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Updated: June 12, 2025
Yet as she listened to Weng's relation a new expression gradually revealed itself about her face, and when he had finished many paces lay between them. "A breaker of sacred customs, a disobeyer of parents and an outcast! How do you disclose yourself!" she exclaimed wildly. "What vile thing has possessed you?" "One hitherto which now rejects me," replied Weng slowly.
At one end of a table in the ceremonial hall sat Wu Chi, heaviness upon his brow, deceit in his eyes, and a sour enmity about the lines of his mouth; at the other end stood his son Weng, and between them, as it were, his whole life lay. Wu Chi was an official of some consequence and had two wives, as became him.
"Know you, then a house bearing as a sign the figure of a golden ibis?" "Truly; I have noted it," replied Weng, changing his position, so that he now leaned against a rock. "There dwelt an old man of some lower official rank, who had no son but many daughters."
With these words he beat furiously on a gong, and summoning the entire household he commanded that before Weng should be placed a jar of wine and two glass vessels, and on the other side a staff and a pair of sandals. From an open shutter the face of the woman Che looked down in mocking triumph. The alternatives thus presented were simple and irrevocable.
"It shall be written in vermilion ink," replied Weng, regaining an impassive dignity; "and upon that darker half of my heart can now be traced two added names." He had no aim now, but instinct drove him towards the mountains, the retreat of the lost and despairing. A three days' journey lay between. He went forward vacantly, without food and without rest.
The period of all seemly mourning ended it touched that allotted to a legal parent; still Weng cast himself down and made no pretence to hide his grief. His father's frown became a scowl, his mother's smile framed a biting word. A wise and venerable friend who loved the youth took him aside one day and with many sympathetic words counselled restraint.
"If the fatigue is not more than your venerable personality can reasonably bear," replied Shan Tien courteously. "To bear is the lot of every woman, be she young or old," replied the one before them. "I comply, omnipotence." The Story of Weng Cho; or, the One Devoid of Name
"I am drinking affliction and move under the compact of a solemn vow," replied Weng fixedly, "therefore I cannot do this; nor, as signs are given me to declare, will the forerunners of our line, who from their high places look down deep into the mind and measure the heart with an impartial rod, deem this an action of disrespect to their illustrious shades."
"Assuredly," I replied, striving to follow him, "yet with the wary greeting, 'Slowly, slowly; walk slowly, engraved upon my mind, for the barrier of these convoluted stairs " but at this word a band of maidens passed out hastily, and in the tumult I reached the dais and began Weng Chi's immortal verses, entitled "The Meandering Flight," which had occupied me three complete days and nights in the detail of rendering the allusions into well-balanced similitudes and at the same time preserving the skilful evasion of all conventional rules which raises the original to so sublime a height.
He had found himself much less comfortably provided for than he had expected, and the unpleasant impression created by the supposed paternal relatives at his father's funeral had been heightened by the letter regarding Sadie Burch. There was something even more offensively plebeian about them than that of the vulgar Weng.
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