BAF 64 - Kai Lung Unrolls His Mat, page 26
part #64 of Ballantine Adult Fantasy Series
“Has there by any chance a baseborn interloper lately appeared among your lordly herd of distinguished-looking goats?” he might have vainly asked at every farmstead.
“Is the one whom you address a hungry dog that the odour of one goat differs from that of another across his path?” would have been the discouraging reply. “Or have you counted the hairs of that which you claim to have lost, so that you shall describe it? Behold, within my flock are goats of every shape and kind, and by a meritorious fruitfulness their numbers increase from day to day. Begone then with this quail-and-dragon story of a wandering goat, the counterpart of one of mine, and seek a less wary victim.”
Truly; but what words of evasive contumely could be directed against one who should draw near remarking:
“Greeting, opportune possessor of this majestic flock of vermilion goats which so decoratively sets off the fertile hillside.”
“Greeting,” courtesy would demand in answer. “Yet the creatures are themselves evil in every bone, and the pasturage is meagre and full of bitterness.”
“On the contrary, only one blemish mars the harmonious unity of the engaging scene. Have I your genial permission to disclose it?”
“Say on—if you must,” would be the morose reply, the one addressed seeing no other course before him. “But a-virtuous life speaks louder than a brazen trumpet.”
“Your gracious encouragement moistens my laborious tongue. Among such perfection even these afflicted eyes at once recognize yonder ungainly outcast, whose ineradicable coat of blue is very thinly disguised beneath a recent dressing of red earth. Permit me, therefore, to attach this commonplace thing to its rebellious horns and to free your nobly descended herd of its distasteful presence.”
In this mutually inoffensive way, Ching-kwei had already on several occasions recovered defiant members of his flock, and had himself not infrequently suffered a similar loss at the hands of equally determined neighbours. But this time an unstinted measure of no-success marked all his efforts, and his persistent endeavour to implicate one after another of those whom he distrusted led to nothing but a spot ever increasingly distant from his own domestic hearth.
It was toward evening on the second day of his quest that Ching-kwei encountered a brighter omen. He had then reached a barren and forbidding waste and was contemplating turning back from so cheerless a prospect when he noticed a little wizened mendicant seated upon a rock a few paces farther on. As even the rock had not been there the previous moment, Ching-kwei at once doubted the ordinariness of the occasion, and this emotion was added to when he perceived that the Being’s teeth were composed each of a separate jewel of unusual size and brilliance, and that he had four eyes and held four books in either hand. A golden centipede was coiled about his feet, and from his escaping breath there was formed a river of clear water. Ching-kwei’s first impulse was to render obeisance of the lowliest kind, but as he would have done so, it was put into his mind that the one before him, by invoking the threadbare garment of an aged beggar, wished to assume a part. He therefore approached the venerable one in an upright position, but saluted him obsequiously.
“Ching-kwei,” remarked the vision in some embarrassment, “the fact that you see me half as I really am, and half in the appearance I have assumed, plainly shows that you yourself are not entirely normal. This foreshadows a life of chequered fortune, nor would it seem to be wholly settled yet to what end your destiny will tend. All this, however, is for your inner ear alone, for it would certainly involve me in humiliating censure if it became known in the Upper World that I had, in a moment of indiscretion, exceeded my imposed task. This is simply, in the guise of an aged native of these parts, to influence you from turning your dejected feet on a homeward bend by observing in your hearing, ‘Many hoof marks point inward at Wang Tae’s gate but few lead out again,’ adding, To the deaf ox a meaning word is as efficacious as a detailed statement.’”
“Your timely warning falls on a nutritious soil,” replied Ching-kwei gratefully, but without any especial reverence for one who was so inadvertent. “On your return, you can safely claim that your message has not failed.”
The venerable made a gesture of familiar understanding. “Anything that I have said beyond, regard strictly as between one semi-supernatural Being and another,” he remarked diffidently. “At some future period in The After, doubtless an opportunity of doing no less for your accommodating Shadow will occur.”
Having thus discharged his mission, the one in question sought to vanish, but being still confused by the mischance of their meeting he failed to pronounce the charm efficiently, so that, while he and the rock disappeared entirely, the robes of the patriarchal mendicant remained in a seated attitude upon a void.
“Clearly it would seem that you do not necessarily act like a deity merely by being one,” thought Ching-kwei as he resumed his forward path. The intimation that he was himself of remote kinship with the Immortals did not gild his imagination, for he had often recognized that he was in some undetermined way superior to those around him, although the circumstance did not appear to have any direct pecuniary advantage.
He had soon other things to engage his mind upon, for, as he advanced, he heard from the scanty peasants of that inhospitable tract that Wang Tae’s dwelling was near at hand. It was spoken of as being strongly staked about, but when Ching-kwei would have learned something of the nature and attitudes of the one whom he was seeking, those he questioned ceased to speak and replied only by signs of such profound significance as to be wholly unintelligible.
“It is truly said, ‘A fly on the window may be taken for an eagle in the sky,’ and Wang Tae is doubtless no more formidable than any other man upon two feet,” reasoned Ching-kwei aloud, as he approached a stronghold of the kind described to him, and he would have continued in the strain when a defiant voice caused him to turn. One whom he had not observed in his eagerness to press on had stepped forward and now stood barring the path of his retreat.
“Perchance,” retorted this inopportune stranger, “but Wang Tae does not go upon two feet, and as he therein differs from the generality of men, so are the depth and lustre of his power not to be measured by a wooden rule,” and the one who spoke indicated with a gesture of contempt the staff that Ching-kwei carried. “If our agreeable conversation is to continue in the same harmonious vein, let your persuasive tongue acquire a more businesslike point,” and he struck the handle of a sword he wore.
“It is certainly my intention to speak a few pacific words at Wang Tae’s door, touching the movements of an erring goat I seek,” replied Ching-kwei mildly. “Should his reception of what I have to say not be entirely thus and thus, however, it will then be time to shape my tongue to a more incisive edge.”
“Your well-chosen language fills me with the most joyous anticipation,” said Wang Tae, moistening his hands with gross elaboration. “Here is the gate of my neglected hovel. When you have seen all you want of the outside world, pass within.”
It is in this not entirely sympathetic manner that Wang Tae now comes into the narrative, and it is chiefly owing to that voracious person’s large military appetite that the onward history of Ching-kwei moves to the measured clash of arms. At the time of this encounter, Wang Tae was of a middle age and very lusty in his strength. His hair was long and matted, his eyes open and sincere, and the expression of his face both bold and menacing. So bushy were his eyebrows as to give rise to the saying that phoenixes might build there, and with the closing of his hands he could crush a rock. In height he would have been above the ordinary had not both his feet been lacking; for having at an earlier period displeased the ruling lord of Tsun, that prince had caused them to be sawn off, to correct, he said, Wang Tae’s rising ambition.
“Henceforth,” declared the conscientious ruler, when this act of justice was accomplished, “it can no longer be hinted that your aspiring footprints point toward a throne, Wang Tae.”
“Benevolence,” replied Wang Tae unmoved, “by cutting back the branches of a tree, you do but increase the vigour of its fruit, and I will yet leave the impress of my thumb upon the age.”
Carrying with him the echo of this vainglorious boast, Wang Tae retired to a desert place apart and there built himself a strong retreat, guarding it with a trench and a palisade of teak. He lived by establishing a system of taxation for the benefit of travellers of the richer kind who passed that way, and gradually he found around him a company of necessitous persons who were of his own way of thinking. From time to time secret messengers went to and fro throughout the province, and as the land continued to grow more troubled, men’s thoughts began to turn toward Wang Tae as to a leafy banyan tree when the rain threatens to fall.
