And to think that he had only, as an added reason for his sentimental folly, the sudden, worshipping passion of Ah Lai for this girl Winter Cherry! Had he, Han Im, shown himself so unworldly, so unwise, simply from transferred emotions? Had he sublimated his almost forgotten but ever present loss into actions which would put him forever beyond the reach of further loss—save of his head?
Conscious that his thoughts were being muddled, and since it would be stupid indeed to get up and do something now, immediately, when dawn hesitated like a laggard dancer, Han Im slept.
He was awakened in earnest by the loud beating on the main door, and his heart leaped to his throat. Well, let them find him in the dignified sleep of one whose conscience is clear! He lay, flat on his back, the wooden pillow making him think every moment more regretfully of an executioner’s block, his arms straight at his side, controlling his breathing to the steady rustle of innocence.
The knocking was repeated. There were men’s voices, and a women’s voice, raised. This woman’s voice seemed familiar. Then he heard a man cry: “Open for the Lady Yang!” and become on the instant cool, awake and capable.
He went out, lit a torch and unbarred the door. Sleepily, beside him, Ah Lai came from the room which Li Po had occupied, and Han Im spared a moment to wonder why the sleeping arrangements had been changed. Could the girl have turned him out so soon?
The Lady Yang came towards them from her carrying chair.
She wore the same dark blue robe in which he had last seen her, at the Aloe Pavilion, and her hair was still dressed high upon her forehead. Han Im had the impression that she had been hurried in her departure, for the Lady Yang was not accustomed to be seen twice by the same man in the same clothes.
“His Imperial Majesty sent me first, with the forces under General Tung,” she said. “Is there a place where I can rest?”
Han Im replied: “There is certainly a place where you can rest, for it is unseemly that the flower of the Emperor’s garden should thus be exposed to the chill air of night. Come with me.” To the chair-carriers he said: “Wait.”
As she followed him into the house, she said: “It would seem that you have not heard the news. There were no beacons. The Pass has fallen. An Lu-shan and his barbarians have marched on the capital and the Emperor follows us.”
“But why?” Han Im asked. The door of Wang Wei’s room stood open, and there was every sign that the occupant had left. He went into the room and set the bed ready for her. “You can rest here,” he said. “Why does not the royal army crush these barbarians? Is it intended to let them enter the city?”
She sat down with the sigh of one who is tired.
“The army will not fight,” she said. “They complain that they are ill-armed and ill-led. Only General Tung remains loyal, and his troops are few. Some are here, now—the rest will come with the Emperor. No, the city cannot be defended.”
Han Im bowed. “I shall leave you,” he said. “Doubtless the General will give me other news. Rest now.”
Outside the house the chair-carriers were stacking their chairs. He showed them where to go, to the servants’ quarters. Ah Lai came up, talking to a short, squat Southerner with sharp eyes.
“This is General Tung,” Ah Lai said. “You know him?”
The General answered: “We know each other. Lead me to a room where we may talk. You may come with us, boy.”
When Han Im and the General had seated themselves in the empty hall, Tung said: “You clearly have not heard the news—or all of it. The situation is serious.”
Han Im replied: “No situation is too serious to be met by resolution. Until a man is dead, that is. What has happened?”
The other said: “The rebel, An Lu-shan, has struck. The men under my control are sound, but for the rest . . . .” He made a gesture of helplessness. “Already, since we left with the Lady Yang, a swift runner reached me with a tale of wholesale elimination of her relatives and of sundry others, of your sort, at the Palace. I left an Emperor’s Guard: His Majesty will follow. But we are few—I do not see how we can resist the numbers which will he brought against us. Who is here?”
Han Im told him: “Wang Wei seems to have gone. Li Po went yesterday. Liu—I do not know, but I believe he sleeps somewhere. There are three singing-girls and this lad, Li Po’s nephew, whom you met before me. And the servants. And Peng Yeh, whose farm is on the slope of Ma Wei, and who was passing through on his way to Chang-an.”
“When a eunuch leaves the palace, there is a reason,” replied General Tung. “None of those whom you have named seem to me sufficient reason for your presence here. Li Po, who came with you, would have served, but he has left you, you say. Why, then, have you deserted the pleasures of Chang-an for the austerities on this mountain residence?”
Han Im said: “Enough that I came. It seems to me, now, that the immediate need is some plan for the future of the Lady Yang. They have killed her relations? Then she, too, is in danger.”
Tung laughed: “It shall be as you wish. The subject is evidently one which you wish to change. It is changed. We must, of course, retreat as soon as the Emperor reaches here. The West is wide and wild. Until the forces of loyal men can be raised, we must, like the chess-player, withdraw our weak defence into the impenetrable hills. The western provinces may be loyal. They probably will be, with my men to make up their minds. I brought a few boxes of silver for immediate needs—it seemed to me that when His Imperial Majesty finally decides to take the road hither, he may forget, in his haste, such a worldly detail as that. And, since you are fortunately here, it is your province to take charge of that silver and act as treasurer.”
Han Im bowed. “I am honoured,” he said.
The General continued: “Transport. Always transport—the problem for all commanders. My men walk. I rode. The Lady Yang came in a carrying chair, and the silver in another. Can you provide a carriage or two—and horses? Then you had better arrange for them to be ready at dawn. One for you and the silver. One for the Lady Yang. The chairs we can send back. Food? We have enough for two days.”
Ah Lai, who had stood silently beside them, now said: “If you will make up your minds as to your next destination, I will go on and arrange for food. I shall require, also, to know how many men will have to be fed. Also by what means of transport I am to go and whether alone. I shall be ready to change your decision into deeds in an hour from now. For the moment I have to say a goodbye.” He inclined his head to them and went out of the room.
General Tung observed: “I think he will serve the Emperor well, for he does not foresee difficulties. He shall go. Now, give me paper, brush and ink. My mind needs no other laxative. You will see about the carriages.”
Ah Lai came to the room which he had hoped to share with Winter Cherry. The girl slept, her face pillowed on one arm. He stood for a while looking at her, then turned to go without speaking. But as he turned, Winter Cherry woke.
“I thought that you had gone,” she said.
Ah Lai nodded. “I did go,” he said, “and now I have returned before going altogether. I have been talking strategy with General Tung.” Her voice was a question. “General Tung?”
He told her of the arrivals from Chang-an, of the revolt and the Emperor’s coming journey into the inner provinces. “I have always wanted adventure,” he said. “I am to start in less than an hour, to make ready for the Emperor’s reception at his next stopping-place—when General Tung tells me what that next stopping-place may be.”