“
She folded up the paper, carried it to the priest’s room and, tiptoeing silently in, put it where he would be sure to find it near his hand. Then she went back to her room, blew out the light, got into bed and was instantly asleep.
On the twenty-third day of the tenth moon, in the city of Chang-an, Ah Lai stood on the outskirts of the crowd to watch Su Tsung, the late Heir Apparent and now, by his own edict, Emperor, enter amidst a thousand shouts. Ah Lai, as he watched, was thinking of the Bright Emperor, Su Tsung’s father, whom the boy had last seen in Cheng-tu. He thought of the Bright Emperor’s self-condemnatory proclamation promising to hand over the Dragon Throne to his son. He compared the present Emperor’s behaviour with the dignity of the old man in Cheng-tu, deciding in consequence that he was himself becoming old-fashioned, conservative and a slave to ceremonial. He slipped away from the edge of the crowd and went to visit Wang Wei, who was next on his list of those officials present in the Capital during the rebels’ period of power, into whose conduct he had been commissioned to enquire very informally and with a particular care to avoid any suspicion that the Bright Emperor (and so his son) wished to have preliminary information before a formal, official enquiry was opened into their conduct. As he went, he regretted, in a way, that he was compelled to send in a card with only his name and family upon it, instead of the pleasantly grandiloquent title which he might have been able to give himself of Enquirer into Activities of Officials during Rebellion.
Wang Wei was living in a small house in Gate Street. When Ah Lai had sent in his card, the servant returned almost at once with Wang Wei ten paces behind him. Paying scrupulous attention to the old ceremonial of greeting, each went backwards eight paces and then came forward again with repeated bows. Wang Wei led backwards into the room beyond, motioned to a seat which the servant brought up and managed with success the difficult business of sitting down at precisely the same moment as Ah Lai without giving to his actions any appearance of lack of spontaneity.
And still Wang Wei had not spoken a word.
Ah Lai waited for his host to speak, waited indeed for a period greater than the most exact courtesy could prescribe. He was at a loss to account for this seemingly chilly reception.
Finally he said: “I trust that you are in the best of health. I have just come from watching the new Emperor pass towards his Palace.”
Wang Wei touched a small gong beside him. Another servant came in bearing writing materials and a small table.
Wang Wei wrote:
Ah Lai, puzzled, read the paper and said: “Your brush has lost none of its skill, your characters none of their beauty and your sentiments none of their wisdom. If you will pardon the enquiry of one who is too young to know better, is it your meaning that joy can be too deep for spoken words?”
Wang Wei motioned for the paper and wrote with flying brush:
Ah Lai read this and asked: “Will the power return? It would save effort if you would signal with your hands. I will try to make my questions such that an answer may be one word.”
Wang Wei signed:
Ah Lai felt himself more awkward than he cared to admit. His dutiful enquiry was plainly answered already. But courtesy could not have permitted his departure after so short though so embarrassing a conversation. He told Wang Wei what he could remember of the new Emperor’s arrival, followed it with a sketch of the happenings when An Lu-shan and An Ching-hsu had gone to the farm at Ma Wei, and the manner in which Winter Cherry had been treated.
Wang Wei wrote: