"You will never again want for food, mother," Tuen repeated, finding her only consolation in this knowledge. "Never again be hungry, and after a while my brother will grow up and marry a wife to wait on you. But mother, mother, I will not be there, never, never, never," and Tuen rocked herself to and fro and moaned.
"It is true," her mother answered, "but to live in the house of a Viceroy is not an unpleasant prospect, for it must be very splendid there." Thus did these two poor ones try to comfort each other.
"I will try to make the best of it, and maybe the gods will have pity on me," Tuen finally said, and with a last embrace of her mother, a last, long look at her baby brother, she followed her father, and she held her head very high, and did not dare to look back at them, lest her courage fail her.
Niu Tsang was also grief-stricken and spoke but little as they made their way through the narrow, crowded streets, where the throng ever pressed and jostled in good-natured confusion. At last they stopped in front of a high wall, more pretentious than any they had yet seen. Upon the lintels of the door, which was cut in the centre of the wall, were imposing boards with curious red letters upon them announcing the literary rank of the owner, while from the eaves hung lanterns inscribed with his name and rank.
"It is the Viceroy's yâmen," her father said briefly. "Let us enter."
The gate-keeper, nodding contemptuously to them as he noticed the poverty of their appearance, allowed them to pass when Niu stated that he had an appointment with the Viceroy, and as this outer door, upon which was carved the protecting gods, closed behind them, Tuen felt that she had in truth passed the gates of doom. Nevertheless as they entered the small space within the doorway, guarded on each side by great stone lions, she forced back the tears that almost blinded her, and looked curiously at this ogre palace that was henceforth to be her home. To the left was the shrine of the gods of the threshold, where a bowl of ashes showed that incense sticks had lately burned, and on the right, behind bright red boards ornamented with gilt lettering, were several sedan chairs. As they went behind the screen that separated this entranceway from the inner buildings they found themselves in a paved court where flowers bloomed in fancy jars, and rows of ornamental shrubbery outlined the walk. Here they were met by a porter, more supercilious in manner than the gate-keeper, and it was only after a prolonged argument, for he liked not to admit such unprepossessing individuals, that he finally conducted them to the main hall, where the Viceroy received his guests and transacted all business. At one end of this apartment was an altar dedicated to the household spirits, and upon it were incense vases and tall candlesticks of wrought brass in which red wax candles were burning, while on the wall hung gay banners and scrolls of white satin, inscribed with the maxims of Confucius. Small tables were arranged around the room, with two chairs at each one, where tea and tobacco were served to callers, and at the end of the hall near the altar was a square couch filled with silken pillows, and upon this the magistrate half reclined, book in hand. He was clad in a flowing blue tunic, over which were scattered crimson flowers, and upon the breast was embroidered a great golden lily, its centre a lustrous pearl. His loose pantaloons were met below the knees by stockings of white silk, and his thick-soled shoes were made of yellow silk. Upon his head was a red satin cap, adorned at the top with a crimson button, an insignia of his high rank, while from the silken girdle around his waist hung his tobacco pouch, pipe case, bag for flint and steel, and two purses of loosely braided tinsel cord, in which huge gold watches were plainly visible. His wide sleeves were much longer than his arms, and shaped like a horseshoe at the hand, and his girdle was fastened with a clasp of highly polished jade. Before him was a low stand of ebony, upon which were writing materials, consisting of a pencil made of soft, fine hair, delicately pointed at the end, a bit of India ink, and a small stone where it could be rubbed smooth.
Tuen had a confused idea of these surroundings, although her eyes seemed fixed upon the tiled floor, and her heart was beating so loudly that she could but wonder if the Viceroy heard it.
"Ah, you have come," he said, hardly looking up from the book he was reading, and taking no notice of Niu Tsang's polite greetings. "'Tis to be hoped the girl will prove not a mere idle consumer of rice, for I have paid a good price for her."
"Not so much as she is worth," her father replied quickly. "She is wonderfully smart, considering that she had the misfortune to be born a female."
"Girls are always useless," the Viceroy answered, pursing up his lips knowingly "and the gods in punishment send us many."