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wst-unknown-mainblock headertemplate"><div class="wst-header-back searchaux wst-unknown-back"><div class="wst-header-back-arrow">←</div><div class="wst-header-back-link"><a href="/wiki/The_Scarlet_Hill/Part_5" title="The Scarlet Hill/Part 5">Part V: An Lu-shan</a></div></div><div class="wst-header-central-cell wst-unknown-central-cell"><span class="wst-header-title wst-unknown-title"><span id="header-title-text"><a href="/wiki/The_Scarlet_Hill" title="The Scarlet Hill">The Scarlet Hill</a></span><br id="header-title-break" /><span class="contributor-text">by <span class="fn"><a href="/wiki/Author:Frank_Owen" title="Author:Frank Owen">Frank Owen</a></span></span><div class="header-section-text">Part VI: Victory</div></span></div><div class="wst-header-forward searchaux wst-unknown-forward"><div class="wst-header-forward-link"><a href="/wiki/The_Scarlet_Hill/Acknowledgments" title="The Scarlet Hill/Acknowledgments">Acknowledgments</a></div><div class="wst-header-forward-arrow">→</div></div></div><div class="ws-noexport" id="ws-data" style="speak:none"><span id="ws-article-id">4075374</span><span id="ws-title"><a href="/wiki/The_Scarlet_Hill" title="The Scarlet Hill">The Scarlet Hill</a> — Part VI: Victory</span><span id="ws-author">Frank Owen</span></div></div> <div class="prp-pages-output" lang="en"> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="297" data-page-number="297" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/302" data-page-index="302" data-page-quality="4" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/302"><span id="pageindex_302" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span><div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <style data-mw-deduplicate="TemplateStyles:r13089542">.mw-parser-output .wst-center{text-align:center;display:table;margin:0 auto 0 auto}.mw-parser-output .wst-center.wst-center-nomargin>p{margin-bottom:0}</style><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 120%;">Part VI</span> </p> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 120%;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><i>Victory</i></span></span> </p> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="299" data-page-number="299" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/304" data-page-index="304" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/304"><span id="pageindex_304" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span><div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">1.</span> </p> </div> <p><style data-mw-deduplicate="TemplateStyles:r13425350">.mw-parser-output .dropinitial{float:left;text-indent:0}.mw-parser-output .dropinitial .dropinitial-fl{float:left;position:relative;vertical-align:top;line-height:1}.mw-parser-output .dropinitial .dropinitial-mid .dropinitial-initial{float:left;line-height:1em;text-indent:0;font-size:3em;margin:0 0.1em 0 0}</style><span class="dropinitial drop-initial-no-image"><span class="dropinitial-mid"><span class="dropinitial-initial"><i>M</i></span></span></span><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">ing Huang</span> lived in a Golden Love Boat, gliding tranquilly along in a river of complacency. He was little concerned with the affairs of State, devoting all his time to Yang Kuei-fei. Usually they retired early, and she read to him stories which she had copied with her own hand from the "Works of Lieh-tzu." </p><p>Perched on the foot of the Emperor's bed, gowned in soft red clinging silk, with hibiscus blossoms in her hair, she would read in a voice that stirred his blood, "There was once a man of the State of Ts'in, named P'ang, who had a son. The boy, when quite little, was extremely clever, and showed signs of an understanding beyond his years; but when he grew up he became crazy. If he heard anybody sing, he thought he was crying; he took white objects for black; perfumes he thought were stenches; if he ate sweet things, he imagined they were bitter; bad conduct he approved as good; in fact, whatever he thought about in the whole world—water, fire, heat, or cold—his ideas were always the exact reverse of the truth. </p><p>"One day a man named Yang said to the lad's father, 'The Superior man of Lu (Confucius) has a multitude of resources; he will surely be able to effect a cure. Why not ask his help?' So the father set out for the State of Lu; but on his way he had to pass through the State of Ch'ên, and there he fell in with Lao-tzu, to whom he <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="300" data-page-number="300" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/305" data-page-index="305" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/305"><span id="pageindex_305" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>told his story. Lao-tzŭ replied, 'How is it that you only know your son to be crazy, and appear quite unconscious that everybody else in the world, by confusing right and wrong, injury and advantage, is suffering from precisely the same disease? I assure you that there is not a single sane man among them. Now, the craziness of one person is not sufficient to impoverish a whole family; that of a single family is not sufficient to impoverish a whole village; nor that of a village to impoverish a state, nor that of a state to impoverish the whole empire. And if the whole world went completely crazy, who would there be left to suffer by it? While supposing the whole world to be in the same mental condition as your son, it follows that it is you who are crazy, and not he?'" </p><p>As Kuei-fei finished reading, the Emperor laughed heartily, not because of the wit of the story which he had heard many times but because of the droll way in which she had recited it. Yang Kuei-fei was well versed in elocution. She had a way of inflecting her words that was irresistible to him. </p><p>Ming Huang motioned her to come closer to him. She did so at once. His eyes were sparkling with laughter. Fondly he stroked her breasts. </p><p>"Tell me, who was this man Yang who accosted the crazy boy's father? Was he a distant ancestor?" </p><p>"Maybe," she said. </p><p>"Must the Yang family interfere with everyone in the Empire?" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="301" data-page-number="301" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/306" data-page-index="306" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/306"><span id="pageindex_306" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"Are you not glad that a Yang interfered with you?" she asked demurely. </p><p>He pretended to ponder. "I wonder. You've disrupted my life, when I sleep you invade my dreams, in every note of music is the echo of your voice." He paused, and gazed into her eyes. "Until you came to me I never felt like an Emperor. I looked upon myself as a servant of the people." </p><p>"And now?" she whispered. </p><p>"Now I feel as though I were Emperor of the universe, of the sun and the moon, and the cool night sky, of the mountains and the sea, of deserts and gardens, and moonbeams dripping from bamboo leaves; of laughing children, and old men drowsing in the sun, of soldiers, and peasants working among millet fields, or gathering tea and rice. For I have looked into your eyes, and I know that I am indeed the Mighty Emperor who rules your heart." </p><p>"And shall rule it always." </p><p>He held her to him; neither took any notice of time, until the night tilted toward the dawn. </p><p>"For this beauty we must thank Lieh-tzu. Unwittingly, he established the mood. And so I think we should pay him homage." Entranced by the warm perfumed softness of her flesh, the Emperor added, "And so I shall show my appreciation by lifting his Works to the dignity of a classic by bestowing upon it the title <i>Ch'ung Hsü Ching</i> (Sutra of Fullness and Emptiness)." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div>  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="302" data-page-number="302" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/307" data-page-index="307" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/307"><span id="pageindex_307" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span><div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">2.</span> </p> </div> <p>His Majesty was annoyed that so many of the greatest poets were leaving the Court. Li Po was a wandering minstrel, preferring a swashbuckling existence, to a life of ease at the Palace. Wang Wei, in his mountain retreat, was groping out wisdom from the wild. Tu Fu also had been gripped by nostalgia, and begged leave to return home. Except for this poetical desertion, Ming Huang would have had no cause for complaint. He was so blinded by his love for Yang Kuei-fei, he could find no fault with Kuo-chung, his Premier. He believed that the reins of government were in competent hands, and in a measure, they were, for Kao Li-shih had taken over when Kuo-chung became so absorbed in affairs of the army he could think of nothing else. Kao was trustworthy, dependable, selfless. All that he asked as reward, was to be able to serve his Emperor. </p><p>Once the Arabian Envoy had sneeringly whispered, "A eunuch rules China." </p><p>He said it in the privacy of his own rooms where only his wife could hear. She was a woman famed for her keenness. </p><p>"With so many beautiful women at the Palace," she told him, "it takes a eunuch to rule so that he will not be swayed by slender bodies and ripe red lips." </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">3.</span> </p> </div> <p>Month after month, Kuo-chung perfected a mighty war machine. He was an armchair general, guided by <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="303" data-page-number="303" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/308" data-page-index="308" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/308"><span id="pageindex_308" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>the prognostications of astrologists. When a weak man has delusions, the whole world trembles. His preposterous schemes have so little regard for sound reasoning, it is impossible to foretell where his whims will carry him. Kuo-chung was angered if his generals disputed his preposterous suggestions. Delectable indeed was his position, for he had begun by taking advice from eunuchs but in little more than a year he was giving orders to generals. He believed he was the military genius that China needed. Finally his troops were ready. Impatiently they yearned for an opportunity to display their prowess. Nature arranges that for the determined there is always opportunity, but makes no provision for the price that has to be paid for it. Kuo-chung's opportunity came. </p><p>Under the urge for conquest, he decided to attack and subdue the barbarous State of Nan Chao in Southwest China. He planned the campaign in a sheltered garden while the actual warfare was undertaken by a General in whom he had perfect trust. His name was Li Mi. Li Mi scoffed at the ability of An Lu-shan. Kuo-chung asked no higher reference. They both agreed that An Lu-shan was a pot-bellied boaster, whose vulgar laugh was a bray. Kuo-chung and Li Mi had much in common; they valued each other's friendship all the more because Li Mi, too, was jealous of An Lu-shan. </p><p>So Li Mi went forth to battle while Kuo-chung loitered in the garden with Kuo Kuo, munching pomegranates and luscious grapes. The days wore on. He was extremely complacent, supreme master of military  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="304" data-page-number="304" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/309" data-page-index="309" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/309"><span id="pageindex_309" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>strategy. Certain of victory, he began planning new campaigns. </p><p>To Kuo Kuo he recited a verse from "The Book of Poetry": </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <style data-mw-deduplicate="TemplateStyles:r14263595">.mw-parser-output .wst-center-block{display:block;margin:0 auto;padding:0;position:relative;max-width:100%;height:auto;text-align:initial}.mw-parser-output .wst-center-block-title{display:inline-block;width:100%;text-align:center}</style><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <style data-mw-deduplicate="TemplateStyles:r13475758">.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body{font-style:italic}.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body i,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body em,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body cite,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body dfn,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .wst-marginnote,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .reflist{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .wst-marginnote i,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .reflist i,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .wst-marginnote em,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .reflist em,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .wst-marginnote cite,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .reflist cite,.mw-parser-output .wst-italic-body .wst-marginnote dfn .wst-italic-body .reflist dfn{font-style:italic}</style><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>The cricket is in the hall,<br /> And the year is drawing to a close.<br /> If we do not enjoy ourselves now,<br /> The days and months will have fled." </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>He poured her a cup of rice wine. But she refused it. She felt distressed, as though some gray shadow hung over Changan. "Why do you not finish the song?" she asked petulantly: </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>But let us not go to excess,<br /> Let us think of the duties of our position;<br /> Let us not go beyond bounds in our love of pleasure<style data-mw-deduplicate="TemplateStyles:r9031029">.mw-parser-output .nowrap,.mw-parser-output .nowrap a:before,.mw-parser-output .nowrap .selflink:before{white-space:nowrap}</style><link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r9031029"><span class="nowrap">. . . .</span><br /> The virtuous man is ever on his guard." </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>He was somewhat drunk and he laughed inordinately. "Since I am Premier of China, what need have I for virtue?" He spoke facetiously but she preferred to take him seriously. </p><p>"I don't like it," she said. "Why have you not heard reports of victory?" </p><p>"It will come," he assured her. </p><p>"Or defeat?" </p><p>"Stop it!" he cried harshly. "I'll not have such talk. Defeat is a word I do not know!" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="305" data-page-number="305" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/310" data-page-index="310" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/310"><span id="pageindex_310" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>He knew it before nightfall. One of his messengers came to him secretly. </p><p>In excited whispers he told an astounding tale. Li Mi was dead. He had walked into a trap. With him had perished two hundred thousand men. It was a ghastly blow to Kuo-chung, who longed to be a Generalissimo. Nevertheless he did not lose his grip on reality. He swore the messenger to secrecy. No word of this must ever reach the Emperor. </p><p>All through the night, Kuo-chung drank heavily, and Kuo Kuo tried with little success to comfort him. By dawn he was maudlin. He had shifted the blame so that not the slightest suspicion of mismanagement could fall upon himself. The debacle was the sole fault of Li Mi. He had been unworthy of the task with which he had been entrusted. If Li Mi had followed the orders of Kuo-chung, all would have been well. He wept for the perfidy of Li Mi. But eventually, he quieted. After all, the defeat was not irreparable. If only the visible elements of life would stop swaying. The floor rose and fell like that of a junk in tempest. He closed his eyes and braced himself in a valiant effort not to fall down. He had the sudden fear that if he did so he would plunge into an abyss of sleep so deep he might never awaken. </p><p>"No country," he said petulantly, "would be so brash as to attack China, so what need is there for a large army?" </p><p>He struggled to his feet and walked lumberingly up and down the room. One of his boots had come off, and <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="306" data-page-number="306" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/311" data-page-index="311" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/311"><span id="pageindex_311" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>his gaudy uniform was spoiled by the slobber of wine. </p><p>Kuo Kuo had fallen asleep, exhausted. </p><p>"I am still Kuo-chung," he cried, "Prime Minister of China!" </p><p>Except for Kuo Kuo, he had confided the defeat to no one. </p><p>Although he was unaware of it, An Lu-shan, too, had been kept informed of the progress of the irrational battle. An Lu-shan smiled grimly. A fool with no experience whatsoever had arisen to dispute his power. It had been but transient opposition. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">4.</span> </p> </div> <p>To Yang Kuei-fei, An Lu-shan's personality underwent a fascinating change. The intensity of his desire in no way diminished, but he ceased to be a buffoon. Even his laughter was more subdued. No longer did his voice boom at drum pitch. He lived but to do her will, and was thoughtful of her every comfort. </p><p>When she chided him about being so serious, he said, "I am concerned with plans so elaborate for our future, if you knew them you would be astounded." </p><p>"Plans for my future are already made," she said quickly, "nor would I have them changed in the slightest detail." </p><p>"But all this cannot go on," he told her, "things cannot remain stagnant. The earth advances. The sun does not pause. The Emperor is an old man. He cannot five forever." </p><p>"He can, in my memory." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="307" data-page-number="307" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/312" data-page-index="312" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/312"><span id="pageindex_312" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"Enough of dreams!" cried An Lu-shan. "Face reality! Dreams do not exist." </p><p>"They are a vital part of life. Dreams are real, like sleep or quiet, or like love, or flower perfume." She paused, then she added, "Dreams are the fragrance of the night's cool slumber, a fragrance that remains long after we awaken. But it is not necessary to sleep in order to dream." </p><p>"That is true," he said vehemently, "I, too, have dreamed. I've dreamed that some day you would be my Empress." </p><p>She laughed softly. "Are you going to conquer India?" </p><p>"Willingly," he cried, "if that is your wish." </p><p>Quietly, a eunuch entered, and set a pot of pearl orchid scented tea on a small table between them. </p><p>"In tea," said An Lu-shan, "we will drink farewell." </p><p>"Are you going away?" </p><p>"I must rejoin my men. Matters of importance await my attention. But be not disturbed. I shall return in splendor as soon as circumstances permit and we will be together always." </p><p>She was much relieved. "But not in India," she said, smiling. </p><p>"No, right here in Changan. This Palace is a perfect setting for the jewel of your beauty." </p><p>The tea was delicious, its fragrance unforgettable. They drank in comparative silence, for tea has a more stimulating flavor when it is drunk in a quiet room, in gentle surroundings, preferably near a window that <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="308" data-page-number="308" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/313" data-page-index="313" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/313"><span id="pageindex_313" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>opens onto a sun-splashed garden. Between tea and the sun there is a kinship. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei chanted an appropriate verse: </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>The River of Fragrant Tea Fields<br /> Winds gently through a yellow country, calm and still.<br /> The River, too, is yellow<br /> And the sun, a yellow lantern,<br /> Gently glows.<br /> The color of tea is in<br /> The fields and river,<br /> And the sun,<br /> Gives color to the tea." </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>She lifted her cup and breathed deeply of the subtle aroma. </p><p>"Tea is the liquor that makes all men brothers; by it the world will be purged of sin. Men who drink tea have little need for war." </p><p>"I would be a traitor to my calling," mused An Lu-shan, "if I agreed with you in that. A general needs victorious wars in order to build up his reputation. Perhaps too much tea is an antidote and a commander might do well to see that his men partake of it sparingly." </p><p>"Drugged wine," she said with a hint of sarcasm, "blots out men's better judgment. That should be the drink of mighty warriors." </p><p>"Though your wisdom is mingled with malice, I do not dispute it. Men who stop to think, seldom fight You have given me an idea, and I am grateful. But when <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="309" data-page-number="309" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/314" data-page-index="314" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/314"><span id="pageindex_314" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>the battle is won, no drink is better to assuage pain and bring on the blessedness of sleep." </p><p>Early the next morning, accompanied by a small band of his trusted troops, An Lu-shan left the Palace and rode off into the hills. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei walked to the red gates of the Palace to bid him farewell. </p><p>"Good luck!" she cried, as he rode away, and he remembered her words long afterwards. He stored them away in his memory with a few other things, his hopes, his triumphs, and his despair. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">5.</span> </p> </div> <p>An Lu-shan returned no more to Changan, to loiter in the Palace gardens, to sup with the Emperor, to pay court to the beauty of Yang Kuei-fei. But he did not forget her. She was unforgettable. He could recapture her vision, merely by closing his eyes, so deeply was her image engraved in his thoughts—standing beside a cluster of white stemmed pines, chanting the songs that Li Po had written for her, while overhead the little clouds gathered, halted in their mad rush across the river of sky that they might hear the incense kindling notes. Other golden moments did he remember: the first time he had ever beheld her, standing at the top of a Jade Staircase, smiling gently; how far away she had seemed that night, yet not unattainable, for later they had met, and the hours they had spent together were of the beauty that is never written, like flower petals when a storm rages. And there were frequently storms when <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="310" data-page-number="310" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/315" data-page-index="315" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/315"><span id="pageindex_315" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>he was alone with Yang Kuei-fei. Sometimes desire for her nearly drove him mad, to think she was so many li away, beyond his grasp when even his fingers hungered for her flesh. He was forced to seek solace with one of the women who always linger near an army encampment. Though she was reputed to be voluptuous, to him her body was repulsive, so repulsive that after his desire had in some degree been lessened, he vomited from nausea. </p><p>"Get out! Get out!" he cried, and drew his sword as though he would destroy forever this amorous caricature. </p><p>That night he wallowed in wine, and awakened weak and dizzy, with a taste that gouged his tongue. In disgust, he rushed down to a mountain spring and lay with his head in such a position that the cold water rushed over his face until he could not breathe. Again and again, he plunged his head into the stream until he was so cold his teeth chattered. But his head was clear and the monstrous taste had been spewed from his mouth. </p><p>However, not always did he give way to violence. He had serious work to do. Every day messengers were coming to him with news of the forces of fighting men available in all key positions of the Empire. They were woefully inadequate. China was impregnable not because of her ability to resist invasion, but because of the legends that had been built up through endless centuries of culture. Then, too, there was the Great Wall, ten thousand li in length. This was a formidable barrier to the invader from outside, but what of the enemy <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="311" data-page-number="311" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/316" data-page-index="316" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/316"><span id="pageindex_316" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>within, the treasured friends, the devoted comrades, the slimy gentlemen with ingratiating personalities who had wormed their way into the core of the Empire? The sages had written to beware of the man who has a smiling face, but the people were without guile. For the most part they were peasants and artisans, highly domesticated. They loved their homes and their farms. They were complacent, satisfied. They knew the songs of poets, they loved the soil and the trees and the sun in splendor. They had barely enough to eat, but their hearts were well fed. What need had they to be conversant with the ways of treachery and deceit? </p><p>An Lu-shan smiled grimly. Loyang, the Eastern Capital, was an open city, ripe for any conqueror who cared to pluck it. From headquarters at Loyang the conquest of all China might be accomplished, with little opposition, by a well-trained army whose soldiers were ambitious. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">6.</span> </p> </div> <p>An Lu-shan showered Yang Kuei-fei with gifts, for two reasons, that he might not slip from her thoughts, and to impress upon her that his wealth was without limit. He did not acquaint her with the fact that he had a son as tall as himself and equally ambitious. His name was An Ch'ing-hsü. Although he served as an officer under his father, he mistrusted him because An Lu-shan had pushed forward into a key position the son of one of his concubines. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei thrilled at the continuous stream of <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="312" data-page-number="312" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/317" data-page-index="317" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/317"><span id="pageindex_317" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>presents that flowed to her: an ancient coral necklace from Persia which she treasured because coral is the emblem of longevity; delightful miniature drawings on rice paper of flowers, people, ships and butterflies; a magnificent lacquer black bronze mirror decorated with four twigs, flowers and fruit; a carved ivory set of chessmen, with a droll little king who seemed to be smiling; an old silver chain with twelve links representing the Buddhist "Wheel of Life;" a goblet of gilt silver, oval shaped, with cover, finely engraved with floral scrolls, among which were three flying birds. Sometimes they seemed to be in one spot, sometimes in another; silver hairpins, with solid gold tops beaten into the form of a reclining lion; gorgeous rugs, musk laden, of unrivaled delicacy of tone, yellow and blue that shone with luminosity, soft reds, lush greens; a veritable fortune in jades, a green jade bird, a gray jade fish, a white jade horse, a brown jade ring; jades, emeralds, lapis lazuli, diamonds in endless variety. But occasionally he sent her a simple verse written in grass characters upon a square of silk; </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>The dew is icy at dawn.<br /> It is autumn<br /> Everything is melancholy,<br /> Quiet, limpid,<br /> Clouds, like swans, are floating in the sky" </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>These verses she treasured more than all the elaborate gifts for they had been copied in An Lu-shan's own <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="313" data-page-number="313" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/318" data-page-index="318" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/318"><span id="pageindex_318" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>hand. Though his script was far from artistic, it brought him close to her. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>Here have I seen shades and flowers, water and grass.<br /> Now all is quiet.<br /> Solitude." </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>Yang Kuei-fei was very happy, doubly happy when one day a courier arrived who insisted on seeing her. </p><p>Kao Li-shih warned her not to give audience to this stranger who refused to divulge his purpose in coming to the Palace. But Yang Kuei-fei was curious and gave orders that he be admitted. </p><p>When the courier entered her presence, he bowed low and touched his forehead to the ground. </p><p>"Most Gracious Empress," he whispered, "I come from An Lu-shan." </p><p>"I am not an Empress," she told him. </p><p>"To An Lu-shan you will always be an Empress," he explained. "His Empress. That is why I bring you his sword, so that you may know that despite anything that may happen, some day he will come back for it—and you. Guard it well." </p><p>Her heart pounded so terrifically, she thought that it must echo through the Palace like a drum. What could this message mean? It was ominously exciting. It was madness, dangerous, but she admired the bold message. Then her better judgment reasserted itself. She flung the sword from her as though it were tipped with poison. Then she snatched it up again and hugged <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="314" data-page-number="314" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/319" data-page-index="319" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/319"><span id="pageindex_319" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>it to her breast. Her mind was in chaos, her world in eruption. Fear and desire fought with loyalty. Should she tell the Emperor? She decided against it. He would be angered and send an executioner to dispatch so scurrilous a life. What matter that An Lu-shan was his son? </p><p>Kao Li-shih had heard everything. He risked his high office by coming forward. "What have you there?" he asked sternly. </p><p>Her thoughts were too confused for her to be amazed at his effrontery. </p><p>"The sword of An Lu-shan," she whispered. "He bids me keep it till he returns for it." </p><p>Kao Li-shih's voice was hoarse as he said, "An Lu-shan is a traitor! If you love China plunge that sword into his heart when he comes for it." </p><p>"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" Though she tried to appear severe her voice quavered. Then she took hold of Kao's sleeve. "You do not think that our Emperor is in danger?" </p><p>"Why then has An Lu-shan sent you his sword?" She swayed and would have fallen, but he caught her and led her to a chair. He ordered a eunuch to bring wine to refresh her, and perfume strong enough to blot out unpleasant thoughts. Why had he permitted matters to get out of hand? The incident hardly necessitated such harsh statements. When had An Lu-shan, the buffoon, ever done anything that was rational? </p><p>In a few minutes, she had herself under control. </p><p>"I beseech your pardon," said Kao. "My love of <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="315" data-page-number="315" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/320" data-page-index="320" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/320"><span id="pageindex_320" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>China, my devotion to the Emperor, makes me jealous of anything that might destroy the tranquillity of our daily life." </p><p>"Why should we not be friends, Kao," she said disarmingly, "since we hold so much in common? I, too, love China, and no one can dispute my love for his Majesty." </p><p>She spoke with such candor, his fears were set at rest. Whatever An Lu-shan was planning, Yang Kuei-fei was not in collusion with him. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">7.</span> </p> </div> <p>No one in all China was more miserable than the Prime Minister, Kuo-chung. No matter how warm the day, he shivered. His blood was ice cold. He was gripped by fear so intense that it bore down upon him like an iron mountain. He had set in motion a spy system that made known to him the moves of An Lu-shan, and now he was being destroyed by the system he himself had built up. He no longer wished to hear, yet dire news continued to filter to him. Finally one day, events of such gravity were transpiring that he could no longer avoid making them known to the Emperor. But he still had the cunning to fling all blame on the shoulders of others. </p><p>He entered the presence of Ming Huang who was drinking tea with Yang Kuei-fei in "The Hall of Gathering Truth." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="316" data-page-number="316" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/321" data-page-index="321" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/321"><span id="pageindex_321" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly, not even bothering to kowtow. He was too distraught for that. His tongue felt as though it had been scalded. He licked his dry lips. </p><p>"Your Majesty," he repeated, fighting to keep back the incoherent torrent of words that choked him. </p><p>"Speak on, Kuo-chung," said Ming Huang drowsily. He was in no way perturbed. Kuo-chung evidently had been bathing in wine. It was not the first time he had squandered the privilege of reasoning. </p><p>Nonetheless, Kuo-chung had not been drinking excessively. He was in a far soberer condition than he had been for years. </p><p>"Your Majesty," he persisted, "as I predicted, An Lu-shan has revolted. His soldiers are marching on Loyang. They are even now entering the gates of the city." </p><p>"What vicious chatter is this?" burst out the Emperor, striving to control his anger. "Will you never cease your base imaginings?" </p><p>"Would that the fault were mine," said Kuo-chung humbly, "but grim reality demands action. I beg leave to point out to Your Majesty that I have repeatedly warned you against the plotting of An Lu-shan." </p><p>"Hallucinations! He is my son. Does a son strike down his own father?" </p><p>"In history, regrettably, it frequently happens." </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei smiled. "Kuo-chung is drunk," she said casually, so little worried that she began to chant an old verse, merely to infuriate him. Kuo-chung was droll when he was angry. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="317" data-page-number="317" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/322" data-page-index="322" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/322"><span id="pageindex_322" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span><link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"> <div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>'Away the startled pheasant flies, with lazy movement of his wings;<br /> Borne was my heart's lord from my eyes—<br /> What pain the separation brings'" </p> </div> </div> </div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <p>Kuo-chung appeared to be strangling. He struggled for breath. China was faltering on its foundations, yet his cousin indulged in gentle song. </p><p>Kao Li-shih came to the rescue. He stepped forward, bowing low. "My Emperor," he said, "it is my painful duty to explain that what the Premier says is true. Loyang is in flames. The inhabitants are fleeing before the surge of the traitorous army of An Lu-shan." </p><p>"My son!" the Emperor murmured sadly. The words that leaped to his ears were beyond comprehension. </p><p>"Unless we act quicldy," said Kao sternly, "the Dynasty will fall and China will be governed by Tartars." </p><p>"I could kill you for that!" bellowed the Emperor. He seemed to have grown old, pitifully old. Yang Kuei-fei put her arm about his shoulders and forced his head against her breast. At that he burst into tears and wept. He wept for An Lu-shan, his son, the Prince who had violated every moral code. Nevertheless, if An Lu-shan threatened the Empire, if An Lu-shan were a traitor, son or no son, he must be destroyed. </p><p>"Where are the troops?" Ming Huang cried firmly, though it was an effort for him to regain his composure. "Where are the forces of Li Mi? Why do they not head off the attack? If they swarmed along the walls of <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="318" data-page-number="318" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/323" data-page-index="323" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/323"><span id="pageindex_323" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>Loyang, and protected the gates not a man of the enemy could break through." </p><p>"Li Mi," quavered Kuo-chung, "is dead. Foolishly, without thought, his army attempted to subdue the barbarous State of Nan Chao. Two hundred thousand men were destroyed." </p><p>Ming Huang groaned in anguish, but he was beyond anger. "Why was I not told of this?" he asked, wearily. </p><p>"I did not know of it, My Emperor," said Kao sadly. </p><p>"I wanted to keep unpleasant news from you," whined Kuo-chung. "Li Mi proceeded without consulting anyone. When I heard of the defeat I was confounded. As Premier I attempted to carry this leaden burden." </p><p>"This would not have happened had Li Lin-fu lived." </p><p>"I, too, have failed," said Kao. "You conferred upon me the title of Generalissimo, but I neglected my duties. I was out of touch with military affairs. Until this moment I did not know that Li Mi was dead. However, the faults of one man cannot destroy a great people. China will survive, and life will be sweetened once more." </p><p>"Faithful Kao, what would I do without you?" </p><p>"If you accompany a man at all," said Kao, ill at ease, "accompany him all the way." </p><p>"I'll raise a new army!" cried the Emperor. "And lead it into battle!" </p><p>"You cannot do that!" said Yang Kuei-fei. "You are Emperor of China!" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="319" data-page-number="319" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/324" data-page-index="324" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/324"><span id="pageindex_324" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"I'll appoint Li Ting, my son and heir, Regent to rule in my place." </p><p>"Li Ting has left the Palace," broke in a eunuch, who had joined the group. He was too agitated to think of Court ceremony. "He has gone with his friend the eunuch Li Fu-kuo to try to get together an army of loyal troops to combat the forces of An Lu-shan." </p><p>Ming Huang surveyed the group about him proudly. "An Lu-shan is no son of mine," he said bravely. "My son, Li Ting, will save the Empire. You are right, Kao, China will live." </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei bowed her head. "As long as there are stars in heaven," she said fervently. </p><p>"And now," said the Emperor, "we must devise a plan. But first for an hour I wish to be alone, to think and rest." </p><p>The others withdrew. Yang Kuei-fei remained. </p><p>For the first time in his life Ming Huang was afraid, not because of the rebellion of An Lu-shan. That could be put down. China had always been greater than her betrayers. But he was afraid he might lose Yang Kuei-fei. She sat near him. He did not wish her to speak. He dreaded confession from her lips. An Lu-shan, too, had loved her. He was young, ambitious. Perhaps she had been blinded by his brilliance. Ming Huang felt as though only a web as thin as gossamer protected his happiness. A word, and the web would be broken. </p><p>Finally he said wearily, "We have been happy together." </p><p>"Very happy." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="320" data-page-number="320" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/325" data-page-index="325" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/325"><span id="pageindex_325" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>In her hair she had woven jasmine flowers, the symbol of sweetness and magic splendor. He leaned forward and brushed her hair with his cheek that he might inhale their perfume. </p><p>"We are both desolated," he said. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei sighed. "What is to become of us?" </p><p>Ming Huang laughed bitterly. "You are in no danger," he assured her. "Whatever happens, depend upon it, An Lu-shan will protect you." </p><p>She wondered how he would react if he knew, that at that very moment, An Lu-shan's sword was hidden away in her sleeping room, among her scarves and her robes. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">8.</span> </p> </div> <p>That night Ming Huang slept little. China was in peril. How far-reaching was the octopus of revolt only the ensuing days could tell. The defection of An Lu-shan, drove home the fact that he could not be sure of anyone except faithful Kao Li-shih and Kuo-chung, who had warned him of the impending peril. But he had refused to heed. Despite his frail body, Kuo-chung had been strong, loyal to the Empire. </p><p>A check-up showed surprisingly few military men left in Changan, and these for the most part were Palace troops who had lived so long in luxury that they had become inefficient, flabby parasites fastened to the Imperial treasuries. Men who never are called upon to fight, seldom remain capable of fighting. All through <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="321" data-page-number="321" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/326" data-page-index="326" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/326"><span id="pageindex_326" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>China similar conditions existed. The militia was worthless. This had necessitated the enrollment of regular troops by various Governors. In this manner, certain provincial leaders had become very powerful. But it remained for An Lu-shan to abuse his exalted power. Other Governors might follow his example. In every province there were wavering multitudes unable to think for themselves who put personal gain above loyalty. If the revolt was general, China would be lost. </p><p>The Emperor was somewhat cheered when, a few weeks later, he discovered that Loyang had not fallen without resistance. A General whose name he was unable to ascertain had marched forth with his forces to meet the invaders. The ensuing battle was violent. Arrows filled the air like hail. Occasionally large rocks were projected by massive sling-shots. Many of the warriors battled to the death with swords and spears. An Lu-shan in a glorious chariot drawn by three mighty horses plunged through the melee and rode over those who had fallen. Then other chariots followed, using new methods of warfare. The drivers tossed bundles of burning straw among the troops, who broke ranks and scattered. Some of the uniforms of the men of Loyang took fire, blazing like living beacon lights. More burning straw. The air was filled with sparks and smoke. Pandemonium, chaos, panic. It was easy to destroy soldiers who had thrown aside their weapons because they believed they were being attacked by evil spirits. A few went mad and screeched with laughter. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="322" data-page-number="322" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/327" data-page-index="327" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/327"><span id="pageindex_327" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>An Lu-shan echoed the laughter. He was like a General drunk with the smell of blood and the lust of battle. It was pleasant to watch men die. </p><p>Later when the last opposition had been broken, he rode into the city at the head of his troops. His chariot was as brilliant as the sunrise, but there was blood upon the wheels. </p><p>The next morning he assumed the title of Emperor and issued a decree that henceforth the territory that had fallen under his authority was to be known as the State of Yen. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">9.