Like an arrow, Mien-yaun flew to the arms of Ching-ki-pin. She was, then, true to him. She told him so; she swore it. Hope revived. He thought no longer of the apothecary. Since Ching-ki-pin was faithful, he asked no higher bliss.
A hundred plans were discussed, and all declared ineffectual to accomplish their union. Still they suggested impracticabilities.
"Let us run away," said Mien-yaun.
"Think of my feet," said Ching-ki-pin, reproachfully;—"am I a Hong-Kong woman, that I should run?"
It is only in Hong-Kong that the Chinese women permit their feet to grow.
Mien-yaun was full of heroic resolutions. Hitherto, besides being born great, he had had greatness thrust upon him. Now he would achieve greatness. He would secure not only wealth, but also a more enduring fame than he had before enjoyed. He saw many avenues to eminence opening before him. He would establish a periodical devoted to pictorial civilization. If civilization did not bring it success, he would illustrate great crimes and deadly horrors, in the highest style of Art, and thus command the attention of the world. Or he would establish a rival theatre. Two playhouses already existed in Pekin, each controlled by men of high integrity, great tact, and undenied claims to public support. He would overturn all that. He would start without capital, sink immense sums, pay nobody, ruin his company, and retire in triumph. Or he would become a successful politician, which was easier than all, for nothing was needed in this career but strong lungs and a cyclopaedia. Many other methods of achieving renown did he rehearse, all of which seemed feasible.
Ching-ki-pin, too, thought she might do something to acquire wealth. She painted beautifully, with no sign of perspective to mar her artistic productions. She warbled like a nightingale. She understood botany better than the great Chin-nong, who discovered in one day no less than seventy poisonous plants, and their seventy antidotes. Could she not give lessons to select classes of young ladies in all these several accomplishments? She was dying to do something to help defeat the machinations of their evil Quei-shin, the mother-in-law.
Finally, without coming to any particular conclusion, and after interchanging eternal vows, they parted much comforted, and looking forward to a brighter future.
XI.
Mien-yaun went to his home,—no longer the splendid mansion of his early days, but a poor cottage, in an obscure quarter of the city. As he threw himself upon a bench, a sharp bright thought flashed across his mind. His brain expanded with a sudden poetic ecstasy. He seized upon a fresh white sheet, and quickly covered it with the mute symbols of his fancy. Another sheet, and yet another. Faster than his hand could record them, the burning thoughts crowded upon him. No hesitation now, as in his former efforts to effect his rhymes. Experience had taught him how to think, and much suffering had filled his bosom with emotions that longed to be expressed. Still he wrote on. Towards midnight he kicked off his shoes, and wrote on, throwing the pages over his shoulder as fast as they were finished. Morning dawned, and found him still at his task. He continued writing with desperate haste until noon, and then flung away his last sheet; his poem was done.