Han Im unbuckled the sword from his waist, and held it out towards the old man.
“It has served well,” he said, “and no thanks of mine could be adequate. Shall I put it where it always ought to be?” Without waiting for an answer he tied the straps together and hung the sword on the wall.
Father Peng said: “I am glad that it has been of service to you both. I need hardly say that I have missed it. When the rebels came here my hand itched for the scabbard, but I was helpless. You have heard that they killed my grandson?”
Han Im bowed his head. “No news has reached me,” he replied, “I, of all, am qualified to understand the sorrow which you have not spoken, and to offer the sympathy which is of no avail. I think that you will understand me when I say that your granddaughter, Winter Cherry, brought sorrow to my own heart more often than she knew, when she told me that my face seemed to her like her father’s face. And I, poor fool, had then to look at her and make her feel comfort when it was really I whose claim for comfort was the greater.”
Father Peng replied: “To such a sorrow there is no answer; for such a loss there is no recompense.”
They stood without speaking for more than a little while and then Father Peng performed the courtesy of stools.
“My daughter-in-law,” he said, “is in a position to save me from this great ill. But I am not a magician; I cannot, by divining the cracks on a tortoise shell, know whether my tomb will lastly go untended.”
“Let us hope,” Han Im returned. “Now I must go and stand in the gate, for I was only a little in front of the Emperor. It would be gracious of you, sir, and in consonance with the accepted tradition if you would accompany me to that gate.”
Father Peng replied: “Yes. I will put on my robes of ceremonial greeting. Help me.”
They went out together and stood in front of the great central doors which could only be opened on an occasion such as this.
The Bright Emperor came first, alone, on foot. Behind him two men carried a large sandal-wood box, strung from a pole which they bore on their shoulders.
Father Peng and Han Im kotowed. The Emperor stopped them.
“Once is enough,” he said. “Later you will know why. Han Im, tell the bearers to take the box to the gate, set it down and return. They all have their orders.”
Father Peng seemed disappointed, looking along the path by which the Emperor had come. The bearers had set down the box and gone back.
“No,” the Emperor told him, “there are no others coming. Today I come alone. Han Im, go in and see that I am taken, unmet, to the room which I occupied when I was last here.” He turned back to Father Peng. “Sir, if you will, come with me.”
Father Peng, puzzled, followed. He did not seem able to understand why the Bright Emperor’s commands were couched as requests. Han Im was waiting for them.
“I trust that all has gone well, Sire,” Father Peng said, doubtfully.
“As well as may be,” the Emperor returned. They entered the room where he had last stayed. “Now I will try to solve the riddle which is perplexing your mind. Let us open this box. You see, it contains on the top the clothes which might be worn by any educated man, and here is a scholar’s cap. I remove these trappings, so—help me, Han Im—and replace them by a scholar’s garments, thus. I have a right to wear the scholar’s cap, for I also have written poetry. So. You see before you not the Emperor but the Scholar of the Stream. Forget all but that. The reason, as your raised eyebrow demands? It is this. Let us sit down first. Han Im, scholars talk best with tea. If you could arrange it . . .”
While they waited, the Emperor looked round the room, remembering.
Then Han Im came back, followed by a servant with tea. Han Im sat down, too, and they all sipped.
“Not all my life,” the Emperor said when he had set his cup down, “have I been able, as others have, to speak freely to men,who did not fear me. Now I can do so. Tomorrow I shall leave for the Capital. My son, Su Tsung, will meet me with joy. We shall greet each other. We shall go to the Palace and I shall mourn with him at the desecrated tablets in the Hall of Ancestors. Then I shall give him my great seal—I have it here, in the box—and retire to my other palace, the Palace of Felicity. He will beg me to retain my throne. I shall tell him that I am an old man, and tired. I shall beg to be excused. Then I shall watch my declining years, until the grave provides the solution of all my difficulties. But now—I am the Scholar of the Stream for one day.”
Han Im said: “I understand your mind. Indeed, I am the only one of those about you who has understood your mind for a long while. Like you, sir, I have nothing to lose. Like you, I see left behind me little of good: I look to no productive future.”