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 he was called in by wealthy Manchus, war lords, and even far-off Indian potentates, to appraise odd bits of jade and nephrite carvings. Few there were in all of China to compare with him in choosing jewels or women. Although he was an expert in all jewels, most of his attention was given to jade, for jade like women is endless in variety; no two specimens are alike, and like women it is alluring, pleasant to the touch and comforting.

On this particular day when he arrived at the tea-house he was in a most amiable mood. He was fat and bland and smiling. The world was good. That trip had been very satisfactory. He had picked up many gorgeous jewels and knickknacks which he was carrying to the lady of his heart, a collection of snuffboxes that was worth a fortune; for Maida, the lady of his dreams, was an art connoisseur, a collector of antiques, rich porcelains and jewels. What Ling Yoong did not know was that Mai-da found it very remunerative to be a collector. Many of her gifts she kept and displayed to advantage, but not a few of her presents found their way into the hands of a shrewd shopkeeper who dwelt on Lantern Street.

Never had Ling Yoong come across so lovely a collection of snuff-boxes as he now was carrying with him: porcelain snuff-boxes of great age, boxes of lacquer, malachite, bamboo, snaky-crystal, coral, and aventurin. And he also was taking to her jade seals, beautiful pendants of cloisonné enamel and a complete tea-set of eggshell porcelain decorated with famille rose enamel. No wonder that Ling Yoong was very happy as he breathed the sweet aroma of the tea.

Dien Lee, the second merchant, was handsome, young and fabulously wealthy. His face was like the full moon and his nose was almost flat against his face. He had inherited his rug, silk and tapestry business from his father. From his father too he had inherited his love of women and silk. For fine silks are as soft and fragrant as the body of a beloved woman. Dien Lee traveled miles on end to secure bits of silk and rich tapestries of which he had heard legendary stories. He joyed to strip girls nude and then clothe them in silks as fragile as moonbeam mist and as brilliant as the sun at dawn. And it almost seemed as though the silk and the skin of the beloved woman blended and became one; for the love of a man can bring out the beauty in a woman. It is almost as though from his love she draws a divine light that makes her body glow. Now Dien Lee was returning to Canton with silks from the far north, the softest silks he had ever beheld or touched. And with them he intended to drape the gorgeous body of his lady.

Chu Kai was a philosopher and a dreamer, older than either Ling Yoong or Dien Lee. All his life he had devoted to the study and care of chrysanthemums. From the daisy the Chinese developed this lushest of all flowers, and it was the ambition of Chu Kai to develop it into something even more beautiful.

It was his wish that some day he could imbue a chrysanthemum with a soul, a flower that would love, that would sway toward him as he approached, or lift up its head for his kiss, a flower that would tremble at his embrace even as did that lovely lady in Canton toward whose home he was hastening. And he was carrying a gift for her, the rarest gift in the floral world, a perfectly blue chrysanthemum, the only one of its kind in the world; not an ordinary blue, but blue like the velvet sky of night in which the soft stars sleep. Perhaps some day he would be able to