“You ought to know,” Clear Rain answered, so that Honeysuckle threw the nearest thing at her. “I suppose that you want to experience again the delights of stealing a man.”
Honeysuckle said: “She lost nothing which time cannot replace. Yes: I think you and I might go to Ma Wei. It will be a change from this, whatever Mother Feng may think.”
They set to planning how they might have their journey at another’s expense, and finally sent the maid Cinnamon with a letter to the Palace.
When Cinnamon came back with her answer, she told Clear Rain: “I had difficulty in finding An Ching-hsu, but one of his servants says that his master will call on you as soon as he can get away from the girls he is with now.”
Honeysuckle laughed: “So we break our rule and receive men from the very beds of other girls! Well, let us hope that it will be worth it. As the son of An Lu-shan, he should be able to arrange our visit to the farm. We shall see.”
Clear Rain said: “I hear that this An Ching-hsu is not in the least like his father. That is all to the good, for tall Northerners are apt to be exhausting.”
They spent the next hour or so preparing for the visit of An Ching-hsu. Cinnamon was sent to buy wine. No one took any notice of Mother Feng’s protests about taking cast-offs from the house next door.
When, finally, An Ching-hsu came, he turned out to be a short, merry man with fat enough to keep out the winter and energy enough to keep warm. He was pleased at the invitation, and asked how the two girls had heard of him.
Honeysuckle said: “It is difficult not to hear of you. Now that the extravagance of the late Emperor and his mistress are no longer discussed at every street corner, we poor women have time to open our ears to other, more important things. Is it true that you knew Yang Kuei-fei?”
An Ching-hsu smiled, and although his smile seemed to be one of pleasure at the question, both girls sensed more behind it. He said: “My father, An Lu-shan, knew her, nearly ten years ago. He hated her cousin, Yang Kuo-chung, but I think he still loved her. He is sad that his action led to her death.”
Clear Rain said: “This is a depressing subject to speak of on a visit. I will pour the wine.”
Honeysuckle agreed: “It would be better to forget sorrow in the kindly essence of the earth. Sister, sing us one of your songs when you have served the wine.”
Clear Rain filled up the cups. Then she took her lute and sang:
An Ching-hsu said: “That is a song of sadness. I thought that you were going to sing a cheerful song.”
Honeysuckle sang without music:
An Ching-hsu said: “That song is as sad as the other. Why do you both play on the strings of my heart?”
Honeysuckle said to Clear Rain: “It would be wise for you to go and see about that roll of flowered silk. We cannot expect the shopkeeper to save it for us to the detriment of his other customers’ interests. You could take Cinnamon with you.” When Clear Rain and Cinnamon had gone, Honeysuckle poured out more wine for An Ching-hsu, and shared his cup. The wine (for it was old) soon had the desired effect on him, and Honeysuckle, who knew well that from sorrow to joy is a surer key than from joy to sorrow, sang him the Ballad of Mu-lan. She knew that this song of a girl who takes her father’s place in the army and hides from all the soldiers the fact that pleasure greater than mere camp-fire stories is theirs for the ready taking, excites a man to emulation and unwisdom.
A little later she asked: “And your father was very fond of the Lady Yang? I wonder that he does not go to see how she died. If the stories are true, he would like to know: if they are untrue, he would like to know. The answer is at Ma Wei.”
An replied: “He has been thinking of going, but always some official business comes between him and his purpose. You know, I think, how busy he has been persuading the neighbourhood that he brings peace to his subjects?”
Honeysuckle said: “Maybe. But a man who has a question eating at his heart like a rat at a sack of grain is in poor case to convince other people of his one-heartedness. Let him go to Ma Wei and find out. Could you not go with him? We know the daughter of the man on whose estate she stayed: she would tell us more than she would tell to a stranger. Let us all go: we can pretend that it is a holiday in the old days, when all was peace and men thought of other things than killing each other. Now, laugh! For you are nicer when you laugh.”
“Little fool!” he answered, not untenderly. “Why do you want to go to Ma Wei? Well, it does not matter why—I will try to get my father to take us all. The change from ruling suspicious people will do his health good. No—come back here. I know as many tricks as you do. Now . . .”
Clear Rain, driving, shook the horses’ reins free and turned to Honeysuckle.
“I have always wanted to drive a carriage with silver rein tips,” she said. “It is indeed different from the last time we came in this direction. Do you remember?”
They were crossing the Wei, after having passed the slope of Beautiful Waters.
Honeysuckle said, pointing to the bridge: “The Emperor’s troops broke down this bridge when they retreated, although the Emperor had not wanted them to do so lest the people from Chang-an should not be able to escape from the hands of the rebels.”
Clear Rain answered: “I know. But it is mended now, so what does it matter?”
Honeysuckle said: “Yes. It does not matter. But the greater comfort in which we travel now is only natural. In Spring the leaves are a pleasant green, as they will be soon, for it is the fifth day of the first moon. In Autumn the leaves are russet. So, if you travel the same road as a fleeing Emperor (although we did not know so at the time) you cannot expect greater comfort than that of hired carrying-chairs, whereas now, in the proximate wake of one who feels himself a new fledged Spring-Emperor, we endure the not very marked discomfort of one of his own carriages, drawn by two excellent Government horses. I have never before been so comfortably near the three flowers branded on the horse’s rump, though I remember when I was a child being snatched by my careful nurse from a too close inspection of what might have been those very three flowers.”