At that moment the emperor came in to greet the empress, who sent the princess and Ch’iung-pei into another room. She said: ‘I arranged that Yang Shao-yu’s wedding gifts should be returned so that he could marry the princess, but this has made a bad impression. Now the Cheng family themselves would never accept that their daughter should be made a wife of equal status with the princess, and it would be cruel to make her become a concubine. I have had her here today and she is entirely worthy in looks and ability to become the princess’s sister. I want to make her my daughter and marry her to Shao-yu along with the princess. What do you think about it?’
The emperor was very pleased, and congratulated her. He said: ‘There is nobody like you. You are unbelievably wise.’
The empress called Ch’iung-pei to meet the emperor, who made her come up to the dais and, turning to the empress, said: ‘Now that she is my sister, ought she to go on wearing ordinary clothes?’
The empress said: ‘Since you have issued no edict on the matter, she has politely declined ceremonial robes.’
The emperor ordered the lady secretaries to bring a roll of crimson silk paper with a phoenix pattern on it. It was fetched by Ch’in Ts’ai-feng. As the emperor raised his brush and was about to start writing, he turned to the empress and asked: ‘If she is to be made a princess, ought I to give her our family name?’
The empress replied: ‘I should have liked to do that, but the Chengs are old people and they have no other children. It would be a pity if there were nobody to carry on the old minister’s family name, so it would be a kindness to let her keep her own surname.’
The emperor wrote in large characters: ACCEDING TO THE WISH OF HER MAJESTY THE EMPRESS-DOWAGER, I HEREBY CREATE CHENG CH’IUNG-PEI THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER OF HER IMPERIAL MAJESTY AND DECREE THAT SHE SHALL HENCEFORTH BE KNOWN AS THE PRINCESS YING-YANG.
When he had finished writing it, he sealed it with the imperial seal and gave it to Ch’iung-pei, and ordered the ladies-in-waiting to dress her in her royal robes. Ch’iung-pei descended from the dais and offered her thanks. The emperor then decided the order of precedence between the two princesses. Ying-yang was a year older than Lan-yang, but refused to take precedence. The empress said: ‘Ying-yang is now my daughter. There can be no argument about their ages, and we cannot change the order of their birth.’
Ying-yang bowed her head low, and said: ‘Today’s order of precedence cannot be changed later. Should we not be very careful about it?’
The Princess Lan-yang said: ‘In the time of the Spring and Autumn Annals the wife of Chao Shuai, although she was the daughter of Duke Wen of Chin, gave up the first place to the first wife to be chosen. How much more should I give place to my elder sister? I cannot see that there is any question.’
But Ying-yang persisted in declining. In the end the empress ordered that it would be settled according to age, and from that time onward, she was known as Princess Ying-yang to everybody in the palace. The empress showed the two princesses’ poems to the emperor. He praised them and said: ‘They are both good, but Ying-yang’s poem is inspired by the Songs of Chao and the South in the Book of Songs, where the peach-flowers and magpies are bridal symbols, and she gives the honor to Lan-yang, which is very courteous of her.’
The empress said: ‘How right you are.’
Then the emperor said: ‘You love Ying-yang so much, I never saw anything like it before. Now, I have a favor to ask of you too.’
Then he told her about the lady secretary, Ch’in Ts’ai-feng: ‘Although her father was executed for a crime, her ancestors were all loyal subjects and I should like to treat her kindly and let her become a secondary wife to the chancellor when the princesses are married. Will you be kind to her too, and allow this?’
The empress looked at the two princesses, and Lan-yang said: ‘She told me her story some time ago. We are now close friends and do not want to be parted. Even though you have not ordered it, this is what I want.’
The empress called Ch’in Ts'ai-feng and said to her: ‘The princess wants you to stay with her for the rest of your lives, so I am appointing you as a secondary wife to Chancellor Yang. In the future you must be even more assiduous in repaying the princess’s kindness.’
Ts’ai-feng was overcome and burst into tears. When she had managed to express her thanks, the empress said: ‘The marriage of the two princesses has been decided on and a happy magpie has come as a good omen for the occasion. Both the princesses have written poems about it. Now you must write one for me too.’ Ts’ai-feng immediately wrote a poem and handed it to the empress:
The happy magpie chatters within the inner palace;
Spring breezes brush the peach blossoms.
