Kai Lung's Golden Hours, Ernest Bramah [romantic novels to read TXT] 📗
- Author: Ernest Bramah
Book online «Kai Lung's Golden Hours, Ernest Bramah [romantic novels to read TXT] 📗». Author Ernest Bramah
“From detail to detail it was as this person desired and contrived,” said Yan.
“And, of a surety, this one also?” claimed Tsae-che, with an internal emotion that something was insidiously changed in which she had no adequate part.
“The language may be fully expressed in six styles of writing, but who shall read the mind of a woman?” replied Yan evasively. “Nevertheless, in explicit words, the overhanging shadow has departed and the future is assured.”
“It is well,” said Tsae-che. “Yet how altered is your voice, and for what reason do you hold a cloth before your mouth?”
“The staff broke and a splinter flying upwards pierced my lips,” said Yan, lowering the cloth. “You speak truly, for the pain attending each word is by no means slight, and scarcely can this person recognize his own voice.”
“Oh, incomparable Chou-hu, how valiantly do you bear your sufferings!” exclaimed Tsae-che remorsefully. “And while this heedless one has been passing the time pleasantly in handling rich brocades you have been lying here in anguish. Behold now, without delay she will prepare food to divert your mind, and to mark the occasion she had already purchased a little jar of gold-fish gills, two eggs branded with the assurance that they have been earth-buried for eleven years, and a small serpent preserved in oil.”
When they had eaten for some time in silence Yuen Yan again spoke. “Attend closely to my words,” he said, “and if you perceive any disconcerting oversight in the scheme which I am about to lay before you do not hesitate to declare it. The threat which Heng-cho the baker swore he swore openly, and many reputable witnesses could be gathered together who would confirm his words, while the written message of reconciliation which he sent will be known to none. Let us therefore take that which lies in the cave beneath and clothing it in my robes bear it unperceived as soon as the night has descended and leave it in the courtyard of Heng-cho’s house. Now Heng-cho has a fig plantation outside the city, so that when he rises early, as his custom is, and finds the body, he will carry it away to bury it secretly there, remembering his impetuous words and well knowing the net of entangling circumstances which must otherwise close around him. At that moment you will appear before him, searching for your husband, and suspecting his burden raise an outcry that may draw the neighbours to your side if necessary. On this point, however, be discreetly observant, for if the tumult calls down the official watch it will go evilly with Heng-cho, but we shall profit little. The greater likelihood is that as soon as you lift up your voice the baker will implore you to accompany him back to his house so that he may make a full and honourable compensation. This you will do, and hastening the negotiation as much as is consistent with a seemly regard for your overwhelming grief, you will accept not less than five hundred taels and an undertaking that a suitable funeral will be provided.”
“O thrice-versatile Chou-hu!” exclaimed Tsae-che, whose eyes had reflected an ever-increasing sparkle of admiration as Yan unfolded the details of his scheme, “how insignificant are the minds of others compared with yours! Assuredly you have been drinking at some magic well in this one’s absence, for never before was your intellect so keen and lustreful. Let us at once carry your noble stratagem into effect, for this person’s toes vibrate to bear her on a project of such remunerative ingenuity.”
Accordingly they descended into the cave beneath and taking up Chou-hu they again dressed him in his own robes. In his inner sleeve Yan placed some parchments of slight importance; he returned the jade bracelet to his wrist and by other signs he made his identity unmistakable; then lifting him between them, when the night was well advanced, they carried him through unfrequented ways and left him unperceived within Heng-cho’s gate.
“There is yet another precaution which will ensure to you the sympathetic voices of all if it should become necessary to appeal openly,” said Yuen Yan when they had returned. “I will make out a deed of final intention conferring all I possess upon Yuen Yan as a mark of esteem for his conscientious services, and this you can produce if necessary in order to crush the niggard baker in the wine-press of your necessitous destitution.” Thereupon Yan drew up such a document as he had described, signing it with Chou-hu’s name and sealing it with his ring, while Tsae-che also added her sign and attestation. He then sent her to lurk upon the roof, strictly commanding her to keep an undeviating watch upon Heng-cho’s movements.
It was about the hour before dawn when Heng-cho appeared, bearing across his back a well-filled sack and carrying in his right hand a spade. His steps were turned towards the fig orchard of which Yan had spoken, so that he must pass Chou-hu’s house, but before he reached it Tsae-che had glided out and with loosened hair and trailing robes she sped along the street. Presently there came to Yuen Yan’s waiting ear a long-drawn cry and the sounds of many shutters being flung open and the tread of hurrying feet. The moments hung about him like the wings of a dragon-dream, but a prudent restraint chained him to the inner chamber.
It was fully light when Tsae-che returned, accompanied by one whom she dismissed before she entered. “Felicity,” she explained, placing before Yan a heavy bag of silver. “Your word has been accomplished.”
“It is sufficient,” replied Yan in a tone from which every tender modulation was absent, as he laid the silver by the side of the parchment which he had drawn up. “For what reason is the outer door now barred and they who drink tea with us prevented from entering to wish Yuen Yan prosperity?”
“Strange are my lord’s words, and the touch of his breath is cold to his menial one,” said the woman in doubting reproach.
“It will scarcely warm even the roots of Heng-cho’s fig-trees,” replied Yuen Yan with unveiled contempt. “Stretch across your hand.”
