“Oh, my little Bright Eyes! Where art thou wandering?” she wailed.
Liu Jusong regarded her sternly. “If my enemy,” said he, “searcheth for my grandsons, then will not I.”
With dignified step he passed out of the room. But in the hall was a child’s plaything. His glance fell upon it and his expression softened. Following the servants despatched by his wife, the old mandarin joined in the search for Little Waking Eyes and Little Sleeping Eyes.
Under the quiet stars they met—the two old men who had quarrelled in student days and who ever since had cultivated hate for each other. The cause of their quarrel had long been forgotten; but in the fertile soil of minds irrigated with the belief that the superior man hates well and long, the seed of hate had germinated and flourished. Was it not because of that hate that their children were exiles from the homes of their fathers—those children who had met in a foreign land, and in spite of their fathers’ hatred, had linked themselves in love.
They spread their fans before their faces, each pretending not to see the other, while their servants inquired: “What news of the honorable little ones?”
“No news,” came the answer from each side.
The old men pondered sternly. Finally Liu Jusong said to his servants: “I will search in the forest.”
“So also will I,” announced Li Wang.
Liu Jusong lowered his fan. For the first time in many years he allowed his eyes to rest on the countenance of his quondam friend, and that quondam friend returned his glance. But the servant men shuddered.
“It is the haunted forest,” they cried. “Oh, honorable masters, venture not amongst evil spirits!”