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Page 69
"THE TIME IS COME!
BY WHOSE HAND?"
Delivering himself in this manner, Tung Fel drew back the hanging
drapery which concealed the front of his large box, and disclosed to
those who were gathered round, not, as they had expected, a passage
from the Record of the Three Kingdoms, or some other dramatic work of
undoubted merit, but an ingeniously constructed representation of a
scene outside the walls of their own Ching-fow. On one side was a
small but minutely accurate copy of a wood-burner's hut, which was
known to all present, while behind stood out the distant but
nevertheless unmistakable walls of the city. But it was nearest part
of the spectacle that first held the attention of the entranced
beholders, for there disported themselves, in every variety of
guileless and attractive attitude, a number of young and entirely
unconcerned doves. Scarcely had the delighted onlookers fully observed
the pleasing and effective scene, or uttered their expressions of
polished satisfaction at the graceful and unassuming behaviour of the
pretty creatures before them, than the view entirely changed, and, as
if by magic, the massive and inelegant building of Ping Siang's Yamen
was presented before them. As all gazed, astonished, the great door of
the Yamen opened stealthily, and without a moment's pause a lean and
ill-conditioned rat, of unnatural size and rapacity, dashed out and
seized the most select and engaging of the unsuspecting prey in its
hungry jaws. With the expiring cry of the innocent victim the entire
box was immediately, and in the most unexpected manner, involved in a
profound darkness, which cleared away as suddenly and revealed the
forms of the despoiler and the victim lying dead by each other's side.
Tung Fel came forward to receive the well-selected compliments of all
who had witnessed the entertainment.
"It may be objected," he remarked, "that the play is, in a manner of
expressing one's self, incomplete; for it is unrevealed by whose hand
the act of justice was accomplished. Yet in this detail is the
accuracy of the representation justified, for though the time has
come, the hand by which retribution is accorded shall never be
observed."
In such a manner did Tung Fel come to Ching-fow on the seventh day of
the month of Winged Dragons, throwing aside all restraint, and no
longer urging prudence or delay. Of all the throng which stood before
him scarcely one was without a deep offence against Ping Siang, while
those who had not as yet suffered feared what the morrow might
display.
A wandering monk from the Island of Irredeemable Plagues was the first
to step forth in response to Tung Fel's plainly understood suggestion.
"There is no necessity for this person to undertake further acts of
benevolence," he remarked, dropping the cloak from his shoulder and
displaying the hundred and eight scars of extreme virtue; "nor," he
continued, holding up his left hand, from which three fingers were
burnt away, "have greater endurances been neglected. Yet the matter
before this distinguished gathering is one which merits the favourable
consideration of all persons, and this one will in no manner turn
away, recounting former actions, while he allows others to press
forward towards the accomplishment of the just and divinely-inspired
act."
With these words the devout and unassuming person in question
inscribed his name upon a square piece of rice-paper, attesting his
sincerity to the fixed purpose for which it was designed by dipping
his thumb into the mixed blood of the slain animals and impressing
this unalterable seal upon the paper also. He was followed by a seller
of drugs and subtle medicines, whose entire stock had been seized and
destroyed by order of Ping Siang, so that no one in Ching-fow might
obtain poison for his destruction. Then came an overwhelming stream of
persons, all of whom had received some severe and well-remembered
injury at the hands of the malicious and vindictive Mandarin. All
these followed a similar observance, inscribing their names and
binding themselves by the Blood Oath. Last of all Yang Hu stepped up,
partly from a natural modesty which restrained him from offering
himself when so many more versatile persons of proved excellence were
willing to engage in the matter, and partly because an ill-advised
conflict was taking place within his mind as to whether the extreme
course which was contemplated was the most expedient to pursue. At
last, however, he plainly perceived that he could not honourably
withhold himself from an affair that was in a measure the direct
outcome of his own unendurable loss, so that without further
hesitation he added his obscure name to the many illustrious ones
already in Tung Fel's keeping.
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