"All your guesses are wrong," Pao-yü chimed in, after considerable reflection. "I've got it! It must for a certainty be a performing monkey."
"That's really it!" Hsiang-yün laughed.
"The first part is all right," the party observed, "but how do you explain the last line?"
"What performing monkey," Hsiang-yün asked, "has not had its tail cut off?"
Hearing this, they exploded into a fit of merriment. "Even," they argued, "the very riddles she improvises are perverse and strange!"
"Mrs. Hsüeh mentioned yesterday that you, cousin Ch'in, had seen much of the world," Li Wan put in, "and that you had also gone about a good deal. It's for you therefore to try your hand at a few conundrums. What's more your poetry too is good. So why shouldn't you indite a few for us to guess?"
Pao-ch'in, at this proposal, nodded her head, and while repressing a smile, she went off by herself to give way to thought.
Pao-ch'ai then also gave out this riddle:
Carved sandal and cut cedar rise layer upon layer.
Have they been piled and fashioned by workmen of skill!
In the mid-heavens it's true, both wind and rain fleet by;
But can one hear the tingling of the Buddhists' bell?
While they were giving their mind to guessing what it could be, Pao-yü too recited: