watch over our life. . . . What else do we do but serve? But serving our kin is the root of all service." He paused. For a moment there was disharmony. One of the almonds had turned out to be a small stone. It grated upon his teeth unpleasantly. His cook's helper must be flogged for this, though it was the cook's fault. But if the cook were flogged with bamboo his meals might be temporarily less satisfying. Uncle Yang's feelings were hurt. The cook was at fault. But as long as somebody suffered he would feel satisfied. He would eat no more almonds until this session with Yuhan had drawn to a close.
"Given this opportunity," he said to Yuhan, "I know that you will do honor to the house of Yang."
"By my being selected as a concubine for Prince Shou," she whispered, "the family of Yang is already honored."
He was gratified by her meekness. He risked having his feelings ruffled by slipping another almond into his mouth. It was delicious to the taste. His anger passed. Why have anybody flogged? Later he would reflect upon it. Truly, he had a most excellent cook, a priceless possession when one treasures one's stomach.
"Since you are aware of the supreme honor, you are worthy of it. Come!" As they mounted the few steps that led to the Hall of Ancestors, he added, "Perhaps in the annals of Yang, your name will be written in vermilion ink."
Yuhan's heart beat faster. She felt exalted. As though
she were walking on a mountain top in the rainbow
