Yet could they have only known it, Wang the Ninth was not far away—in fact, less than two miles as the crow flies. He had gone at his fast jog-trot not in through the city gate as they had all supposed (for that was only a feint), but round the city along those desolate outer stretches which recall the sandy deserts of High Asia. On and on he had gone until at last he had come upon a group of humble dwellings made of reeds and mud and placed strategically just where the mighty stone girdle of the capital sweeps round in a giant curve to form the northern face of the rectangle. There he had slowed down his running to a walk; and, cautiously glancing around to see that he was not observed, he had at length walked into the biggest house as bold as brass and announced most casually: "I have come for work."
The men gathered there on the brick k'ang had laughed at him at first; for who had ever heard of entrusting the smuggling of wine to a thirteen-year old boy? For this was their peculiar business: smuggling wine into the city so as to avoid the city-dues. It was not majestic or even very dangerous work, but it required a certain tenacity—and great climbing powers. For it was over the wall of the city that they practised their evasion, carrying to the wine-taverns the yellow wine of the country in leather bottles which were packed on their backs much as a soldier carries his knapsack. Often had Wang the Ninth observed them as they ran crouching to the city wall. He had made inquiries and thoroughly informed himself. So now, in answer to their rough gibes, he said:
"It is true I have never attempted this business, but I have carried concealed bottles very often and I know many tricks. Often have I heard how you climb the wall here at dawn and dusk. I, too, would engage in this enterprise."
Thus had he spoken. Then when they cursed him for his effrontery he had shrugged his shoulders. Presently because he was so persistent they had relented, and declared that if he wanted to risk it, they would try him.
"But would you not show fear?" inquired one in a last doubt.
"Fear!" he retorted. "Who speaks of fear! Give me a day to learn correctly, and I will walk up the wall as a man goes up a rope."
His assurance had completely won the day, as it always does in every affair in life. He was fed and went to sleep on the brick k'ang under the coat of the man who had first spoken in his favour; and on the morrow at grey dawn he went out with three men bearing leather bottles and followed them up the angle of the city wall as easily as if it had been a tree.
"It is nothing," he remarked scornfully as they crouched together on the top of the great rampart to make sure that no guards were about: for the men in the guard-house occasionally made a raid to justify their existence. He spoke thus because he was elated by the giddy sensation of the climb, and he boasted when he should have thanked the generosity of Heaven.
"Wait for the descent," chorussed the others. "That is not so easy even for us who have done it so often. Perhaps you will know fear."
They darted across the broad brick platform to the inner parapet, crouching low as they ran, for there was a guard-house a few hundreds yards away. Without a word the first man went over, then the second, then the third, each making the dizzy descent slowly, cautiously, their backs to the wall at the angle where the buttress juts out squarely—walking down sedately like human flies—which is a trick which may be occasionally seen even to this day, and is possible because of the innumerable crevices which time and water-erosion have worked into the brickwork.