# Rare Earth/Chapter 21

Chapter XXI
And Lotus Blossom, where was she? Had that rare personality ceased to be or had her body crumpled to dust in the soil like old flower petals. Did she live again in this garden? Was there some flower that was in sooth the ghost of Lotus Blossom even as Hung Long Tom had written years before in his poem, "The Mystic Rose?" What use life, beauty, love if they are finite, fading away like shadows before the dawn? Is not beauty itself immortal? Can the perfume of a flower ever vanish? Perhaps it goes on and on, up to the heights, to the very stars. Oh, the awful riddle of existence? What is the reason for anything?
​And Hung Long Tom walked alone through the garden. He was seeking, seeking. There was so much that must be found. And perhaps that is true of all of us. We go forward day by day in perpetual hunger, hungering for something we know not what. The banker sits in his office beset by uncountable worries, longing to be free, to get off for a few days fishing, to wear overalls and to give his pompous expression a rest. The laborer hungers to be a master, the sailor, a captain. And so on without cessation. Someone has said that business is an octopus, it destroys everyone it clutches. It is questionable whether its intrinsic value offsets the havoc it has wrought Hunger, hunger, the one craving from which we cannot escape be we tatterdemalion or king. Hunger is the driving force that moves the world, hunger for knowledge of the universe, hunger to know more about the far places of the earth, hunger for beauty, hunger for something that has less substance than cobwebs glistening in the sun. When man ceases to be hungry he dies. The will to live is gone. ​In the case of Scobee it was hunger for light, he was starving in blackness.
Softly, slowly Hung Long Tom walked to the tree beneath which he had laid the fragile body of his beloved in the long ago. He scarcely breathed, so great was his agitation. It had been here that he had bade her goodbye forever. In what far sphere would he meet her again? The breeze trembled in the willows. Throughout the garden there seemed to be a subtle whispering. Were the flowers conversing with each other? It is said that the voice of a flower is perfume. Was the night so still he could hear the perfume-songs? Or was that murmuring merely the vagrant breeze playing about the garden?
On such a night it was quite easy to believe in spiritual things.
During his sojourn in Canton, Scobee met many odd and interesting personalities. Such a one was Loo Zoo who came from North China. He was a rug merchant with headquarters in Peking which has ever been the centre of the Chinese rug industry. Many are ​also made at Tientsin but Peking offers far more variety. The finest are made from the wool of Mongolian sheep. The strands are not dyed, nor can they be imitated with any degree of exactitude. Loo Zoo was one of the most renowned of all living rug merchants. In his vast shops and warehouses could be found rose, lavender, all shades of blue and yellow rugs. Of course in the majority of them the dragon and phoenix motive predominated. Though the gingko tree was prominent in a large number for this tree is the oldest living thing on earth. It goes back beyond the known existence of any other tree or plant. It was ancient at man's advent on earth. Once it grew wild in many sections of the globe but now it is only known as a cultivated tree. Sometimes it has a girth of twenty or thirty feet and its spread is enormous. Of all trees it is the only one that never has a dead branch. Although so old, it is ever young. Years mean nothing to it for it never dies perhaps that is why it is associated with holiness and enchantment and is usually found near temples.
​It was the custom of Loo Zoo to have special rugs woven for his friends. Sometimes he included in the design a written picture by Tu Fu, Wang Wei or Li T'ai-Po. It was rumored that he also had special rugs which he caused to be woven for his enemies in which were potent spells and fragrant curses. But always Loo Zoo denied this.
"Of the personages of the world," he often said, "I am the least Naught have I of enemies. Humanity is my unstinted friend."
Loo Zoo was a queer personality. Tall, gracious, bland. His face was fat and perfectly blank. His deep-sunken eyes, shrewd and penetrating. He wore elegant clothes of blue silk or satin, trimmed with yellow. Without exception he carried a fan of sandalwood, sweet-smelling, set with ivory and jewels. For each day of the lunar year he had a separate fan which he waved constantly to keep evil spirits away. A fan to him was like a spiritscreen. Another of his affectations was an inordinate love of clocks which is a Chinese eccentricity. For time they have no regard ​whatsoever. Hours or minutes what matter? But time-pieces themselves are highly regarded not because they give such good service but because they are universally considered objects d'art. So was it with Loo Zoo. He had clocks from every quarter of the globe. Gold and silver clocks, ivory clocks, mahogany, oak, ebony, brass clocks. Water clocks, cuckoo clocks, ship's clocks. Guests who stopped for a night at his palace at Peking were constantly awakened throughout the night by the booming of the endless clocks in the sombre, musk-scented halls.
Loo Zoo never passed through Canton without stopping for a moment at least at the garden.
"Some day," he meditated, "I shall make an amber rug that will outshine all jewels in splendor."
Loo Zoo was jealous of the fine collection of jewels which the father of Hung Long Tom had left. They were more colorful than his rugs. They contained more warmth and fire. Nor was he aware that they were less colorful ​than the fragile flowers that bloomed in the garden. Loo Zoo hated the jewels but always he came back. He could not escape their allure. Nor did he suggest by word or manner that he resented their radiance. Incessantly he remained the cultured, affable gentleman. Poor indeed is he who wears his mind upon his sleeve that all may read. Ideas, opinions are things to keep hidden within one's body. A man that is easy to read is a pitiful object. No matter how vast his wealth may be, unto him a coolie is a king. For at least the expression of a coolie is inscrutable. He has learned the important lesson of submerging his personality. A man is only as great as his hobbies for therein lies the single spark of his individuality that he may with discretion proclaim to the world.
One morning in the garden Loo Zoo stopped to talk with Scobee. Hung Long Tom had acquainted him with Scobee's condition and he had requested that he converse with him. Loo Zoo who loved to study rugs, the color and weave and exquisite design, who ​lived so utterly for the sense of sight was nonplused. What could he say to this boy who was so badly in need of solace?
"Man," said Loo Zoo, "is possessed of a certain sum of attributes and accomplishments. Let us say the sum is ten. There are five senses: touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing. In all cases the sum adds up to ten. In the average individual the unit is two. But deprive man of his sight or hearing for instance and the ratio changes. The sum you must know always remains ten. In order to equalize things, perhaps his taste unit is increased to three, and the sense of touch to three. Or it may be this extra power all goes to one sense and his sense of touch for example becomes four. Your sight is not lost. The sum power of your senses has not decreased at all. But the sight unit has been merged with some other unit. You should strive to learn which sense has thereby increased in power."
Scobee liked Loo Zoo. He was impressed by the quaint trend of his reasoning. He spoke English fluently for he was a renowned trader ​and much of his dickering was done in the English tongue.
"Before you leave China," he said, "you must visit me for a few moons at my home in Peking. I believe there is sufficient of interest there to prevent your stay from being irksome. China, you must know, is a mighty rug of which Peking is the centre. If a man is to be saved from the wrath of Dragon Gods, Spirits of Earth, of Air, of Fire, escape only can be found by seeking the centre of the rug, by making sacrifices to spirits of unknown forces. For China will be China when all the earth falls back to ruins, even as China was China before the cities of men outside had come into being. China is a rug of which all else on earth is the fringe. China is a rug of which Peking is the jewel that illumines the centre."
During his few remaining days in Canton, Loo Zoo passed a large part of his time with Scobee. He was sorry for the boy and somehow drawn to him. Scobee was interested in his quaint line of reasoning. He, too, like ​Scobee was searching for something, something elusive, intangible. He was not quite certain what it could be. He wished his rugs to glow as jewels, to retain their fire endlessly as does the diamond. Perhaps he was searching for some divine fire to illumine his own life. He was rich, his holdings were large. Wealth was not a source of worry. Yet he was not happy. He was envious of the jewels that were on exhibition in the house in that Chinese garden. He had learned much, acquired a fortune, his warehouses were immense but the one defect of envy he could not banish from his cosmos. And although Scobee was inordinately interested in him and liked to pass long hours in his company, there was little of real worth that he could learn from Loo Zoo.