A wind had arisen. It boomed from the north, cooling the air, driving clouds before it whose shadows went like sickles across the land. Dust whirled yellow off fields and the road. A flock of crows winged past. Their cawing cut through the babble underneath. Folk had clustered at the village well. They were those whose work was not out amidst the crops: tradesmen, artisans, their women and children, the aged and infirm. Soldiers from the envoy’s escort crowded roughly in among them, curious.
All were gathered about a man who had stopped at the wellside. His frame, big and broad, wore the same plain blue, quilted jacket and trousers as any peasant’s. His feet were bare, thick with calluses. Also bare was his head; stray black locks fluttered free below a topknot. His face was wide, rather flat-nosed, weatherbeaten. He had leaned a staff against the coping and taken a small girl child onto his shoulder. Near him stood three young men, as simply garbed as himself.
“Ah, ha, little one!” the man laughed, and chucked the girl under the chin.
“Would you have a ride on your old horsey? Shameless beggar wench.” She squirmed and giggled.
“Bless her, master,” asked the mother.
“Why, what she is, that is the blessing,” replied the man. “She is still near the Fountainhead of Quietness to which wise men hope they may return. Not that that forbids your desiring a sweetmeat, eh, Mei-mei?”
“Can childhood, then, be better than age?” quavered one whose wispy beard fell white from a head bent forward.
“You would have me teach, when my poor throat is choked by the dust of my faring?” responded the man genially. “No, please, first a cup or three of wine. Nothing in excess, including self-denial.”
“Make way!” cried the equerry. “Make way for the lord Ts’ai Li, Imperial legate from Ch’ang-an, and for the lord of the district, Yen Ting-kuo!”
Voices halted. People scrambled aside. Frightened, the girl whimpered and reached for her mother. The man gave her to the woman and bowed, politely if not abjectly, as the two robed forms neared him.
“Here is our sage Tu Shan, Sir Inspector,” said the sub-prefect.
“Off with you!” the equerry bade the commoners. “This is a matter of state.”
“They may listen if they wish,” said Ts’ai Li mildly.
“Their smell should not offend my lord’s nostrils,” declared the equerry, and the crowd did shuffle some distance away, to stand in bunches and gape.
“Let us seek back to the house,” Yen Ting-kuo proposed. “This day you receive a great honor, Tu Shan.”
“I thank my lord most profoundly,” the newcomer answered, “but we are shabby and unwashed and altogether unfit for your home.” His voice was deep, lacking a cultivated accent though not quite lowly-sounding either. A chuckle seemed to run within it and flicker behind his eyes. “May I take the liberty of presenting my disciples Ch’i, Wei, and Ma?” The three youths abased themselves until he gave them an unobtrusive signal to rise.
“They can join us.” Yen Ting-kuo failed to hide his distaste entirely.
Did Tu Shan perceive that? He addressed Ts’ai Li: “Perhaps my lord would care to state his business at once. Then we shall know whether or not pursuing it would waste his time.”
The inspector smiled. “I hope not, Sir Sage, for I have already expended a great deal of that,” he said. To the baron, the secretary, and the rest who had heard and were shocked: “Tu Shan is right. He has certainly spared me a doubtless difficult trail to his hermitage.”
“Happenstance,” said the man spoken of. “Nor does it take supernatural insight for me to guess your errand.”
“Rejoice,” Ts’ai Li told him. “Word of you has reached the august ears of the Emperor himself. He bade me seek you out and bring you to Ch’ang-an, that the realm have the benefit of your wisdom.”
The disciples gasped before recovering a measure of steadiness. Tu Shan stayed imperturbable. “Surely the Son of Heaven has councillors beyond counting,” he said.
“He does, but they are insufficient. As the proverb goes, a thousand mice do not equal a single tiger.”
“Perhaps my lord is a bit unfair to the advisors and ministers. They have huge tasks, beyond my poor wits to understand.”