They thus talked while walking in company.
Seaweed took the advantage of a moment when the new-comers were a little in front to bend towards her husband.
"Do not let us get in the same junk with these strangers. The man has looked at me several times in a rude way; his eyes are unsteady and fickle; I am afraid of him."
Kiun made a sign of assent. But when they had arrived on the quay, Wang The-king gave himself so much trouble to find a junk and help to embark the luggage that the prefect, bound by the rites, could not avoid asking him to get on board the boat with him.
They unmoored; Wang The-king established himself on the prow with his wife, near the mariners; he spoke a long time with them while they were passing the last houses of the large city.
When night fell, they were in a part of the river where it got broader to such an extent that you could no longer distinguish the banks. The wind was blowing rather violently and the unfurling waves projected heavy showers on the mats which covered the quarter-deck.
Kiun, uneasy, went to the prow of the boat in order to question the master. The bright moon was rising, lighting the dark line of the bank. They approached in order to throw the anchor.
Wang The-king was on the narrow bridge; when Kiun came to his side, he coolly pushed the poor prefect overboard. Kiun's father was two paces behind; Wang ran to him and threw him also into the tumultuous waters of the rapid current. Kiun's mother, hearing a cry and a struggle, went to see what was happening, and she also was precipitated into the foaming river.
Seaweed, from the cabin, had seen all; but she took good care not to go outside; she moaned:
"Alas! my father-in-law and my mother-in-law are dead! My husband has been killed! I am going to die, too!"