Kai Lung’s Golden Hours by Ernest Bramah (an ebook reader .TXT) 📕

in his wake, missing the path of his return as N’guk ordained.

Thus bereft, Tian was on the point of giving way to a seemly despair when a message concerned with Mu, the only daughter of Ko’en Cheng, reached him. It professed a high-minded regard for his welfare, and added that although the one who was inspiring the communication had been careful to avoid seeing him on the occasion of his entry into Ti-foo, it was impossible for her not to be impressed by the dignity of his bearing. Ko’en Cheng having become vastly wealthy as the result of entering into an arrangement with Ah-tang before Ti-foo was sacked, it did not seem unreasonable to Tian that Ning was in some way influencing his destiny from afar. On this understanding he ultimately married Mu, and thereby founded a prolific posterity who inherited a great degree of his powers. In the course of countless generations the attributes have faded, but even to this day the true descendants of the line of Ning are frequently vouchsafed dreams in which they stand naked and without shame, see gems or metals hidden or buried in the earth and float at will through space.

IV The Inopportune Behaviour of the Covetous Li-Loe

It was upon the occasion of his next visit to the shutter in the wall that Kai Lung discovered the obtuse-witted Li-loe moving about the enclosure. Though docile and well-meaning on the whole, the stunted intelligence of the latter person made him a doubtful accomplice, and Kai Lung stood aside, hoping to be soon alone.

Li-loe held in his hand an iron prong, and with this he industriously searched the earth between the rocks and herbage. Ever since their previous encounter upon that same spot it had been impossible to erase from his deformed mind the conviction that a store of rare and potent wine lay somewhere concealed within the walls of the enclosure. Continuously he besought the storyteller to reveal the secret of its hiding-place, saying: “What an added bitterness will assail your noble throat if, when you are led forth to die, your eye closes upon the one who has faithfully upheld your cause lying with a protruded tongue panting in the noonday sun.”

“Peace, witless,” Kai Lung usually replied; “there is no such store.”

“Nevertheless,” the doorkeeper would stubbornly insist, “the cask cannot yet be empty. It is beyond your immature powers.”

Thus it again befell, for despite Kai Lung’s desire to escape, Li-loe chanced to look up suddenly and observed him.

“Alas, brother,” he remarked reproachfully, when they had thus contended, “the vessel that returns whole the first time is chipped the second and broken at the third essay, and it will yet be too late between us. If it be as you claim, to what end did you boast of a cask of wine and of running among a company of goats with leaves entwined in your hair?”

“That,” replied Kai Lung, “was in the nature of a classical allusion, too abstruse for your deficient wit. It concerned the story of Kiau Sun, who first attained the honour.”

“Be that as it may,” replied Li-loe, with mulish iteration, “five deficient strings of homemade cash are a meagre return for a friendship such as mine.”

“There is a certain element of truth in what you claim,” confessed Kai Lung, “but until my literary style is more freely recognized it will be impossible to reward you adequately. In anything not of a pecuniary nature, however, you may lean heavily upon my gratitude.”

“In the meanwhile, then,” demanded Li-loe, “relate to me the story to which reference has been made, thereby proving the truth of your assertion, and at the same time affording an entertainment of a somewhat exceptional kind.”

“The shadows lengthen,” replied Kai Lung, “but as the narrative in question is of an inconspicuous span I will raise no barrier against your flattering request, especially as it indicates an awakening taste hitherto unsuspected.”

“Proceed, manlet, proceed,” said Li-loe, with a final probe among the surrounding rocks before selecting one to lean against. “Yet if this person could but lay his hand⁠—”

The Story of Wong Pao and the Minstrel

To Wong Pao, the merchant, pleasurably immersed in the calculation of an estimated profit on a junk-load of birds’ nests, sharks’ fins and other seasonable delicacies, there came a distracting interruption occasioned by a wandering poet who sat down within the shade provided by Wong Pao’s ornamental gate in the street outside. As he reclined there he sang ballads of ancient valour, from time to time beating a hollow wooden duck in unison with his voice, so that the charitable should have no excuse for missing the entertainment.

Unable any longer to continue his occupation, Wong Pao struck an iron gong.

“Bear courteous greetings to the accomplished musician outside our gate,” he said to the slave who had appeared, “and convince him⁠—by means of a heavily-weighted club if necessary⁠—that the situation he has taken up is quite unworthy of his incomparable efforts.”

When the slave returned it was with an entire absence of the enthusiasm of one who has succeeded in an enterprise.

“The distinguished mendicant outside disarmed the one who is relating the incident by means of an unworthy stratagem, and then struck him repeatedly on the head with the image of a sonorous wooden duck,” reported the slave submissively.

Meanwhile the voice with its accompaniment continued to chant the deeds of bygone heroes.

“In that case,” said Wong Pao coldly, “entice him into this inadequate chamber by words suggestive of liberal entertainment.”

This device was successful, for very soon the slave returned with the stranger. He was a youth of studious appearance and an engaging openness of manner. Hung about his neck by means of a cord were a variety of poems suitable to most of the contingencies of an ordinary person’s existence. The name he bore was Sun and he was of the house of Kiau.

“Honourable greeting, minstrel,” said Wong Pao, with dignified condescension. “Why do you persist in exercising your