</span> </p> </div> <p>At Changan, Ming Huang heard the bitter news stoically. Weak and careless he undoubtedly had been, but his courage was firm, his determination did not falter. Reports were coming back to him that lessened the gloom. Couriers on horseback were racing in relays to the East, to the West, to the North, and to the South, carrying the Emperor's orders. Word traveled as though by magic, by whisperings in the trees, on the lips of the wind, and by the age old method of drum signals. Many of the Governors remained faithful. Generals rallied to the support of their Ruler. Even Li Ting, the Heir Apparent, had gone off on a secret mission. Though reared in luxury and dominated by the eunuch Li Fu-kuo, when the need arose, he was ready. His action gave his father new courage. </p><p>Before long An Lu-shan was on the march again. Scoundrels in key positions must always plan new  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="323" data-page-number="323" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/328" data-page-index="328" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/328"><span id="pageindex_328" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>battles to keep their hold on their troops. When there is an emergency, troops usually hang together. That was the way An Lu-shan reasoned. His own troops must be worn out with war in order that they might lose their thirst for conquest. Therefore he marched on the strong fortress of Tung Kuan, guarding the historic pass between Loyang and Changan. </p><p>Anticipating this move, the Emperor had ordered General Ko-shu-han, who was Governor of Kansuh and part of Turkestan, to proceed with all speed to take command of the garrison at Tung Kuan. The General's forces had reached their positions long before the arrival of the army of An Lu-shan, who moved forward slowly, engaging in numerous small battles along the way. It was his established plan to subdue all towns through which he passed so that troops might be moved around easily and not be in danger of either a flank or rear attack. He had no qualms about resorting to complete ruthlessness. The rights of small villages were not worth considering. His creed was that righteousness lay in strength, and no crime was more acute than weakness. He had played the part of a buffoon to gain position and power. Now they were his. He was a buffoon no longer. Only in one thing had he been sincere. His love for Yang Kuei-fei was beyond reasoning. Cleverly he had devised a plan that would inveigle his way into Imperial favor. But Yang Kuei-fei, without resorting to pretext, solely through the warmth of her smile and her fragile tenderness had played havoc with his plans. Thereafter she became so enmeshed in <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="324" data-page-number="324" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/329" data-page-index="329" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/329"><span id="pageindex_329" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>his thoughts, that whenever he mused over the engrossing plans for ruling all China, he always thought of her as his Empress. Desire for her drove him forward at a more rapid pace than had been embodied in his original plans. Nevertheless, all was well. No man pursued him, no one was strong enough seriously to block his path. </p><p>Ko-shu-han did not underestimate the might of the rebels. He decided that he would not go out to meet them in open battle until he could be reinforced by the armies of Li Kuang-pi and Kuo Tzu-i who were massing over two hundred thousand troops, an army strong and gallant enough to save the Empire. </p><p>Ming Huang was advised of the plan, but he was in no mood for dalliance. He discussed the matter with Kuo-chung. Kuo-chung boldly asserted that to wage defensive warfare would be a mark of cowardice. The Emperor permitted himself to be persuaded. Stem orders were issued Ko-shu-han to leave the garrison and boldly meet the enemy. Ko-shu-han knew that someone had blundered, that his comparatively small forces were woefully outnumbered by the mighty legions of An Lu-shan, even though the Emperor had sent his own Palace troops to his aid. </p><p>Nevertheless, Ko-shu-han obeyed orders. He commanded his troops to leave their firmly entrenched positions at the fortress to plunge unprotected into battle. </p><p>An Lu-shan smiled. He considered it one of his minor engagements. </p><p>Ko-shu-han met ignominious defeat. His army was <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="325" data-page-number="325" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/330" data-page-index="330" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/330"><span id="pageindex_330" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>cut to pieces or scattered far and wide in utter confusion. He himself was captured and put to death. </p><p>That night An Lu-shan feasted well. There was nothing to seriously oppose his march on Changan. </p><p>Before long he would be with Yang Kuei-fei, to reclaim his sword, and to make her his Empress. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">10.</span> </p> </div> <p>News of the defeat of Ko-shu-han struck Ming Huang a mortal blow. This was the end. The Palace troops had been scattered by the defeat. There were none to defend Changan. </p><p>Kuo-chung voiced the thought that Ming Huang dared not put into words, "We must take flight, Your Majesty." </p><p>Kao Li-shih grieved for his Emperor. Silently he waited. </p><p>"Yes, we will have to leave Changan," said the Emperor, "but I will leave at the head of troops. An Emperor who cannot lead his men, cannot hold his throne." </p><p>"But there are no troops." </p><p>"Send emissaries throughout the city, shout far and wide that China needs patriotic multitudes. All true men are to rally at once to their Emperor's aid. We will flee temporarily by the Great Shu Road to Chengtu. There we will gather an army from all quarters of the Empire, so large that An Lu-shan will tremble at its approach and sue for peace." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="326" data-page-number="326" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/331" data-page-index="331" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/331"><span id="pageindex_331" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"It shall be done at once," said Kao. </p><p>"An excellent plan," agreed Kuo-chung. It was somewhat of a relief to know that the Emperor did not intend to attempt resisting the invasion at Changan. That could only lead to ignominious defeat. So unstrung was Kuo-chung, he forgot he was Premier of China, and fell back into the dubious status of an Imperial echo. </p><p>While the people were being rounded up, Ming Huang went to the apartment of Yang Kuei-fei. She greeted him with outstretched arms. He felt tired, old, feeble. </p><p>Unemotionally, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, he told her of the catastrophe that had befallen him. </p><p>She listened silently, with mingled emotions. Never in her eyes had he towered to such heights of grandeur even though he sat with bowed head. He did not seem old to her, but strong and stalwart as the bamboo which defies the wind. Despite this crushing blow, he made no selfish plea. </p><p>"And so I have come to you to say good-bye. Before another dawn, I will leave the Palace at the head of my men, perhaps never to return. If I do, China will still be China, and a T'ang Emperor will still sit upon the throne." </p><p>"And what of me?" she whispered. </p><p>"Remain here," he told her. "You will be safe. You are in no danger. Soon An Lu-shan will come to you; if not, I shall return. In either case, this Palace will ever be the dwelling place of the most beautiful woman <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="327" data-page-number="327" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/332" data-page-index="332" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/332"><span id="pageindex_332" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>China has ever known. Wait for whatever happens in the gardens among the flowers that love you." </p><p>"Wait?" she said. "Wait?" She struggled to regain her composure. Hungrily his arms crept about her, holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. </p><p>The silence was at drum pitch. In the garden outside the windows not a bird sang, not a flower moved, not a leaf stirred. Even the wind was hushed. </p><p>And then she spoke, from the fullness of her heart. "Take me with you. Where you go, I want to be also. Though he live forever, An Lu-shan has died in my heart." </p><p>Ming Huang held her close. No matter what might happen, he could never be conquered now. Yang Kuei-fei was his, his alone. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">11.</span> </p> </div> <p>At sunrise he set out at the head of a straggling, untrained, army in which a spirit of boisterousness was paramount. Half the monstrous army was afoot even though there were mounts enough for all, for many of the valiant warriors were too stupid even to straddle a horse. Hundreds were belched from wine shops, and plunged along, gazing with bloodshot eyes on a sight so strange that they were at a loss to know whether they were on the way to an elaborate circus or whether through the prank of some evil genius they had been transformed into cattle and were now being herded. However, what matter since the shepherds were gentle and did not amuse themselves by prodding their <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="328" data-page-number="328" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/333" data-page-index="333" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/333"><span id="pageindex_333" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>flanks with sticks? One was a poet, ambitious to write a war song to which they might march. And there were potters, and merchants, carvers of jade, sages, sculptors and mountebanks. </p><p>Two or three of the pseudo-soldiers were half-witted beggars who leaped at the opportunity to associate with their Emperor. A moment before they had been less than the dust. Mandarins had spat at them as they passed. Now they were members of a hastily thrown together Imperial militia. The body of one was a mass of festering sores. Another had only one arm. The nose of a third had fallen in and there was a constant rheumy discharge from his all but sightless eyes. Nevertheless they rode in stench and grandeur and imagined that they were the focus of all eyes. Many were peasants who had left their paddy-fields unable to fathom the mystery that had sent their world askew. All they were able to comprehend was that they were needed by the Brilliant Emperor. Inarticulately, they heeded the call. </p><p>An old lantern maker had sat up all night to make a lantern that he claimed had magic properties. It would light the Emperor's path and make conquest definitely sure. He insisted on walking in front of the Emperor, and because Ming Huang was superstitious he acceded to his wishes, permitting him to lead the procession. </p><p>"If there were more lanterns of brilliant hue to banish the shadows of hatred," he said, "the hearts of men would be lighter." </p><p>Interspersed among the stragglers in the preposterous army were a few of the soldiers of An Lu-shan, out <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="329" data-page-number="329" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/334" data-page-index="334" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/334"><span id="pageindex_334" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>of uniform. No one suspected that they shunned allegiance to the Emperor. Whenever they paused to rest, they stirred up quietly a brew of terror. </p><p>"I wonder if the rumor is true," one mused, "that after a victorious encounter in Honan, An Lu-shan cut off the heads of forty thousand prisoners?" </p><p>A half-drunk poet laughed shrilly. "I wonder how it feels to have one's head spin freely about in the dust of a country road!" </p><p>Kuo-chung overhead the conversation, but it scarcely disturbed his thoughts. In the shadows of a deserted hut, he held Kuo Kuo in his arms. What use had he for aught that was not concerned with pleasure? </p><p>On and on they marched. Some sang, some laughed, some were gripped with fear. Duke Yang, too, was disturbed. He hoped his supply of almonds would last until they could return to the Imperial Palace at Changan. </p><p>Despite the comparative hardships of the road, Ming Huang could find little cause for complaint. Yang Kuei-fei was with him, riding a splendid Arabian stallion. She rode astride. She had dressed carefully in vermilion trousers and a yellow silk riding jacket embroidered with glittering butterflies. Her face was pale, emphasizing the ripe glory of her lips. In her hair were entwined hibiscus blossoms. Her moth eyebrows were the envy of every woman who crowded the roads of the small villages through which the cavalcade passed. </p><p>By nightfall, the troops were in an evil mood. Many had tossed aside their rude clubs. There were far from enough swords and spears to arm everyone. A loutish <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="330" data-page-number="330" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/335" data-page-index="335" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/335"><span id="pageindex_335" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>brute had become fascinated as he watched Duke Yang unctuously munching his almonds. </p><p>He grumbled, and murmured curses against the entire Yang family. </p><p>"I, too, like almonds," he said. </p><p>Kuo-chung, angered, was resentful. He struck the miserable creature over the head with the flat of his sword. It was with difficulty that Kao Li-shih rescued him. But the spark was touched off. A conflagration flared up against the entire Yang family. The soldiers of An Lu-shan saw to it that there was an abundant supply for everyone of a strong wine in which the spirit of poppies had been potently blended. </p><p>By midnight, the mutiny flamed into the open. Kuo-chung was slain as he sat with Kuo Kuo. Duke Yang was clubbed to death and his beloved almonds distributed among the troops. </p><p>"Death to all members of the Yang family!" </p><p>Kao Li-shih walked alone among the leaders and tried to stem the vicious flood. </p><p>"Where is Yang Kuei-fei?" they cried. "Where is Yang Kuei-fei?" </p><p>A hundred tongues took up the shout. Kao, armed only with a club, stood his ground. </p><p>A leering face, munching almonds, said, "The Yangs are the cause of China's betrayal. The Emperor squandered fortunes on his favorite while the people starved!" </p><p>"You will starve no more," said Kao, gently, and brought his cudgel down on the head of the speaker with such force that brains spattered the roadside for <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="331" data-page-number="331" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/336" data-page-index="336" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/336"><span id="pageindex_336" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>yards around. Then he turned to the mob churning around him, a mob somewhat awed, somewhat impressed, but still defiant. </p><p>"Is there none among you true to your Emperor?" cried Kao angrily. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei must die!" a harsh voice boomed out sonorously. </p><p>Others took up the refrain. "Down with the House of Yang!" </p><p>"Yangs have brought rebellion!" </p><p>"Death to all Yangs!" </p><p>The burst of hatred verged into incoherence. In the mob no sense of reason remained. Neither was there leadership. The cry had been raised spontaneously by a dozen different tongues, spurred on by the efforts of those among the troops who had sworn allegiance to An Lu-shan and whose self-appointed task was to cause dissension. They had not intended to drive the new revolt to an extremity of violence. Yet it had slipped from their control, and they trembled from the contemplation of the evil thing their handiwork had wrought. </p><p>But Kao Li-shih stood his ground, waiting the opportunity to speak. Whenever the discord lessened he cried out, "Is there none among you true to your Emperor?" </p><p>Again and again he flung the question in the face of the mob. </p><p>Finally a powerful figure fought his way to Kao's side. </p><p>"I am Hung Chow," said he, "a carver of jade. Many <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="332" data-page-number="332" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/337" data-page-index="337" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/337"><span id="pageindex_337" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>of my best pieces were sold to our Splendid Emperor. I joined this army to follow him wherever he chose to lead. I respond to your appeal." </p><p>"Good man!" said Kao. "Your allegiance will not go unrewarded." </p><p>"I ask no reward other than to serve my Emperor." </p><p>A farmer joined them. His face was lined and burned by the sun and wind until it was like parchment. He was aged and bent forward from long years in the field. His bare feet were large so that he could stand firmly on the fruitful earth. His hands were brown and gnarled, the knuckles knobbed, the finger tips blunted, the nails scratched and broken, but in spite of countless blemishes they were eloquent hands, fine strong hands that had drawn strength from the soil. </p><p>A half-drunken painter, inspired by the farmer's appearance, stepped forward. "Eventually all of us must swallow gold, therefore will I drink with the illustrious Ming Huang." </p><p>For hours Kao walked among the troops attended by his little band of faithful followers. Slowly, all too slowly, it increased in numbers, but at the same time the frenzy of the mob rose to a higher pitch. </p><p>At last, wearily, Kao Li-shih knew that the cause was lost. A handful of patriots could not pit their strength against a howling mob of over sixty thousand men who had become like unto beasts, lusting for blood, eager for the kill. If Kao and those who had reiterated their allegiance to the Emperor were to fall, there would be no one to protect his Imperial person. And it was not <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="333" data-page-number="333" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/338" data-page-index="338" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/338"><span id="pageindex_338" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>beyond probability that not only would the Yang family be murdered but the Emperor, himself, as well. </p><p>Finally, wearily, he turned to Hung Chow, the jade carver, and the others who were loyal. </p><p>"Try to stem violence until morning comes," he pleaded. </p><p>"We will do all in our power," declared Hung Chow. </p><p>"For the Brilliant Emperor," added the half-drunk painter. </p><p>The farmer clutched a strong club in his gnarled hands. </p><p>All the others signified that they were ready and willing to follow orders, to die, if necessary, to hold back the rabble. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">12.</span> </p> </div> <p>Yang Kuei-fei and Ming Huang had retired to a small tea-house some distance from the troops, where they could rest and dine in quietude. But still the discordant drone of voices drifted to their ears. Ming Huang sensed that trouble was brewing. However, he said nothing to Yang Kuei-fei. </p><p>The tea-master was grateful for the opportunity to serve his Emperor. And because the tea was served with tenderness and devotion it was of a rare taste, for there is no beverage of earth that is so susceptible to environment and mood. </p><p>It was of a fragrant, soul-cleansing aroma. Yang Kuei-fei sipped it eagerly but for the Emperor its taste was contaminated by the bitterness of his thoughts. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="334" data-page-number="334" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/339" data-page-index="339" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/339"><span id="pageindex_339" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>When Kao entered with bloodless face, he was disturbed but not surprised. </p><p>"Come, join us, Kao," he urged, "in a cup of tea." </p><p>"It is of a divine flavor," added Yang Kuei-fei. </p><p>Kao sat down in a chair which the tea-master brought for him. </p><p>"My Emperor," he whispered through dry lips, "may I speak?" </p><p>"Freely, Elder Brother." </p><p>"Would that heaven would split my tongue so that I need never utter the words I must!" </p><p>"Why, Kao," said Yang Kuei-fei amazed, "you are frightened." </p><p>"Speak, Kao," the Emperor directed. "What is the message?" </p><p>"For the second time there is revolt among your troops." </p><p>The Emperor sighed. "I feared as much. What are their demands?" </p><p>"Beyond reason." </p><p>"They cannot desire my abdication since already I have left my throne and fled from the Capital." </p><p>"It is not that, Your Majesty." </p><p>"What then?" </p><p>"I lack the courage to divulge such monstrous news in the presence of Yang Kuei-fei!" </p><p>"How can it concern her?" asked Ming Huang. </p><p>"What concerns my Emperor, concerns me," she said softly. </p><p>Kao was thankful that the tea-master had set a pot <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="335" data-page-number="335" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/340" data-page-index="340" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/340"><span id="pageindex_340" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>of tea in front of him. With trembling hand, he filled a fragile cup. Lifting it to his lips, he drank eagerly. Though the tea was hot it cooled his dry, scalding lips. </p><p>Finally, he turned to Yang Kuei-fei. "Princess, a moment ago you said I was frightened. Well, I am frightened, frightened for you." </p><p>She laughed softly and her voice rippled about the room like temple bells in the morning breeze. </p><p>"For me, Kao?" she asked. "Speak, what is it? I am not afraid." </p><p>Now that he had arrived at the dreaded moment when he must proclaim the nauseating demands of the rabble, he found himself unable to go on. </p><p>"Speak," Ming Huang commanded, and there was pride in his tone. "My beloved is without fear." </p><p>But Kao sparred for time. Turning to Yang Kuei-fei, he asked, and his voice trembled, "How great is your love for China?" </p><p>His question surprised her, but she smiled wistfully, as she answered, "You might as well ask if I love the moon and the wind, the flowers, the trees and the sun. To me, China represents all living things. Beyond her borders is a void in which I hope I need never set foot. China is a vast pool of learning to which for countless ages men have come to drink. It is more than an Empire, it is the center of all culture, all poetry, all art and all tolerance." </p><p>"True, the world is fed from the cultural roots of China," Kao said slowly, falteringly, "but tell me, how much of a sacrifice would you be prepared to make in <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="336" data-page-number="336" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/341" data-page-index="341" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/341"><span id="pageindex_341" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>order that all this should not perish from this earth?" </p><p>"Why," she said, confused, "what sacrifice of mine could in any way help my people?" </p><p>"The troops have mutinied." </p><p>"You've already told us that!" burst out Ming Huang impatiently. </p><p>But the low tone of Kao's voice did not change. "They refuse to go on." </p><p>"By what right?" thundered the Emperor. </p><p>"If they desert, what will happen to China?" asked Yang Kuei-fei. </p><p>"Our Beloved Emperor may never mount his throne again," replied Kao. "The T'ang Dynasty will come to an end, and An Lu-shan may force his rule on all China. He already has conquered Loyang and proclaimed himself Emperor of the Great Yen Dynasty." </p><p>Ming Huang sighed, but his anger had melted away. He was well aware of the peril of his position. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei felt the cold breath of peril that filled the air. Nevertheless, she forced herself to whisper, "What do they wish of me?" </p><p>"As the price of going on, they demand—" </p><p>Ming Huang leaned forward. "Speak on!" he said. He, too, felt the ominous something, the dreadful murmuring that filled the night silence. </p><p>"That you order the death of Yang Kuei-fei!" Kao blurted out the dire words as though he had difficulty drawing them from his throat. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei, her face bloodless, cowered in her chair, struck speechless by the enormity of the  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="337" data-page-number="337" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/342" data-page-index="342" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/342"><span id="pageindex_342" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>ultimatum of the rabble. Men who but a few days ago slunk away at the approach of the retinue of a Mandarin were now presuming to give orders to their Emperor. </p><p>"My death?" repeated Yang Kuei-fei, almost inarticulately. "My death? Am I a menace to the safety of China? Can these small hands bring ruin upon the country?" </p><p>Ming Huang found his voice. He spat out viciously, "These men are traitors! The head of every last one of them must fall before the sword of the Executioner!" </p><p>"Would you slay sixty-five thousand men?" </p><p>"Yes, to prevent harm from befalling Yang Kuei-fei! They deserve death!" </p><p>"That I grant you, but there is no one to perform so gigantic a task." </p><p>"Are all my men traitors?" </p><p>"Revolt is a pestilence that sweeps troops, as a black plague devastates a city. Only a few have escaped its scourge. Against a multitude, their efforts would count little." </p><p>"Sooner would I be blasted from this earth than have anything happen to Yang Kuei-fei!" </p><p>"What then would happen to the fifty-eight million people who dwell in this Empire? For the sake of our people, I implore you, do not arrive at a decision too hastily." </p><p>However, Ming Huang remained steadfast in his love. "Rather would I see China in ashes, than sacrifice Yang Kuei-fei!" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="338" data-page-number="338" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/343" data-page-index="343" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/343"><span id="pageindex_343" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>She gazed at him in amazement. In the face of devotion so supreme, she made a valiant effort to keep dread from showing in her voice. Nevertheless she was afraid, bitterly afraid. She was so young to die. </p><p>Resolutely she placed her hand on his arm. "No, no," she implored. "Don't speak such words. My life is not worth so great a sacrifice." </p><p>"There must be some other way?" said Ming Huang helplessly. </p><p>Yang Kuei-fei clenched her small fists until her knuckles were as white as pearls. </p><p>"You have given me happiness such as few people ever procure under heaven. And I have given you so little." </p><p>Ming Huang sat with bowed head. Tears dropped slowly from his eyes. </p><p>"Be brave, my Emperor." </p><p>"No, no," he moaned. </p><p>"At last there <i>is</i> something—" She hesitated. Her voice faltered. She could not go on. She wanted to rush from the tea-house, to throw herself at the feet of the leaders of the mob and implore mercy. But she knew she would find no mercy in the mob. She must go on speaking, words that spelled doom, words that would save her Emperor. "At last there is something I can do for China." </p><p>She waited but still the Emperor sat as though carved of ivory. </p><p>Finally she turned to Kao. "Tell the troops, our Emperor accepts, since there is no other honorable way." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="339" data-page-number="339" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/344" data-page-index="344" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/344"><span id="pageindex_344" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"No!" cried Ming Huang, as though he were strangling. "No! Not that!" </p><p>"Go, faithful Kao," she pleaded. "Give the message to the troops." </p><p>Kao went, with heart so heavy he staggered under its burden. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">13.</span> </p> </div> <p>As Yang Kuei-fei walked with Ming Huang in the shadowy paths of the tea-house garden, she murmured, "Perhaps this is only a dream and we are sleeping, or a black bubble of horror that will burst and it will be light once more." </p><p>Ming Huang could not trust himself to speak, lest he utter the thoughts that were raging in his mind. Yes, it was a dream, a hideous dream, a dream that would last always. </p><p>"I hope I may find the vapor of death fragrant," she said. She shuddered. She was afraid, so mortally afraid. It was as though icy fingers were clutching at her heart. At the same time she felt compassion for Ming Huang. How tender had he always been in their hours together, always thinking of her comfort, neglecting his Imperial duties so that her every whim might be gratified. She gazed at the wide sweep of sky, a glorious azure canopy embroidered with myriads of glistening jewels. "The Cowherd and the Spinning Maid tonight are grieving. There are no magpies to form a bridge." </p><p>Ming Huang found his voice. "Let me die with you, that we need never be separated!" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="340" data-page-number="340" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/345" data-page-index="345" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/345"><span id="pageindex_345" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"No! No!" she cried. "Help me to be brave! You must live, in order that when these tumultuous days are over, China will still be China, as it has ever been, as it will ever be. Your people need you to remold a crumbling Empire. Be brave, My Emperor. Rest in the knowledge that I understand. It will be harder for you to live, than to go with me. But, O My Emperor, wherever you are I shall be near. You will hear my voice in the trees, or in the sweet breeze that drifts into your room from the garden. At night, I will watch beside your bed. I will caress your forehead as you slumber. For all that is best in me, dwells in your heart, and that part of me will not perish." </p><p>"O my Beloved," he whispered, "you will never be out of my thought. Nor will the separation be for long. I am an old man. I cannot live much longer." </p><p>"To me, you are not old, nor will you ever die. Through your deeds, you will live. Through all the ages to come men will remember the Poet Emperor who sat upon the Dragon Throne and charmed into being all that was best in poets, painters and musicians." </p><p>As she finished, he caught up the thread, "Yes, they will remember the brave days when the Palace halls were sweetened by the music of the voice of Yang Kuei-fei, a girl so beautiful even flowers worshiped at her shrine. How I long once more to see you dancing in the Pear Garden to the strains of 'The Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket.'" </p><p>"But beauty passes, and only grim gray clouds remain." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="341" data-page-number="341" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/346" data-page-index="346" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/346"><span id="pageindex_346" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>As she spoke, she flung herself into his arms and clung to him. With her head against his breast she sobbed piteously. She was weak and she wanted to be brave. She was so very young to die. But she fought desperately for control, and soon her strong will conquered. </p><p>"Grant me one privilege," she implored, in a barely audible voice. </p><p>"Anything! Anything!" he said. "There is nothing I would not do for you." </p><p>"Let it be your hands that tighten the cord about my throat, so that I may smile into your eyes as the doors close upon me forever." </p><p>"I cannot," he said huskily. "I dare not. My hands would turn upon me. They would tear out my eyes that they need never look upon such sacrilege." </p><p>"Then," said she, "it must be Kao." </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">14.