Chinese Ghost Stories Read Free Page B

I make like lacquer’? And how divine the charm of this composition!—the song of Gao Bian, prince of poets, and Governor of Sichuan five hundred years ago!”
    “Gao Bian! darling Gao Bian!” murmured Xue, with a singular light in her eyes. “Gao Bian is also my favorite. Dear Ming Yi, let us chant his verses together, to the melody of old—the music of those grand years when men were nobler and wiser than today.”
    And their voices rose through the perfumed night like the voices of the wonder-birds—of the Fenghuang—blending together in liquid sweetness. Yet a moment, and Ming Yi, overcome by the witchery of his companion’s voice, could only listen in speechless ecstasy, while the lights of the chamber swam dim before his sight, and tears of pleasure trickled down his cheeks.
    So the ninth hour passed; and they continued to converse, and to drink the cool purple wine, and to sing the songs of the years of Tang, until far into the night. More than once Ming Yi thought of departing; but each time Xue would begin, in that silver-sweet voice of hers, so wondrous a story of the great poets of the past, and of the women whom they loved, that he became as one entranced; or she would sing for him a song so strange that all his senses seemed to die except that of hearing. And at last, as she paused to pledge him in a cup of wine, Ming Yi could not restrain himself from putting his arm about her round neck and drawing her dainty head closer to him, and kissing the lips that were so much ruddier and sweeter than the wine. Then their lips separated no more; the night grew old, and they knew it not.
    The birds awakened, the flowers opened their eyes to the rising sun, and Ming Yi found himself at last compelled to bid his lovely enchantress farewell. Xue, accompanying him to the terrace, kissed him fondly and said, “Dear boy, come hither as often as you are able, as often as your heart whispers you to come. I know that you are not of those without faith and truth, who betray secrets; yet, being so young, you might also be sometimes thoughtless; and I pray you never to forget that only the stars have been the witnesses of our love. Speak of it to no living person, dearest; and take with you this little souvenir of our happy night.”
    And she presented him with an exquisite and curious little thing—a paper-weight in likeness of a couchant lion, wrought from a jade-stone yellow as that created by a rainbow in honor of Kongfuzi. Tenderly the boy kissed the gift and the beautiful hand that gave it. “May the Spirits punish me,” he vowed, “if ever I knowingly give you cause to reproach me, sweetheart!” And they separated with mutual vows.
    That morning, on returning to the house of Lord Zhang, Ming Yi told the first falsehood which had ever passed his lips. He averred that his mother had requested him thenceforward to pass his nights at home, now that the weather had become so pleasant; for, though the way was somewhat long, he was strong and active, and needed both air and healthy exercise. Zhang believed all Ming Yi said, and offered no objection. Accordingly the lad found himself enabled to pass all his evenings at the house of the beautiful Xue. Each night they devoted to the same pleasures which had made their first acquaintance so charming: they sang and conversed by turns; they played at chess—the learned game invented by Wu Wang, which is an imitation of war; they composed pieces of eighty rhymes upon the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the streams, the birds, the bees. But in all accomplishments Xue far excelled her young sweetheart. Whenever they played at chess, it was always Ming Yi’s general, Ming Yi’s jiang, who was surrounded and vanquished; when they composed verses, Xue’s poems were ever superior to his in harmony of word-coloring, in elegance of form, in classic loftiness of thought. And the themes they selected were always the most difficult—those of the poets of the Tang dynasty; the songs