II
The Influence of the Wise Philosopher Ah-Yew and the
Inspired Assurance of His Parting Forecast
When Wang Tae with a ceremonious welcome threw wide the gate of his outer yard, Ching-kwei did not hesitate, nor did the sound of the bolt being wedged against his escape cause him to stop. He found himself overlooking a considerable enclosure wherein every sort of beast displayed every variety of colour; a goat stained with his own distinctive shade of blue sported among its kind.
“In the matter of the colour of my herd I am content to preserve the harmonious blend of nature,” remarked Wang Tae, reaching his side again and speaking with polished insincerity. “What is good enough to arch the heavens is good enough to adorn my pastures.”
“It is well said,” agreed Ching-kwei. “Furthermore, by the same analogy, both manifestations would appear to be of spontaneous origin.”
’The honey of your continual approbation is too rich for my weak mental appetite,” said Wang Tae, by no means pleased at the insidious courtesy of Ching-kwei’s replies. “Is there haply nothing here to displease your fastidious eye?”
“On the contrary, there is that which amply rewards my inefficient sight, for at no great distance this person perceives the object of his foot-weary search. Permit him, therefore, to lead the truant home in triumph and your virtuous name shall ever remain a synonym for uprightness.”
“Put forth your self-reliant hand and take it, then,” replied Wang Tae, leaping down into the yard to draw his impatient sword. “There is but one slender bar between.”
“No obstacle is both too high to get over and too low to get under,” retorted Ching-kwei no less resolutely, and he suddenly thrust his staff forward in a way that Wang Tae was not prepared for.
In considering the various facets of the not altogether dignified encounter that ensued, it is necessary to hold an impartial balance. Admittedly Wang Tae was by repute one of the most skilful sword users of his day, while Ching-kwei was then wholly deficient in the simplest passes of that weapon. The latter person, however, was wont to rely in every emergency on the dexterous manipulation of his herdsman’s pole, while Wang Tae in all his numerous encounters had never yet gained experience of so contemptible an arm. The inevitable outcome was that neither could subdue the other, for while the length of Ching-kwei’s weapon kept Wang Tae at a humiliating distance, the thickness of the outlaw’s leather armour saved him from the full impact of the blows propelled against him. Yet it is not to be denied that Ching-kwei, by concentrating his efforts upon a spot somewhat lower than his adversary’s waistband, found a means to corrode the tempered surface of Wang Tae’s self-confidence and the loud cries of defiance which that person had at first raised in the hope of sapping the other’s valour began imperceptibly to assume a more personal tone. It was at this point, while they thus strove, that one of benign aspect and patriarchal cast drew near and held up a restraining hand before them.
“It has been wisely said, ‘If he is a stranger, do not give offence; if he is a friend, do not accept it,’” remarked the auspicious person judicially. “How then does strife arise between you?”
At this interruption both lowered their weapons, Wang Tae because he was not desirious of adding to the pain he already felt, while Ching-kwei had not sought the encounter.
“I have no wish to conceal my part in the arisement,” replied the latter person unassumingly. “I am of the forgotten Line of Ying and the separate names conferred on me are Ching and Kwei. Touching the cause of this, I did but claim my due.”
“That is the essence of all dissension,” remarked the philosopher, but he averted his face at the mention of the stranger’s name lest the conflict of his thoughts should mirror there. Then he took Wang Tae aside.
“Say what you will,” declared the outlaw, forecasting the reproach awaiting him, “but suffer me at the same time to continue rubbing the seat of my affliction.”
“If Ching-kwei’s blows remind you of the teeth of vampires, my words will associate themselves in your mind with the tails of dragons,” continued the sage, who may now be disclosed as Ah-Yew, the crafty counsellor. “You have done ill, Wang Tae, and by the anger of a moment imperilled what the patience of a year may not restore.”
“Continue in the same entrancing strain, excellence,” interrupted Wang Tae bitterly. “Already this person’s bodily pangs begin to fade.”
