Ah Lai observed: “My uncle seems to have a reputation. Now that the girls have gone, we can leave our things here. We had better go and see him, and the honourable Wang Wei, since it seems the two of them are at cross purposes.”
But when they readied the garden, the difficulties seemed to have been resolved, for the girls were laughing and joking with Li Po, while Wang Wei looked on benevolently. The younger poet, Liu Shen-hsu, came towards them.
“It seems that there has been trouble over accommodation,” he said. “Though why two youths such as yourself should object to the presence of two such accomplished girls as Honeysuckle and Clear Rain, I cannot imagine. It must be the first time that those two have met with such an affront. But the honourable Wang Wei has said that you are to have the girls’ room and the girls can have the next room.” He looked enquiringly at Winter Cherry and Ah Lai, as if he held doubts which he did not voice. Then he added: “There will be a meal in a short time.”
Ah Lai said: “That is only right. I and my friend will go and wash off the dust of travel. We shall look forward to seeing you again.”
Winter Cherry did not speak until they had reached the room. Then she arranged her things and said: “Ah Lai, you have hinted much of what you expect from me. But do not expect what it is not right to expect. I belong to the Emperor, and even if I have run away from the Emperor, I do not mean to give myself to anyone else. Let us be clear on that.”
Ah Lai replied: “My uncle says that I have the confidence of my youth. I know that, when we were at Chang-an, in the Porcelain Pavilion, he kept my presence secret, lest the Lady Yang Kuei-fei, who is said to have a fierce eye for men of my age, should hear of me and make trouble. How different are women! She has to be kept from me, and you tell me to expect nothing. Well, what will be, will be, and . . . .”
She interrupted: “It is only last night since I was with the Emperor.”
“
The garden, bright with tended flowers under the sun, stretched behind the house, up the slope. All the others were now grouped, talking, while servants from the house were setting out a round table for the morning meal.
When they had leisurely taken their places, Wang Wei said: “I think that you will quite understand how, in view of the fact that my medical abilities are occasionally in demand amongst such as are unwise enough to desire to defer death, I have ventured to prescribe a morning meal. There are two aspects of this which must be considered—the meal and its eaters. In taking the second first, I am of course pandering to that interest in himself which is natural to man, and in doing so I shall subdivide my subject into the groups of those who, exercised and anxious, await their meal, and those who, with appetites jaded by surfeit and by a method of life which cannot medically commend itself to me, spur food down their unworthy throats in anticipation of some new and perhaps justificatory flavour.”
Ah Lai observed to Winter Cherry: “Hunger grows with air.”
Wang Wei continued: “The food must be both nourishing and appetising. The edge, therefore, shall be taken from your need by a mere preface of chicken broth with previously fried snails and nuts—strange but effective.” He waved a hand and the servants brought in a steaming dish. “Do me the favour of tasting it. It was, you will remember, said of the Master that
Li Po said, smiling: “I am reminded of the old poem about the morning meal.”
Liu objected: “I have written a much better one.”
Wang Wei said: “The first thought is always the fresher. Let us have yours, Tai Po.” Thus, using Li Po’s social title, he recalled to the younger man that he was younger.
Clear Rain, smiling at Li Po, sang in a rounded voice: