BAF 45 - Kai Lung;s Golden Hours, page 14
part #45 of Ballantine Adult Fantasy Series
“Doubtless it will. He is still wearing it,” replied Lin, as one who speaks of casual occurrences.
“Is he then, at so advanced an age, in the state of an ordinary existence?”
“Assuredly. Fortified by the virtue emanating from the garment referred to, it is his deliberate intention to continue here for yet another score of years at least.”
“But if such robes are of so dubious a nature how can reliance be placed on any one?”
“Esteemed,” replied Lin, “it is a matter that has long been suspected among the observant. Unfortunately, the Ruby Buttons of the past mistakenly formulated that the essence of continuous existence was imparted to a burial robe through the hands of a young maiden—hence so many deplorable experiences. The proper person to be so employed is undoubtedly one of venerable attainment, for only thereby can the claim to possess the vital principle be assured.”
“Was the robe which has so effectively sustained your meritorious father thus constructed?” inquired Wang Ho, inviting Lin to recline himself upon a couch by a gesture as of one who discovers for the first time that an honoured guest has been overlooked.
“It is of ancient make, and thereby in the undiscriminating eye perhaps somewhat threadbare; but to the desert traveller all wells are sparkling,” replied Lin. “A venerable woman, inspired of certain magic wisdom, which she wove into the texture, to the exclusion of the showier qualities, designed it at the age of threescore years and three short of another score. She was engaged upon its fabrication yet another seven, and finally Passed Upwards at an attainment of three hundred and thirty-three years, three moons, and three days, thus conforming to all the principles of allowed witchcraft.”
“Cheng Lin,” said Wang Ho amiably, pouring out for the one whom he addressed a full measure of rice-spirit, “the duty that an obedient son owes even to a grasping and self-indulgent father has in the past been pressed to a too conspicuous front, at the expense of the harmonious relation that should exist between a comfortably positioned servant and a generous and benevolent master. Now in the matter of these two coffin cloths _»
“My ears are widely opened towards your auspicious words, benevolence,” replied Lin.
“You, Cheng Lin, are still too young to be concerned with the question of Passing Beyond; your imperishable father is, one is compelled to say, already old enough to go. As regards both persons, therefore, the assumed virtue of one burial robe above another should be merely a matter of speculative interest. Now if some arrangement should be suggested, not unprofitable to yourself, by which one robe might be imperceptibly substituted for another—and, after all, one buried robe is very like another—”
“The prospect of deceiving a trustful and venerated sire is so ignoble that scarcely any material gain would be a fitting compensation—were it not for the fact that an impending loss of vision renders the deception somewhat easy to accomplish. Proceed, therefore, munificence, towards a precise statement of your open-handed prodigality.”
* * * * *
Indescribable was the bitterness of Shen Heng’s throat when Cheng Lin unfolded his burden and revealed the Wang Ho thousand-tael burial robe, with an unassuming request for the return of the purchase money, either in gold or honourable paper, as the article was found unsuitable. Shen Heng shook the rafters of the Golden Abacus with indignation, and called upon his domestic demons, the spirits of eleven generations of embroidering ancestors, and the illuminated tablets containing the High Code and Authority of the Distinguished Brotherhood of Coffin Cloth and Burial Robe Makers in protest against so barbarous an innovation.
Bowing repeatedly and modestly expressing himself to the effect that it was incredible that he was not justly struck dead before the sublime spectacle of Shen Heng’s virtuous indignation, Cheng Lin carefully produced the written lines of the agreement, gently directing the Distinguished Brother’s fire-kindling eyes to an indicated detail. It was a provision that the robe should be returned and the purchase money restored if the garment was not all that was therein stipulated: with his invariable painstaking loyalty Lin had insisted upon this safeguard when he drew up the form, although, probably from a disinclination to extol his own services, he had omitted mentioning the fact to Wang Ho in their recent conversation.
