ference of Kui-ling. For that reason he was immensely gratified by Kui-ling's death shortly afterward. He had been mulling over the thought of arranging to have his enemy drink wine into which had been mixed the deadly poison of the shui-mang plant. However, death had relieved him of the trouble. He could afford to be gracious. Nor did he oppose the period of mourning, which Ming Huang proclaimed to venerate the memory of so benevolent a man.
Now Li Lin-fu, too, was dead. He had been envied by Kuo-chung. But Kuo-chung pretended that his grief was difficult to assuage. He was well aware that though stains can be wiped from an ivory fan, on the tongue they last forever.
***
That night the Emperor passed with Yang Kuei-fei. "In the golden furnace of your body," he murmured, "our lives have blended, our hearts beat as one, our blood is a common stream."
Cares vanished at the touch of her fingertips. There was little time for sleeping, even though outside the gauze window the wind was playing a slumber song in the tall bamboo.
"It is playing my love for you," said the Emperor.
As dawn filtered through the gauze window panes, a new Prime Minister was appointed—Kuo-chung, the dissolute cousin of Yang Kuei-fei.
She was so elated, she chanted the words of an old song:
