Pao-yu awoke to a racket. At first, he had no idea where he was, and couldn’t identify the source of the noise. Rubbing sleep-dulled eyes, he began to recall the rather shabby meal he had eaten with the old couple, the mat in the hut where he had fallen asleep. But no, he wasn’t in that humble hut. As his vision cleared, Pao-yu saw that he sat cross-legged on the side of a busy street. It was midday, and swift-footed men pulled carts laden with fruit and bolts of silk and rice and jars of wine past him in either direction, shouting warnings to one another and the pedestrians who braved the busy thoroughfare. Then it began to come back to him: he remembered settling down to sleep right here, against the earthen city wall in Hangchow, alone and cold and without work. Was it this morning or yesterday that he had come here? He had no sense of how long he had been sleeping on the edge of the street, but he doubted that the Watch would have let him loiter a day and a night in the same place. Thinking back he remembered clearly the last person he had seen before he fell asleep--Mu-lien.
“Ah, yes, it was me, Hsiung-ti,” came the reply to Pao-yu’s thoughts. The voice was at once soothing and vexing, and Pao-yu looked up, half hopeful and half annoyed, to find Mu-lien standing beside him, sunlight gleaming off his bald pate. His eyes smiled, but his face was arranged in solemnity.
“What in the world is going on? Why are you shadowing me? I don’t understand anything since you came to the dumpling factory. Please either help me or go away and leave me to whatever fate I can find!” Pao-yu entreated. He felt frustrated and frightened, near tears, like a child. He wanted solidity and certainty, and although he was not presently well-situated to secure these things, he had an adolescent’s confidence in his own good fortune. The monk trailed chaos and confusion, interfering and toying with Pao-yu’s life. He was not entirely of this world, and that too, made Pao-yu anxious. Pervading Fragrance had always warned him to steer clear of ghosts and others with ghostly powers. It seemed like good advice.
“Hsiung-ti, it is only good that I bring you. This you must trust.” Squatting down next to Pao-yu, he pulled five dumplings from his sleeve. They were warm and redolent of brown pepper and vinegar. Mu-lien held them out to Pao-yu, who took them in his cupped hands and began to eat.
When he had finished, Mu-lien asked Pao-yu about his meal of the preceding evening. “How did you get on, Hsiung-ti, with my friends the Lis? Did they offer you proper hospitality? Did they care for you well?”
“They were nice enough, but old. So old. Funny--you looked as old as they when you came to Hsia Lien’s, but not so much today. Anyway, they went on and on about a daughter they once had but sold, and I felt badly for them, but of course they did it, not I. Oh, and Mu-lien, thank you for the ping. Last night’s meal was filling but weak. I was hungry so I ate, but I didn’t know people had to eat like that. Even you, wandering the streets, eat better than the Lis. No tea, no rice, can you imagine? Lao-niang was sweet and kind with what she had, though, so it was good to know her. I never had a grandmother, you know, and now I am sure I wish I had one.” To his surprise, Pao-yu found that it was good to tell Mu-lien about his visit to the old couple, about how it felt to be there with them. So much so that he forgot to demand an explanation as to how he had gotten to the countryside and back in his sleep.
“You have done well Hsiung-ti. Sometimes it is very difficult to see the seed inside the fruit, but you have done well. I must be off now--I have things I need to see to--but if you will meet me right here by the wall, tonight at two hours past dusk, I will find you some food to eat.” As was his habit, Mu-lien grasped Pao-yu’s hands in his own as a gesture of parting and stepped into the street where he was narrowly missed by a pig-butcher’s cart.
Pao-yu stretched his legs and stood up; as he did, a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. What is this? he wondered, stooping to pick it up. Recognizing another verse from Mu-lien, he leant against the wall and read:
Honor your parents in Winter and Spring--
But treasure the chrysanthemum only Autumn can bring.
When High is Low and low is high--
Then will pine trees begin to flourish and grow.
More nonsense, he thought, stuffing the slip into his girdle next to the first verse. The only indication that these poems had anything to do with him was the mention of pine trees, since Pine Tree had been his milk name. The rest of it was gibberish.
The sun was already beginning her westward descent, and the time to look for work had passed. Pao-yu strolled the streets for the remainder of the afternoon in a leisurely fashion, watching people and wondering where he might end up. As dusk approached, he turned his feet toward the city wall, eagerly anticipating his meeting with Mu-lien and some dinner.
After sitting up against the wall in the dark for what seemed like several hours, Pao-yu’s confidence began to wane. He was sure that it was at least two hours since dusk; the monk was late. He walked down the street, certain that Mu-lien must have mistaken their meeting place. Not finding him, he hurried back, afraid that Mu-lien might have come and gone in his absence. Pao yu’s stomach began to sing, and the cold of the autumn night crept through his thin hemp gown. Huddled next to the wall he waited. Passersby thinned out as the night wore on until the street was empty, not even a dumpling vendor or a moon-thrown shadow to pique Pao-yu’s hope. Determined to hold out and stay awake so that he could tell Mu-lien exactly what he thought of him, Pao-yu fell into a sound sleep.
No sooner had his eyes closed than Mu-lien appeared before him. “Where have you been, Hsiung-ti?” he asked chidingly. “I have awaited you here since two hours past dusk. But don’t worry about that. There is still plenty of time to get you some food. Let’s go!” Taking Pao-yu’s hand as he had the night before, Mu-lien walked quickly up the deserted street. Soon the sounds of laughter and talking and singing became audible in the distance. As they walked on, Pao-yu could see that they were in a part of Hangchow where he had never been. The houses and streets were unfamiliar, as were the names of the shops and tea houses. At last they came upon a broad torch-lit intersection filled with people, all intent upon their own amusements. Some of the men were drunk and boisterous, en route to the next in what was obviously a lengthy string of wine restaurants, while others looked as if they were hurrying toward the pleasures of home, wives and children. Singing-girls and bondsmaids, plain and fancy, mingled with the men.
Pao-yu was again confused. He had seen such nightlife in Hangchow many times—his mother, after all, had been a singing-girl at the House of Li’s Blessing--but he hadn’t a clue as to where they were now. Looking around at the multitude of faces in the flickering light, searching for some sort of landmark, he let go of Mu-lien’s hand. He continued to make his way through the crush to the edge of the square, where the crowds thinned out, expecting to find Mu-lien waiting for him. Mu-lien was nowhere in sight. Instead, he saw a vigorous man of middle age approaching him purposefully.
“Aha!” the man said in a voice hearty enough to make Pao-yu shiver. “Here you are at last, my son! I was beginning to wonder if your nerve had failed you at the last moment, but I see that you are here and of strong heart.” He clapped Pao-yu on the shoulders in friendly greeting.
After the initial surprise, Pao-yu began to catch on. This had to be more of Mu-lien’s doing, and in all likelihood the best course of action would be the one of least resistance. “Lao-yeh,” he answered with head bowed as it should be, “I too am glad to see you and beg that you forgive my unforgivable tardiness.”
“Think nothing of it, my son. We have much pleasure in store for us tonight, so why waste time on remorse? Let us go eat and drink ale and have some fun, eh?” Pao-yu nodded his agreement and the man went on, “So where shall we begin? It is your night tonight Pao-yu, so you must pick our destination. What will it be, eh, son?”
Pao-yu, having no idea what sort of diversions this man had in mind, was in a poor position to suggest a place to find them, and so he followed a politic course. “Lao-yeh, you are so much wiser and more knowledgeable in these matters. I beg you to make the choice. It would please me very much to go where you lead.”
“Oh come! You must have some preference. Would you like to eat food from Szechwan or Hopei or Chu’u-chou? Or how about Mother Sung’s or the Pavilion of Lengthy Blessings? Or what of the House of Li’s Blessing, eh? What would suit you tonight Pao-yu?”
Relieved to learn that they were merely going to dine at a wine restaurant, Pao-yu held a respectful stance, “Oh Lao-yeh, I will enjoy any of them in your illustrious company. Please choose.”
Seconds later he was following the swirling turquoise silk of the man’s robe through the crowd at the center of the square. After many indulgences begged, they arrived at a huge arched doorway where half a smoked pig hung suspended. Around the curve of the arch was etched the restaurant’s name: Chrysanthemum Two Mountain Palace. Pao-yu tried to keep up with the man as he strode through a pandemonious foyer thick with vendors trying to sell everything from fruit to little boys, and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Here things were quieter and more orderly. Flowers and paintings of flowers--chrysanthemums of course--adorned the walls, and elaborate silk brocade chairs and carved wooden couches were set near lacquered tables at regular intervals down the length of the room. The head man was with them at once, and apparently he knew the turquoise silk gentleman. “Lao-yeh, it is a pleasure to see you tonight. And you have brought your son with you?” Here the turquoise gentleman put his arm proudly around Pao-yu’s shoulders. “Well,” continued the head man, “we will do all we can to make his evening a memorable one.”
