An Ching-hsu came forward. “Let me try,” he suggested. “Sir, we come as
Lu-shan said: “A diplomatist, most unlike a son of mine. And yet, he succeeds where force would have failed, for if you break into a man’s house you do not thereby loosen his tongue. You see, he succeeds.”
For Peng Yeh had bowed to An Ching-hsu and began to retire backwards towards his gates. The escort made way for him. The impasse was broken.
An Lu-shan and his son were seated in the Hall of Audience, drinking tea. The two girls found a serving maid to take them to Winter Cherry’s room, and were received with a mixture of formality and affectionate gratitude which was very amusing to Honeysuckle and Clear Rain.
Honeysuckle said: “In her father’s house she behaves like a hostess, but I can see that her hair has still not grown again to its proper length.”
Clear Rain agreed: “No. But she has put it up, which would seem to make her at any rate partially married.”
Winter Cherry replied: “When you have cut your hair off, it is as bad as putting it up. You can never let it down again. But I think it looks better so.”
The two visitors looked at each other. Then Honeysuckle said: “Would you consider it pleasant to have a letter from your haircutter?”
Winter Cherry cried: “My haircutter? Whom do you mean?”
Clear Rain replied: “When we last met you, you told us a tale of having disguised yourself as a boy. In fact, you looked as if you had tried to do so. But of course . . .”
Honeysuckle said: “The letter is from the honourable Li Po’s nephew.” She held it out to Winter Cherry. “Here—take it and hide it in your dress. There is someone at the door.”
Indeed, Peng Chan-mu appeared in a moment. Honeysuckle and Clear Rain rose to their feet and stood waiting. Winter Cherry fetched a porcelain stool from the side of the room and set it for her brother.
“It is not often,” he said as he sat down, “that I find you so well worth visiting.”
The three girls also seated themselves.
“These ladies, whose names are Honeysuckle and Clear Rain,” Winter Cherry told him, “aided me on my way home, and I have no way of showing my gratitude.”
Peng Chan-mu said: “That is a debt which I could willingly settle for you. In fact, I find their presence here more than a slight compensation for our country loneliness.”
Honeysuckle answered: “We are honoured by what your brother says. But no reward is necessary for what we did.”
Then there was the sound of other voices in the passage, and soon An Lu-shan and his son appeared.
Peng Chan-mu cried: “It is not right that you should come to my sister’s room, I am her brother, but you . . .”
Lu-shan put out a hand and took Peng Chan-mu by the shoulder. With no apparent effort he thrust the young man aside, out of the door, saying as he did so: “You seem to forget that I now occupy the Dragon Throne, and for me there is no right and wrong. What I will, is.” He closed the door and turned to the others. “Is this the girl who calls herself Winter Cherry?”
Winter Cherry replied, rising: “That is my name.”
Lu-shan continued: “I desire to hear from your lips, since seemingly you know more than does your father, all the events which occurred between the arrival of the late Emperor’s party and their departure, so far as it concerns the late Lady Yang Kuei-fei.” Then, since they had all bowed at the Emperor’s name, he shouted: “Enough of this foolery, I am now the Emperor. It is to me that you should bow, not to the name and memory of one who threw the Empire away and will soon be taken by my own men. Go, all of you. I will talk with this girl alone.”
When the others had left them, Winter Cherry said: “I am sure that my father has told you all that you could wish to know.”
Lu-shan answered: “No, since he does not know it. Come, there is nothing to be afraid of. Forget for a little while who I am: tell me in your own words the story of what happened here. Now, I know that the Lady Yang came earlier, with some boy or other, and that when the late Emperor arrived he called for her. Go on from there.”
Winter Cherry asked: “But why should I tell you? She is dead, and what she did before she died does not matter to you. Besides . . .”
He broke in: “Tell me what happened; do not ask me why I desire to know. Girl, I have means to make people talk. You would not have thus refused to tell the late Emperor. Now that I am Emperor, you must tell me. I am being very patient. Or, if you need a reason—for women are unreasonable enough to want that—let it suffice that I knew her when I first came to Court. She was kind to me. Is that a reason enough for you?”
She replied, fearing him: “I must take it as a reason. But I do not know how she came to hang herself.”