# The Scarlet Hill/Part 5

Part V
An Lu-Shan
1.
Unwittingly, Li Po prepared the way for the coming of An Lu-shan, a Tartar of the Kitan tribe, born beyond the Great Wall in Liao Tung; and yet whose subsequent career was woven into the pattern of Chinese history, a flamboyant pattern, too highly colored; nevertheless a popular one. Like Li Po he was a swashbuckler, though without the gift of creativeness. The poetry he recited was always the work of other men, never his own, but he used it to good purpose. He created tumult in the hearts of the three thousand neglected Palace Ladies that was almost craving. This was odd, for An Lu-shan was of monstrous size and awkward. However, he had an agile mind, a nimble wit and loud laughter, nor was he at all opposed to being made to appear ridiculous. Taunts that other men shunned, he used as a weapon. The complacent world of his day believed that a man rolling in merriment was without guile. Simple though he looked, he was an amazing diplomat. With him deceit was an art, buffoonery, a sharp sword.
His stomach was so large, he couldn't see his feet.
When the Emperor pointed to it, and said, "What is in that great cask you have in your lap?" he replied, "Nothing but a loyal heart."
They had met at a feast so enormous that it ​overflowed the Palace. They were celebrating victory. On the frontier a serious uprising of the Kitan Tartars had been suppressed by the valiant action of the Imperial forces. An Lu-shan had been in charge of one of the regiments in his Majesty's service. Unshaken by a veritable rain of arrows, he had pushed forward at the head of his men. He rode in a chariot drawn by three fiery horses as far as the road would permit, then he sprang out and went forward afoot. Gone was all awkwardness from his movements. He leaped from rock to rock with the power and grace of a blue tiger. His troops watched him, fascinated. He wore a suit of white folded-paper armor, so strong that despite the fact that his conspicuousness made him a target for Kitan arrows, not one of them had the force to penetrate his apparently flimsy costume. His men marveled at his courage for they were adequately protected by suits of chain and mail armor. It was stimulating to be able to follow so magnificent a leader. In the deep of the night, with hushed footsteps, half the regiment crept forward while the remainder put on an act of boisterous merriment. They shouted songs that shattered the silence of the night into a thousand fragments. They played musical instruments, ear-splittingly off key. The leaders of the Kitan Tartars relaxed their vigilance. There would be no night attack. Such a boisterous army could not be a menace. Besides there was no moon. Who knew what evil spirits, or ferocious demons might lurk in the appalling velvet black?
​How right they were, many of them never knew. Certainly ferocious demons walked the mountain trails that night. Arriving invisibly on the wings of the wind, they killed the sentries. One particular demon invaded the tent of the supreme commander. With a single swift blow he drove his dagger straight through the heart of the Tartar general. No one knew that that particular demon was named An Lu-shan.
In the morning, consternation broke out among the Kitan Tartars. Fear rippled over their forces, felling them as by a plague. What chance had they against the soldiers of China who were in league with demons? What proof existed that they had not even evoked the help of the dragons who slept under the mountains? As they turned to flee in panic, the forces of the Emperor swept down upon them and slaughtered them with such ferocity and in such numbers that the roads were blocked and for months afterwards, travelers avoided that section of the border because of the stench of rotting bodies.
It mattered not in the least to An Lu-shan that in slaying the Kitans, he was slaying his own people. All that mattered was victory, the pungent taste of the wine of victory.
In appreciation of his service to the Empire, Li Lin-fu, the Premier, had brought him to the Capital. Li Lin-fu heard his account of the battle with no little degree of gratification, for it had been he who had pushed An Lu-shan forward.
2.
Yang Kuei-fei was intensely interested in An Lu-shan. She had met him for the first time at the elaborate feast in his honor. Every word he uttered, she absorbed into her thoughts. His conversation was not profound, his wit was clumsy, he laughed too much. He looked like a gargoyle with his ugly massive head, long arms, large hands, and somewhat cruel mouth. But his eyes, black, inscrutable, that burned through her clothes as brazenly as flames, held a quality that stopped her throat, until it was difficult for her to breathe. Any wrestler might have had his great bulk and strength, but no one had eyes so mercilessly daring, and, too, so warmly sensuous that she dared not think of his prowess as a lover.
She shrugged her shoulders. "After all," she reflected, "he is no more to me than the tiles in the garden on which I walk. I have captivated an Emperor. What use could I have for so hideous an individual?"
To even raise the question in her own mind, she realized was foolhardy. Merely its contemplation heated her blood and made her tremble.
Later, the members of the Emperor's immediate party detached themselves from the feast that showed no sign of coming to an end. They proceeded to the Orchid Pavilion on the Peony Terrace. Rigid formality of the Court had been cast aside as though the Emperor had removed a vermilion cloak.
An Lu-shan saw to it that he was close enough to ​Yang Kuei-fei to whisper in her ear: "The rose is not as lovely as Yang Kuei-fei, whose warm beauty it copies."
Yang Kuei-fei flushed. Almost breathlessly, she said, "Why not a peony?"
"Because the rose is Arabian. It came from my people with the jasmine." Naturally this was hyperbole in its most exaggerated sense for An Lu-shan was a Kitan-Tartar. When he had battled the Kitans, he had been fighting his own people. Still the exigencies of the situation required a pretty speech. He grasped eagerly at the opportunity.
"And the poppy," added Yang Kuei-fei in a tremulous voice. "There is a drug in what you are saying—the drug of flattery—so sweet, so sticky sweet."
"But pleasant?" he pursued, remorselessly.
"Too pleasant." Her voice was almost inaudible.
Abruptly, he changed his method of approach. "If I have offended, I will leave Changan."
"That isn't necessary."
Then he risked all by saying, "Without you there would be no people in Changan."
The intensity of his tone was frightening. She placed her hand over her heart, in a futile effort to stem its violent throbbing.
Mercifully, Ming Huang came, unknowing, to the rescue. With words from the fullness of his heart, he said, "If you were my own son, I could not be more grateful for your loyalty."
Impulsively, Yang Kuei-fei burst out, "Let me adopt him. Then he will be your son in truth."
​The Emperor gazed at her intently. How abundantly supplied with life she was! Her soft arms were a refuge whenever the cares of state became too heavy to bear. He fretted for the candle of day to burn out that he might abandon himself to the divine comfort of her body. What need had he to deny her anything, since her surrender was so unqualified? Still she was a droll little creature.
"Adopt him?" he repeated meditatively.
"Yes," she whispered. "Would he not make you a splendid son?"
"There is no denying that, but he looks old enough to be your father."
"And large enough to be your grandfather," broke in An Lu-shan affably, in no way disconcerted by the conversation. He had difficulty keeping his jubilation from showing. Such an arrangement would naturally lead to a measure of proximity. Few women had opposed him for long. Perhaps even the resistance of Yang Kuei-fei would eventually crumble. He brushed aside the peril of such an enterprise. The spoils were large enough to outweigh danger.
Yang Kuei-fei pretended to be vexed. "Do not treat me as a child!" she exclaimed petulantly.
Almost in panic, visioning the vanishing of his night's enchantment, the Emperor bowed to her wishes, and the bow was so low it was almost groveling.
