In the ninth moon, during the period of Cold Dew, the farm stood silent, secret and remote under a slanting sun. The grain had been garnered: the autumn work was done. The farm gates stood bolted and barred, and from a single, high window Father Peng looked out to the north-west.
All day long the battle had been joined there, over the ridges. All the morning long Father Peng had watched men move past the farm towards the fight, too hasty to bend even a glance in the direction of the shut gates. All the afternoon he had seen men stream back towards the Capital, men broken and downcast, archers with their bows loose, horses with sweat dried white on their coats. And all day had come nearer the sound of drums beating the advance, gongs sounding the retreat.
Still Father Peng watched, hastily gulping soup which they brought him, then setting it down and turning back to the high window.
The last few came.
When they, too, had passed towards the Capital, a figure on a horse appeared on the crest and halted there. A second man appeared beside the rider and it seemed from his fuller garments that he could be a priest. He was on foot. Then the two moved slowly down towards the farm and, after they had passed out of range of Father Peng’s window, he could hear the sound of knocking at the outer gate.
When Father Peng reached the gate, Peng Yeh and the servants had reached there first.
“Do not open the gates,” Peng Yeh was saying to the servants, “for these men who knock should be stragglers from the battle, and to let in one side is an invitation to the other to follow.”
Father Peng went towards the bolted doors. “Let me go out and see who they are,” he said, “for I am an old man and they will do no harm to me. Besides, you can bolt the door again after me and only open it when I tell you to.”
When the sound of the bolt behind him had ceased, Father Peng looked at the two men. He could see now that his first guess had been right, for the man on foot was undoubtedly a priest. The other, he saw, was quite young, and there seemed about his face something familiar. Nevertheless, Father Peng could not call to mind the name that ran with that face.
Bowing, Father Peng said: “If indeed, you come bent on peace, what proof have I of that? This is the house of Peng. What is your business?”
The young man replied: “My name is Kuen Ah Lai, and I certainly come with peaceful intentions. That you should not recognise me at once I put down to your honourable years, but I would recall to you a certain poem of which you wrote three lines and I the fourth.”
He recited:
Father Peng cried: “Open the gates!” Then he turned again to Ah Lai, saying: “You are both very welcome.”
Inside the gate Father Peng did not invite Peng Yeh to meet his guests, but led them, bowing, towards his own room. To Mooi-tsai, who had not held herself at such a distance as courtesy dictated, he said: “Child! Tell one of the servants to bring some clear wine and then go to your mother and ask her to instruct you on the correct behaviour of the younger female members of a family when their senior greets a guest.”
When the old man had seen Ah Lai seated to his own satisfaction, and the priest had taken up his position sitting on the floor, enough time had passed for the servant to bring the wine.
Father Peng began: “I sent for wine rather than for tea first because I have the privilege of knowing you and second because I am sure that you have a story to tell, since you came from the direction of the fighting.”
Ah Lai replied: “I am much honoured. This priest is a friend of mine—so much of a friend that I have not asked his name. His title is The Guardian of the Hidden Spring. After all, his profession is more informative than his name, and in the absence of more priests than one there is likely to be no confusion.” He went on to the priest: “This is the honourable Peng Lao, the father of the house.” Father Peng demanded eagerly: “What is the progress of the fight?”
Ah Lai replied: “We have taken no part in it ourselves, as you may see, but it is sufficiently true to say that the rebels are everywhere beaten and that the loyal soldiers of the Bright Emperor and of his son have triumphed. Our forces are now pursuing the enemy towards the city, and it is not expected that An Ching-hsu and his associates will try to hold it.”