assured, on the disinterested advice of one who has no
great experience of mountains and hidden springs, but a life-long
knowledge of Wu Chi and of his amiable wife, that if you mourn too
much you will have reason to mourn more.”
His words were pointed to a sharp edge. At that moment Wu Chi was
being confronted by his wife, who stood before him in his inner
chamber. “Who am I?” she exclaimed vehemently, “that my authority
should be denied before my very eyes? Am I indeed Che of the house of
Meng, whose ancestors wore the Yellow Scabbard, or am I some nameless
one? Or does my lord sleep, or has he fallen blind upon the side by
which Weng approaches?”
“His heart is bad and his instincts perverted,” replied Wu Chi dully.
“He ignores the rites, custom, and the Emperor’s example, and sets at
defiance all the principles of domestic government. Do not fear that I
shall not shortly call him to account with a very heavy call.”
“Do so, my lord,” said his wife darkly, “or many valiant champions of
the House of Meng may press forward to make a cast of that same
account. To those of our ancient line it would not seem a trivial
thing that their daughter should share her rights with a purchased
slave.”
“Peace, cockatrice! the woman was well enough,” exclaimed Wu Chi, with
slow resentment. “But the matter of this obstinacy touches the dignity
of my own authority, and before to-day has passed Weng shall bring up
his footsteps suddenly before a solid wall.”
Accordingly, when Weng returned at his usual hour he found his father
awaiting him with curbed impatience. That Wu Chi should summon him
into his presence in the great hall was of itself an omen that the
matter was one of moment, but the profusion of lights before the
Ancestral Tablets and the various symbols arranged upon the table
showed that the occasion was to be regarded as one involving
irrevocable issues.
“Weng Cho,” said his father dispassionately, from his seat at the head
of the table, “draw near, and first pledge the Ancient Ones whose
spirits hover above their Tablets in a vessel of wine.”
“I am drinking affliction and move under the compact of a solemn vow,”
replied Weng fixedly, “therefore I cannot do this; nor, as signs are
given me to declare, will the forerunners of our line, who from their
high places look down deep into the mind and measure the heart with an
impartial rod, deem this an action of disrespect to their illustrious
shades.”
“It is well to be a sharer of their councils,” said Wu Chi, with
pointed insincerity. “But,” he continued, in the same tone, “for whom
can Weng Cho of the House of Wu mourn? His father is before him in his
wonted health; in the inner chamber his mother plies an unfaltering
needle; while from the Dragon Throne the supreme Emperor still rules
the world. Haply, however, a thorn has pierced his little finger, or
does he perchance bewail the loss of a favourite bird?”
“That thorn has sunk deeply into his existence, and the memory of that
loss still dims his eyes with bitterness,” replied Weng. “Bid the rain
cease to fall when the clouds are heavy.”
“The comparison is ill-chosen,” cried Whu Chi harshly. “Rather should
the allusion be to the evil tendency of a self-willed branch which, in
spite of the continual watering of precept and affection, maintains
its perverted course, and must henceforth either submit to be bound
down into an appointed line, or be utterly cut off so that the tree
may not suffer. Long and patiently have I marked your footsteps, Weng
Cho, and they are devious. This is not a single offence, but it is no
light one. Appointed by the Board of Ceremony, approved of by the
Emperor, and observed in every loyal and high-minded subject are the
details of the rites and formalities which alone serve to distinguish
a people refined and humane from those who are rude and barbarous. By
setting these observances at defiance you insult their framers, act
traitorously towards your sovereign, and assail the foundations of
your House; for your attitude is a direct reflection upon others; and
if you render such a tribute to one who is incompetent to receive it,
how will you maintain a seemly balance when a greater occasion
arises?”
“When the earth that has nourished it grows cold the leaves of the
branch fall--doubtless the edicts of the Board referred to having
failed to reach their ears,” replied Weng bitterly. “Revered father,
is it not permitted that I should now depart? Behold I am stricken and
out of place.”
“You are evil and your heart is fat with presumptuous pride!”
exclaimed Wu Chi, releasing the cords of his hatred and anger so that
they leapt out from his throat like the sudden spring of a tiger from
a cave. “Evil in birth, grown under an evil star and now come to a
full maturity. Go you shall, Weng Cho, and that on a straight journey
forthwith or else bend your knees with an acquiescent face.” With
these words he beat furiously on a gong, and summoning the entire
household he commanded that before Weng should be placed a jar of wine
and two glass vessels, and on the other side a staff and a pair of
sandals. From an open shutter the face of the woman Che looked down in
mocking triumph.
The alternatives thus presented were simple and irrevocable. On the
one hand Weng must put from him all further grief, ignore his vows,
and join in mirth and feast; on the other he must depart, never to
return, and be deprived of every tie of kinship, relinquishing
ancestry, possessions and name. It was a course severer than anything
that Wu Chi had intended when he sent for his son, but resentment had
distorted his eyesight. It was a greater test than Weng had
anticipated, but his mind was clear, and his heart charged with
fragrant memories of his loss. Deliberately but with silent dignity he
poured the untasted wine upon the ground, drew his sword and touched
the vessels lightly so that they broke, took from off his thumb the
jade ring inscribed with the sign of the House of Wu, and putting on
the sandals grasped the staff and prepared to leave the hall.
“Weng Cho, for the last time spoken of as of the House of Wu, now
alienated from that noble line, and henceforth and for ever an
outcast, you have made a choice and chosen as befits your rebellious
life. Between us stretches a barrier wider and deeper than the Yellow
Sea, and throughout all future time no sign shall pass from that
distant shore to this. From every record of our race your name shall
be cut out; no mention of it shall profane the Tablets, and both in
this world and the next it shall be to us as though you have never
been. As I break this bowl so are all ties broken, as I quench this
candle so are all memories extinguished, and as, when you go, the
space is filled with empty air, so shall it be.”
“Ho, nameless stranger,” laughed the woman from above, “here is food
and drink to bear you on your way”; and from the grille she threw a
withered fig and spat.
“The fruit is the cankered effort of a barren tree,” cast back Weng
over his shoulder. “Look to your own offspring, basilisk. It is given
me to speak.” Even as he spoke there was a great cry from the upper
part of the house, the sound of many feet and much turmoil, but he
went on his way without another word.
Thus it was that Weng Cho came to be cut off from the past. From his
father’s house he stepped out into the streets of Kien-fi a being
without a name, destitute, and suffering the pangs of many keen
emotions. Friends whom he encountered he saluted distantly, not
desirous of sharing their affection until they should have learned his
state; but there was one who stood in his mind as removed above the
possibility of change, and to the summer-house of Tiao’s home he
therefore turned his steps.
Tiao was the daughter of a minor official, an unsuccessful man of no
particular descent. He had many daughters, and had encouraged Weng’s
affection, with frequent professions that he regarded only the youth’s
virtuous life and discernment, and would otherwise have desired one
not so highly placed. Tiao also had spoken of rice and contentment in
a ruined pagoda. Yet as she listened to Weng’s relation a new
expression gradually revealed itself about her face, and when he had
finished many paces lay between them.
“A breaker of sacred customs, a disobeyer of parents and an outcast!
How do you disclose yourself!” she exclaimed wildly. “What vile thing
has possessed you?”
“One hitherto which now rejects me,” replied Weng slowly. “I had
thought that here alone I might find a familiar greeting, but that
also fails.”
“What other seemly course presents itself?” demanded the maiden
unsympathetically. “How degrading a position might easily become that
of the one who linked her lot with yours if all fit and proper
sequences are to be reversed! What menial one might supplant her not
only in your affections but also in your Rites! He had defied the
Principles!” she exclaimed, as her father entered from behind a
screen.
“He has lost his inheritance,” muttered the little old man, eyeing him
contemptuously. “Weng Cho,” he continued aloud, “you have played a
double part and crossed our step with only half your heart. Now the
past is past and the future an unwritten sheet.”
“It shall be written in vermilion ink,” replied Weng, regaining an
impassive dignity; “and upon that darker half of my heart can now be
traced two added names.”
He had no aim now, but instinct drove him towards the mountains, the
retreat of the lost and despairing. A three days’ journey lay between.
He went forward vacantly, without food and without rest. A falling
leaf, as it is said, would have turned the balance of his destiny, and
at the wayside village of Li-yong so it chanced. The noisome smell of
burning thatch stung his face as he approached, and presently the
object came into view. It was the bare cabin of a needy widow who had
become involved in a lawsuit through the rapacity of a tax-gatherer.
As she had the means neither to satisfy the tax nor to discharge the
dues, the powerful Mandarin before whom she had been called ordered
all her possessions to be seized, and that she should then be burned
within her hut as a warning to others. This was the act of justice
being carried out, and even as Weng heard the tale the Mandarin in
question drew near, carried in his state chair to satisfy his eyes
that his authority was scrupulously maintained. All those villagers
who had not drawn off unseen at once fell upon their faces, so that
Weng alone remained standing, doubtful what course to take.
“Ill-nurtured dog!” exclaimed the Mandarin, stepping up to him,
“prostrate yourself! Do you not know that I am of the Sapphire Button,
and have fivescore bowmen at my yamen, ready to do my word?” And he
struck the youth across the face with a jewelled rod.
“I have only one sword, but it is in my hand,” cried Weng, reckless
beneath the blow, and drawing it he at one stroke cut down the
Mandarin before any could raise a hand. Then breaking in the door of
the hovel he would have saved the woman, but it was too late, so he
took the head and body and threw them into the fire, saying: “There,
Mandarin, follow to secure justice. They shall not bear witness
against you Up There in your absence.”
The chair-carriers had fled in terror, but the villagers murmured
against Weng as he passed through them. “It was a small thing that one
house and one person should be burned; now, through this, the whole
village will assuredly be consumed. He was a high official and visited
justice impartially on us all. It was our affair, and you, who are a
stranger, have done ill.”
“I did you wrong, Mandarin,” said Weng, resuming his journey; “you
took me for one of them. I pass you the parting of the woman Che,
burrowers in the cow-heap called Li-yong.”
“Oi-ye!” exclaimed a voice behind, “but yonder earth-beetles haply
have not been struck off the Tablets and found that a maiden with
well-matched eyes can watch two ways at once, all of a morning: and
thereby death through red spectacles is not that same death through
blue spectacles. Things in their appointed places, noble companion.”
“Greetings, wayfarer,” said Weng, stopping. “The path narrows somewhat
inconveniently hereabout. Take honourable precedence.”
“The narrower the better to defend then,” replied the stranger
good-humouredly. “Whereto, also, two swords cut a larger slice than
one. Without doubt fivescore valiant bowmen will soon be a-ranging
when they hear that the enemy goes upon two feet, and then ill befall
who knows not the passes.” As he spoke an arrow, shot from a distance,
flew above their heads.
“Why should you bear a part with me, and who are you who know these
recent things?” demanded Weng doubtfully.
“I am one of many, we being a branch of that great spreading lotus the
Triad, though called by the tillers here around the League of
Tomb-Haunters, because we must be sought in secret places. The things
I have spoken I know because we have many ears, and in our care a
whisper passes from east to west and from north to south without a
word being spilled.”
“And the price of your sword is that I should join the confederacy?”
asked Weng thoughtfully.
“I had set out to greet you before the estimable Mandarin who is now
saluting his ancestors was so inopportune as to do so,” replied the
emissary. “Yet it is not to be denied that we offer an adequate
protection among each other, while at the same time punishing guilt
and administering a rigorous justice secretly.”
“Lead me to your meeting-place, then,” said Weng determinedly. “I have
done with the outer things.”
