he developed many species of chrysanthemums. But now the flowers were drenched and weary; the marble paths were rivulets; the terraces, cascades.
Cheerlessly, the Emperor held court in Phoenix Hall. Rain was a blessing. It was good for the crops, but it was a calamity when it brought floods and sucked people from their homes to drown like trapped rats.
For Mei-fei who languished for a sight of the sun, it was a thing of evil. Though her discomfiture was acute, she still had a smile for the Emperor whom she adored, not because of his exalted position but because of his love and tenderness. To her the face of Ming Huang was like unto the glory of the sun, with all its warmth and comfort. She was thankful for the privilege of carrying his child. How fervently she prayed that it might be a son.
In the dreary garden no bird sang, but Mei-fei could hear nightingales singing in the blue-wonder of her thoughts.
The Emperor was distressed by many things. Reports were coming to him that here and there throughout the Empire counterfeit coin was in circulation; to what extent he had no way of telling. But he believed it was a serious matter. When the monetary system of a country becomes infested with corruption, security rots.
Fêng, his favorite cat, had run away or been stolen. Though there were many other cats in the palace, by comparison to Fêng they, too, seemed counterfeit. Now he was gone, and all that remained was his picture,
painted by Wu Tao-tzu. Even though it was lifelike,