She comes peacefully to nest, and will not migrate again:
A few stars are twinkling in the East.
The empress read the verses with the emperor. She was very pleased with them, and said: ‘Even Hsieh Tao-yün, when she wrote about the snow, could not do so well as this, and this poem also has the feeling of the Songs of Chao in the Book of Songs, and distinguishes the duties of wife and concubine, because in the Songs of Chao the magpie’s nest is the bridal bed and the few stars in the east are the contented concubines. It is a very clever poem.’
Princess Lan-yang said: ‘The subject-matter given for this poem is very limiting, and we two had already practically exhausted it. There was nothing to get to work on; as Ts’ao Ts’ao said in his poem on stars and magpies, where he tells of migrating: Three trees stand around, but not a branch to rest on. This is not a very happy saying, and it would be difficult to be inspired by it, but Ts’ai-feng’s poem has drawn on Ts’ao Ts’ao and Tu Fu and the Songs of Chou all at once, yet there is nothing wrong with it. It is almost as though the old poets wrote for her sake.’
The empress said: ‘From olden days there were only four great poetesses: the imperial concubine Pan Chieh-yü, Ts’ai Yen, Cho Wen-chün, and Hsieh Tao-yün; and yet here we have three brilliant poetesses gathered together in one place. It is most auspicious.’
Lan-yang said: ‘Ying-yang’s servant Chia Ch’un-yün is also a clever poetess.’
But it was growing late, and the emperor withdrew to his apartments. The two princesses also retired to sleep in their rooms.
As soon as the first cock crowed next morning, Ying-yang went in to the empress-dowager and requested permission to visit her old home: ‘When I came to the palace, my parents must have been surprised and frightened. Please allow me to go back and see them today and tell my family of your graciousness and my good fortune.’
The empress said: ‘My dear, do you think you can slip away so quickly? However, I have something to speak to your mother about.’ And she sent for Madame Ts’ui to come to court.
The previous day Cheng and his wife had been much relieved to hear what the messenger came to tell them about their daughter going to the palace; now they suddenly received the empress’s command. Madame Ts’ui went to the palace and was received by the empress, who said: ‘We stole your daughter for the sake of Princess Lan-yang’s marriage, but when once I had seen her I was so taken by her beauty that I have adopted her as Lan-yang’s elder sister. I suspect that she was probably my daughter in a former existence, but was reborn in your family. Now that she has become the Princess Ying-yang, she ought really to bear the imperial family name, but I thought of your having no son, so we have not given her a new surname. See how deeply I care about you.’
Madame Ts’ui bowed her head and said: ‘I had one daughter, born late in life. The arrangements for her marriage went wrong and we returned the bridegroom’s presents, and I had no more desire to live. Then the princess began to visit our house and became friendly with my daughter and brought her to the palace. Now you have given us undreamed-of honors, and however devotedly we try to serve you, we shall never be able to repay one part in ten thousand. My husband is an old man and his health is poor. He has resigned from office and I am too old to be useful even as a sweeper in the palace garden. What can we do to show our gratitude? I can only weep for joy.’
She got up, bowed again, then prostrated herself, soaking her sleeves with tears. The empress was deeply touched, and said: ‘Ying-yang is my daughter now, and you cannot take her away again.’
Madame Ts’ui, still bowing, replied: ‘I am only sorry that I cannot meet with her to speak the praises of your kindness.’
The empress smiled and said: ‘After the wedding I shall put Lan-yang in your care too, and you must think of her as I think of Ying-yang.’
She sent for Lan-yang to come and see them and Madame Ts’ui several times excused herself for the impropriety with which she had received the princess when she visited the Cheng household. The empress said: ‘I hear there is a maid in your house named Chia Ch’un- yün. I should like to see her.’
Madame Ts’ui sent for Ch’un-yün, who presented herself in front of the pavilion where they were. The empress thought she was very beautiful, and told her to come forward. She said to her: ‘Lan-yang says that you write good poetry. Will you write a poem now?’
Ch’un-yün bowed and said: ‘How dare I presume to write a poem in front of your majesty? However, I will try. What is the subject?’
The empress showed her the three girls’ verses and said: ‘Will you write something on the same subject?’
Ch’un-yün composed a poem at once and handed it to the empress:
I alone know my joy at this happy news:
Into the palace court I follow the phoenixes.
