of always appearing on the verge of giving in. However, when the moment was favorable, he would strike with lightning speed. Despite this, settlement was usually eminently satisfactory. Thereafter there was an additional person or two chanting the praises of Li Lin-fu.
But the Courtiers saw through his methods.
"Yes," they agreed, "he has a voice of honey, with the sting of a serpent." However, they were careful that their opinion did not become general knowledge. It was good for the Empire to have a man in high office whose conversation had all the elegant qualities of a rapier.
Li Lin-fu had confidence in Lan Jen. He was not blinded by physical passion. His vision was clear. Perhaps, in the fragile concubine of Prince Shou was the answer to all the problems that had blotted out tranquility.
Ming Huang listened as Li talked to him gently. His words were poetry, akin to the brush strokes of Wang Wei. He chose his words carefully and casually. He spoke lyrically of the pink coral breasts of the bewitching concubine of Prince Shou.
"A thousand poets," he said, "sing her praises, and burn incense in secret at her shrine."
This statement was excessive and slightly premature. Few poets knew of her existence. No one in China lived a more sheltered life. To Prince Shou she was precious, to be loved and caressed in the secret watches of the night.
In spite of himself, Ming Huang listened. The honey
