"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly, not even bothering to kowtow. He was too distraught for that. His tongue felt as though it had been scalded. He licked his dry lips.
"Your Majesty," he repeated, fighting to keep back the incoherent torrent of words that choked him.
"Speak on, Kuo-chung," said Ming Huang drowsily. He was in no way perturbed. Kuo-chung evidently had been bathing in wine. It was not the first time he had squandered the privilege of reasoning.
Nonetheless, Kuo-chung had not been drinking excessively. He was in a far soberer condition than he had been for years.
"Your Majesty," he persisted, "as I predicted, An Lu-shan has revolted. His soldiers are marching on Loyang. They are even now entering the gates of the city."
"What vicious chatter is this?" burst out the Emperor, striving to control his anger. "Will you never cease your base imaginings?"
"Would that the fault were mine," said Kuo-chung humbly, "but grim reality demands action. I beg leave to point out to Your Majesty that I have repeatedly warned you against the plotting of An Lu-shan."
"Hallucinations! He is my son. Does a son strike down his own father?"
"In history, regrettably, it frequently happens."
Yang Kuei-fei smiled. "Kuo-chung is drunk," she said casually, so little worried that she began to chant an old verse, merely to infuriate him. Kuo-chung was droll when he was angry.
