it could not jump into his lap, nor rub its head affectionately against his knee. To the cat, he was not "The Brilliant Emperor" but a beloved master who stroked his back with such abundant pleasurable knowledge.
The loss of the cat was a two-fold disaster. Though Ming Huang missed him tremendously, even more acute was the worry occasioned by his departure. It is not a good omen for a cat to leave a house, though it be a grass-hut or a palace. A cat is a domestic fox, no animal as wise as he. Did his flight portend disaster for Mei-fei? Was he fleeing from evil influences? He was faithless to leave when Mei-fei was ill. He was a scoundrel, deserving death nine times over. Mei-fei had always treated him well.
Many priests of widely separated faiths were praying for her—Taoists, Buddhists, Nestorians—by Imperial order. Perhaps one of them would have power over the forces of health; power to drive out the evil spirits that so perniciously attacked her. What good the Gods of Medicine to mankind if they had no friends among mortal priests? The Emperor's own faith lay with Tao, for "it engenders all things, nourishes them, develops them and fosters them, perfects them, ripens them, tends them and protects them." But his mind was flexible. He was not averse to accepting the skill of alchemists if they had anything to offer.
He sighed. The truth was, he had more faith in Fêng than in either priests or doctors, for cats know more than even witches. If only he would return. His wish
was granted almost at once, for coming across the mar-
