Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/232

RV 227 (LI PO) "Not at all," said Li Po. "Last night I consulted the stars. They told me that a hundred years from today that very poem will echo still in the voice of a child playing in the alleys of Canton."

"He is a charlatan!" cried Ch'i-ch'i.

"We cannot be sure of it," reflected the Emperor, "until we have waited a hundred years."

In spite of herself, Yang Kuei-fei could not help admitting the genius of Li Po. Clever enough to turn defeat into victory, perhaps too clever to be so important in the affairs of the Palace. She smiled. Enemy or not he was undoubtedly fascinating.

No matter how cold the nights, even when it was three coat weather, Yang Kuei-fei walked with the Emperor in her own private gardens at the Palace. She was all tenderness, devotion. Since his return from Tai Shan she was changed somehow, more subdued, though still as extravagant in her method of living. And his infatuation for her increased.

As they walked through the garden the night was filled with tenderness. The breeze was cold. The frosttipped treetops crackled like an orchestra of wood instruments. But flowers still bloomed, and there was enchantment in their perfume.

Overhead the bright stars that were known as the Cowherd and the Spinning Damsel glowed brightly. According to folklore they had been doomed by the gods to dwell on opposite sides of the River of Stars RV 227 (227)