Spring's thousand blossom-trees fill the royal garden:
I circle thrice; can I not borrow a twig?
The empress read it and showed it to the two princesses, saying: ‘I had no idea she was as good as this.’
Princess Lan-yang said: ‘In this poem she compares herself to the magpie and us sisters to the phoenixes. She has distinguished our roles. In the last verse, where she asks for a twig to nest on, she has taken ideas from Ts'ao Ts’ao’s poem and the Book of Songs and blended them very beautifully: The birds of the air depend upon man, and man pities the birds is an old saying which seems to apply to her.’
She then took Ch’un-yün away to meet Ts’ai-feng. Princess Lan-yang said: ‘This secretary is the daughter of Inspector Ch’in of Hua-yin and she will be spending the rest of her life with you.’
Ch’un-yün replied: ‘Then she must be the one who wrote the Willow Song.’
Ts’ai-feng was startled: ‘Whoever told you about my Willow Song?’ she asked.
Ch’un-yün replied: ‘Minister Yang often thinks of you, and when he does he recites it, and that is how I heard it.’
Ts’ai-feng looked very moved, and said: ‘Then he hasn’t forgotten me.’
Ch’un-yün said: ‘How can you suggest such a thing? He carries the poem with him everywhere and when he looks at it he cries. He sighs when he recites it.’
Ts’ai-feng said: ‘If he still loves me, even though I never see him again, I shall die happy.’
Then she told them how she had received the poem he had written on the silk fan, and Ch’un-yün said: ‘The jewels and ornaments I am wearing are what he won that day.’
They were going to talk of this further, but a eunuch came in and announced that Madame Ts’ui was preparing to leave. The two princesses went to attend on her and seated themselves while the empress said to Madame Ts’ui: ‘Before long Yang Shao-yu will return to the capital and the wedding gifts will be sent back again to your house, but Ying-yang is my daughter and I want my two daughters to have a double wedding. Will you agree to this?’
Madame Ts’ui bowed profoundly and said: ‘I shall follow your decisions.’
The empress laughed and said: ‘Chancellor Yang has three times resisted me for the sake of Ying-yang, and now I want to tease him. They say that bad omens are lucky. When he comes back, tell him that your daughter has been taken ill and died. In his memorial to the throne, he wrote that he had met her. I want to see whether he recognizes her on the day of the wedding.’
Madame Ts’ui, having received this order, took her leave and went home. Ying-yang accompanied her outside the palace gate, and bowed to her as she left. Then Ying-yang called Ch’un-yün and told her secretly of the plan to fool the chancellor. Ch’un-yün said: ‘I have already pretended to be a fairy and a ghost to fool him; isn’t it going too far to do it again?’
Ying-yang replied: ‘This is not our idea. The empress wants it.’
Ch’un-yün went off stifling her giggles.
At this time Marshal Yang was giving his troops the waters of the Po-lung Lake to drink, and they were getting better and eager for battle again. He called his officers together, gave them their orders, and set out at the sound of the drum. At the same time the Tibetan king, Tsen-po, received the jewel which had been sent by Shen Niao-yen. Because he knew that the marshal’s troops had marched out of the P’an-she valley, he came to the camp in great fear intending to seek terms, but his own generals seized him, bound him, took him to the T’ang camp and surrendered. Yang formed up his troops again and they went into the Tibetan city, where he forbade plundering and pacified the citizens before he went up to the Koulkun mountains and set up a memorial stone with an inscription lauding the power of T’ang. After that he turned his army about and started them toward the capital singing songs of victory. By the time they reached the Chen-chou region, it was already autumn. The landscape was desolate, the sky was grey, the flowers were drooping sadly and the mournful honking of the wild geese made the men feel more homesick. The marshal spent the night in the guest-house, but he could not sleep and the night seemed long. As he lay awake he thought to himself: ‘It is now three years since I left home. My mother’s health cannot be as good as it was. Who will look after her if she is sick? and when shall I be able to greet her again at night and morning? The invasion has been repulsed and I have done what I set out to do, but I have not yet succeeded in fulfilling my wish to look after my mother. This is a serious failure. For several years I have been busy with state affairs, but I have not married, and it has been very difficult to maintain my engagement with Cheng Ch’iung-pei. Now I have brought five thousand leagues of territory back under control, and pacified a million rebels. The emperor will surely give me a high appointment as a reward for all that I have done. If I decline the honors and ask instead to be allowed to marry Cheng’s daughter, I wonder if he will agree?’
