In his long tenure of office, never once had Li Lin-fu proved unfaithful, nor had the shadow of suspicion ever fallen across his path. Li Lin-fu had discovered that if a man have honey on his Ups, multitudes will gather to hear his words.
Once more Yang Kuei-fei danced in the Pear Garden to the measures of "The Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket," completely happy, nor was there the slightest danger of her security being menaced even though An Lu-shan sat watching. How ugly and uncouth he was in comparison to Ming Huang, whose voice was cultured and as polished as fine jade. She had a sincere admiration for the Emperor, that was so much akin to love that the dividing line could not have accommodated the thinnest silk thread. He was a poet, so was she, and both were musicians. What use had she for a barbarian who, despite his adherence to the Empire, was of foreign blood?
Her cousin, Kuo-chung, hated An Lu-shan. He distrusted him.
"Don't forget," he warned her, "that the Tartar's meat is the Chinaman's poison."
"What do you mean by that?" she flared angrily.
"Tartars eat horse-meat. Ugh! it makes me sick merely to think of it."
Yang Kuei-fei, too, was revolted. Nevertheless, she came swiftly, valiantly to An Lu-shan's defence.
"We have no proof that he eats it"
"He's a Tartar, isn't he?"
"I'm not even sure of that, so strange he seems. But