He led them to a table in the rear, past other elegant diners and drinkers. As they picked their way amongst the tables, Pao-yu noticed that he was wearing a silken robe the color of earliest pea vines, much finer than anything he had ever worn before. He wondered with less amazement than he would have the night before just how long he had been so attired.
The head man tried to hand them menus, but Turquoise Silk waved him away. “Send the Gong Head; I am ready to order. And have him bring us properly warmed wine when he comes.”
Pao-yu barely had time to take in the room, decorated with dwarf evergreens and strung with vermillion and gold lanterns, before the waiter arrived bearing two small silver cups. Without waiting for the wine to be served, Turquoise Silk began to give their order, “We’ll start with hundred-flavors soup, of course, and then we’ll have quail eggs fried in oil and after that some iced carp broth with pickled turnip greens, and then, well, I think a plate of imitation barbecued riverdeer would be in order, a portion of milk-steamed lamb, kidneys cooked in wine and vinegar, some of your marvelous steamed bamboo and pork buns, and I think we’ll follow that with live riverprawns. Meanwhile, keep the wine coming and keep it warm! You know as I do, dear fellow, that cold wine is dangerous. Draws the heat right out of your organs. Can’t have that, can we?”
The Gong Head was gone the minute Turquoise Silk finished his soliloquy, headed to the kitchen where he would deliver the order almost verbatim.
Pao-yu waited for his host to drink, as was polite, and only after Turquoise Silk lifted his cup, saying, “Drink, boy, drink!” did he sip from the silver cup. The warm wine was scented with herbs and tasted slightly of camphor. While they drank, Turquoise Silk told Pao-yu about his day. As he talked, Pao-yu gathered that he was a rice merchant, for, like the Lis, his concern of the moment was the rice harvest. He talked of the many varieties already piling up in his warehouses beyond the city walls: new milled, yellow-eared, first quality white, lotus pink, champa, shortstalked, old, glutinous, ordinary white, ordinary yellow and on and on. Pao-yu had never even considered that rice came in so many sorts, and although his passion for it clearly did not equal his host’s, he listened attentively.
The merchant asked Pao-yu about his progress in school over hundred-flavors soup, which was served in delicate porcelain bowls and judged by both to be delicious. Pao-yu was uncertain as to how best to handle the question since he had last set foot in school some months before Pervading Frangrance’s passing. Thinking fast, he responded almost immediately with good news: all was going well at school, he was pleasing the master and learning much. This seemed to satisfy Turquoise Silk, and when the quail eggs fried in oil arrived, he was deep into a description of his business accounts. While they ate imitation barbecued river-deer, he spoke of his newly acquired fleet of barges, bringing his rice south from the paddies near the Yangtze. With each dish the merchant told Pao-yu more and more about his business.
Their wine cups were kept full and Pao-yu, who was unaccustomed to wine in such quantity became drunk. When the live river prawns were no more, the Gong Head set a final cup before them, golden with saffron and sweet with honey. It was so comforting that Pao-yu let down his guard and spoke of Pervading Fragrance and how he missed her.
The merchant hushed him, putting his hand over Pao-yu’s mouth (for he was a bit tipsy himself) and saying, “Quiet my boy! No more of that maudlin talk. I’ve just the thing to cheer you up, you know, but only after we’ve finished dining. Gong Head! Gong Head! Come here at once!”
With the waiter standing attendance, Pao-yu’s host ordered iced tangerines and litchis, sugared ping, fried Lo-yang snow pears, and White Clouds tea to drink. The notion of more food made Pao-yu’s stomach lurch and his liver flutter, but he surprised himself by eating a good deal of the Lo-yang snow pears.
When all the paraphernalia of their meal had been cleared away, Turquoise Silk patted his belly happily and called for the head man. “A splendid meal as always, my dear fellow. Please give my complements to the chef. I think though, that it is time now for our little surprise, eh? Will you see to that now, my good man?” Pao-yu thought he saw the merchant wink at the head man, and after he went about his errand, Turquoise Silk chuckled and rubbed his knuckles across his lips, as if to seal in the laughter.
