Ch'i-ch'i bowed. From his sleeve he drew a square of buff-colored cloth. He studied it intently. "Very good, very good quality," he said reflectively. "But it is soiled. It needs cleansing."
By pre-arrangement, a eunuch stepped forward bearing a vessel of water.
"No, no!" cried Ch'i-ch'i. "Take it away. We will not wash this cloth. It will be purified by fire."
Another eunuch stepped forward. He carried a burning paper. Ch'i-ch'i took it and ignited dry sticks that had been arranged in the brazier. Soon he had a glowing fire. Then he seized the square of cloth, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into the flames. A eunuch brought additional wood. The flames leaped up, burning with tremendous heat.
Yang Kuei-fei watched the experiment fascinated. She too was a magician, a magician with perfume. She knew how to use it to the best advantage. In her hair she had twined oleanders.
Entranced, the Emperor sat between these two magicians. He bent toward her. For her ears alone, he whispered, "You are the warmth of the sun toward which the day turns, or the sweet breeze that stirs the peonies. Your voice is on the breath of the wind, and in the night's cool blackness."
She squeezed his hand.
"The legend of your beauty shall linger always as long as rice grows in China."
She sighed rapturously. It was good to be loved by so brilliant an Emperor.
