The Pedlar laughed.
“Take me to Kioto,” said the child.
“You may come if you will,” said the Pedlar. So they went their ways together, and in time they came to Kioto and to the Mikado’s Palace. Here the child danced in the august presence of the Son of Heaven. She was as light as the sea-bird upon a wave’s crest. When she had made an end of dancing, the Mikado called her to him.
“Little maid,” he said, “what guerdon shall I give you? Ask!”
“O Divinely Descended,” said the child, “Son of the Gods ... I cannot ask.... I am afraid.”
“Ask without fear,” said the Mikado.
The child murmured, “Let me stay in the bright presence of your Augustness.”
“So be it,” said the Mikado, and he received the child into his household. And he called her Tamamo.
Very speedily she became mistress of every lovely art. She could sing, and she could play upon any instrument of music. She had more skill in painting than any painter in the land; she was a wonder with the needle and a wonder at the loom. The poetry that she made moved men to tears and to laughter. The many thousand characters were child’s play to her, and all the hard philosophies she had at her fingers’ ends. She knew Confucius well enough, the Scriptures of Buddha, and the lore of Cathay. She was called the Exquisite Perfection, the Gold Unalloyed, the Jewel without Flaw.
And the Mikado loved her.