Pao-yu was afraid to know what all this was about, but since the merchant seemed engrossed in private mirth, he let it pass, confident that time would reveal Turquoise Silk’s plan.
The “plan” appeared shortly. She was sheathed in a mulberry-colored silk dress embroidered with plum blossoms and her black hair was caught up in large filigreed combs of ivory and silver. She smiled at Pao-yu, curtseyed, and without a word, gestured for him to follow her.
Turquoise Silk gave Pao-yu a characteristically hearty but wholly undignified send-off: a sound whack to his backside. “Go on! Get moving, young man! You’ll thank me in the morning, eh?” Pao-yu stumbled along behind the woman, who took him to a beautifully appointed chamber behind the restaurant. She settled him on a scroll-armed k’ang and sat down opposite. “The young master has already had too much novelty this evening, I think,” she said archly. “Besides, it’s not right for your Auntie to teach you the secrets of cloud and rain. No, that is another’s job. But I must say, Hsiung-ti you have done well for yourself. Ssu-Cheh is an important man these days, someone to reckon with. And you look up-and-coming yourself,” she concluded, fingering the silk of his gown.
Pao-yu, who was really quite drunk, must have looked utterly baffled, because the woman began to scold, “Ah Hsiung-ti, it is as they say, ‘the higher the position, the worse the memory.’ Can it be that you have forgotten your Auntie Snow Duck? All the years I played with you while your cherished mother was at work? All the happy hours we spent together at Feast of Lanterns in first month making and solving conundrums? No, it isn’t possible. Do you remember me now, Hsiung-ti?”
And of course, with a little prompting, Pao-yu recognized his mother’s dearest friend Snow Duck. They embraced, shed some bittersweet tears and talked of Pervading Fragrance and happier times. It wasn’t long, though, before Pao-yu’s addled brain deserted him entirely, leaving him fast asleep on the k’ang.
* * *
The ninth month sun was unusually and unpleasantly warm, beating down steadily on Pao yu’s scalp as he awakened. This morning, it took him just a second or two to orient himself: the hectic street traffic, the cool earth behind his back told him he was again at the city wall.
As he began to think over the previous night’s strange adventure, Pao-yu felt, among other things, a pang of sorrow at having been separated from Snow Duck again. I will seek her out today, he thought, after I’ve found a place to wash. (He was disappointed to note that the pea-vine colored robe was gone and in its place, his old hemp gown, too grimy to be presentable.) She will help me get another place, his thoughts continued. What was the name of her restaurant? Ah yes! Chrysanthemum Two Mountains. Yes, he decided definitely, this afternoon he would look for Snow Duck at Chrysanthemum Two Mountains.
While he was thinking of these things, a cool shadow fell across his burning scalp, and he looked up to find Mu-lien standing over him.
“I wondered if I’d see you this morning,” said Pao-yu in a voice shaded with ambivalence.
The monk looked positively merry, as if the world could not be better or life more fun than it was today. “Hsiung-ti! Of course I am here. Don’t doubt my coming to you. See what I’ve brought!” He pulled a parcel of juicy steamed pork and scallion buns from his sleeve. “Some steamed ping, little son?”
Pao-yu was hungry despite the extravagant dinner he had enjoyed late into the night, and Mu-lien sat silently by while the boy ate. When he was finished, the monk asked, “How did you like your meal last evening? Did Ssu-Cheh treat you well?”
“Mu-lien, the restaurant was beautiful, so much more beautiful than the House of Li’s Blessings. At first I was nervous I’d do the wrong thing. And the food was, well, it was amazing. And so much of it. And so much wine, too. We drank and drank and drank. That wine was good, but too much. Best of all, I found a friend of my mother’s, my Yi-ma Snow Duck.” Glancing at Mu-lien, he went on, “I guess you know about that already. What are you up to anyway?”
Mu-lien smiled like the sun and nodded at a passing cart, piled high with dried fish, “All the fish in the sea will not fill the belly of an urchin. Tell me, though, how you liked your host Ssu Cheh, the honorable Turquoise Silk?”
“He served me a huge and expensive meal, Mu-lien, so I ought to be properly grateful, but if I were to tell you honestly, he was loud and drunk and boring. He was generous with me, it’s true, but he left the Gong Head just one string of cash. For someone as rich as he is, that was miserly. Still, there is a lot he could do for someone he liked, eh?” Pao-yu smirked over this mildly unkind mimicry.
“Again, you have done well, Hsiung-ti.” The monk patted Pao-yu’s hand and said, “It is often impossible to discern the worm in the plum, but you have done well. Tonight, I will meet you here at three hours past dusk. Don’t be late, little son.” And so saying, the monk stepped into the street and headed north, in the direction of the markets.
Pao-yu was anxious to be about the business of his day and so had already begun to inventory the possible sources of water for a wash-up when he realized that the monk had left him without a verse. It seemed silly, but he felt as if some essential element of their ritual had been neglected. He chased after Mu-lien, dodging amongst the carts and people, calling out to him, but the monk didn’t seem to hear. When, gasping, he caught up, Pao-yu pulled at the Mu-lien’s threadbare sleeve. “Hey, did you forget my verse today? Where’s the poem?”
The monk’s smile gave way to soft laughter, “Hsiung-ti, you are as clever as the t’an hua, the person who places second highest in the imperial examinations, but today there is no verse. Believe me, you will be much better off without any tell-tale doggerel in your girdle tonight.” He squeezed Pao-yu’s hand fleetingly, and set off again. Pao-yu stood in the middle of the street, patting his girdle, shaking his sleeves and stamping his feet to be certain that no slip of paper lay trapped somewhere in the folds of his gown. Finally convinced that there really was no poem, he headed off to the warehouse district, northeast of the city walls. Since he had no cash for a visit to a bathhouse, Pao-yu availed himself of the fire-proofing moats which surrounded the warehouses where merchants stored their goods. The trick was to avoid the guards, whose primary job was to protect the merchandise, but who also enjoyed defending the sanctity of the water with which it was ringed. Pao-yu chose a warehouse owned by the Empress and rented out (at what people said were exorbitant rates) to a consortium of rice merchants. The guards were eating and napping in the hot sun; it was child’s play to slip by them and into the moat for a swim.
Pao-yu spent the remainder of the day searching the streets of Hangchow for Chrysanthemum Two Mountains. He turned in alleys he’d never explored before, looked up and down the main thoroughfares and asked everyone who looked well enough turned-out to know if they could direct him there. He kept at it till well beyond sundown, hoping that he might recognize a landmark at night that had melted into the glare by day. Pao-yu had no success though, and eventually had to give up the search in order to meet Mu-lien at the appointed time.
After several such meetings, Pao-yu thought he had the routine down, and didn’t expect to encounter the monk until sleep overtook him. He was surprised, then, to find Mu-lien already sitting by the side of the street, waiting.
Mu-lien put his finger to his lips, indicating that Pao-yu was to be quiet. “Come with me, Hsiung-ti, but come silently. Tonight is different from the other nights and you must be careful.”
The monk took Pao-yu a short distance over to the Imperial Way, and then down that street to its conclusion at the Imperial Palace. They passed through the front gates, ushered in by soldiers who seemed to know them, and then wended their way through gardens of fruit trees, ponds and waterfalls to the third enclosure. Mu-lien brought Pao-yu to a door which opened onto a covered cloister and wishing the boy luck, he rapped firmly with his stick and was gone.
Pao-yu’s knees were weak with awe at being within the gates of Imperial Palace; this was not an experience he had thought to have in this lifetime. His apprehension increased as seven well-dressed young women, five or six years older than he, descended upon him in response to Mulien’s rapping.
“He’s here! He’s back,” they called to one another, relief loosening tense voices. “Where have you been, young man? What do you think you’re doing, going off like that?” they upbraided him, fussing, touching his clothes, his face, his hands.
Stuck at the center of this drama, Pao-yu did his best to ascertain the role he was playing tonight. Clearly, he was someone important beyond his wildest dreams; Mu-lien’s cautions now made sense. He would pay careful attention, and hopefully the clues would surface.
The young women swept him along, down a long gilded peristyle into an opulent set of chambers where a steaming bath, fragrant with cassia flowers, awaited him. While they bathed him (it seemed he should do nothing for himself), their reprimands continued and he gathered that whoever-he-was had missed afternoon tea with the Son of Heaven himself This put him in a pretty grim position, obviously, but it was even worse for these women, his maids. If they had “lost” him, more than jobs would be forfeit. Their relief at finding him at an outside door was genuine and not altogether altruistic.
They dressed him in a robe of pomegranate silk, worked all over with golden-fire breathing dragons, and a black hat with six red pendants. His fingers were be-ringed with gold and jade. When he was ready, a eunuch entered the chamber, kow-towed and asked Pao-yu to accompany him. Outside, some seventy court eunuchs formed an escort, and in regal silence, they walked him past urns of jasmine, orchids, cassia and pink-flowering bananas to the Hall of Everlasting Happiness where official banquets were often held.
Outside the hail, the chief eunuch, or the one Pao-yu took to be in charge, stopped the procession and sent an advance guard of ten men inside. Presumably, they announced their chief eunuch, who followed them in.
“Gentleman of the court, esteemed visitors to the seat of the Son of Heaven, I bring you Golden Dragon, Son of the Imperial Concubine!” he cried.
Pao-yu hoped that this was his cue, and proceeded into the Hall of Everlasting Happiness. A pathway to the seat he was to take had been cordoned off by lushly dressed eunuchs under the administration of the master of ceremonies. Now that he knew his rank, Pao-yu walked at what he imagined was a regal pace, head held high, looking neither left nor right at the kow-towing eunuchs.
Once seated, he could survey the hail. The walls, which were at least twenty feet high, were hung with magnificent paintings and calligraphed scrolls, some of which were masterpieces over one thousand years old, although Pao-yu couldn’t have known it. Rare and exotic flowers from the South were set in niches and along the walls, perfuming the room. There were tables and armchairs for the three or four hundred guests in attendance, but it was clear that the hail’s capacity was much greater.
Pao-yu took a moment to congratulate himself on having come this far without major error even while he cursed Mu-lien. These thoughts were cut short by the arrival of another imperial personage, one higher in rank than himself. He was followed by another and then another. These were people he should have known had he been who he was pretending to be, so it was helpful to have their names and ranks announced so clearly as they entered.
Finally, after nearly an hour of ceremonial entrances, the Emperor was heralded. A small man, he walked with surprising stature to a raised dias at the head of the hail. Here he sat by himself, attended by twenty or more eunuchs who hovered ceaselessly, like a swarm of bees around their queen.
One of the ten eunuchs assigned to serve Pao-yu throughout the meal poured a novel drink into his heavy silver cup. When he inquired, he was told that it was a beverage beloved of their guests from the lands of Chin, fermented mare’s milk. Speeches were made by the Emperor’s powerful minister, Chia Ssu-tao, and by the ambassador of the Jurchen people from the North, and toasts of kumiss and grape wine were drunk.
When the Emperor gave the signal, feasting began in earnest. Pao-yu, or Golden Dragon, as he must think of himself for the evening, was hungry and really looked forward to sampling the artistry of the Imperial kitchens and cellars. In the hands of more than a thousand servants, the food began to flow from the kitchen.
First came an overwhelming array of fruits--both fresh and preserved in sugar. Golden Dragon was displeased to discover that his retinue of servants decided which of these he would eat, and how much of each, at that. He enjoyed the autumn oranges and jujubes, but the preserved ginger was whisked past him so quickly that there was no chance of having any. He also found that when he turned to a dining companion, to his left or to his right, in order to exchange pleasantries, a phalanx of eunuchs intervened discreetly, making conversation impossible. It only had to happen a few times for the prince-in-training to realize that he was not to speak during this meal.
One course followed another, each consisting of fifteen or twenty offerings. There were foods deep-fried with honey; preserved foods like fried snake relish and fried mixed relish; preserved meats, both dried and pickled; food on skewers such as grilled pigeon and kidneys; minced dishes of lake fish, kidney and more; stir-fries of quail, frog’s legs, pigs knuckles, whitefish and the like; and texture foods--fish maw, shark fin and bird’s nest--which Golden Dragon had neither seen nor tasted before.
As with the first course, the eunuchs selected from amongst all these dishes those few that Golden Dragon would sample with his silver chopsticks, but they kept his cup full of grape wine throughout the meal. The wine was served oddly, at room temperature, and Golden Dragon decided that he liked this foreign custom little. The sweet warmth of a good rice wine (for he fancied he had become a connoisseur the night before) was far more to his taste.
