of his father, a hatred tempered by fear. But now his father was a bestial half-mad blind man and An Ch'ing-hsü was no longer afraid.
From the lips of a dozen eunuchs he heard the details of what had transpired. Then he arranged to have the disconsolate eunuch whose brother had been murdered transferred to his personal service.
He treated the eunuch with extreme courtesy and kindness. In the privacy of his own rooms, he talked to the eunuch, leading him on to repeat the story. Night after night the story was retold. Tenderly, An Ch'ing-hsü fanned the spark of hatred into unquenchable flame. He gave the eunuch many cups of warm rice wine to drink. Then one night, from his sleeve he drew a long thin knife.
"We are brothers in hatred," he whispered. "I have received word that An Lu-shan is sleeping. It would not be hard for you to creep into his room. It would not be hard for this knife to find its way to his heart. Go! Strike deeply! Avenge your brother! I will wait for you here with a present of gold, rare silks and a jade cup from which we will drink to the future."
The eunuch slipped away on flying feet to perform a duty that was dear to him.
An Ch'ing-hsü waited for him by the open window. It was a pleasant night. The air was sweeter than the wine that he sipped from a thin glazed pottery cup. There was silence everywhere, as though the night sky was a blue coverlet spread over the sleeping city.
Meanwhile the eunuch stood beside the sleeping
