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Page 72
At each successive door of the Yamen the attendant stepped back and
covered his face, so that he should by no chance perceive who had come
upon so destructive a mission, the instant Yang Hu uttered the sign
with which Tung Fel had provided him. In this manner Yang quickly
reached the door of the inner chamber upon which was inscribed: "Let
the person who comes with a doubtful countenance, unbidden, or
meditating treachery, remember the curse and manner of death which
attended Lai Kuen, who slew the one over him; so shall he turn and go
forth in safety." This unworthy safeguard at the hands of a person who
passed his entire life in altering the fixed nature of justice, and
who never went beyond his outer gate without an armed company of
bowmen, inspired Yang Hu with so incautious a contempt, that without
any hesitation he drew forth his brush and ink, and in a spirit of
bitter signification added the words, "'Come, let us eat together,'
said the wolf to the she-goat."
Being now within a step of Ping Siang and the completion of his
undertaking, Yang Hu drew tighter the cords of his mask, tested and
proved his weapons, and then, without further delay, threw open the
door before him and stepped into the chamber, barring the door quickly
so that no person might leave or enter without his consent.
At this interruption and manner of behaving, which clearly indicated
the nature of the errand upon which the person before him had come,
Ping Siang rose from his couch and stretched out his hand towards a
gong which lay beside him.
"All summonses for aid are now unavailing, Ping Siang," exclaimed
Yang, without in any measure using delicate or set phrases of speech;
"for, as you have doubtless informed yourself, the slaves of tyrants
are the first to welcome the downfall of their lord."
"The matter of your speech is as emptiness to this person," replied
the Mandarin, affecting with extreme difficulty an appearance of
no-concern. "In what manner has he fallen? And how will the depraved
and self-willed person before him avoid the well-deserved tortures
which certainly await him in the public square on the morrow, as the
reward of his intolerable presumptions?"
"O Mandarin," cried Yang Hu, "the fitness and occasion for such
speeches as the one to which you have just given utterance lie as far
behind you as the smoke of yesterday's sacrifice. With what manner of
eyes have you frequently journeyed through Ching-fow of late, if the
signs and omens there have not already warned you to prepare a coffin
adequately designed to receive your well-proportioned body? Has not
the pungent vapour of burning houses assailed your senses at every
turn, or the salt tears from the eyes of forlorn ones dashed your
peach-tea and spiced foods with bitterness?"
"Alas!" exclaimed Ping Siang, "this person now certainly begins to
perceive that many things which he has unthinkingly allowed would
present a very unendurable face to others."
"In such a manner has it appeared to all Ching-fow," said Yang Hu;
"and the justice of your death has been universally admitted. Even
should this one fail there would be an innumerable company eager to
take his place. Therefore, O Ping Siang, as the only favour which it
is within this person's power to accord, select that which in your
opinion is the most agreeable manner and weapon for your end."
"It is truly said that at the Final Gate of the Two Ways the necessity
for elegant and well-chosen sentences ends," remarked Ping Siang with
a sigh, "otherwise the manner of your address would be open to
reproach. By your side this person perceives a long and apparently
highly-tempered sword, which, in his opinion, will serve the purpose
efficiently. Having no remarks of an improving but nevertheless
exceedingly tedious nature with which to imprint the occasion for the
benefit of those who come after, his only request is that the blow
shall be an unhesitating and sufficiently well-directed one."
At these words Yang Hu threw back his cloak to grasp the sword-handle,
when the Mandarin, with his eyes fixed on the naked arm, and evidently
inspired by every manner of conflicting emotions, uttered a cry of
unspeakable wonder and incomparable surprise.
"The Serpent!" he cried, in a voice from which all evenness and
control were absent. "The Sacred Serpent of our Race! O mysterious
one, who and whence are you?"
Engulfed in an all-absorbing doubt at the nature of events, Yang could
only gaze at the form of the serpent which had been clearly impressed
upon his arm from the earliest time of his remembrance, while Ping
Siang, tearing the silk garment from his own arm and displaying
thereon a similar form, continued:
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