</span> </p> </div> <p>Kao entered the garden in which a single lantern burned. The sky was overcast, as though nature had drawn a veil to hide the stars. He carried a red lacquer box containing a rope of yellow silk. </p><p>Ming Huang wandered about as though in a daze, crushed by the burden of duty and despair. The final adieus had been said, he could bear no more. As he walked near a clump of trees they reached down their branches as though to give him strength. </p><p>"Kao, I am frightened," whispered Yang Kuei-fei. "Don't let me become weak. Do not listen, if in the <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="342" data-page-number="342" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/347" data-page-index="347" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/347"><span id="pageindex_347" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>end I plead for mercy. Spare me not, Kao. We must both be strong. In your hands rests the welfare of the Emperor whom we both love." </p><p>"Weep for me, Princess, weep for me. Rather would I be trampled by wild horses than harm you." </p><p>"Be quick, Kao," she implored. "I can stand little more." </p><p>She seated herself in a bamboo chair. Her face was like ivory. </p><p>From the red lacquer box, he took the rope of yellow silk. He stood in back of her so that his actions might be unobserved. So overwrought was he, he wept tears of blood. Then tenderly he put the yellow rope about her slender neck. She did not speak, though her body twitched as he drew it tight. For a few moments, he held it so. Then her body slumped forward. </p><p>Reverently he withdrew the silken rope. He dreaded to gaze into her distorted face. But when he did so, he was amazed. Though she breathed no more, there was a half smile upon her face as though she had felt no pain. Her features were neither blackened nor distorted and there was no mark on her throat where the silken cord had bitten in. As he lifted her in his arms and laid her tenderly upon a garden bench, the wind rose in a moan carrying with it flower petals that fell like rain about her gentle form. </p><p>Ming Huang, wandering among the trees, did not seem to comprehend what had happened. </p><p>"Where is my beloved?" he whispered. "Where is Yang Kuei-fei?" </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="343" data-page-number="343" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/348" data-page-index="348" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/348"><span id="pageindex_348" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>Kao could not hide the anguish that shone in his eyes. </p><p>Ming Huang lifted his head, as though listening. </p><p>"The trees are weeping. Why do the trees weep?" </p><p>"They weep for Yang Kuei-fei," said Kao. "All Nature weeps, for Yang Kuei-fei is dead." </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">15.</span> </p> </div> <p>Yang Kuei-fei was buried in a simple grave by the roadside in Ma Wei, in a coffin which for years the owner of the tea-house had kept in the corner of his bed room, waiting to receive his own body. It was the only possible way he could honor his Emperor. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">16.</span> </p> </div> <p>The rabble troops were satisfied. A few hung their heads in shame. They returned their scurrilous allegiance to Ming Huang, who paid them no heed whatsoever. No longer was he concerned with the affairs of men. But Kao watched over him and rode beside him at the head of the troops, and so they proceeded without incident to Chengtu where Ming Huang took up residence in comparative obscurity. </p><p>While this was happening, An Lu-shan rode in triumph into Changan. His troops, weary of warfare, bewildered by the magnificence of the city, entered upon a period of looting and dissipation. They gave themselves over to sexual excess. Thousands of Palace ladies had elected to remain in ease at the Palace, refusing to take seriously the danger from the mighty rebel who <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="344" data-page-number="344" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/349" data-page-index="349" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/349"><span id="pageindex_349" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>had once been their buffoon, a warrior who had shared their caresses and extravagantly exhibited his powers as a lover. On the contrary, it was thrilling to contemplate his expected return. In the hearts of many he was an insatiable lover. </p><p>But when he ransacked the Palace and discovered that Yang Kuei-fei had elected to flee with the Emperor, his anger knew no bounds. In her private apartments, he found his sword, broken in half. The insult to his person was more than he could endure. Never had he been forced to suffer such unbounded humiliation. He knew that his troops were raping and pillaging and he did nothing to check the wild orgies. That day thousands of the Palace ladies were killed, and the stories of their tortures will never be known. </p><p>An Lu-shan cursed in his despair. He had caused the Emperor to flee for his life, he had captured both the Western and Eastern Capitals. In all of China there was none who was so powerful. Now he was known as the Emperor Hsung Wu of the Great Yen Dynasty. He had come a long way since he had been born a poor boy in the Ya-lao mountains. At his birth, a halo had been seen around the witch-house of his mother and the beasts of the field cried aloud. Authorities had been sent to have the mystery child put to death, but his mother had hidden him. </p><p>Bitterly, he thought of this now. Better had it been if he had been slain, for then he need never have arrived at this moment of chagrin and despair. Now he was an Emperor. All his ambition had been for Yang <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="345" data-page-number="345" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/350" data-page-index="350" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/350"><span id="pageindex_350" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>Kuei-fei; to make her his Empress, and where was she now? Would he ever see her again? </p><p>He went into the Palace gardens where he found Lan Jen walking somberly among his flowers, flowers he loved so much that he had refused to leave them to seek sanctuary. There could be no sanctuary for him away from his flowers. </p><p>At An Lu-shan's approach, he glanced up. </p><p>"My flowers are dying!" he cried in anguish. "Dying, because Yang Kuei-fei is dead." </p><p>An Lu-shan gripped him by the throat and shook him until his eyes bulged and his throat rattled. </p><p>"You lie!" he cried. "You lie! Yang Kuei-fei is not dead!" </p><p>When he released him, Lan Jen sank to the ground. </p><p>"Listen to the voice in the wind," he gasped. "Can you not hear? Yang Kuei-fei is dead and my flowers are dying of grief." </p><p>An Lu-shan turned away, a conqueror in anguish. His Empress was dead, killed by the force of his ambition. </p><p>Early the next morning, he drew his troops together with difficulty and set out on the return journey to Loyang. And though he did not know it, the backbone of the rebellion was broken. Mighty armies were rallying to the defense of T'ang. But equally important to the welfare of the Empire was the anguish of An Lu-shan. It was so extreme, he had little heart left for hollow conquest. </p><p>Some of the soldiers were so laden down with <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="346" data-page-number="346" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/351" data-page-index="351" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/351"><span id="pageindex_351" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>loot, they could hardly stagger along under its weight. Others drove before them the dancing rhinoceros and the elephants. For them it was a moment of extreme merriment. </p><p>In the Palace at Changan, the sound of rustling silk was stilled. </p><p>When news of the rebellion reached Li Po, he wrote, "Alas, O traveler, why did you come to so fearful a place?" </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">17.</span> </p> </div> <p>Tu Fu had been captured by one of the armies of the rebels. </p><p>"For an eternity," he wrote, "my entire household stumbled forward on foot<link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r9031029"><link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r9031029"><span class="nowrap">. . . .</span> In mud, in mire we dragged, clung to one another. Old men who had seen years pace one hundred cycles, in secret wept with silent tears." </p><p>Tu Fu was taken to the East Capital, in a captivity that held little of discomfort. Because of his high position as a poet, he was treated well. His family were permitted to return to their home unharmed. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">18.</span> </p> </div> <p>Meanwhile, Li Ting, the Heir Apparent, through the encouragement of the generals who were in charge of the steadily massing loyal troops, and with the backing of the eunuch Li Fu-kuo, took a northwestern route from Ma Wei and made his way to the city of Ling Wu <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="347" data-page-number="347" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/352" data-page-index="352" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/352"><span id="pageindex_352" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>where he was proclaimed Emperor of China, with the Imperial name of Su Tsung. Here he was joined by the armies of Governor Kuo Tzu-i and Governor Li Kuang-pi. </p><p>During the next few years, the two Governors guided the war affairs of China. Hundreds of battles were fought, some little more than petty skirmishes, others of major importance. Kuo Tzu-i fought with a vehemence akin to religious zeal. To China's recovery he pledged every waking hour, every drop of his blood, every ounce of his strength. Time after time when he was outnumbered and outfought, he refused to retreat. He did not know he was beaten. Finally from sheer exhaustion his opponents were forced to withdraw. Then he attacked the retreating foe, unexpectedly, and before opposing ranks could be redrawn he swept to victory. There were always musicians accompanying his troops, and when the battle was at its blackest pitch, the band suddenly blazed forth, anthems of victory that disturbed their enemies and made their aim less sure. </p><p>Kuo Tzu-i showed no favoritism in the selection of his officers. Capable soldiers won promotion. The useless, though they were sponsored by Dukes, were plucked from the ranks. </p><p>He marched against Shih Ssu-ming, a rebel second only in importance to An Lu-shan. Tenaciously, the loyal troops plunged forward, eventually recovering many of the wavering provinces. Finally with the aid of his colleague, Li Kuang-pi, crushing blows were <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="348" data-page-number="348" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/353" data-page-index="353" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/353"><span id="pageindex_353" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>dealt to the armies of Shih Ssu-ming and the forces scattered. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">19.</span> </p> </div> <p>An Lu-shan, Emperor of the Great Yen Dynasty by his own proclamation, had proved his mastery over vast multitudes of men, but he could not control the morbid pustules that were ravaging large areas of his skin, preventing him from resting. Sometimes they festered, became infected and swelled into abscesses. At night he lay upon his pallet and tossed and turned in torment from a thousand itching blotches. He felt as though some horrible insect were crawling under his skin. And his body burned with a relentless fire, the fluid boiled in the pustules. And the fire crept into his very eyes, they smarted and flamed like liquid metal. So intense was the heat, he had difficulty in seeing. Smoke from the fire blurred into a haze; nothing was clear. When the itching became too frightful to endure, he scratched the pustules and they broke into a slimy wetness, releasing pain that ravaged his flesh like knives turning in raw wounds. </p><p>Night after night he endured torture, so weary from loss of sleep that he whimpered incoherently. Finally one night, when he had veered into a region bordering on coma, he regained his faculties quickly and sprang from his couch. His heart beat as painfully as though it were gnawing its way to freedom. He had the feeling that some frightful monstrosity stalked about in the room near him, perhaps a demon or a pitiless dragon. <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="349" data-page-number="349" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/354" data-page-index="354" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/354"><span id="pageindex_354" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>But everything was in darkness, not even the moon shed a flickering light through the paper window panes. </p><p>He called a eunuch. </p><p>"I am here, Your Majesty!" said a high pitched voice, from right beside him. </p><p>"Why are there no lanterns burning?" cried An Lu-shan. "Why is the room in darkness?" </p><p>The eunuch smiled. He knew that his master had been reputed to have an amazing sense of humor, but this was the first time he had been cognizant of it. He had imagined that his Victorious Majesty was intensely angry. This, however, could not be. He sighed with relief; nevertheless his master had spoken. It was necessary to reply. </p><p>"There are several lanterns burning, Gracious Majesty," he said. </p><p>An Lu-shan swayed, and seemed about to fall. But he steadied himself by clutching the frail shoulder of the young eunuch with fingers that bit into the flesh like vultures. </p><p>"You lie!" he snarled. "The room is in blackness." </p><p>The eunuch winced, and fought to keep from crying out because of the biting pain of those relentless fingers. Nevertheless, he forced himself to say, "Your Majesty must inwardly smile at his droll utterance, for the room is very bright." </p><p>And then it seemed as though An Lu-shan went mad. His great fist crashed into the soft face of the eunuch while with the other hand he still clutched his shoulder. Again and again he struck until the eunuch fell  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="350" data-page-number="350" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/355" data-page-index="355" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/355"><span id="pageindex_355" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>moaning to the floor. An Lu-shan uttered a piercing cry, sprang upon the body, his great arms flaying the face that had once been that of the capon youth but now was a red pulp that no longer bore a resemblance to anything. </p><p>The commotion had brought a veritable army of eunuchs. They grouped about appalled at such brutality. </p><p>"Is Your Majesty unwell?" one ventured to ask. He was the older brother of the hapless eunuch whose lifeless body lay at the mercy of his Mighty Emperor. </p><p>"Light lanterns!" commanded An Lu-shan. </p><p>"There already are lanterns burning," was the reply. </p><p>"The room is in darkness!" </p><p>"The room is light." </p><p>An Lu-shan let the broken body fall to the floor. Anger vanished. He uttered a low moan. He took a faltering step forward, then he said, "I have gone blind. Come and help me to my couch." </p><p>Several eunuchs rushed to his aid but one bent weeping over the crumpled body of his younger brother. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">20.</span> </p> </div> <p>During the following months, An Lu-shan was frightened to frenzy by the awesome world of darkness into which he had been plunged. He had the feeling that the blackness had texture, that he could tear it with his hands like silk if only he could get a firm grip; that he breathed it in with each breath that he took. It caught in his throat and invaded his lungs. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="351" data-page-number="351" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/356" data-page-index="356" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/356"><span id="pageindex_356" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>His first act had been to send for three doctors. And they had lived on his bounty ever since. When they were not eating they put on elaborate robes of office. </p><p>Dr. Zia consulted the stars. He did not bother to examine the eyes of An Lu-shan. </p><p>"The fault is in your stars," he said, and returned to the contemplation of the heavens. </p><p>Dr. Kee Foo declared, after studying a medical scroll, that An Lu-shan's loss of sight was due entirely to the skin disease from which he suffered. </p><p>"I shall prepare a concoction for you," he said, "a concoction predominated by the pulverized brain of an infant. It is an old Tibetan remedy. I have studied far and wide that my practice may be worthy of an Emperor's grace." </p><p>Dr. Chau maintained that the Yang and the Yin principles within the body of the mighty leader were disrupted because there had been too much war in China. </p><p>"What is lacking is tranquillity," he said bluntly. "A great nation should be governed as one would cook a small fish." </p><p>An Lu-shan leaped from his couch. </p><p>"Traitor!" he cried, his arms flaying the air, his fingers clutching for the scrawny neck of the Doctor. </p><p>But Dr. Chau stepped nimbly aside, he had no desire to be destroyed, and An Lu-shan crashed against a table upon which rested an orange lantern in a bronze stand. Table, lantern and An Lu-shan fell heavily to the floor. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="352" data-page-number="352" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/357" data-page-index="357" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/357"><span id="pageindex_357" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>Dr. Chau had the audacity to step forward and help the helpless ruler to his feet. </p><p>"Yes," he said gently, "the Yang and the Yin are badly disrupted. You stand in real peril, Gracious Majesty. Continuance of such actions will only bring a fatal draught of gold which you will swallow whether you wish to or not." </p><p>An Lu-shan was all humility. "Was ever Emperor more acutely cursed?" he said. "Do whatever you can for me, Doctor. My complete trust is in you." </p><p>For months, the three Doctors remained in the Palace at Loyang. They feasted well and grew fat. They made daily reports to An Lu-shan, long, involved, fantastic reports that meant nothing. Still they bolstered up the hopes of the wretched preposterous Emperor of the Great Yen Dynasty. </p><p>In the interim, when he was not absorbed in his quest for light, An Lu-shan gloried in cruelty. Eunuchs approached him in fear for they believed that An Lu-shan was dead and that an evil spirit now dwelt in his body, a spirit that subsisted on the blood of eunuchs. </p><p>The thoughts of An Lu-shan were more painful than the itching pustules. Where was Yang Kuei-fei, what had happened to all that gay future he had planned so assiduously? </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">21.</span> </p> </div> <p>An Ch'ing-hsü was little disturbed by his father's blindness. He wasted no time in sorrow or sympathy. The most decisive attribute of his existence was hatred <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="353" data-page-number="353" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/358" data-page-index="358" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/358"><span id="pageindex_358" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>of his father, a hatred tempered by fear. But now his father was a bestial half-mad blind man and An Ch'ing-hsü was no longer afraid. </p><p>From the lips of a dozen eunuchs he heard the details of what had transpired. Then he arranged to have the disconsolate eunuch whose brother had been murdered transferred to his personal service. </p><p>He treated the eunuch with extreme courtesy and kindness. In the privacy of his own rooms, he talked to the eunuch, leading him on to repeat the story. Night after night the story was retold. Tenderly, An Ch'ing-hsü fanned the spark of hatred into unquenchable flame. He gave the eunuch many cups of warm rice wine to drink. Then one night, from his sleeve he drew a long thin knife. </p><p>"We are brothers in hatred," he whispered. "I have received word that An Lu-shan is sleeping. It would not be hard for you to creep into his room. It would not be hard for this knife to find its way to his heart. Go! Strike deeply! Avenge your brother! I will wait for you here with a present of gold, rare silks and a jade cup from which we will drink to the future." </p><p>The eunuch slipped away on flying feet to perform a duty that was dear to him. </p><p>An Ch'ing-hsü waited for him by the open window. It was a pleasant night. The air was sweeter than the wine that he sipped from a thin glazed pottery cup. There was silence everywhere, as though the night sky was a blue coverlet spread over the sleeping city. </p><p>Meanwhile the eunuch stood beside the sleeping <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="354" data-page-number="354" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/359" data-page-index="359" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/359"><span id="pageindex_359" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>hulk of An Lu-shan. In his hand was the long thin blade so hungry for flesh. </p><p>Then silently he struck, ripping open the huge stomach. The rattle in the throat of the Emperor of the Great Yen Dynasty was to him pleasant music. </p><p>Unobserved, he returned to the rooms of An Ch'ing-hsü. Together they drank wine from the jade cup. </p><p>In this manner did An Ch'ing-hsü come into power. However, he was weak and lacking in wisdom. He drank heavily. His success was ephemeral. He was no match for Shih Ssu-ming, his father's friend, who openly treated him with loathing and contempt. </p><p>Finally, one day, acting swiftly, Shih Ssu-ming seized An Ch'ing-hsü and put him to death. Thereafter Shih Ssu-ming proclaimed himself Emperor under the Great Yen Dynasty. </p><p>Eventually Shih Ssu-ming was murdered by his eldest son. </p><p>So rotted tyranny. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">22.</span> </p> </div> <p>During the rush of circumstances that were ironically just, Tu Fu had secured his freedom. In utter weariness, he wrote: </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r14263595"><div class="wst-center-block" style="width:fit-content;"><link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13475758"><div class="wst-italic-body"><div class="poem"> <p><span class="wst-fqm" style="float:left; text-align:right; margin-left:calc(0em - 3em); width:3em;">"</span>From Loyang I traveled many li.<br /> For years barbarian hordes have swept the land,<br /> Last year, in autumn, I passed the Dagger Range,<br /> Hindered by wars alarm, now I rest beside the quiet Embroidery Stream. </p> </div> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="355" data-page-number="355" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/360" data-page-index="360" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/360"><span id="pageindex_360" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span><div class="poem"> <p>Thinking of home, I walk in the moonlight all through the night;<br /> Remembering my brothers, I look up to the clouds and sleep by daylight.<br /> I have heard at Loyang our men are now taking advantage of victory,<br /> And the General moves quickly to the attack on Yu Yen." </p> </div></div></div> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">23.</span> </p> </div> <p>The Imperial Court, presided over by Emperor Su Tsung, whose personal name was Li Ting, son of Ming Huang, returned to Changan to find a burned and pillaged city from which most of the poets and artists had fled with their kin. </p><p>But they were not dismayed, for China was free once more, and the glorious reign of T'ang Emperors went forward with renewed impetus. Li Ting was entirely in the hands of his Empress and of the eunuch Li Fu-kuo who fortunately had been loyal to the established order. </p><p>Li Ting's first act, was to implore his father Ming Huang to return from his retreat at Chengtu. </p><p>Ming Huang returned, aged, feeble, little concerned with affairs of state. He believed that Yang Kuei-fei was still alive. </p><p>"That cannot be," said Li Ting, "for though we all are bowed with grief we know that her body is buried beside the road at Ma Wei." </p><p>The aged Ming Huang clutched his son's arm, "No, <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="356" data-page-number="356" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/361" data-page-index="361" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/361"><span id="pageindex_361" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>no," he whispered with redoubtable intensity, "Yang Kuei-fei still lives." </p><p>Li Ting placed his arm about his father's bowed shoulders. </p><p>"We will send soldiers to exhume her body," he said gently. </p><p>In anguish, Ming Huang cried, "No soldiers may touch her body! There has been enough of war. Enough of fighting. It is my wish that four hundred women proceed quietly to Ma Wei, taking care not to disturb the wind, nor to brush the trees as they pass by. Reverently must they procure the body of my beloved if it can be found." </p><p>"If it can be found?" repeated Li Ting, question-ingly. "But, father—" </p><p>"I know, I know," broke in Ming Huang wistfully. "You believe she is dead and buried in a simple grave. If so the four hundred women will carry her back." </p><p>He drew his hand wearily across his eyes. "I am very tired," he said. </p><p>The eunuch, Li Fu-kuo stepped forward and guided him to his own apartments. Kao Li-shih followed his Emperor, stumbling blindly along, his huge body shaken by tumultuous sobs which he struggled to suppress. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">24.</span> </p> </div> <p>When Ming Huang was sufficiently rested, Li Ting went to him. He had dressed humbly in the purple costume of a prince, not in Imperial yellow. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="357" data-page-number="357" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/362" data-page-index="362" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/362"><span id="pageindex_362" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"Illustrious Father," said he, "the time has come when you must once more mount the Dragon Throne to rule over all beneath the sky." </p><p>Ming Huang took off his own dragon robe and placed it on the shoulders of Li Ting. </p><p>"Noble son," he said, "you must remain as Emperor of China. You have done your work well. China will endure. I shall not mount the throne again, for I am an old man, very, very tired. Soon the taste of gold will be upon my tongue. Ere that day comes, I must find Yang Kuei-fei." </p><p>"But she is dead, father. Four hundred women have gone in quest of her body." </p><p>Ming Huang smiled, and in his eyes there were echoes of divine fire. "She lives," he said. "I have caught a few notes of her song in the cool night wind; the brilliance of her eyes I have glimpsed in joyous fireflies dancing down the wind; the flower petal glory of her cheeks is reflected in the pink golden sky of morning. No, no, my son, I must rule no more. My thoughts are concerned with other things. Yang Kuei-fei still lives and I will find her if I have to search along the Milky Way in the Blue Cities of the sky. The stars will guide my feet that I do not stumble. Yang Kuei-fei still lives." </p><p>He turned away, absorbed in his thoughts, with courage to match the mountains and the sea. </p><p>So the days wore on, placidly. Li Ting had a hard task, but he attacked it with energy, seeking strength from the ever present Li Fu-kuo and from the  <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="358" data-page-number="358" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/363" data-page-index="363" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/363"><span id="pageindex_363" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>Ministers and Court Officers who had returned with Ming Huang from Chengtu. </p><p>Kao Li-shih relinquished his high office of Grand Eunuch in order that he might devote all his time to the well-being of his Emperor. He asked no greater gift than to serve. </p><p>Li Fu-kuo became Grand Eunuch. He kowtowed in smirking, fawning jealousy before Kao Li-shih. Though in rank he was now above Kao, he had the miserable feeling that Kao towered over him. Their difference in physical height partly accounted for this, but primarily it was because of the greatness of Kao's spirit. </p><p>Li Fu-kuo decided that he would use every force at his command to drive Kao from the Court. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">25.</span> </p> </div> <p>Then one day the four hundred women returned from Ma Wei. </p><p>In awe, they related how they had opened up the grave of Yang Kuei-fei. But when they unclosed the coffin, it was empty. </p><p>Ming Huang heard the news with no sign of agitation. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei still lives!" he cried. "That is why I did not go with you to Ma Wei. I knew that the grave would be empty. It was empty because Yang Kuei-fei still lives! If you listen, you will hear her voice." </p><p>In awe, the Court Officers who had assembled to honor the memory of Yang Kuei-fei, gave way before <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="359" data-page-number="359" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/364" data-page-index="364" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/364"><span id="pageindex_364" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>him. Accompanied only by Kao Li-shih, who was emotionally stirred beyond all reason, the old Emperor walked slowly into the garden, to the Peony Terrace where so often he had sat with Yang Kuei-fei crouched at his feet, her head against his knee. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei still lives," he repeated. "Her voice is in the hush of the trees or in the joy of the morning." </p><p>Kao listened from a mannered distance, and his heart bled. </p><p>On and on the loom of Court intrigue wove its relentless pattern. The new Emperor was completely under the domination of Li Fu-kuo, the Grand Eunuch, who was hated so intensely by the Empress that she spent her every waking hour planning his assassination. </p><p>But of these unpleasant machinations, Ming Huang heard nothing. For him day followed day in a rhythmic serenity that was like the hush of deep night when a watery moon hangs low. Everyone at the Palace, Ministers, Court Officers, Envoys, Bonzes, Conspirators, treated him in a manner akin to devotion. He was a man to match the mountains and the sea; a man like unto T'ai Shan to which all people look up. </p><p>His son, Li Ting, who ruled as the Emperor Su Tsung, gazed on him with awe. Whenever his father entered his presence, he sprang to his feet and placed his hand upon his father's arm to guide his faltering footsteps. </p><p>Ming Huang protested: "You must not do that, my son. You are now Emperor of China." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="360" data-page-number="360" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/365" data-page-index="365" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/365"><span id="pageindex_365" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>"Li Ting is the Emperor of China; Ming Huang is the Emperor of Li Ting." </p><p>At Court, the next morning, Li Ting conferred upon his father the rank of Supreme and Heavenly Sovereign Lord, a title higher even than his own. But it was also a title usually associated with Immortals, men of superb courage and wisdom who were no longer concerned with earthly affairs. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">26.</span> </p> </div> <p>At every opportunity, Li Fu-kuo pointed out to Li Ting how dangerous it was to have so powerful a person at the Palace as Kao Li-shih. Although Kao had voluntarily relinquished his high office, he was still one of the most forcible men in the Empire. </p><p>Li Fu-kuo chanted endlessly a despicable theme. "Perhaps someday Kao Li-shih will attempt to reclaim the Dragon Throne for Ming Huang, when time has assuaged the old Emperor's boundless grief. It may be that in my loyalty to Your Majesty, I am over-suspicious. Nevertheless a few incidents have occurred that lead me to believe that Kao Li-shih is still ambitious. He merely waits. When the opportune hour comes, he will step from behind his mask of humility. Oh, worthy and mighty Sovereign, I implore you to believe that Kao Li-shih is dangerous." </p><p>"I am disturbed," said Li Ting petulantly. </p><p>"Perhaps he will strike before we are prepared to combat him." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="361" data-page-number="361" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/366" data-page-index="366" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/366"><span id="pageindex_366" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>On and on Li Fu-kuo talked and as guile dripped from his lips, Li Ting's anger mounted. </p><p>Finally, he burst out, "From this moment forth, Kao Li-shih is banished from Changan. Bid him flee from the Palace unto the far hills. Neither shall he visit Loyang. If he returns within ten li of either the East or the West Capitals, he shall be taken into custody, turned over to the Board of Punishments and decapitated. I have spoken. Convey my commands to this traitor." </p><p>Li Fu-kuo was all gentleness when he carried the dire tidings to Kao. </p><p>"Words cannot convey my sorrow," he said. "I tried to reason with the Emperor but only aroused his displeasure." </p><p>Kao was in no way taken in by his successor's attitude, but for the sake of Ming Huang, he made no protest. </p><p>"May I see My Emperor once more before departing?" he asked quietly. What matter that the anguish in his soul created pain that he could scarcely endure? </p><p>"Regrettably, that cannot be. Li Ting desires that you depart with as little commotion as possible. He forbids you to see his father before going." </p><p>Kao made no comment. For a moment he stood silent, his great body shaken by the sobs he was fighting to suppress. </p><p>At last, he said slowly, "Tell My Emperor I have gone in search of Yang Kuei-fei. When I find her, I will come back to him." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="362" data-page-number="362" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/367" data-page-index="367" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/367"><span id="pageindex_367" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>During the ensuing weeks Ming Huang waited for Kao in the gardens of the Palace. </p><p>Frequently his companion was Lan Jen, the eunuch who lived among flowers, in a sublime world of his own creating. All through the chaotic years of the rebellion, Lan Jen had remained as protector of the gardens, and though there had been an endless carousal of pillage and plunder, rape, murder and bestiality, not a leaf had been broken, not a petal destroyed. Surrounded by Palace ladies, what need had the mighty rebel army for the quiet of an enchanted garden? </p><p>"Consider flowers," said Lan Jen. "Men break them, drag them from their homes, trample them into dust, and in return, they give perfume. From their fragrance, the nightingale draws song. The stars reflect their sadness." </p><p>He paused before a glorious red rose upon which the dew of morning still lingered. Impulsively, he bent forward and whispered, "Oh, rose, your fragile loveliness is like unto that of the slim young girl whose passing multiplied the sorrows of the world." </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:100%;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;">27.</span> </p> </div> <p>One day a friend of Lan Jen's came unto Changan, a Taoist priest from Lin-ch'ung of the Hung-tu school; who was reputed to be able to converse with the spirits of the dead. </p><p>Ming Huang sent for him. </p><p>The renowned Priest was diffident as he entered the old Emperor's presence. He prostrated himself and <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="363" data-page-number="363" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/368" data-page-index="368" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/368"><span id="pageindex_368" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>touched his forehead to the marble path twelve times. </p><p>"Arise," said Ming Huang. "It is not necessary to pay homage. I no longer am Emperor of China. I have abdicated in favor of my son." </p><p>"In my heart," said the Priest softly, "Your Majesty remains Emperor. Such allegiance is difficult to change. When one is old it is hard to learn new songs." </p><p>"I am gratified," said Ming Huang quickly. "But tell me, is it true that you are able to speak with the spirits of those who have departed from this earth?" </p><p>"Yes, it is true," said the Priest, "and so at the request of Lan Jen I have journeyed many miles that I may have audience with my Emperor." </p><p>Ming Huang gazed thoughtfully into space for a few moments, as though trying to see with an inner vision those strange pictures that lie over the threshold of reality. </p><p>"In your wanderings," began Ming Huang hesitantly, "in your wanderings have you ever beheld the face of my loved one, Yang Kuei-fei?" </p><p>The Priest closed his eyes and remained so still he seemed to be sleeping. Finally he spoke, slowly, thoughtfully, as though choosing his words with consummate care. </p><p>"Borne on the wings of the clouds," he said, "and with the speed of lightning I have searched the empyrean. Returning to earth, I have gone unto the Yellow Springs but nowhere in these vast distances have I beheld her countenance. But now I have heard of the Isles of the Blest that lie beyond the blue earth's rim. <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="364" data-page-number="364" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/369" data-page-index="369" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/369"><span id="pageindex_369" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>It is a place of solitude and eternal peace, woven of intangible things such as moon mist or the down on a peach, rainbow colors, or the little rain of China gently falling. The spray-flung shore is white with foam and coral, a soft blue sea, and yellow cloudless sky. Perhaps in these fragrant Isles of the Blest, I may be able to discover Yang Kuei-fei." </p><p>Ming Huang's voice rang out in an impassioned plea, "Take me with you!" </p><p>The Priest shook his head doubtfully. "My Emperor," he said, "do not urge me to take you on so hazardous a journey. It may spoil everything. The ability to talk with spirits may be taken from me if I permit anyone, even the Brilliant Emperor, to peer beyond the curtains of reality. I beg of Your Majesty, let me proceed alone to the Isles of the Blest. Before the sun has set I will return with the precious knowledge you desire. After that, if you still insist on going to these ethereal Isles, I shall not block your way." </p><p>Ming Huang bowed his head. "Before your wisdom, I am humbled," he said. "Because of longing for my Princess, I was thoughtless. Go, good Priest, and I will wait here for your return." </p><p>"I shall not be long," the Priest assured him, "for I shall be in realms where time is impotent, of less value than a vanished sunset." So saying, he drew a gray robe about him. Ming Huang closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he was alone. </p><p>It was not easy to wait, but he curbed his impatience. The fragrance in the garden increased. The wind in <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="365" data-page-number="365" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/370" data-page-index="370" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/370"><span id="pageindex_370" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>the trees played gentle music, in tune with a nightingale far up in the azure sky who joined in a song worth singing. Ming Huang breathed deeply of the pungent air. Some slight vestige of peace found its way to his heart. He closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep, sleep without dreams. And as he slept, the earth changed. The sun crept over the far hills to die. And a yellow moon rose like a flying lantern. Soon it faded into white, the stars peeped out, the blue sky was like the glaze of a vast inverted bowl. </p><p>Finally, Ming Huang stirred in his sleep. A sudden chill had come over the garden. He opened his eyes and drew his cloak closer about him. A silver blue mist had changed the garden into an enchanted forest. Grotesque trees loomed up everywhere, and in among the trees fireflies glowed in the strange blue glory like small joyous lanterns. </p><p>Then Ming Huang glanced up. Beside him stood the gaunt figure of the old Priest. </p><p>"Tell me," cried Ming Huang, "did you find my loved one?" </p><p>Gently the Priest answered, "Yes, I found her. She is in the Isles of the Blest. When I talked with her, her face was radiant. She was wondrously happy. She gave me this golden hairpin for you." </p><p>Ming Huang took it eagerly. He lifted it to his lips. </p><p>So long did he remain immobile, the Priest imagined that he must be sleeping. He arranged cushions upon the marble bench so that His Majesty might rest more comfortably. Then he withdrew. </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="366" data-page-number="366" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/371" data-page-index="371" data-page-quality="3" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/371"><span id="pageindex_371" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>But Ming Huang was not sleeping. He was so overcome by the knowledge that Yang Kuei-fei still lived, and had sent him a gift of one of her own golden hairpins, he was unable to speak. All he desired was to be alone with his thoughts and his dreams, dreams of his dear one who was very close to him that night. </p><p>Then suddenly his breath caught in his throat, he stirred, opened his eyes, every muscle tense, every nerve alert. Hark! Was that her laughter rippling in the distance? </p><p>He rose to his feet. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei," he whispered, awed at her gracious presence. Somehow he knew that she was there. There was joy in the fragrance of the flowers. There was adoration in the voices of the trees. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei," he whispered. </p><p>The bluish mist intensified, driving the shadows before it. </p><p>"Yang Kuei-fei," he whispered. </p><p>And then she came to him, with green herbs from the mountain soil. She was all warmth and tenderness. His arms encircled her hungrily. Her gentle breasts were pressed against his heart, the vivid fragrant wonder of her lips was on his cheek. </p><p>"Oh, my beloved," he whispered. "My beloved." And in his words echoed all the endless heartache he had endured since that night of everlasting wrong at Ma-Wei. </p><p>"Let me go with you to the Isles of the Blest," he implored, "I am so weary, so lonely." </p> <div class="__nop wst-nop"></div> <p> <span><span class="pagenum ws-pagenum" id="367" data-page-number="367" data-page-name="Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/372" data-page-index="372" data-page-quality="4" title="Page:Frank_Owen_-_The_Scarlett_Hill,_1941.djvu/372"><span id="pageindex_372" class="pagenum-inner ws-noexport"></span></span></span>She slipped from his arms, and took his hand. "Come," she murmured. "Come with me." </p><p>Together they walked into the blue glowing mist. The path was straight and even. He walked without effort, as in the days of his youth. The path widened and they came to an open field. She took a few hibiscus blossoms and twined them in her hair. For the first time he noticed the magnificence of her costume, adorned with pearls and jewels, that dulled in comparison to the brilliance of her eyes, wet with tears of happiness. And then she danced for him, danced "The Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket" to the music of the wind and the trees, danced until the blue mist grew lighter, merging into the pink glow of peace and morning. </p><p>Horror-stricken, she paused, and seized his hand. </p><p>"Hurry! Hurry!" she cried. "We must flee before the sun. We must be far away at dawn, to the Isles of the Blest." </p><p>And then the path before them magically opened upon the turrets of a strange city, a city that was the dwelling place of Immortals, a city of everlasting peace. </p><p>"Come," she said softly, "I will show you our home in the golden palace, beyond the jade door." </p><p>Hand in hand, they went forward joyously together. </p> <div class="wst-dhr" style="visibility:hidden; line-height:2;"> </div> <link rel="mw-deduplicated-inline-style" href="mw-data:TemplateStyles:r13089542"><div class="wst-center tiInherit wst-center-nomargin"> <p><span style="font-size: 83%;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">The End</span></span> </p> </div>  </div>    </div><noscript><img src="https://login.wikimedia.org/wiki/Special:CentralAutoLogin/start?type=1x1" alt="" width="1" height="1" style="border: none; position: absolute;"></noscript> <div class="printfooter" data-nosnippet="">Retrieved from "<a dir="ltr" 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