In trembling wonder Tsae-che laid her hand upon the ebony table which stood between them and slowly advanced it until Yan seized it and held it firmly in his own. For a moment he held it, compelling the woman to gaze with a soul-crushing dread into his face, then his features relaxed somewhat from the effort by which he had controlled them, and at the sight Tsae-che tore away her hand and with a scream which caused those outside to forget the memory of every other cry they had ever heard, she cast herself from the house and was seen in the city no more.
These are the pages of the forgotten incident in the life of Yuen Yan which this narrator has sought out and discovered. Elsewhere, in the lesser Classics, it may be read that the person in question afterwards lived to a venerable age and finally Passed Above surrounded by every luxury, after leading an existence consistently benevolent and marked by an even exceptional adherence to the principles and requirements of The Virtues.
The Incredible Obtuseness of Those who had Opposed the Virtuous Kai Lung
It was later than the appointed hour that same day when Kai Lung and Hwa-mei met about the shutter, for the Mandarin’s importunity had disturbed the harmonious balance of their fixed arrangement. As the story-teller left the inner chamber a message of understanding, veiled from those who stood around, had passed between their eyes, and so complete was the sympathy that now directed them that without a spoken word their plans were understood. Li-loe’s acquiescence had been secured by the bestowal of a flask of wine (provided already by Hwa-mei against such an emergency), and though the door-keeper had indicated reproach by a variety of sounds, he forbore from speaking openly of any vaster store.
“Let the bitterness of this one’s message be that which is first spoken, so that the later and more enduring words of our remembrance may be devoid of sting. A star has shone across my mediocre path which now an envious cloud has conspired to obscure. This meeting will doubtless be our last.”
Then replied Kai Lung from the darkness of the space above, his voice unhurried as its wont:
“If this is indeed the end, then to the spirits of the destinies I prostrate myself in thanks for those golden hours that have gone before, and had there been no others to recall then would I equally account myself repaid in life and death by this.”
“My words ascend with yours in a pale spiral to the bosom of the universal mother,” Hwa-mei made response. “I likewise am content, having tasted this felicity.”
“There is yet one other thing, esteemed, if such a presumption is to be endured,” Kai Lung ventured to request. “Each day a stone has been displaced from off the wall and these now lie about your gentle feet. If you should inconvenience yourself to the extent of standing upon the mound thus raised, and would stretch up your hand, I, leaning forth, could touch it with my finger-tips.”
“This also will I dare to do and feel it no reproach,” replied Hwa-mei; thus for the first time their fingers met.
“Let me now continue the ignoble message that my unworthy lips must bear,” resumed the maiden, with a gesture of refined despair. “Ming-shu and Shan Tien, recognizing a mutual need in each, have agreed to forego their wordy strife and have entered upon a common cause. To mark this reconciliation the Mandarin to-morrow night will make a feast of wine and song in honour of Ming-shu and into this assembly you will be led, bound and wearing the wooden cang, to contribute to their offensive mirth. To this end you will not be arraigned to-morrow, but on the following morning at a special court swift sentence will be passed and carried out, neither will Shan Tien suffer any interruption nor raise an arresting hand.”
The darkness by this time encompassed them so that neither could see the other’s face, but across the scent-laden air Hwa-mei was conscious of a subtle change, as of a poise or the tightening of a responsive cord.
“This is the end?” she whispered up, unable to sustain. “Ah, is it not the end?”
“In the high wall of destiny that bounds our lives there is ever a hidden gap to which the Pure Ones may guide our unconscious steps perchance, if they see fit to intervene.... So that to-morrow, being the eleventh of the Moon of Gathering-in, is to be celebrated by the noble Mandarin with song and wine? Truly the nimble-witted Ming-shu must have slumbered by the way!”
“Assuredly he has but now returned from a long journey.”
“Haply he may start upon a longer. Have the musicians been commanded yet?”
“Even now one goes to inform the leader of their voices and to bid him hold his band in readiness.”
“Let it be your continual aim that nothing bars their progress. Where does that just official dwell of whom you lately spoke?”
“The Censor K’o-yih, he who rebuked Shan Tien’s ambitions and made him mend his questionable life? His yamen is about the Three-eyed Gate of Tai, a half-day’s journey to the south.”
“The lines converge and the issues of Shan Tien, Ming-shu and we who linger here will presently be brought to a very decisive point where each must play a clear-cut part. To that end is your purpose firm?”
“Lay your commands,” replied Hwa-mei steadfastly, “and measure not the burden of their weight.”
“It is well,” agreed Kai Lung. “Let Shan Tien give the feast and the time of acquiescence will have passed.... The foothold of to-morrow looms insecure, yet a very pressing message must meanwhile reach your hands.”
“At the feast?”
“Thus: about the door of the inner hall are two great jars of shining brass, one on either side, and at their approach a step. Being led, at that step I shall stumble.... the message you will thereafter find in the jar from which I seek support.”
“It shall be to me as your spoken word. Alas! the moment of recall is already here.”
“Doubt not; we stand on the edge of an era that is immeasurable. For that emergency I now go to consult the spirits who have so far guided us.”
On the following day at an evening hour Kai Lung received an imperious summons to accompany one who led him to the inner courts. Yet neither the cords about his arms nor the pillory around his neck could contain the gladness of his heart. From within came the sounds of instruments of wood and string with the measured beating of a drum; nothing
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