him. Accompanied only by Kao Li-shih, who was emotionally stirred beyond all reason, the old Emperor walked slowly into the garden, to the Peony Terrace where so often he had sat with Yang Kuei-fei crouched at his feet, her head against his knee.
"Yang Kuei-fei still lives," he repeated. "Her voice is in the hush of the trees or in the joy of the morning."
Kao listened from a mannered distance, and his heart bled.
On and on the loom of Court intrigue wove its relentless pattern. The new Emperor was completely under the domination of Li Fu-kuo, the Grand Eunuch, who was hated so intensely by the Empress that she spent her every waking hour planning his assassination.
But of these unpleasant machinations, Ming Huang heard nothing. For him day followed day in a rhythmic serenity that was like the hush of deep night when a watery moon hangs low. Everyone at the Palace, Ministers, Court Officers, Envoys, Bonzes, Conspirators, treated him in a manner akin to devotion. He was a man to match the mountains and the sea; a man like unto T'ai Shan to which all people look up.
His son, Li Ting, who ruled as the Emperor Su Tsung, gazed on him with awe. Whenever his father entered his presence, he sprang to his feet and placed his hand upon his father's arm to guide his faltering footsteps.
Ming Huang protested: "You must not do that, my son. You are now Emperor of China."
