So Princess Autumn Cloud leaned over as if she were making a deep bow, and let her tears fall in a golden bowl, and then, because they were Royal tears, they were poured into beautiful porcelain bottles that were sealed up and placed, rows and rows and rows of them, in a room all hung with silk curtains embroidered with weeping willows.
“Oh, what shall be done to amuse the Little Emperor?” sobbed Princess Autumn Cloud. “Perhaps he would like some music!” And she clapped her hands, with their long, long fingernails covered with gold fingernail protectors.
So four fat musicians, dressed in vermilion silk and wearing big horn-rimmed spectacles to show how wise they were, came and kowtowed to the Little Emperor. That is, they got down on their knees, which was hard for them to do because they were so fat, and then, all together, knocked their heads on the floor nine times apiece to show their deep respect.
Then one beat on a drum, boom boom, and one clashed cymbals of brass together, crash bang, and one rang little bells of green and milk-white jade, and the oldest and fattest beat with mallets up and down the back of a musical instrument carved and painted to look like a life-sized tiger with glaring eyes and sharp white teeth.
The Little Emperor sprawled back in his big dragon throne under the softly waving peacock feather fans, stretched out his arms and legs, and yawned harder than ever.
Four fat Chinese musicians.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! What shall be done to amuse him?” wailed Princess Autumn Cloud, bursting into tears afresh. “Can no one suggest anything?”
And although the Mandarins and the Court Ladies thought to themselves that what they would really like to suggest for such a spoiled little boy would be to send him to bed without his supper, they none of them dared say so, but tried to look very solemn and sympathetic.
“Would the Little Old Ancestor enjoy some sweetmeats?” suggested Lady Lotus Blossom. “Old Ancestor” is what you call the Emperor if you are properly brought up, and polite, and Chinese.