Kai Lung's Golden Hours by Ernest Bramah (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕
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- Author: Ernest Bramah
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“To the intrepid, very high places exist solely to be scaled; with others, however, the only scaling they attempt is lavished on the armour of preposterous flying monsters, O youth of the House of Wei!”
“Is it possible,” exclaimed Wei Chang, moving forward with so sudden an ardour that the maiden hastily withdrew herself several paces from beyond his enthusiasm, “is it possible that this person’s hitherto obscure and execrated name is indeed known to your incomparable lips?”
“As the one who periodically casts up the computations of the sums of money due to those who labour about the earth-yards, it would be strange if the name had so far escaped my notice,” replied Fa Fai, with a distance in her voice that the few paces between them very inadequately represented. “Certain details engrave themselves upon the tablets of recollection by their persistence. For instance, the name of Fang is generally at the head of each list; that of Wei Chang is invariably at the foot.”
“It is undeniable,” admitted Wei Chang, in a tone of well-merited humiliation; “and the attainment of never having yet applied a design in such a manner that the copy might be mistaken for the original has entirely flattened-out this person’s self-esteem.”
“Doubtless,” suggested Fa Fai, with delicate encouragement, “there are other pursuits in which you would disclose a more highly developed proficiency—as that of watching the gyrations of untamed horses, for example. Our more immediate need, however, is to discover a means of defeating the malignity of the detestable Fang. With this object I have for some time past secretly applied myself to the task of contriving a design which, by blending simplicity with picturesque effect, will enable one person in a given length of time to achieve the amount of work hitherto done by two.”
With these auspicious words the accomplished maiden disclosed a plate of translucent porcelain, embellished in the manner which she had described. At the sight of the ingenious way in which trees and persons, stream and buildings, and objects of a widely differing nature had been so arranged as to give the impression that they all existed at the same time, and were equally visible without undue exertion on the part of the spectator who regarded them, Wei Chang could not restrain an exclamation of delight.
“How cunningly imagined is the device by which objects so varied in size as an orange and an island can be depicted within the narrow compass of a porcelain plate without the larger one completely obliterating the smaller or the smaller becoming actually invisible by comparison with the other! Hitherto this unimaginative person had not considered the possibility of showing other than dragons, demons, spirits, and the forces which from their celestial nature may be regarded as possessing no real thickness of substance and therefore being particularly suitable for treatment on a flat surface. But this engaging display might indeed be a scene having an actual existence at no great space away.”
“Such is assuredly the case,” admitted Fa Fai. “Within certain limitations, imposed by this new art of depicting realities as they are, we may be regarded as standing before an open window. The important-looking building on the right is that erected by this person’s venerated father. Its prosperity is indicated by the luxurious profusion of the fruit-tree overhanging it. Pressed somewhat to the back, but of dignified proportion, are the outer buildings of those who labour among the clay.”
“In a state of actuality, they are of measurably less dignified dimensions,” suggested Wei Chang.
“The objection is inept,” replied Fa Fai. “The buildings in question undoubtedly exist at the indicated position. If, therefore, the actuality is to be maintained, it is necessary either to raise their stature or to cut down the trees obscuring them. To this gentle-minded person the former alternative seemed the less drastic. As, however, it is regarded in a spirit of no-satisfaction—”
“Proceed, incomparable one, proceed,” implored Wei Chang. “It was but a breath of thought, arising from a recollection of the many times that this incapable person has struck his unworthy head against the roof-beams of those nobly-proportioned buildings.”
“The three stunted individuals crossing the bridge in undignified attitudes are the debased Fang and two of his mercenary accomplices. They are, as usual, bending their footsteps in the direction of the hospitality of a house that announces its purpose beneath the sign of a spreading bush. They are positioned as crossing the river to a set purpose, and the bridge is devoid of a rail in the hope that on their return they may all fall into the torrent in a helpless condition and be drowned, to the satisfaction of the beholders.”
“It would be a fitting conclusion to their ill-spent lives,” agreed Wei Chang. “Would it not add to their indignity to depict them as struggling beneath the waves?”
“It might do so,” admitted Fa Fai graciously, “but in order to express the arisement adequately it would be necessary to display them twice—first on the bridge with their faces turned towards the west, and then in the flood with their faces towards the east; and the superficial might hastily assume that the three on the bridge would rescue the three in the river.”
“You are all-wise,” said Wei Chang, with well-marked admiration in his voice. “This person’s suggestion was opaque.”
“In any case,” continued Fa Fai, with a reassuring glance, “it is a detail that is not essential to the frustration of Fang’s malignant scheme, for already well on its way towards Hien Nan may be seen a trustworthy junk, laden with two formidable crates, each one containing fivescore plates of the justly esteemed Wong Ts’in porcelain.”
“Nevertheless,” maintained Wei Chang mildly, “the out-passing of Fang would have been a satisfactory detail of the occurrence.”
“Do not despair,” replied Fa Fai. “Not idly is it written: ‘Destiny has four feet, eight hands and sixteen eyes: how then shall the ill-doer with only two of each hope to escape?’ An even more ignominious end may await Fang, should he escape drowning, for, conveniently placed by the side of the stream, this person has introduced a spreading willow-tree. Any of its lower branches is capable of sustaining Fang’s weight, should a reliable rope connect the two.”
“There is something about that which this person now learns is a willow that distinguishes it above all the other trees of the design,” remarked Wei Chang admiringly. “It has a wild and yet a romantic aspect.”
“This person had not yet chanced upon a suitable title for the device,” said Fa Fai, “and a distinguishing name is necessary, for possibly scores of copies may be made before its utility is exhausted. Your discriminating praise shall be accepted as a fortunate omen, and henceforth this shall be known as the Willow Pattern Embellishment.”
“The honour of suggesting the title is more than this commonplace person can reasonably carry,” protested Wei Chang, feeling that very little worth considering existed outside the earth-shed. “Not only scores, but even hundreds of copies may be required in the process of time, for a crust of rice-bread and handful of dried figs eaten from such a plate would be more satisfying than a repast of many-coursed richness elsewhere.”
In this well-sustained and painless manner Fa Fai and Wei Chang continued to express themselves agreeably to each other, until the lengthening gong-strokes warned the former person that her absence might inconvenience Wong Ts’in’s sense of tranquillity on his return, nor did Wei Chang contest the desirability of a great space intervening between them should the merchant chance to pass that way. In the meanwhile Chang had explained many of the inner details of his craft so that Fa Fai should the better understand the requirements of her new art.
“Yet where is the Willow plate itself?” said the maiden, as she began to arrange her mind towards departure. “As the colours were still in a receptive state this person placed it safely aside for the time. It was somewhat near the spot where you—”
During the amiable exchange of shafts of polished conversation Wei Chang had followed Fa Fai’s indication and had seated himself upon a low bench without any very definite perception of his movements. He now arose with the unstudied haste of one who has inconvenienced a scorpion.
“Alas!” he exclaimed, in a tone of the acutest mental distress; “can it be possible that this utterly profane outcast has so desecrated—”
“Certainly comment of an admittedly crushing nature has been imposed on this one’s well-meant handiwork,” said Fa Fai. With these lightly-barbed words, which were plainly devised to restore the other person’s face towards himself, the magnanimous maiden examined the plate which Wei Chang’s uprising had revealed.
“Not only has the embellishment suffered no real detriment,” she continued, after an adequate glance, “but there has been imparted to the higher lights—doubtless owing to the nature of the fabric in which your lower half is encased—a certain nebulous quality that adds greatly to the successful effect of the various tones.”
At the first perception of the indignity to which he had subjected the entrancing Fa Fai’s work, and the swift feeling that much more than the coloured adornment of a plate would thereby be destroyed, all power of retention had forsaken Wei Chang’s incapable knees and he sank down heavily upon another bench. From this dejection the maiden’s well-chosen encouragement recalled him to a position of ordinary uprightness.
“A tombstone is lifted from this person’s mind by your gracefully-placed words,” he declared, and he was continuing to indicate the nature of his self-reproach by means of a suitable analogy when the expression of Fa Fai’s eyes turned him to a point behind himself. There, lying on the spot from which he had just risen, was a second Willow plate, differing in no detail of resemblance from the first.
“Shadow of the Great Image!” exclaimed Chang, in an awe-filled voice. “It is no marvel that miracles should attend your footsteps, celestial one, but it is incredible that this clay-souled person should be involved in the display.”
“Yet,” declared Fa Fai, not hesitating to allude to things as they existed, in the highly-raised stress of the discovery, “it would appear that the miracle is not specifically connected with this person’s feet. Would you not, in furtherance of this line of suggestion, place yourself in a similar attitude on yet another plate, Wei Chang?”
Not without many protests that it was scarcely becoming thus to sit repeatedly in her presence, Chang complied with the request, and upon Fa Fai’s further insistence he continued to impress himself, as it were, upon a succession of porcelain plates, with a like result. Not until the eleventh process was reached did the Willow design begin to lose its potency.
“Ten perfect copies produced within as many moments, and not one distinguishable from the first!” exclaimed Wei Chang, regarding the array of plates with pleasurable emotion. “Here is a means of baffling Fang’s crafty confederacy that will fill Wong Ts’in’s ears with waves of gladness on his return.”
“Doubtless,” agreed Fa Fai, with a dark intent. She was standing by the door of the enclosure in the process of making her departure, and she regarded Wei Chang with a set deliberation. “Yet,” she continued definitely, “if this person possessed that which was essential to Wong Ts’in’s prosperity, and Wong Ts’in held that which was necessary for this one’s tranquillity, a locked bolt would be upon the one until the other was pledged in return.”
With these opportune words the maiden vanished, leaving Wei Chang prostrating himself in spirit before the many-sidedness of her wisdom.
Wong Ts’in was not altogether benevolently inclined towards the universe on his return a little later. The persistent image of Fang’s overthreatening act still corroded the merchant’s throat with bitterness, for on his right he saw the extinction of his business as unremunerative if he agreed, and on his left he saw the extinction of his business as undependable if he refused to agree.
Furthermore, the omens were ill-arranged.
On his way outwards he had encountered an aged man who possessed two fruit-trees, on which he relied for sustenance. As Wong Ts’in drew near, this venerable person carried from his dwelling two beaten cakes of dog-dung and began to bury them about the root of the larger tree. This action, on the part of one who might easily be a disguised wizard, aroused Wong Ts’in’s interest.
“Why,” he demanded, “having two cakes of dung and two fruit-trees, do you not allot one to each tree, so that both may benefit and return to you their produce in the time of your necessity?”
“The season promises to be one of rigour and great need,” replied the other. “A single cake of dung might not provide sufficient nourishment for either tree, so that both should wither away. By reducing life to a bare necessity I could pass from one harvest to another on the fruit of this tree alone, but
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