"Are you not glad that a Yang interfered with you?" she asked demurely.
He pretended to ponder. "I wonder. You've disrupted my life, when I sleep you invade my dreams, in every note of music is the echo of your voice." He paused, and gazed into her eyes. "Until you came to me I never felt like an Emperor. I looked upon myself as a servant of the people."
"And now?" she whispered.
"Now I feel as though I were Emperor of the universe, of the sun and the moon, and the cool night sky, of the mountains and the sea, of deserts and gardens, and moonbeams dripping from bamboo leaves; of laughing children, and old men drowsing in the sun, of soldiers, and peasants working among millet fields, or gathering tea and rice. For I have looked into your eyes, and I know that I am indeed the Mighty Emperor who rules your heart."
"And shall rule it always."
He held her to him; neither took any notice of time, until the night tilted toward the dawn.
"For this beauty we must thank Lieh-tzu. Unwittingly, he established the mood. And so I think we should pay him homage." Entranced by the warm perfumed softness of her flesh, the Emperor added, "And so I shall show my appreciation by lifting his Works to the dignity of a classic by bestowing upon it the title Ch'ung Hsü Ching (Sutra of Fullness and Emptiness)."