The guide pointed to a rock, shaped like a locust’s head, which marked
the highest point of the steep mountain before them. Soon the fertile
lowlands ended and they passed beyond the limit of the inhabitable
region. Still ascending they reached the Tiger’s High Retreat, which
defines the spot where even the animal kind turn back and where
watercourses cease to flow. Beyond this the most meagre indication of
vegetable sustenance came to an end, and thenceforward their passage
was rendered more slow and laborious by frequent snow-storms, barriers
of ice, and sudden tempests which strove to hurl them to destruction.
Nevertheless, by about the hour of midnight they reached the rock
shaped like a locust’s head, which stood in the wildest and most
inaccessible part of the mountain, and masked the entrance to a
strongly-guarded cave. Here Weng suffered himself to be blindfolded,
and being led forward he was taken into the innermost council. Closely
questioned, he professed a spontaneous desire to be admitted into
their band, to join in their dangers and share their honours;
whereupon the oath was administered to him, the passwords and secret
signs revealed, and he was bound from that time forth, under the bonds
of a most painful death and torments in the afterworld, to submerge
all passions save those for the benefit of their community, and to
cherish no interests, wrongs or possessions that did not affect them
all alike.
For the space of seven years Weng remained about the shadow of the
mountain, carrying out, together with the other members of the band,
the instructions which from time to time they received from the higher
circles of the Society, as well as such acts of retributive justice as
they themselves determined upon, and in this quiet and unostentatious
manner maintaining peace and greatly purifying the entire province. In
this passionless subservience to the principles of the Order none
exceeded him; yet at no time have men been forbidden to burn
joss-sticks to the spirit of the destinies, and who shall say?
At the end of seven years the first breath from out of the past
reached Weng (or Thang, as he had announced himself to be when cast
out nameless). One day he was summoned before the chief of their
company and a mission laid upon him.
“You have proved yourself to be capable and sincere in the past, and
this matter is one of delicacy,” said the leader. “Furthermore, it is
reported that you know something of the paths about Kien-fi?”
“There is not a forgotten turn within those paths by which I might
stumble in the dark,” replied Weng, striving to subdue his mind.
“See that out of so poignant a memory no more formidable barrier than
a forgotten path arises,” said the leader, observing him closely.
“Know you, then a house bearing as a sign the figure of a golden
ibis?”
“Truly; I have noted it,” replied Weng, changing his position, so that
he now leaned against a rock. “There dwelt an old man of some lower
official rank, who had no son but many daughters.”
“He has Passed, and one of those--Tiao by name,” said the other,
referring to a parchment--“has schemingly driven out the rest and held
the patrimony. Crafty and ambitious, she has of late married a high
official who has ever been hostile to ourselves. Out of a private
enmity the woman seeks the lives of two who are under our most solemn
protection, and now uses her husband’s wealth and influence to that
end. It is on him that the blow must fall, for men kill only men, and
she, having no son, will then be discredited and impotent.”
“And concerning this official?” asked Weng.
“It has not been thought prudent to speak of him by name,” replied the
chief. “Stricken with a painful but not dangerous malady he has
retired for a time to the healthier seclusion of his wife’s house, and
there he may be found. The woman you will know with certainty by a
crescent scar--above the right eye.”
“Beneath the eye,” corrected Weng instantly.
“Assuredly, beneath: I misread the sign,” said the head, appearing to
consult the scroll. “Yet, out of a keen regard for your virtues,
Thang, let me point a warning that it is antagonistic to our strict
rule to remember these ancient scars too well. Further, in accordance
with that same esteem, do not stoop too closely nor too long to
identify the mark. By our pure and exacting standard no high
attainment in the past can justify defection. The pains and penalties
of failure you well know.”
“I bow, chieftain,” replied Weng acquiescently.
“It is well,” said the chief. “Your strategy will be easy. To cure
this lord’s disorder a celebrated physician is even now travelling
from the Capital towards Kien-fi. A day’s journey from that place he
will encounter obstacles and fall into the hands of those who will
take away his robes and papers. About the same place you will meet one
with a bowl on the roadside who will hail you, saying, ‘Charity, out
of your superfluity, noble mandarin coming from the north!’ To him you
will reply, ‘Do mandarins garb thus and thus and go afoot? It is I who
need a change of raiment and a chair; aye, by the token of the
Locust’s Head!’ He will then lead you to a place where you will find
all ready and a suitable chair with trusty bearers. The rest lies
beneath your grinding heel. Prosperity!”
Weng prostrated himself and withdrew. The meeting by the wayside
befell as he had received assurance--they who serve the Triad do not
stumble--and at the appointed time he stood before Tiao’s door and
called for admission. He looked to the right and the left as one who
examines a new prospect, and among the azalea flowers the burnished
roof of the summer-house glittered in the sun.
“Lucky omens attend your coming, benevolence,” said the chief
attendant obsequiously; “for since he sent for you an unpropitious
planet has cast its influence upon our master, so that his power
languishes.”
“Its malignity must be controlled,” said Weng, in a feigned voice, for
he recognized the one before him. “Does any watch?”
“Not now,” replied the attendant; “for he has slept since these two
hours. Would your graciousness have speech with the one of the inner
chamber?”
“In season perchance. First lead me to your lord’s side and then see
that we are undisturbed until I reappear. It may be expedient to
invoke a powerful charm without delay.”
In another minute Weng stood alone in the sick man’s room, between
them no more barrier than the silk-hung curtains of the couch. He slid
down his right hand and drew a keen-edged knife; about his left he
looped the even more fatal cord; then advancing with a noiseless step
he pulled back the drapery and looked down. It was the moment for
swift and silent action; nothing but hesitation and delay could
imperil him, yet in that supreme moment he stepped back, released the
curtain from his faltering grasp and, suffering the weapons to fall
unheeded to the floor, covered his face with his hands, for lying
before him he had seen the outstretched form, the hard contemptuous
features, of his father.
Yet most solemnly alienated from him in every degree. By Wu Chi’s own
acts every tie of kinship had been effaced between them: the bowl had
been broken, the taper blown out, empty air had filled his place. Wu
Chi acknowledged no memory of a son; he could claim no reverence as a
father. . . . Tiao’s husband. . . . Then he was doubly
childless. . . . The woman and her seed had withered, as he had
prophesied.
On the one hand stood the Society, powerful enough to protect him in
every extremity, yet holding failure as treason; most terrible and
inexorable towards set disobedience. His body might find a painless
escape from their earthly torments, but by his oaths his spirit lay in
their keeping to be punished through all eternity.
That he was no longer Wu Chi’s son, that he had no father--this
conviction had been strong enough to rule him in every contingency of
life save this. By every law of men and deities the ties between them
had been dissolved, and they stood as a man and man; yet the salt can
never be quite washed out of sea-water.
For a time which ceased to be hours or minutes, but seemed as a
fragment broken off eternity, he stood, motionless but most deeply
racked. With an effort he stooped to take the cord, and paused again;
twice he would have seized the dagger, but doubt again possessed him.
From a distant point of the house came the chant of a monk singing a
prayer and beating upon a wooden drum. The rays of the sun falling
upon the gilded roof in the garden again caught his eyes; nothing else
stirred.
“These in their turn have settled great issues lightly,” thought Weng
bitterly. “Must I wait upon an omen?”
“. . . submitting oneself to purifying scars,” droned the voice far
off; “propitiating if need be by even greater self-inflictions . . .”
“It suffices,” said Weng dispassionately, and picking up the knife he
turned to leave the room.
At the door he paused again, but not in an arising doubt. “I will
leave a token for Tiao to wear as a jest,” was the image that had
sprung from his new abasement, and taking a sheet of parchment he
quickly wrote thereon: “A wave has beat from that distant shore to
this, and now sinks in the unknown depths.”
Again he stepped noiselessly to the couch, drew the curtain and
dropped the paper lightly on the form. As he did so his breath
stopped; his fingers stiffened. Cautiously, on one knee, he listened
intently, lightly touched the face; then recklessly taking a hand he
raised the arm and suffered it to fall again. No power restrained it;
no alertness of awakening life came into the dull face. Wu Chi had
already Passed Beyond.