"Be not offended," he said quickly. "I have given your suggestion the most careful consideration. I am in perfect accord."
​"I want strong sons," she said, meekly.
"Strong indeed is An Lu-shan."
Li Lin-fu stood near by. The Emperor motioned to him. "At the next official Court, An Lu-shan shall be raised to the rank of Duke."
"The scroll shall be prepared," said Li Lin-fu, highly gratified.
Yang Kuei-fei turned away to hide a smile. In the distance the music of a reed instrument broke out joyously. All had forgotten that the feast, seemingly endless, was still in progress, a feast that bade fair to turn into an orgy now that the Emperor had departed.
An Lu-shan was overcome with surprise.
"I am grateful," he said, and there was no doubting his sincerity.
"An Empire," declared Ming Huang, "lives in the hearts of its people. China is great because its people have great hearts. It is built on the rocks of culture and tolerance. Though all the buildings beneath the skies were leveled, the foundations would still be there and as indisputably as day follows night China would rise again to greater glory. In the past our Empire has been tom by dissent, kings have been spewed out by the dozens, flaunting their powers to the four winds. But now they are gone. Not a trace of their power remains. China absorbs her invaders as clear water absorbs the pollution that is poured into it."
Hours later, when the Emperor was sleeping, Yang Kuei-fei rose from the elaborate scarlet bed, taking care not to disturb him, and went out into the garden. She ​felt as though she were stifling, burning with fever. Her mouth was dry.
Over the bamboo bridge an orange moon hung so low it brushed the trees. A cool breeze stirred melodiously through a small forest of speckled bamboo, a species known as "The Bamboo of Shun's Wives."
Yang Kuei-fei walked to the cool brook's edge. She knelt, dipping her hands into the water. She felt like casting off her light garments and plunging in. However, she refrained, contenting herself with laving her face with the water. So cold it was, it momentarily banished the fever.
Near by was a stone bench, immersed in willow shadows. Though there was nobody about, she did not wish even the moon to pry into her frightening thoughts. At that moment, she hated An Lu-shan. What right had he to come unto the Palace and shake her world until all her dreams were in danger of tumbling down upon her? An officer of a regiment! Small renown indeed. Was common sense deserting her? An affair with An Lu-shan might blot out forever the possibility that some day she would be Empress. Better would it be, if An Lu-shan were killed in battle.
The next moment she was all contrition. Remorseful that she had indulged in such insidious thoughts. An Lu-shan was an honored patriot. His life was devoted to the Empire. His eyes were the deepest, the most sensuous, the crudest she had ever beheld. They made her shiver, tingle, flame hot, then cold as snow. What an impassioned lover he must be, with fierce ​tenderness, and frenzied devotion merging on madness. The fever in her blood was rising. The moon was red, sensuous, blood-burning.
She thought of the story of Ch'i Nu, who had two lovers, one living to the right of her, the other to the left. Her father was exasperated. He directed that she tuck up her sleeve on the arm corresponding to the lover she preferred, whereupon she tucked up both sleeves. She explained to her angry father that she wished to eat with the one who was rich and live with the one who was handsome.
Yang Kuei-fei smiled ruefully. She was in a somewhat similar plight, though by no stretch of the imagination could the monstrous An Lu-shan be called handsome. She felt vexed, humiliated, that she had so little control over her emotions. In the Palace she was sheltered, beyond danger.
She sprang to her feet. A figure was moving slowly, silently toward her. Her heart leaped toward the approaching form. Of course it was An Lu-shan. She was stunned, momentarily frightened; no fear quite as entrancing as the delectable panic of surrender. She knew that she ought to escape, to return to her apartment, to the magnificent scarlet bed in which the Emperor lay sleeping. That way was sanctuary, physical sanctuary, but, alas, no sanctuary of the spirit. There were tears in her eyes, but she waited. It might be the end of her high position, it might mean banishment forever, even death, but this one mad hour would be worth the sacrifice. Now his form was silhouetted against the ​moon, though his features were not visible. He loomed up magnificently, the greatest soldier of all the Empire. Then her heart stopped beating. The tears fell from her eyes like rain. She was on the verge of hysteria as she beheld the figure of Kao Li-shih. She was safe; in spite of herself she was still the first lady in the affections of the Emperor.
"I'm sorry," said Kao, seemingly taken back. "I saw your white face in the shadows. I was afraid that someone might be lurking in the garden to harm his Majesty."
"I came out," she faltered, "I came out because it was so hot."
"But the night is cool."
She was cornered, surprised, dismayed. "Perhaps I was dreaming."
"Or it may be a touch of fever," said Kao. "Shall I instruct the old Amah to prepare a cold bath for you?" "I'm all right," she said hastily, "I'm going in now." "Yes," she reflected, "it is fever, a dangerous fever, a fever of the human spirit, that will never leave me while An Lu-shan remains in Changan. He must return to the Kitan border. Nothing shall threaten my position." It was a noble resolve, but she knew it was without conviction. An Lu-shan loitered in Changan as the weeks lengthened into months. Ming Huang liked him and showered him with honors.
Through the connivance of Li Lin-fu he was made governor of three border cities—P'ing Lu, Fan Yang and Ho Tung. The appointment was nominal only, for ​An Lu-shan refused to give up his interest in military affairs.
"I ask no more than to be in a position to defend my country," he said humbly.
Ming Huang was so impressed that he raised him to the rank of Generalissimo. An Lu-shan was elated. This would be a position of unlimited authority since he was a protégé of Li Lin-fu whose wishes Ming Huang never opposed.
Thereafter An Lu-shan divided his time between raising the best and largest army in the Empire, and intrigue at the Palace where both the Emperor and the bewitching Yang Kuei-fei called him "son." Nor was he entirely oblivious to the stir he was causing among the three thousand Palace ladies. Some of them were quite lovely. They might be useful when no other entertainment was available.
3.
And now it seemed as though Yang Kuei-fei was sorry for that interlude in the garden, when she had been plagued by adulterous thoughts. By her ministrations to the Emperor, she was striving for purification.
If that were her purpose, ably did she accomplish it. The Emperor was gratified at the immeasurable increase in the warmth of her affection. She cuddled up in his lap like a child and slept, not even awakening when he carried her to the scarlet bed.
More and more he left the affairs of the court to Li Lin-fu, confident that they would be ably administered. ​In his long tenure of office, never once had Li Lin-fu proved unfaithful, nor had the shadow of suspicion ever fallen across his path. Li Lin-fu had discovered that if a man have honey on his Ups, multitudes will gather to hear his words.
Once more Yang Kuei-fei danced in the Pear Garden to the measures of "The Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket," completely happy, nor was there the slightest danger of her security being menaced even though An Lu-shan sat watching. How ugly and uncouth he was in comparison to Ming Huang, whose voice was cultured and as polished as fine jade. She had a sincere admiration for the Emperor, that was so much akin to love that the dividing line could not have accommodated the thinnest silk thread. He was a poet, so was she, and both were musicians. What use had she for a barbarian who, despite his adherence to the Empire, was of foreign blood?
Her cousin, Kuo-chung, hated An Lu-shan. He distrusted him.
"Don't forget," he warned her, "that the Tartar's meat is the Chinaman's poison."
"What do you mean by that?" she flared angrily.
"Tartars eat horse-meat. Ugh! it makes me sick merely to think of it."
Yang Kuei-fei, too, was revolted. Nevertheless, she came swiftly, valiantly to An Lu-shan's defence.
"We have no proof that he eats it"
"He's a Tartar, isn't he?"
"I'm not even sure of that, so strange he seems. But ​even if he ate horse-meat, why be revolted? Is not a horse as clean as a pig?"
He looked at her astounded. "You don't understand," he said in a low voice, almost huskily. "Perhaps your Emperor's words might convey my abhorrence of such feasting."
"Proceed," said she, surprised. Never had Kuo-chung gone out of his way to champion anything. "What did his Majesty say?"
"I heard him once declare that a man might as well eat the flesh of his brother, as to eat the flesh of his horse."
Yang Kuei-fei capitulated at once. "I'm sorry," she said. "For a moment I forgot. I was thinking of a horse merely as meat, not as the noble animal he is. I feel chastised. And I bow to your courage in opposing me."
"Though you are powerful, Princess," said he, "you are still my cousin, and I doubt if even anger could arouse you to seek revenge against your own blood. You are clever, well educated, proficient in the classics, and let me whisper it for your ears alone—artful. But you are more, my Princess. About you there is a quality beyond even your own understanding."
Bitterly, she turned away. She was not worthy of such a eulogy. She was despicable, desiring An Lu-shan. She was no better than one of the cheapest of the singsong girls who lived on P'ing Kang Street and had proved such a dismaying attraction for the weak Prince Shou, whose consort she had been. How far away those days seemed, like something that happened in the ​mystic lands that exist only in the country beyond the moon.
4.
Ming Huang had little of which to complain. Yang Kuei-fei lived solely for his comfort. Often she waited upon him as though she were but a servant, even going so far as to make almond cakes for him with her own hands, which made them doubly delicious. At other times, her mood changed. She dressed in vermilion silks with gold brocade. Haughtily she acted as though she were an Empress and he but a slave. In the privacy of their apartments, she ordered him about unmercifully, humiliating him to the uttermost. Then suddenly she would toss aside her elaborate costumes and, with the force of the vicious wind of autumn but the heat of a spring night, she would fling herself into his arms.
Ming Huang responded to all her humors. She was a woman of infinite variety, ever changing, ever charming, but always willing to shelter his head in the fragrance of her breasts.
"You came to the Palace," he told her in the hush of the night, "to dwell with me, but now it is I who dwell with you."
Warm and yielding, she whispered, "My joy would be complete if you would once more honor the house of Yang by taking my three sisters as concubines. Then we need never be separated."
"If that is your wish," he said, "so shall it be."
​But he spoke almost like one who had fallen under the spell of a dream. At such a moment, when the mist of moonrise invading the room merged with the stardust in her eyes, he had not the equanimity to contemplate the arrival at the Palace of any other woman.
However, within a week, the three sisters were installed among the Palace ladies and he found them much to his liking. He raised them to the rank of Princesses and gave them the names, Lady Han Kuo, Lady Kuo Kuo and Lady Chin Kuo. Of the three, Kuo Kuo was the loveliest. She was an expert horsewoman and rode astride. Few men at the Palace cared to challenge her to a race. She wore no make-up and was completely independent, perhaps too independent. The Emperor gave all three sisters large grants of land, and an unlimited allowance. Nor did he place any undue restrictions upon them, permitting them to leave or enter the Palace at will. What arrangements were made with their husbands remains a mystery. But they made no complaint so they must have been satisfied participants of an Imperial bargain. After all it is somewhat of a privilege to have one's wife desired by an Emperor.
Ming Huang instructed Yang Kuo-chung to see that suitable houses were erected for his three illustrious cousins.
The work was done with unusual speed. Soon four houses were ready. The fourth house was for Kuo-chung. It adjoined the house of Lady Kuo Kuo. Her Ladyship made no effort to disguise the fact that there was a connecting passageway between the two houses. ​After all, were they not cousins? No one disputed it. That was why all Changan was scandalized.
Kuo Kuo was in no way disturbed. She sprang on her horse and galloped down the road, nor did she meet anywhere with insult. What she lacked in propriety was more than made up for in courage. Not for a moment was she conscious of wrong doing. Was it incestuous to love one's own cousin? Since the Emperor was in no way disturbed, what right had those with loose tongues to spoil the air with lies?
Still the murmurings persisted. "Even an Emperor cannot rule five households." But no one disputed that four pretty sisters could very easily rule an Emperor.
Their uncle who was the affluent Governor of a province, was brought back to Changan, to become a high-ranking Court officer. Because he was now firmly entrenched in the Emperor's family, he had the audacity to go about in vermilion robes. Ming Huang smiled. He was not angered, but exceedingly pleased. Yang Yuan-kuei had brought with him a large supply of prime quality almonds. Even at the most formal of the Court functions, he munched contentedly and eyed the attractive ladies of the Pear Garden. Munching almonds was an aid to fascinating contemplation. An affair for an hour or two, with plenty of almonds, the fragrance of which might blend with soft, firm flesh. . . he sighed. It was good to be back once more at the Palace, where excess would disturb no one, and intrigue was the pattern chosen by most of the smirking, flabby officials. Though there were others of firmer ​mold, they were of slight importance, forming as they did a minority, nor did it occur to him that in that minority lay the strength of the Empire. However, he acknowledged the power and brilliance of Li Lin-fu. Li Lin-fu was his friend. Therefore he had nothing to fear, not even the wrath of his wife if any little amorous pleasantry were discovered, for she, good woman that she was, urged him to plough enjoyment in any fields that were to his liking. All that she asked was that the tranquillity of her night's slumbers be not invaded. It had been so long since he had slept by her side that to him her person was like unto a foreign country, cold, bleak, desolate. He preferred to do his exploring in warmer climes, where almonds bloomed and the peace of earth and morning was spread like an immortal rug over everything. . . . So absorbed did he become in reflections, he swallowed an almond without chewing it. It lodged in his throat and he would have strangled, had a eunuch not noticed his plight and thumped him on the back until his spine nearly cracked. It virtually ruined him, but it saved his life. Nevertheless, he continued with his nibbling.
5.
Gradually An Lu-shan replaced the Chinese officers of his large army with Tartars. No one complained because there was little doubt of their efficiency. All his appointments were made quietly so that not even an echo found its way to the Imperial Palace. The Emperor's faith in An Lu-shan's ability was ​unshakable. Yang Kuei-fei saw to it that this opinion never wavered. She liked having An Lu-shan at the Palace, and he availed himself of the privilege whenever it could be arranged. He was fortunate in having a second in command named Shih Ssu-ming, as fine a leader as himself, so that the training of the soldiers was not neglected while he dallied at the Court.
When Yang Kuei-fei questioned him about his past, he told her fantastic tales.
"My mother was a witch," he said.
"Could she turn herself into a fox?"
"Though she never tried, I doubt not that she could have done so. Before I was born, she stood on a mountain top and prayed for a son. And her prayers were answered. At my birth a halo appeared around the house, and the beasts of the field cried in anguish. A canal flowing through the flat country overflowed its banks. The water lashed about in fury even though there was no wind and for weeks it had not rained. The authorities were affrighted. They sent soldiers to put me to death."
Yang Kuei-fei was thrilled. "Wonderful, is it not, that today you are a General in charge of troops?"
"I wouldn't be," said he seriously, "if my mother had not concealed me."
"I am indebted to her for saving you, so that today I might take her place and be your mother."
He laughed immoderately. "Mother, may I lay my head on your breast?"
"If you are tired," she whispered breathlessly.
​He did so and it was long ere either of them was sufficiently calmed to proceed. She shuddered as she thought of what might have befallen her had it not been daylight with dozens of eunuchs near by.
"Next time," she reflected, "I will not be so impulsive." But she had no regrets.
"My father died when I was very young," An Lu-shan continued excitedly. "I can't even remember him. Soon thereafter my mother married a man named An. It was his name that I used as I grew up. My original name I have all but forgotten. My father was a petty official and we traveled much. I picked up a smattering of frontier dialects. It was well that I did, for once I was arrested and wrongly accused of stealing a sheep. Before I could be decapitated I had argued myself into freedom. Afterwards I drifted into the army. I thought if there was any killing to be done, mine would be the hand that prompted it."
"I heard a different story about your army entrance," Yang Kuei-fei told him.
"What was it?"
"That you were captured by an enemy and later sold as a slave to a Chinese officer in the Northern Garrison."
For a moment, he hesitated, then he said boldly, "Yes, that's true but I hate to admit that I was ever a slave or that I ever was defeated by an enemy."
Her eyes were large with wonder, as she said, "I'd be proud to let everyone know how high I had risen from such a humble beginning."
​"The credit must go to the officer who purchased me. He was kind, considerate. Upon recognizing my ability, he gave me freedom that I might become a soldier of China. My promotion was rapid. After many successes, I met Li Lin-fu. My greatest success, however, was when you adopted me."
Yang Kuei-fei tried to look at him impersonally. How grossly fat he was, yet amusing too. His face was so ugly it fascinated. He was uncouth, untamed. The woman he took into his arms might as well be possessed by an animal. Yes, he held an animal attraction, nothing more. She shuddered. What more could any woman desire? Yang Kuei-fei clutched the back of a marble bench to keep from falling. The truth was like a blow, but she faced it fearlessly. She admired the brilliant mind of the Emperor, and the large, strong body of An Lu-shan. She longed for him to possess her. She was weary of gentleness.
Thereafter, frequently when the Emperor was speaking, she closed her eyes and imagined it was An Lu-shan. For the Emperor, the nights were marvels of abandonment. Never had he been so entirely satisfied with everything. His personal affairs were looked over by Kao Li-shih; affairs of the Empire, by Li Lin-fu; matters concerning the army, by An Lu-shan who was elevated to supreme command of all troops throughout the Province. Naturally the best soldiers were garrisoned near the Capital.
Although the Emperor had unlimited faith in An Lu-shan's military ability, in affairs of the heart he ​considered him a good-natured buffoon. He laughed heartily at his clowning about the Court, and at the practical jokes that were played upon him by the Palace ladies; some of them on the borderline of obscenity.
On An Lu-shan's birthday, both the Emperor and Yang Kuei-fei gave him expensive presents. For a joke, she also gave him a silk mantle exactly like the ones children of rich families wore, which she herself had embroidered. Her own hands, too, wrapped him in it. Then she put a child's cap upon his head. By prearrangement, other Ladies of the Court brought forth a carriage trimmed with variegated colored ribbons. Bundling him into it, they wheeled him around the Garden. Occasionally they fed him sweetmeats. Yang Kuei-fei seized a lute and played mournful lullabies.
The Emperor was greatly amused; nevertheless his eyes were for Yang Kuei-fei alone. Her talent had the brilliance of new silk. Even in this droll moment, there was melody in her fingertips. Like the blush of spring were her cheeks; on her lips, crushed cherries.
From that time forth, An Lu-shan was allowed free access to the private apartments of Yang Kuei-fei. When the Emperor entered unexpectedly and found him there, he made no complaint, for An Lu-shan was his son. But this did not prevent rumors from rippling throughout the Court, rumors only to be whispered.
6.
Flowers bloomed and faded. Frost glazed the countryside with a thin veneer and jabbed swords' points ​into the air. Light winds tossed cinnamon perfume under bitter autumn's pale round moon. Winter drove in like a whip-lash, and tall trees struggled in the wind's embrace. Until this, too, passed and in the earth was a strange murmuring, the stir of living things. Consumed by desire, roots awakened and stretched luxuriantly in the warm bed of earth. Vines climbed gracefully toward the sun. Mei flowers bloomed and rain of peach flowers fell. Nature was in an amorous mood and the soil was fruitful. Wind bells signaled the approach of kite-flying weather. The sky was filled with men of paper and silk, fish, lizards and butterflies. Peonies, oleanders, wistaria and chrysanthemums blossomed and perished. On and on the seasons marched relentlessly across the sky, like grim sentinels mocking the puny efforts of man.
In Changan, time lost its grip on the Imperial Court and days merged with night in lavish abandon. No expense too great if it brought happiness to the four slender daughters of Yang who were all consorts of the Brilliant Emperor.
7.
Whenever An Lu-shan entered the private apartments, he bowed first to Yang Kuei-fei and then to the Emperor.
"A tribute to my mother," he explained, when Ming Huang questioned him about this brazen procedure. "I cannot remember my father, but my mother sheltered me, fed me, saved my life."
​"And to what end," asked Ming Huang dryly, "if you forfeit it by offending the Emperor?"
"Your Majesty is never angered when Yang Kuei-fei is honored."
Ming Huang pretended peevishness. He fanned himself to separate the sun, screen off the wind, obstruct the dust, but above all to secure time for shrewd contemplation.
"I wonder if by your action, you intend to suggest that the exquisite Princess really rules China."
Yang Kuei-fei whispered in Ming Huang's ear, "Contented will I be always merely to rule my Emperor."
Ming Huang drew her to him. "An Lu-shan," he said, with pretended sternness, "I am of the opinion that you merit killing, and I would destroy your miserable life were it not for the fact that if I did so, I fear Yang Kuei-fei might destroy my miserable heart. I gave it into her care for safe keeping."
An Lu-shan knelt before her. "Unto her keeping also do I give my life. Guard it well, Princess, so it may escape the Emperor's wrath."
That day was a memorable one for the Empire. At sunset a courier arrived at the Palace bringing news of an important victory. Governor Wang Chung-sze had defeated the Turf ans in the Gobi Desert. He had also annihilated thousands of warriors of the wild tribe of Tukuhun.
An Lu-shan was gratified even though his men had had no part in the undertaking. For the moment, all he desired was peace in order that he might have the ​opportunity to build up his fighting forces to magnificent power. His personal chariot was painted gold with red wheels and when the army marched, he carried a banner emblazoned with a dragon in a yellow field.
However, although he was celebrated for his military strategy, he could not keep Yang Kuei-fei from invading his thoughts. Common sense argued that it was dangerous to permit a concubine to wreck his intricately wrought plans. Nevertheless, within his body a battle raged, physical lust fought with lust for power. Even though Yang Kuei-fei was ever near at hand, and found his company stimulating, she belonged to the Emperor. If only she was his, and his alone, he could level mountains, fight the wind or stop the course of the sun. Nothing could block his triumphs, urged on by the sweetness of her smile. He laughed harshly. What use were dreams unless they could be hewn into truth? As it was, the night air was bitter. He longed for stimulation. As though he were drunk, swaying as he walked, he went unto the Palace gardens, the private gardens, to search for Yang Kuei-fei. And there he found her.
Her mood was wistful, pensive, almost sad. He had no way of knowing that she had assumed it hurriedly at his approach.
"Tonight," she sighed, "his Majesty is with Lady Kuo Kuo and I am lonely."
8.
But not all the members of the Yang family were pleased over the advancement of An Lu-shan. ​Kuo-chung attributed his apparent brilliance to false dawn. He scoffed at his ability, ridiculed his sincerity and called him General Clown.
Yang Kuei-fei was highly amused at his antics. "Is my cousin jealous?" she asked, smiling.
"Why should I be jealous of a bloated Tartar?" he asked angrily.
"I'm curious to know."
Her taunting tone lashed him beyond endurance. Loosing his grip on caution, he said, "The whole Court is whispering about you."
She refused to be annoyed. "Why not all China?"
"That, too, will come!"
His tone was offensive. Not even the Emperor addressed her in that manner.
"If it comes through your efforts," she said softly, "you will supply the need for the Yang family to wear white."
Had he gone too far? Perhaps, but he was not dismayed. Yang Kuei-fei had always been clever, artistic, calculating, ambitious but she had never been cruel. He had grown up with her. He remembered how she had wept when storms destroyed flowers; how tenderly she had nursed small birds that had been hurt. By nature she was compassionate. She had no capacity for viciousness. Nevertheless, he was sorry, and his manner changed, for his lovely cousin was very precious to him.
"If ever I do aught to hurt you," he said earnestly, "remorse would cause me to fall upon my sword."
She was touched by his devotion. "I believe in you ​so fervently that the day will come when your position at Court will be second only to that of Emperor."
"Even though I cannot overcome my dislike for An Lu-shan?"
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps An Lu-shan finds it equally hard to overcome his dislike for you. Therefore, despise him if you wish, but abandon jealousy. 'Evil things done in secret are seen in heaven like Hashes of lightning? Our Master tells us that 'the superior man is satisfied and composed, the mean man is always dissatisfied.' Would that your vision were like unto a man standing on a mountain top and not a ricefarmer stooping in a field. An Lu-shan is courageous. As Generalissimo he fills a vital military post. That is where he belongs. But you, my cousin, are like unto a traveler setting out on a long journey. You have far to go. Covet not the fertile fields of others. There is no need."
During the next year, Kuo-chung was altruistic. Though he wallowed in dissipation and excess, he steadfastly avoided criticism of An Lu-shan. But all efforts to trust An Lu-shan proved fruitless. He felt as though he were ploughing barren land.
Kuo-chung was not a profound thinker, but so much time did he spend with Lady Kuo Kuo surreptitiously, it improved his reasoning. Anything beyond his comprehension, he discussed with her and she smoothed it out. Kuo Kuo preferred to remain in the background. As long as she was one of the Emperor's concubines and was able to retain Kuo-chung as an admirer, she ​asked nothing more. She even remained good friends with her former husband whom she visited occasionally. Kuo Kuo drank deeply of life and enjoyed its full flavor. She was one of the few women of the Court who never found enjoyment in playing practical jokes on the Generalissimo. She considered him unattractive, and slightly repulsive. Though perhaps this was merely an attitude to please Kuo-chung. If that were the case it achieved its purpose.
Kuo-chung could not help feeling that the Tartar was insidious. Hungrily he snatched at every crumb of information he was able to glean from other Court officers. He also talked with wandering minstrels, necromancers and itinerant story-tellers who drifted to the outermost fringe of the Empire.
And it happened, that in time he heard about An Lu-shan's magnificent golden chariot, a chariot worthy of an Emperor, drawn by four black, full-blooded Arabian horses; and of the Imperial Dragon banner unfurled so brazenly. Yes, there could be no doubt. The Empire was threatened by a very grave danger, an internal enemy who was a welcome guest at the Imperial Palace.
One night when he had been drinking, he found sudden courage. He confided his suspicions to the Emperor as they sat in bamboo chairs on the Peony Terrace, and a lazy moon yawned in the clear blue sky.
"Your Majesty," he faltered, "I am disturbed by occurrences that may be striking at the very roots of China. It is never a pleasant duty to kindle the fire of ​suspicion, but I feel that I would be failing in loyalty to my Emperor if I did not do so."
"Speak freely," said Ming Huang casually. He was in no mood to hear confessions, even confessions of cowardice; neither was he anxious to become involved in a long wrangle about intrigue and subversive activities. His long reign had taught him that if a man has grain, the rats gather; but there is little cause for concern when there are so many cats to fatten upon them. He wondered why Kuo-chung did not carry His worries to Li Lin-fu who so ably was carrying the heaviest burden of government. However one phrase of Kuo-chung's lent itself to meditation.
"The roots of China," he repeated thoughtfully. "The roots of China travel far and are buried very deep."
"I have a theory that an esteemed member of the Court is plotting the destruction of the Empire."
Ming Huang roused from his lethargy. But he did not seem unduly alarmed.
"No country with its roots firmly implanted can ever be annihilated. The peasants and their land are one. They walk with bare feet in new-ploughed soil. Together they hunger in drought and feast when seed is plentiful. To conquer such a country, it is not enough to level the houses and slay the people. The earth itself must be destroyed."
"Your Majesty speaks with singular wisdom; notwithstanding, even the strongest government may be agitated by rebellion."
​"Rebellion is an unpleasant word. How dare you utter it in my presence?"
"That you may be warned. The creeper lives by twining itself around the tree."
"Granted, though you seem to have overlooked the fact that if the tree falls, the creeper dies."
"And if the creeper yearned to be a tree?"
"It is easy to convince a wise man but to reason with a fool is a difficult undertaking."
Kuo-chung remained calm, nor betrayed by the slightest expressional change that he was offended.
"Even a fool may love his country."
Ming Huang's anger ebbed. It was too much of an effort, besides Yang Kuo-chung was Yang Kuei-fei's cousin.
"May I inquire who is planning this revolt?"
"One whose courage you have honored—An Lu-shan."
"Impossible! He is like my own son."
"A traitorous son."
Ming Huang turned to Kao Li-shih. "Find An Lu-shan. Tell him to come here at once."
An Lu-shan was with Yang Kuei-fei. He was not difficult to find. However, he was somewhat angry at being disturbed. But even a Generalissimo must not oppose the wishes of his Emperor.
Ming Huang smiled as he beheld An Lu-shan approaching.
"Grave charges have been made against you," he said.
​The Generalissimo remained unruffled. "If it is to a charge of ugliness, I plead guilty."
"The charge is far more serious than that."
An Lu-shan's eyes never wavered, but Kuo-chung imagined he seemed inordinately alert as His Majesty continued: "News has come to me that you are planning a rebellion."
An Lu-shan forgot dignity. He threw back his head and laughed uproariously, laughed until the tears splashed down his cheeks and the echo of his ribald laughter careened like thunder throughout the garden.
Finally, he managed to control himself sufficiently to ask, "Against whom?"
"Against China."
An Lu-shan became grave at once. "If your Majesty believes that," he said huskily, "I request that I be relieved of my command."
"A preposterous charge," said the Emperor. "I sent for you that you might be informed of the rumors that are being circulated. But tell me, is it true that you ride in a golden chariot with red wheels?"
"Oh yes," was the quick reply. "To inspire my men. An army should look up to its leader."
Ming Huang smiled. "Perhaps I should procure a similar chariot to inspire my generals. Another charge is that you carry an Imperial banner."
"That, too, is true. Am I not your son?"
An Lu-shan's frankness impressed the Emperor. He regretted that he had even deigned to listen to chatter as silly as that of magpies.
​"Yes, you are my son," he said with considerable emotion, "and if there be fault, it is mine. It is but right that you should carry an Imperial banner for since you are my son, you are a Prince. From today forth, you shall have the title of Prince of the second class."
Such was An Lu-shan's surprise, he could not speak. He bowed before the Emperor, touching his forehead to the ground.
Kuo-chung tried to swallow his chagrin. He walked away disgusted, not even bothering to ask permission to leave the Imperial presence. He had indeed been a fool to meddle. That night he got very drunk. Even Lady Kuo Kuo could not control him.
By law, the title of second class Prince was reserved solely for members of the Imperial family.
When Yang Kuei-fei heard of the incident, she laughed merrily, and for two reasons—because Kuo-chung was so droll, but far more important, because she need not be deprived of the stimulating company of An Lu-shan. Had he been banished or imprisoned, the Palace would have seemed a dreary desolate place despite its color, music and grandeur. Kuo-chung by attempting to ruin the Generalissimo had brought about his elevation to the rank of Prince.
9.
An extravagant year melted away under the languor of Imperial complacency. Once more it was Li Ch'un, the "Beginning of Spring." In Changan, fire-crackers boomed ear-splittingly, a prelude to the Lantern ​Festival with all its magic music, fragrance of jewels and music of color. The jovial crowds in Lantern Street slowed traffic to snail-pace.
On the evening of the fifteenth, when "The Feast of Lanterns" reached its peak and even the moon was in carnival spirit, Yang Kuei-fei, accompanied by the Emperor and An Lu-shan, mingled with the populace in the crowded lanes of the gaudily decorated bazaars. She wore a veil so that her identity might not be discovered. As for the Emperor and An Lu-shan, nothing in their costumes suggested that they were other than rich farmers or prosperous merchants.
Though Yang Kuei-fei was unaware of it, her high position at Court had considerably advanced the importance of girl babies. Always the T'angs wished for sons, but it is not true that they were cruel to their daughters. Now, however, girl babies had won some measure of equality with their brothers. The people said, "Be not glad at the birth of a son nor sad at the birth of a daughter; the sovereign regards a woman as a door lintel."
That night everyone carried a lantern. Throughout the Empire ten million lanterns burned. There were even small lanterns for children. Yang Kuei-fei's lantern was formed like a red hibiscus flower, Ming Huang's a peony, while An Lu-shan's resembled a willow-tree. In the streets were lanterns of every variety, shape and hue. They glittered in the distance like fireflies.
​"Tonight," said Ming Huang, "the stars of earth twinkle more brilliantly than the stars in the sky."
"But not more brilliantly than the stars in the eyes of Yang Kuei-fei," said An Lu-shan gallantly.
She squeezed his arm in ecstasy.
"You are right," the Emperor agreed. "The stars copy the glory of her eyes, even as flowers mirror her beauty and butterflies flutter in her fragrance."
"Yes," Yang Kuei-fei thought, "it is indeed a joyous night."
When they grew tired, they hired sedan chairs, dispensing with them when their weariness vanished. On such a night no one could spare the time for rest. And it happened that eventually they found themselves at Indigo Bridge which for centuries had been a symbol of romance, since the day when the youth, Wei Sheng Kao, had a rendezvous with his beloved beneath the bridge. Suddenly the waters rose but he would not leave, preferring death to abandonment of his sacred tryst. And so the waters closed over his head and he was drowned. Ever afterward, sweethearts burned tapers to his memory.
"Would you die for me?" Yang Kuei-fei asked her companions.
"Willingly," replied An Lu-shan. "Oceans could bear down upon my shoulders and I would make no complaint."
Ming Huang was more reserved. "I live for you," he said; "is that not far better?"
​"I will climb to the sky," cried An Lu-shan, "and get you the moon!"
"I lay China at your feet," said the Emperor, "and that includes all beneath the sun."
She looked at him and smiled. "Having China," she whispered, "what use have I for moons?"
10.
They were days of enchantment. Only Yang Kuo-chung was miserable. He had been struck down by his own suspicions. An Lu-shan was in better favor than ever. Now he was a Prince. Stubbornly Kuo-chung refused to admit he was not also a traitor. Though he cast no aspersions on his beloved cousin, Yang Kuei-fei, it angered him to listen to the gossip that invaded the Court. He tried desperately not to believe that Yang Kuei-fei and An Lu-shan were associating in complete intimacy, but he failed. They made no attempt to hide the fact from anyone. Apparently the Emperor was not opposed to their association, for he frequently dined with them in her apartments. Why should a General of the army gain such astounding privileges? She called him her son. If that were to be taken as truth then his pursuit of her bordered on the incestuous.
Without the help of Lady Kuo Kuo, he might have succumbed to dissipation, but with her as a brake, he managed to retain some control over his faculties. It never struck him as droll that his actions paralleled those of An Lu-shan. Each of them had become infatuated with one of the Emperor's concubines.
​All through the year, Kuo-chung nursed his doubts, and there was much, more robust than rumor, for them to feed on. Late one night, without apparent cause, the huge arsenal at Changan was destroyed and the flames spouted into the sky like a volcano. It was odd that the destruction had been so quick and thorough. Even before the jugglers, the acrobats, the tight-rope walkers, and the magicians had time to go into their acts to divert the Fire-God, he had already devoured the building and its contents, more than three hundred and seventy thousand individual weapons.
An Lu-shan had been with the Emperor when the alarm was sounded. He rushed at once to the scene. His anger was acute and he shouted threats of vengeance on the perpetrators of this outrage. So extreme was his violence, he frightened the acrobats who thereupon deserted the scene. A tight-rope walker fell off the wire and fractured his shoulder. Nevertheless, the commotion had little effect on the Fire-God who finally departed, leaving nothing but a smouldering heap of ruins.
Kuo-chung remained at the Palace. He wanted no part in the excitement.
If An Lu-shan were actually planning rebellion, this holocaust could be set down as something akin to a major victory, for to add luster to it, he had a perfect alibi. He was with the Emperor when the mysterious conflagration started. There was, however, no one to swear that a few of his hundred and fifty thousand warriors were not in the vicinity.
​Within a month, the debris had been carted away and the incident was all but forgotten. What need was there for extensive armament when China was the mightiest Empire in the world? No other country would dare threaten its security.
11.
As that year drew to a close, Li Lin-fu breathed the vapors of death and expired. For nineteen years he had been an official, and for a large part of that time Premier. Ming Huang and An Lu-shan were desolated. They stood over his body, bowed with grief. But the populace of Changan was little troubled by the fact that the Prime Minister had hung up his hat.
Kuo-chung was gratified, and for the first time in many months he smiled. "Li Lin-fu was a vile creature," he said, and with good reason, for the Premier had been responsible for An Lu-shan's presence at the Court.
There were other reasons for the epithet, reasons that were beyond Kuo-chung's comprehension, for it was largely through Li Lin-fu's instigation that the Court had fallen into decadence. He had urged the Emperor on to fantastic excesses, for in the weakness of Ming Huang lay his greatest strength.
Li Lin-fu had been subtle and ambitious, cold, calculating and without mercy if anything challenged his power. Numerous instances of his cunning were written in Court annals, including the case of one of his close relatives, Wei Chien, a native of Wannien in Shensi. Through the connivance of the Premier, Wei Chien ​was elevated to the post of President of the Board of Punishments. Later Li Lin-fu became apprehensive because of his increasing influence and forthwith accused him of conspiracy to place the heir apparent upon the throne after forcing Ming Huang's abdication. Unceremoniously, Chien was banished and a Censor was entrusted with the task of putting him to death.
Li Lin-fu had hated Chang Kui-ling who had written "The Golden Mirror of Precepts for the Sovereign's Birthday." Kui-ling stood for righteousness, which was enough to encourage the Premier to smear him with the mold of hatred. Then, too, Kui-ling was fearless. He flayed Li Lin-fu with flashes of wisdom, that bit into the flesh like steel blades. "The plough-ox has no grass for its evening meal, while the barn-rat has enough grain and to spare. . . . If you would contract you must first expand. If you would weaken, you must first strengthen. If you would take, you must first give. . . . The convictions of the meanest man cannot be taken from him. . . . Men long for flowers before they have bloomed and mourn for them when they are gone. How much greater must their grief be for the unplucked flower of opportunity. . . . A plausible tongue and a fascinating expression are seldom associated with true virtue. . . . Even the cruel wind has a pleasing smile. . . . He who goes contrary to virtue will be destroyed."
Li Lin-fu was outraged. He did everything in his power to pry Kui-ling away from the Emperor's favor, and for a brief period he succeeded in causing him to be banished on trumped up charges. However, Kui-ling ​soon returned to favor. Though Ming Huang had slipped from the position of virtuous ruler into the depths of debauchery, he had not relinquished all semblance of justice and common-sense. In due course, Kui-ling returned to the Palace, nor was his position in any way besmirched.
By way of greeting, he said to Li Lin-fu, "Though a snake get into a bamboo tube it is hard to change its wriggling disposition."
That evening, even tea had a bitter taste to the Premier. He tried to reflect calmly, but reflection had an ugly face. If Kui-ling had succeeded in diverting the forces of Ming Huang once more toward good government, his position as Prime Minister would have been but nominal. Only a weak Emperor needs a strong prime minister. For Li Lin-fu, power was a drug. It revitalized him into astounding energy. Nevertheless, Kui-ling remained, a thorn in his side that he could not get rid of. And because Kui-ling was so steadfast, honors were heaped upon him. It was a stimulating novelty to discover such a man among Court officials. There had been a noteworthy occasion when Kui-ling had warned the Emperor of the perfidious conduct of An Lu-shan. The incident had caused so little impression on the mind of Ming Huang that before the day's end no trace of it remained. Not even when months later Kuo-chung made similar charges did he recall the warning of Kui-ling. He had so absolute a faith in An Lu-shan, no onslaught of words could shake it.
But Li Lin-fu remembered and resented the ​interference of Kui-ling. For that reason he was immensely gratified by Kui-ling's death shortly afterward. He had been mulling over the thought of arranging to have his enemy drink wine into which had been mixed the deadly poison of the shui-mang plant. However, death had relieved him of the trouble. He could afford to be gracious. Nor did he oppose the period of mourning, which Ming Huang proclaimed to venerate the memory of so benevolent a man.
Now Li Lin-fu, too, was dead. He had been envied by Kuo-chung. But Kuo-chung pretended that his grief was difficult to assuage. He was well aware that though stains can be wiped from an ivory fan, on the tongue they last forever.
That night the Emperor passed with Yang Kuei-fei. "In the golden furnace of your body," he murmured, "our lives have blended, our hearts beat as one, our blood is a common stream."
Cares vanished at the touch of her fingertips. There was little time for sleeping, even though outside the gauze window the wind was playing a slumber song in the tall bamboo.
"It is playing my love for you," said the Emperor.
As dawn filtered through the gauze window panes, a new Prime Minister was appointed—Kuo-chung, the dissolute cousin of Yang Kuei-fei.
She was so elated, she chanted the words of an old song:
"The bright sun rises over the Eastern mountains, A new glory re-awakens the earth to the impulses of spring; The pink peach flowers open to the light; The yellow bamboos wave in the gentle breeze."
The Emperor scarcely heard the words so acute was his weariness but the echo of her voice was pleasant. He was all but sleeping as he whispered, "The people's hearts and heaven's decree are one."
12.
Kuo-chung assumed the duties of Premier with keen elation marred somewhat by a tincture of regret because he had all but depleted his natural forces. So acutely did he feel the cold, he was forced to wear three coats when it was only one coat weather. No longer could he have the plumpest ladies of his seraglio grouped about him that he might draw warmth from their firm young bodies. Such a procedure would have been absurd. As Prime Minister he must give the impression of rugged strength. Certain eunuchs spread rumors that he had the endurance of a tiger. For this service, each was rewarded with a bolt of silk. The silk came from the treasuries of the Empire.
An Lu-shan laughed heartily at the preposterous assertion.
"If Kuo-chung is a tiger," he said, "he must come from a district flayed by famine."
13.
Kuo-chung developed a craftiness that somewhat made up for his physical weakness—aided by several of the more degraded eunuchs who had no pride of Empire. They lusted for power, now that they knew that opportunity was open to them. The year before, while Li Lin-fu was still Premier, a eunuch had been sent as an envoy to the Court of King Chipin in India to take the place of the Priest Wu-k'ung who had resigned because of illness. Kuo-chung's friendship with the eunuchs can only be explained by the fact that, conscious of weakness, he was able to feel strong only in the presence of these poor unfortunates who were beyond desire.
It was not long before eunuchs employed by Kuo-chung were openly declaring that Li Lin-fu had plotted high treason with a Turkic chief and that only his death had stifled the smouldering fire. It was a daring procedure. Even Yang Kuei-fei feared for Kuo-chung's safety. She could not bear to think of the terrible retribution An Lu-shan would exact when he discovered the true instigator of this attack on his dead friend, who had been his sponsor at the Court.
Strangely enough, An Lu-shan did nothing, nor did he seem at all perturbed. He walked with Yang Kuei-fei in the garden of the Palace. She wore a red rose in her hair because it was his favorite flower.
She could not help discussing the rumors about Li Lin-fu.
​He yawned.
"Are you not angry?" she asked.
"I am a man of peace," he said blandly, "and so I always prepare for war. When I am honored, I think of dishonor. The peaceful man preserves silence; in smooth water there is no current."
He aroused her curiosity. His attitude, though apparently careless, seemed studied.
He yawned again, a trifle too deliberately. She was provoked. Never before had he sought to evade her questions. Was he tiring of her? She brushed the thought away. She had ample reason to know that to even suspect such a thing was ridiculous. Her conquest of the Generalissimo was absolute.
Something of her thoughts must have shown in her expression, for he said, "No matter how great the affair; when it is passed, it is a mere trifle."
"But is the dishonoring of your friend's name a mere trifle?" she burst out, thoughtlessly.
Surely An Lu-shan could not be afraid of the meager Kuo-chung yet apparently he sought to side-step this issue.
"Though I looked up to Li Lin-fu," he said, "my allegiance is to China and my Emperor. If the Premier before his death was embroiled in subversive activities, then he was no friend of mine. Though I have opposed your cousin in a jocular manner, I willingly join forces with him against unknown enemies."
Yang Kuei-fei was convinced. She had been wise when she had furthered Kuo-chung's elevation to ​Premier. She was proud of him, proud for the House of Yang. Now perhaps those other distant members of the clan with whom he had never been popular would alter their opinions.
She was happy, happy beyond reason, so happy that later when she was with Ming Huang, he remarked upon it. Then she told him of her conversation with An Lu-shan. The Emperor wept as he listened. It was not good to think of the perfidy of Li Lin-fu who had served the Court so long. But in face of the attitude of the two people he treasured most on earth, Yang Kuei-fei and An Lu-shan, there could be no doubt of the guilt of Li Lin-fu.
The next morning, at a meeting of the Imperial Court, the Emperor commanded that Li Lin-fu be stripped of all honors, that his coffin be cut open and exchanged for a small one that was to be buried in a common grave.
For Kuo-chung, it was a major victory, nor did he know that in the silence of his own quarters at the Palace, where there was no one to see, Ming Huang wept.
14.
Kuo-chung, the tiger, was beginning to believe the legend that he himself had created. He looked around for new fields for conquest. His search was soon rewarded. His eunuch advisors shrewdly pointed out that for over twenty years spurious coin had been in free circulation throughout the Empire. They explained to him how he might wisely limit its circulation. ​Kuo-chung listened, amazed at their sagacity. And so it came about that before long, trusted representatives of the Premier were stealthily raiding those establishments where previous research had disclosed the presence of counterfeit currency. These raiding parties seldom provoked opposition, for they were feared to a point that verged on terror. No one knew that they never prosecuted the culprits. Content were they merely to confiscate the coin.
Large amounts were thus collected. Later Kuo-chung arranged to pay all bills of the Palace with the currency, including the salaries of envoys and members of the Imperial troops. But the men of An Lu-shan were paid with legal tender, after a paymaster had been deprived of his clothes in the cold of winter. When he reached the nearest house it took him hours to thaw out before a fire.
This was a setback to Kuo-chung, but he let it pass. He knew that if he tried the scheme again, An Lu-shan might go directly to the Emperor with his complaints. Even the position of Prime Minister was not so high that he could not fall from it.
Nevertheless, within a year he was fabulously rich. Then suddenly the bubble burst. Yang Kuei-fei heard what was happening. In fury she summoned Kuo-chung to her apartments. But her voice was disarmingly gentle as she spoke.
"I have heard that you have made a fortune through judicious manipulation of counterfeit coin."
Kuo-chung found ease at once. She wasn't angry, ​there was even a faint smile on her lips. Readily he admitted his perfidy.
"Oh, yes," he said, "I am now the richest member of the House of Yang." He tried unsuccessfully not to appear boastful. "Of course, my dear cousin," he hastened to add, "I have set aside a large portion of my profits for you."
"Most thoughtful," said she. "I am deeply interested."
"Had you not placed me in power, I could not have contrived so intriguing a scheme."
"Why did you not mention it to me before this, since I, too, am to share the benefits?"
"I wanted to surprise you."
"That you have done."
"I knew that you always sought promotion for those officers who bestowed upon you the most expensive presents."
"But never when they were not worthy of promotion."
"How about An Lu-shan?" he asked slyly. However, at once he was sorry for his impudence for there seemed to be sharp swords in her eyes.
"An Lu-shan," she said curtly, "is the most efficient General in all of China. His troops are the best trained."
"In order to be capable of starting a rebellion!" he blurted out.
"Or to protect the Empire from invasion."
"It is my belief that An Lu-shan has visions of being Emperor of China."
​"What stock can anyone put in the opinion of a scoundrel who deals in counterfeit coin?"
He was shocked by the vehemence of her tone.
"You are angry?" he gasped.
"Outraged is a better word. If you were not my cousin, I would request the President of the Board of Punishments to prepare a draught of gold for you."
"You would have me swallow gold?" He was horror-stricken.
"Willingly if it could cleanse the name of Yang. But you are my cousin and I cannot bring death upon a member of my House. I can, however, make you a solemn promise that if within the month you have not ceased handling such degrading currency, I'll move heaven itself to banish you from Changan. You have the highest office of any member of the Court, the highest office the Emperor is able to bestow; administer it as though you were a Prime Minister."
15.
Kuo-chung was dismayed and badly frightened. It was the first time in his life that Yang Kuei-fei had talked to him so violently. But there was no doubt in his mind that she was sincere. She was far more sincere than he had ever given her credit for being, despite her unfortunate association with An Lu-shan.
In his distress he turned to the army. Since she had shown interest in military leaders, he too would prove his worth as an army leader. He fortunately had once been a member of the Chinese army stationed at ​barracks in Szechwan. Though he had no endurance, and was a miserable leader, he had been promoted to a position of authority because of the influence at Court of the Yang family. His Uncle had always been admired because of the elegance of his person, and because he bestowed gifts of the finest almonds upon all whom he trusted or could use. He was friendly, tolerant, lazy and ambitious. Though his bill for almonds was large, it was not nearly as enormous as the homage he exacted.
Kuo-chung speculated in delusion. He would prove that in military leadership he could parallel even the robust An Lu-shan. What he lacked in physical stature would more than be offset by the power of his strategy. He would rule an army greater even than that of An Lu-shan and he would do it without leaving the Palace. From a sheltered spot in the perfumed gardens, where the breeze was gentle, he would devise a plan that would astound the world.
In his new found love of country, he had the grace to regret his disastrous venture into trading in counterfeit coin. It may be that his most acute distress was in being found out.
It was an error of judgment, nothing more. He had not meant to harm anyone. He was an adept at believing what he wished to believe.
"Among mortals," he mused, "who is faultless?"