He was a little comforted by this thought, and turned his head on the pillow and dozed. In a dream his body was borne up into the air to the Palace of the Seven Treasures that shone in many colors among opalescent clouds. Two ladies-in-waiting came out to meet him and said: ‘Miss Cheng is asking for your excellency.’
He followed them into a wide court full of flowers in bloom. Three fairies dressed like imperial concubines were sitting in a white jade pavilion, surrounded by a glow like pink jade. They leaned on the balustrade, playing with sprays of blossom. When they saw him coming they left their seats and came to meet him. When he was seated the chief of them asked him: ‘Have you been well since we said goodbye?’
He looked at her closely and saw that she was Ch’iung-pei who had talked to him about the lute tunes. In amazement and delight he tried to speak, but the words refused to come. The fairy said: ‘I have now left the world of men and am experiencing the joys of heaven. It makes me sad to think of bygone days, and even if you meet my parents you will hear no news of me.’
Then she pointed to the two fairies beside her and said: ‘This is the fairy princess, the Weaving Maid, and that is the Jade Fairy of the incense. In a previous life they were linked with you. Please do well by them, and I shall ask no more of you.’
He looked at them, but although he knew the two on the lower seats, he could not remember who they were. Suddenly the drum sounded, and he woke with a start to find that it was all a dream. When he thought it over he realized it was not a happy omen. He sighed: Ch’iung-pei must have died. Kuei Ch’an-yüeh’s recommendation and my aunt’s mediation were not providential after all. I have not been able to get married. We have been parted by death. Is this really Heaven’s decree? They say that a bad omen can be lucky. I wonder if that applies to my dream?’
Some time later the advance columns reached the capital, and the emperor himself came out as far as the bridge on the Wei to meet him. Yang was wearing a gilded helmet engraved with phoenixes, and golden armor. He rode a magnificent charger, and waving round him were the white yak-tail on the golden spear, conferred on him by the emperor, and the phoenix and dragon banners. Tsen-po, the King of Tibet, was in a cage on a cart at the front of the troops, and the princes of the thirty-six regions of Tibet, each carrying his tribute gifts, came behind. Nothing like it had been seen before. The marshal dismounted and bowed low, while the emperor raised him with his own hand and spoke kindly to him about his meritorious services. Immediately an edict was published in imitation of what had been done in earlier times in the case of Kuo Fen-yang, granting him a parcel of land and making him prince over it. The marshal tried to decline all these honors, and finally the emperor consented and issued an edict making him simply First Minister of State and Duke of Wei, giving him more presents than can be recorded here. Yang followed the imperial car into the palace, where he formally expressed his thanks. The emperor gave a great victory banquet, and ordered that Yang’s portrait should be placed in the Gryphon Pavilion where the likenesses of famous men were hung.
Afterward Shao-yu left the palace and went to the Cheng house. The household, except for the two old people, were all gathered in the outer court, where they greeted him with bows and offered their congratulations. When he had inquired after the health of old Cheng and his wife, Shih-san replied: ‘My uncle and aunt were keeping well until my cousin’s death. They grieved so. much after that that they became ill, and are now very frail. They were unable to come to the outer court to meet you. Please come with me to the inner quarters.’
When Yang heard this he looked as though he were either drunk or crazy and was unable to speak. When he had pulled himself together, he asked: ‘Which of your cousins is dead?’
Shih-san replied: ‘My uncle never had a son and only had one daughter. Heaven has been very hard with him. Isn’t it pitiful? But when you go in, please try not to look sad.’
Shao-yu was weeping bitter tears, and his sleeves were soaked. Shih-san comforted him: ‘Even if your marriage contract had been as firm as a rock, this family’s luck is so bad that the engagement could not have been fulfilled. Please think of your duty and try to comfort the old people.’
Shao-yu wiped his tears and thanked him. Then they went in together to see Cheng and his wife, who seemed very happy and congratulated him, but never mentioned the death of their daughter, so Shao-yu said: ‘I have the good fortune to have received favor at court, and I have been given many rewards which I wanted to decline, asking the emperor to change his mind and let me fulfil my marriage contract, but the dew of morning has already dried up and the colors of spring have faded. How can I enjoy life now?’
The old man frowned and looked very serious: ‘Today everybody is congratulating you. Please don’t cast a shadow on it.’
Shih-san caught Shao-yu’s eye and he dropped the subject and went out into the garden. Ch’un-yün came down the steps to meet him, and when he saw her she reminded him so much of Ch’iung-pei that he began to weep again. Ch’un-yün knelt down in front of him and tried to comfort him: ‘My lord, you must not be sad today. Dry your tears and listen to me. My mistress was a heavenly spirit who spent a little time among men, and the day that she went back to heaven she said to me: “You must break off with Chancellor Yang and come with me. When I have left the world, if you go back to Yang you will have to part from me. He will soon come back to the city, and if he is sad thinking about me you must tell him that when the wedding gifts were sent back I became like a homeless person, and I was even more distressed over the incident of the lute. If he is too miserable about me, he will be disobeying the emperor and insulting a departed soul. If he offers sacrifices or wails at my grave, that would proclaim me a shameless woman and my rest in the underworld would be disturbed. The emperor is awaiting his return to discuss again the question of his marrying the princess. In the Book of Songs the devotion of the osprey is compared to the virtue of a royal bride. Tell him to obey the royal command and avoid the sin of presumption. That is what I want him to do.” ’
When Shao-yu heard this he felt sadder than ever and said: ‘Even though she left that message I cannot help being sad. If I die ten times I can never repay such generosity of mind.’
Then he told Ch’un-yün about the dream he had had on the way home. She wept and said: ‘There is no doubt that she is in the heavenly city, and later you will meet her there. Do not mourn or you will make yourself ill.’
He asked her: ‘Did she say anything else?’
Ch’un-yün replied: ‘Yes, she did, but it would not be right for me to tell you what it was.’
He urged her: ‘You should not hide it from me. You must tell me what it was.’
Ch’un-yün said: ‘She said to me: “You and I are one person. If he cannot forget me and thinks of you as he thinks of me, and does not cast you off, even though I have gone to the underworld I shall reckon I have been blessed by him.” ’
Shao-yu was even more troubled and said: ‘How could I cast you off? But now I know that she wanted it, even though I were to marry the Weaving Girl of the sky, or have Fu-fei, the spirit of the Lo River for my concubine, I swear I would never cast you off.’
The next day the emperor called Shao-yu and said to him: ‘About this matter of the princess’s marriage, the empress issued a strict edict and I was very worried, but now the Cheng girl is dead and so the complications have disappeared. We have been waiting for your return so that we can celebrate the princess’s wedding. You are still very young, you are of very high rank and you ought to be married. As Duke of Wei you need a wife in order to perform the ancestral sacrifices correctly. I have already prepared a place for you to live in the palace after your wedding, and am simply waiting for the day to be fixed. Now will you agree?’
Shao-yu kowtowed and said: ‘My obstinacy deserves ten thousand deaths, but since your majesty has so graciously given me another chance, I am bold enough to agree, although I am entirely unfitted by birth or attainments to become the imperial son-in-law.’
The emperor was very pleased. He immediately told the royal astronomer to select an auspicious day for the wedding which the calendar office later announced would take place on the fifteenth day of the ninth moon, only a few weeks ahead. The emperor then said to Shao-yu: ‘I did not tell you earlier on, because the question of the wedding was not settled, but I have two sisters. They are both remarkable young women in every way, and I would like to find another bridegroom like you for the second one, but I know it is impossible. So I am going to do what the empress-dowager wants and marry them both to you.’
Shao-yu suddenly remembered the dream he had had in the guest-house at Chen-chou, and was alarmed at the coincidence. He bowed low and said: ‘Since you chose me as the imperial son-in-law I have done my best to avoid the honor, but now you propose marrying both the princesses to me. Such a thing has never been heard of before. How can I possibly accept?’
The emperor said: ‘You have served the state as no one else has ever done. It is impossible for me to reward you adequately, but at least I can marry both my sisters to you. Also, they love one another so deeply and are so closely bound to one another that they could not bear to be separated and want to share one husband. The empress wants it too. You must not refuse. Then there is the lady secretary, Ch’in Ts’ai-feng, a girl from a most distinguished family, who is both beautiful and clever. The Princess Lan-yang treats her like the apple of her eye and when she gets married herself wants to take Ts’ai-feng with her as your concubine. I have to tell you this in advance.’
Shao-yu arose and thanked the emperor before he withdrew.