With deprecating firmness Lin directed Shen Heng’s reluctant eyes to another line—the unfortunate exaction of fifty taels in return for the guarantee that the robe should be permeated with the spirit of rejuvenation. As the undoubted embroiderer of the robe—one Min of the family of Hsi—had admittedly Passed Beyond almost with the last stitch, it was evident that she could only have conveyed by her touch an entirely contrary emanation. If, as Shen Heng never ceased to declare, Min was still somewhere alive, let her be produced and a fitting token of reconciliation would be forthcoming; otherwise, although with the acutest reluctance, it would be necessary to carry the claim to the court of the chief District Mandarin, and (Cheng Lin trembled at the sacrilegious thought) it would be impossible to conceal the fact that Shen Heng employed persons of inauspicious omen, and the high repute of coffin cloths from the Golden Abacus would be lost. The hint arrested Shen Heng’s fingers in the act of tearing out a handful of his beautiful pigtail. For the first time he noticed, with intense self-reproach, that Lin was not reclining on a couch.
The amiable discussion that followed, conducted with discriminating dignity by Shen Heng and conscientious humility on the part of Cheng Lin, extended from one gong-stroke before noon until close upon the time for the evening rice. The details arrived at were that Shen
Heng should deliver to Lin eight hundred and seventy-five taels against the return of the robe. He would also press upon that person a silk purse with an onyx clasp, containing twenty-five taels, as a deliberate mark of his individual appreciation and quite apart from anything to do with the transaction on hand. All suggestions of anything other than the strictest high-mindedness were withdrawn from both sides. In order that the day should not be wholly destitute of sunshine at the Golden Abacus, Lin declared his intention of purchasing, at a price not exceeding three taels and a half, the oldest and most unattractive burial robe that the stock contained. So moved was Shen Heng by this delicate consideration that he refused to accept more than two taels and three-quarters. Moreover, he added for Lin’s acceptance a small jar of crystallised limpets.
To those short-sighted ones who profess to discover in the conduct of Cheng Lin (now an official of the seventeenth grade and drawing his quarterly sufficiency of taels in a distant province) something not absolutely honourably arranged, it is only necessary to display the ultimate end as it affected those persons in any way connected.
Wang Ho thus obtained a burial robe in which he was able to repose absolute confidence. Doubtless it would have sustained him to an advanced age had he not omitted self-ending, in the ordinary way of business, a few years later.
Shen Heng soon disposed of the returned garment for two thousand taels to a person who had become prematurely wealthy owing to the distressed state of the Empire. In addition he had sold, for more than two taels, a robe which he had no real expectation of ever selling at all.
Min, made welcome at the house of Mean and Lin, removed with them to the distant province. There she found that the remuneration for burial robe embroidery was greater than she had ever obtained before. With the money thus amassed she was able to marry an official of noble rank.
The father of Cheng Lin had passed into the Upper Air many years before the incidents with which this related narrative concerns itself. He is thus in no way affected. But Lin did not neglect, in the time of his prosperity, to transmit to him frequent sacrifices of seasonable delicacies suited to his condition.
Chapter 8
The Timely Disputation Among Those of an Inner Chamber of Yu’ping
For the space of three days Ming-shu remained absent from Yu-ping, and the affections of Kai Lung and Hwa-mei prospered. On the evening of the third day the maiden stood beneath the shutter with a more definite look, and Kai Lung understood that a further period of unworthy trial was now at hand.
“Behold!” she explained, “at dawn the corrupt Ming-shu will pass within our gates again, nor is it prudent to assume that his enmity has lessened.”
“On the contrary,” replied Kai Lung, “like that unnatural reptile that lives on air, his malice will have grown upon the voidness of its cause. As the wise Ling-kwang remarks: ‘He who plants a vineyard with one hand—’”
“Assuredly, beloved,” interposed Hwa-mei dexterously. “But our immediate need is less to describe Ming-shu’s hate in terms of classical analogy than to find a potent means of baffling its venom.”
“You are all-wise as usual,” confessed Kai Lung, with due humility. “I will restrain my much too verbose tongue.”
“The invading Banners from the north have for the moment failed and those who drew swords in their cause are flying to the hills. In Yu-ping, therefore, loyalty wears a full round face and about the yamen of Shan Tien men speak almost in set terms. While these conditions prevail, justice will continue to be administered precisely as before. We have thus nothing to hope in that direction.”
“Yet in the ideal state of purity aimed at by the illustrious founders of our race—” began Kai Lung, and ceased abruptly, remembering.
“As it is, we are in the state of Tsin in the fourteenth of the heaven-sent Ching,” retorted Hwa-mei capably. “The insatiable Ming-shu will continue to seek your life, calling to his aid every degraded subterfuge. When the nature of these can be learned somewhat in advance, as the means within my power have hitherto enabled us to do, a trusty shield is raised in your defence.”
Kai Lung would have spoken of the length and the breadth of his indebtedness,, but she who stood below did not encourage this.
“Ming-shu’s absence makes this plan fruitless here today, and as a consequence he may suddenly disclose a subtle snare to which your feet must bend. In this emergency my strategy has been towards safeguarding your irreplaceable life tomorrow at all hazard. Should this avail, Ming-shu’s later schemes will present no baffling veil.”
“Your virtuous little finger is as strong as Ming-shu’s offensive thumb,” remarked Kai Lung. “This person has no fear.
“Doubtless,” acquiesced Hwa-mei. “But she who has spun the thread knows the weakness of the net. Heed well to the end that no ineptness may arise. Shan Tien of late extols your art, claiming that in every circumstance you have a story fitted to the need.”
“He measures with a golden rule,” agreed Kai Lung. “Left to himself, Shan Tien is a just, if a superficial, judge.”
The knowledge of this boast, Hwa-mei continued to relate, had spread to the inner chambers of the yamen, where the lesser ones vied with each other in proclaiming the merit of the captive minstrel. Amid this eulogy Hwa-mei moved craftily and played an insidious part, until she who was their appointed head was committed to the claim. Then the maiden raised a contentious voice.
“Our lord’s trout were ever salmon,” she declared, “and lo! here is another great and weighty fish! Assuredly no living man is thus and thus; or are the T’ang epicists returned to earth? Truly our noble one is easily pleased—in many ways!” With these well-fitted words she fixed her eyes upon the countenance of Shan Tien’s chief wife and waited.
“The sun shines through his words and the moon adorns his utterances,” replied the chief wife, with unswerving loyalty, though she added, no less suitably: “That one should please him easily and another therein fail, despite her ceaseless efforts, is as the Destinies provide.”
“You are all-seeing,” admitted Hwa-mei generously; “nor is a locked door any obstacle to your discovering eye. Let this arisement be submitted to a facile test. Dependent from my ill-formed ears are rings of priceless jade that have ever tinged your thoughts, while about your shapely neck is a crystal charm, to which an unclouded background would doubtless give some lustre. I will set aside the rings and thou shalt set aside the charm. Then, at a chosen time, this vaunted one shall attend before us here, and I having disclosed the substance of a theme, he shall make good the claim. If he so does, capably and without delay, thou shalt possess the jewels. But if, in the judgment of these around, he shall fail therein, then are both jewels mine. Is it so agreed?”
“It is agreed!” cried those who were the least concerned, seeing some entertainment to themselves. “Shall the trial take place at once?”
“Not so,” replied Hwa-mei. “A sufficient space must be allowed for this one wherein to select the matter of the test. Tomorrow let it be, before the hour of evening rice. And thou?”
“Inasmuch as it will enlarge the prescience of our lord in minds that are light and vaporous, I also do consent,” replied the chief wife. “Yet must he too be of our company, to be witness of the upholding of his word and, if need be, to cast a decisive voice:”
“Thus,” continued Hwa-mei, as she narrated these events, “Shan Tien is commmitted to the trial and thereby he must preserve you until that hour. Tell me now the answer to the test, that I may frame the question to agree.”
Kai Lung thought a while, then said:
“There is a story of Chang Tao. It concerns one who, bidden to do an impossible task, succeeded though he failed, and shows how two identically similar beings may be essentially diverse. To this should be subjoined the apothegm that that which we are eager to obtain may be that which we have striven to avoid.”
“It suffices,” agreed Hwa-mei. “Bear well your part.”
“Yet,” suggested Kai Lung, hoping to detain her retiring footsteps for yet another span, “were it not better that I should fall short at the test, thus to enlarge your word before your fellows?”
“And in so doing demean yourself, darken the face of Shan Tien’s present regard, and alienate all those who stand around! O most obtuse Kai Lung!”
“I will lay bare my throat,” confessed Kai Lung. “The barbed thought had assailed my mind that perchance the rings of precious jade lay coiled around your heart. Thus and thus I spoke.”
“Thus also will I speak,” replied Hwa-mei, and her uplifted eyes held Kai Lung by the inner fibre of his being. “Did I value them as I do, and were they a single hair of my superfluous head, the whole head were freely offered to a like result.”
With these noticeable words, which plainly testified the strength of her emotion, the maiden turned and hastened on her way, leaving Kai Lung gazing from the shutter in a very complicated state of disquietude.
The Story of Chang Tao, Melodious Vision and the Dragon
After Chang Tao had reached the age of manhood his grandfather took him aside one day and spoke of a certain matter, speaking as a philosopher whose mind has at length overflowed.
“Behold!” he said, when they were at a discreet distance aside, “your years are now thus and thus, but there are still empty chairs where there should be occupied cradles in your inner chamber, and the only upraised voice heard in this spacious residence is that of your esteemed father repeating the Analects. The prolific portion of the tree of our illustrious House consists of its roots; its existence onwards narrows down to a single branch which as yet has put forth no blossoms.”
“The loftiest tower rises from the ground,” remarked Chang Tao evasively, not wishing to implicate himself on either side as yet.
“Doubtless; and as an obedient son it is commendable that you should close your ears, but as a discriminating father there is no reason why I should not open my mouth,” continued the venerable Chang in a voice from which every sympathetic modulation was withdrawn. “It is admittedly a meritorious resolve to devote one’s existence to explaining the meaning of a single obscure passage of one of the Odes, but if the detachment necessary to the achievement results in a hitherto carefully preserved line coming to an incapable end, it would have been more satisfactory to the dependent shades of our revered ancestors that the one in question should have collected street garbage rather than literary instances, or turned somersaults in place of the pages of the Classics, had he but given his first care to providing you with a wife and thereby safeguarding our unbroken continuity.”
“My father is all-wise,” ventured Chang Tao dutifully, but observing the nature of the other’s expression he hastened to add considerately, “but my father’s father is even wiser.”
“Inevitably,” assented the one referred to; “not merely because he is the more mature by a generation, but also in that he is thereby nearer to the inspired ancients in whom the Cardinal Principles reside.”
“Yet, assuredly, there must be occasional exceptions to this rule of progressive deterioration?” suggested Chang Tao, feeling that the process was not without a definite application to himself.
“Not in our pure and orthodox line,” replied the other person firmly. “To suggest otherwise is to admit the possibility of a son being the superior of his own father, and to what a discordant state of things would that contention lead! However immaturely you may think at present, you will see the position at its true angle when you have sons of your own.”
“The contingency is not an overhanging one,” said Chang Tao. “On the last occasion when I reminded my venerated father of my age and unmarried state, he remarked that, whether he looked backwards or forwards, extinction seemed to be the kindest destiny to which our House could be subjected.”
“Originality, carried to the length of eccentricity, is a censurable accomplishment in one of official rank,” remarked the elder Chang coldly. “Plainly it is time that I should lengthen the authority of my own arm very perceptibly. If a father is so neglectful of his duty, it is fitting that a grandfather should supply his place. This person will himself procure a bride for you without delay.”
“The function might perhaps seem an unusual one,” suggested Chang Tao, who secretly feared the outcome of an enterprise conducted under these auspices.
