DECEIVING SHADOWS
Night was falling when the horseshoes of the mules of my caravan resounded on the slippery flagstones of the village.
Tired by a long day of walking, I directed my steps towards the large hall of the inn, with the intention of resting a moment while my repast was being prepared.
In the darkened room the glimmer of a small opium-lamp lit up the pale and hollow face of an old man, occupied in holding over the flame a small ball of the black drug, which would soon be transformed into smoke, source of forgetfulness and dreams.
The old man returned my greeting, and invited me to lie down on the couch opposite to him. He handed me a pipe already prepared and we began talking together. As ordered by the laws of politeness, I remarked to my neighbour that he seemed robust for his age.
"My age? Do you, then, think I am so old?"
"But, as you are so wise, you must have seen sixty harvests?"
"Sixty! I am not yet thirty years old! But you must have come from a long way off, not to know who I am."
And while rolling the balls with dexterity in the palm of his hand, and making them puff out to the heat of the lamp, he told me his story.
His name was Liu Favour-of-heaven. Born and brought up in the capital, he had been promoted six years before to the post of sub-prefect in the town on which our refuge was dependent.