Two more years of strenuous physical work followed.
By the end Kysumu was fast, his sword work dazzling. Mu Cheng announced himself satisfied, though pointed out there was much learning still to come.
Then came the Night of Bitter Sweetness.
Mu Cheng had taken him to a small palace in the foothills overlooking the Great River. It was a beautiful structure, with delicately fashioned towers, emblazoned with elegant statues, its walls plastered and painted red and gold, its gardens immaculate, pathways wending around shimmering fountains, beds of flowers in full bloom. The scent of roses, jasmine and honeysuckle hung in the air.
Mu Cheng led the bewildered Kysumu inside. In a large room a table had been laid, and an assortment of food was on display. The two men sat on gold-embossed chairs with satin cushions. For six years the student had dined on maize and boiled fish, hard bread and salted biscuits. On occasions he had tasted honey, but these were rare. On the table before him were pastries, cured meats, cheeses -delicacies of every description. Kysumu gazed upon them. Mu Cheng produced a small phial from his pocket and poured the contents into a crystal goblet. ‘Drink this,’ he said. Kysumu did so. For a moment nothing happened. Then the most exquisite feeling began to seep into Kysu-mu’s body. He began to laugh. ‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘It is a mixture of seed oils and extracts. How do you feel?’
Mu Cheng’s voice sounded strange, as if the words were floating around inside Kysumu’s head, booming and fading. ‘I feel . . . wonderful.’
‘That is its purpose,’ he heard Mu Cheng say. ‘Now, eat.’
Kysumu tasted one of the pastries. It was exquisite. His body all but screamed with delight. He ate another, and another. Never in his life had he experienced such pleasure. Mu Cheng poured him a goblet of wine. As the evening progressed Kysumu almost passed out with joy. Such was his rapture that he failed to notice that Mu Cheng ate nothing, and merely drank water.
As the light began to fail two young women appeared, bringing lanterns which they hung on brass hooks. Kysumu watched them, noting the way their robes of silk clung to their bodies. They departed and another young woman entered. Her hair was black, drawn back from her face and held in place by a delicate net of silver threads. Her eyes were large and lustrous. She sat beside Kysumu, and, reaching out, pushed her fingers through his hair. At her touch he trembled and turned to look into her face. Her skin was pale and flawless, her lips red and moist. She took him by the hand and drew him to his feet.
‘Go with her,’ said Mu Cheng.
Kysumu followed the woman willingly, to a circular chamber and a large bed covered with satin sheets. Incense was burning, the scent heady and strong. The woman stood before him. Her hand went to a brooch at her shoulder. As she removed it her robe slipped away, as if it was made of liquid, flowing down over her body and pooling at her feet. Kysumu gazed with undisguised longing at her nakedness. She took his hands and raised them to her breasts. Kysumu moaned. His knees felt weak, his legs trembling. She drew him to the bed and undressed him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked huskily.
‘I am the Star Lily,’ she told him. These were the only words he would ever hear her say.
During the next few hours, until he fell into a contented sleep, the young Rajnee discovered the true meaning of ecstasy.
As the dawn was breaking Kysumu awoke to the sound of birdsong beyond the window. His body was aching, his head pounding. He sat up and groaned. The events of the night came back to him and he felt a surge of joy that swept away his headache. He looked around for the woman, but she was gone.
Rising from the bed, he dressed himself and walked through the palace until he found the scene of last night’s feast.
Mu Cheng was still there. Upon the table was a goblet of water and a loaf of black bread.