Ying-yang had been in the palace for several months. She served the empress faithfully and treated Lan-yang and Ts’ai-feng like sisters, which pleased the empress very much. When the day set for the marriage was drawing near, she said privately to the empress: ‘On the day when you first settled precedence for Lan-yang and me, it was very presumptuous of me to have accepted the senior position, but if I had refused I should have offended against your love for me. So I accepted, even though I did not want to. When we get married to the Prime Minister, it will be quite wrong if Lan-yang again refuses the first place. I hope that you and the emperor will think about the proper order for us and straighten it out, so that I can be happy in my proper place and there will be no disorder in our home.’
Lan-yang, when she was with the empress, said: ‘Ying-yang is superior to me in both virtue and ability, and even though she is from the Cheng family I really ought to do the same as the wife of Chao Shuai and yield precedence to her. Now that we are sisters, you cannot say that there is any difference of rank between us, and even though I am the second wife, I shall not lose the reality of being an emperor’s daughter. On the other hand, if I become the first wife, what will be the point of your having adopted Ying-yang?’
The empress spoke to the emperor: ‘What shall we do to settle this matter?’
The emperor replied: ‘Lan-yang’s attitude is entirely sincere, but I have never heard of a princess doing such a thing before. Nevertheless, I think you should recognize her humility as a very beautiful thing and arrange things as she wishes.’
The empress said: ‘You are right.’
And straightway she issued an edict making Ying-yang the left-hand, that is, the first wife of the Duke of Wei, Lan-yang his right-hand or second wife and Ts’ai-feng, because she was the daughter of a distinguished family, a concubine of the first rank.
According to tradition, the wedding of a princess had always been celebrated outside the palace enclosure, but this time the empress ordered that it should be inside. When the happy day arrived, Shao-yu, wearing a gryphon robe and jade-studded belt, went through the ceremony with the two princesses. The splendor of the occasion defied description. When the ceremony was over and they were relaxing, Ts’ai-feng came to pay her respects to them all. Shao-yu made her sit down too. The three women looked radiantly beautiful, like three fairies come down from heaven. Shao-yu wondered whether they were not the three fairies he had seen in his dream. That night he shared a pillow with the Princess Ying-yang, and early the next morning they arose to pay their respects to the empress, who gave a banquet for them. She and the emperor and the emperor’s consort passed the whole day rejoicing with them. The next night he shared a quilt with the Princess Lan-yang. The third day he went to Ts’ai-feng’s room. She suddenly burst into tears. Shao-yu was very surprised, and questioned her: ‘Today you are supposed to be happy. You must not cry. But there must be a reason for these tears; tell me what it is.’
Ts’ai-feng replied: ‘You do not remember me. You have forgotten who I am.’
He suddenly realized who she was, took her delicate hand in his and said: ‘You are the daughter of Inspector Ch’in of Hua-yin. Waking or sleeping, I have never forgotten you.’
She choked and could not produce a reply. He said: ‘I thought you were dead, but you are alive in the palace—how wonderful! After we parted that time at Hua-chou I could not bear to think of the disaster that came on your family, but since I fled from the inn I have not been able to help thinking of you every single day. Today we are fulfilling our old promises. I had given up hope that it would happen. You also must have lost hope.’
Then he took her poem out of his pocket and she produced the poem which he had written, and it was like re-living the day when they had written them. Ts’ai-feng said: ‘You know only that the willow song sealed our contract. You did not know that this destiny of ours was also shown by a silk fan.’
Then she opened a box and took out the painted fan and showed it to him. When she had told him all about it, he said: ‘When I came back from my place of refuge in Lan-t’ien-shan, I asked the landlord of the inn what had happened to you, and he said that some people said you had been taken into the palace, some people said you had been taken a long way off as a yamen slave, and others that you had been killed. I could get no reliable news. So I lost all hope and was forced to look for another bride. Every time I passed between Hua-shan and the River Wei, I felt like a wild goose that had lost its mate, and my heart was like a fish caught on an angler’s hook. Now, thanks to the imperial favor, we meet again, but I have a regret about it because the contract I made at the inn has been fulfilled by your becoming my concubine. It fills me with shame to think that you were prepared to submit yourself to this situation.’
Ts’ai-feng answered: ‘I knew that my family was ill-fated and when I sent my nurse to the inn I thought that I s