Meanwhile Golden-lilies' night had been scarcely more pleasantly spent than her husband's; and to her also had occurred the idea that it would be possible to buy with money the consideration of the jailers. While it was yet early, therefore, she collected all the available cash in the house, and set out in her sedan-chair for the prison. The head jailer received the announcement of her name with a cynical smile. He had expected that she would come, and knew well the object of her visit. Accustomed to such interviews, and to the readiest means of turning them to the best account, he at first assumed a hard and unrelaxing manner, and yielded only to Golden-lilies' entreaties when he had drained her resources. The upshot, however, of the visit was, that Ts'èng was summoned before the jailer, and was told that, in consideration of his being untried, he should be removed to another courtyard, "where," said the jailer, with something approaching a smile, "I hope you will be more comfortable than you probably were last night." In fulfilment of this concession, Ts'èng was led off to a neighbouring compound, which appeared almost clean and healthy in comparison with the one he had just left. The prisoners in it also were fewer in number, and though they were dirty and unshaven, they were evidently of a higher class than Ts'èng's late companions. They welcomed Ts'èng with some attempts at conversation, and performed various kindly offices for him, which, in. his weak state of health, were more than he had either energy or strength to accomplish for himself. One man in particular, a stout, cheery-looking son of Ham, was very kind and attentive; and as the day wore on, and they began to know more about one another, and the offences with which they were severally charged, this man did much to lighten the cares of all, and of Ts'èng in particular, to whom he seemed to have taken a liking. Of Ts'èng's prospects – "as I suppose," he said, "you are willing to be liberal with your money," – he professed to take a hopeful view; while he did not conceal the fact that his own career would in all probability be quickly cut short.
"Instigating a rebellion is not a crime that finds mercy, even though it might be justified, as in my case, by the tyranny of the local mandarins."
"But if you are without hope, how can you possibly be as cheerful as you are?" said Ts'èng.
"Because I am a philosopher," said Lung – for that was his name; "because I have drunk deep at the fountain which inspired Laou-tsze, Chwang-tsze, and others, and have learnt with them the true value of life and the art of living and dying."
"The men you speak of were heretics," replied Ts'èng, "and went so far as even to speak disrespectfully of our great master Confucius. Nothing but disappointment must follow on faith in such as those."
"You boast yourself in Confucius, do you?" rejoined Lung. "I thought you did when you first came in, by your look of misery. Now tell me, how does he help you in your present difficulty? Which is in the best mental case – you who trust in the stereotyped phrases of that old formalist, or I who follow the kindly lead of the Taouist philosophers? You look on the future life with terrified uncertainty; while I, regarding it in its true light, see in it but a continuance of existence in a new shape."
" These are all fallacies."