Between courses--there were thirty on this particular night—musicians and jugglers provided entertainment for the guests. Golden Dragon was grateful for this diversion as he ate and drank his way through the banquet in silence. He marveled at his first taste of rubbery bird’s nest, and delighted in the excellent crab claws. With little else to do, he watched the display of dishes as they were presented and began to suspect that many of them had seen better days. Kidneys curled and dried about the edges looked as if they had been served at several imperial banquets; deflated and greasy fried sweets made Golden Dragon wonder if his servants’ selections might be preserving him from unpleasantness or worse. How incredible to find such scrimping in the house of the Son of Heaven! His tongue was loosened by drink and longed to talk of these things, but there was no one to listen, so it laid still in his mouth as he knew it should.
Eventually, the “finishing” foods were finished and the final speeches spoken. The Hall of Everlasting Happiness was emptied, with ceremony, in reverse order to its filling. With the help of his servants, Golden Dragon made his way from the hail without incident. There he was swallowed up by the larger contingent of seventy eunuchs who escorted him back to his chambers. Dulled from the hours of eating and drinking, he allowed himself to be put to bed in his black lacquer k’ang by his maids, just as a prince would, and fell promptly to sleep.
* * *
Pao-yu opened his eyes slowly. Dawn was flowering like a peony, silver-pink petals opening across the eastern sky. The night watchmen were relaying calls of “all’s well” from tower to tower throughout the city. It was a comfortingly ordinary sound, one Pao-yu had awakened to all the years of his life.
Mu-lien came on quiet feet, appearing out of the dawn without warning. Pao-yu, who had just placed himself outside the wall of the Imperial Palace and near the Heavenly Gate, smiled to see him despite last night’s treachery. He stood up, glad to be once again in the simple company of another rankless mortal. He noticed with delight that the trappings of Golden Dragon had been replaced by his own worn hemp gown.
“How are you, Hsiung-ti?”
“I am well this morning, father.”
“Let us go and find some tea.”
They walked slowly up the Imperial Way until they arrived at a market of the fifth watch where tea vendors sold their wares. Pao-yu and the monk drank cups of pungent Forest of Fragrance tea before wandering west to the parks along West Lake. There they sat on the shore to talk.
“Hsiung-ti, your mother Pervading Fragrance was well loved by you in life and in death, and she in turn loved you deeply. This we see. But she has surely passed on now and left you alone in the Red Dust to find your way. Your father, however, is an entirely different story. While it is not possible for you to know the man who brought you to life, fate has ordained that you will have a father. Today I bring you the gift and the burden of choice. Will you choose one from amongst those you have seen these last three nights to father you into manhood? Think hard, Hsiung-ti, for this is a decision to be made with great care. We are all born to parents who have chosen us; it is a rare child, and we must hope a wise one, who can choose his parents. Will you be son and support to poor old Grandfather Li? Or to the lively Merchant Ssu-Cheh? Or will you choose the most exalted of all and have the Son of Heaven for your father?” Here the monk stopped and looked with compassion and interest at the boy.
Pao-yu walked to the shore, and paced back and forth, stopping occasionally to kick pebbles angrily into the lake with his toes. The burden was a surprisingly heavy one and he was not sure he wanted to bear it.
After the sun had risen quite high in the sky he approached the monk. “Mu-lien,” he asked, “should my choice come from love or from goodness and honor?”
“From love, little brother.”
“Then I will pick you, Mu-lien, to be my father in the Red Dust. When you came to the door of the dumpling workshop, I risked dishonor for you. When my dishonor and sorrow followed, you never left me. This is how it should be, I think, between a father and his son.”
Mu-lien argued of course, claiming that he was not one of the choices, but eventually he had to agree that if love were the criterion, Pao-yu had already become his son.
So that is how Pao-yu, who had drunk the finest Imperial wines from heavy silver cups and eaten the lowliest sorghum sitting on the earth, came to wander the cities and the countryside of the Middle Kingdom with his father, the Buddhist monk Mu-lien. Together, they fared well and they never hungered. In fact, on some days they ate only rice gruel, but on other days they feasted on dew from the Silver Mountain of Heaven.
The End
Part I - Part II
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