“When the time is ripe for action, who is there that is most essential to our common hope?” continued the wise adviser with measured sternness. “Not you, Wang Tae of the lion heart, nor I, venerable Yew of the serpent tongue, nor yet any of the ten thousand nameless ones who, responding to our call, will sweep on like driven leaves in autumn and with as little compunction be crushed down into the earth. But with us we must have, at every hazard, one of the banished Line of Ying to give a semblance to our unstable cause and to proclaim a mission accepted of the gods. Such a one, inspired by his destinies and suitable in every attribute, came to your gate to-day with a supplication in his hand and you, with contumely, have flung him back again. Could demons do more to bring about your fall, Wang Tae, than you have done yourself? Let me hence, that I may cleanse my throat of the memory of this ineptitude!”
“Press your correcting heel on my submissive neck, instructor,” murmured Wang Tae penitently, “for my all-too-ready sword admittedly outruns your more effective tongue. But in this matter surely it is not yet too late to walk backward in our footsteps. Ching-kwei, despite his royal line, is but an inexperienced villager, and a few words of well- directed flattery—”
“Mayhap,” replied the prescient one, “but even the guileless turtle does not put his head out twice. However, proceed to unfold your verbal strategy.”
On this understanding they returned to where Ching-kwei was endeavouring to entice the goat into a noose, and at that moment, by a device, he succeeded in doing so. To Wang Tae this seemed a fitting opportunity.
“Nimbly cast!” he cried effusively. “Never has this one seen it better done.”
Ching-kwei wound the loose excess of rope about his arm, and still grasping the staff he turned to go.
“Your experience is both far-flung and all-embracing,” he made reply; “nor would the confines of your landmark seem to be any barrier to your exploiting loop. Henceforth our goats must learn to become more nimble.”
“You have come on a bleak and irksome march,” continued Wang Tae, ignoring the venom of the thrust. “At least honour my deficient hut by entering to recline at ease and to partake of tea. To do less is to brand this person far and near as a bankrupt outcast”
“I have already tasted of the hospitality of Wang Tae’s stockyard; that of his house will certainly be still more overwhelming. As it is, I have so far preserved my life. I go.”
In this extremity Ah-Yew came dispassionately forward and stood between the two.
“May the Threefold Happiness be yours, Ching-kwei,” he said benevolently, “but for a single pause of time listen to my voice, for I am old and very fragile and doubtless we shall never meet again.”
“The venerable length of your blameless pigtail compels my profound respect,” replied Ching-kwei deferentially. “Proceed.”
“There is a ready saying of these parts, The Northern men ride horses, but the Southern men sail boats,’ thereby indicating the various paths assigned to us by nature. Similarly, Wang Tae is rude and strenuous from the shock of continual warfare, while you, Ching-kwei, living in a sequestered valley, have a bland and pacific guise. Yet when you go into the street of potters, there to bargain for a jar, how do you proceed to make a choice?”
“Selecting one that seemed to meet my need, I would strike it sharply, thus to detect its secret flaws,” was the reply. “Should it fail beneath the test, I would pass it by,”
“Therein lies Wang Tae’s policy and the enigma of your welcome,” declared the subtle Yew. “From afar, Ching-kwei, you have been marked out for great honour of a very special kind and to that end were your steps attracted to this place. Should you prove diligent and apt, there is no ambition to which you may not rise. But first it was necessary to submit your valour, enterprise, and temper to the test of sudden action; had you in this disclosed some hidden flaw, the call would have passed you by.”
“What you say is certainly plausible,” admitted Ching-kwei, “but the industrious bee is not attracted by the brightest flower,” and remembering his grandmother’s rebuke he added, “Those who cover themselves with martial glory frequently go in need of any other garment.”
This reply was far from meeting Ah-Yew’s expectation, for he had hoped that so definite a prospect would not fail to entice one of .a simple mind, and the refusal found him unprepared. Seeing this, Wang Tae interposed his voice.
“Those who cover themselves with martial glory do not stand in need of any other garment,” was his arrogant retort. “It is both food and raiment and an elder brother too, so that he who wears it feels neither heat nor cold, neither does he sleep alone by night.”
