A servant brought up the rear, dragging a cart filled with garbage and a mangy goat. The servant was a thug of low appearance with a bandage around his head, and he kept whimpering, “My ear!”
“The house of Miser Shen,” said Fat Fu, pointing ahead to a large unpainted building in front of which cheap incense burned before the statues of the Immortal of Commerical Profits, the Celestial Discoverer of Buried Treasures, the Lord of Lucrative Legacies, and every other greedy deity in the Heavenly Ministry of Wealth. “Miser Shen owns eight flourishing businesses, six houses in six different cities, one carriage, one sedan chair, one horse, three cows, ten pigs, twenty chickens, eight savage guard dogs, seven half-starved servants, and one young and beautiful concubine named Pretty Ping,” said Fat Fu. “He acquired all of them by foreclosing mortgages.”
Ahead of us was an old peasant with a mule that was hauling a stone-wheeled cart that belonged in a museum.
“Manure!” he shouted in a quavering melancholy voice. “Fresh manuuuuuuure!”
Inside the house a rasping voice exclaimed, “Stone wheels? Stone wheels in Peking?” Shutters flew open and an extraordinarily ugly gentleman stuck his head out. “Great Buddha, they are stone wheels!” he yelled, and he vanished inside the house. A moment later I heard him scream, “Cook! Cook! Don't waste a second!” And then the front door crashed open and Miser Shen and his cook raced outside and fell in behind the ancient cart.
They were carrying armloads of kitchen cutlery, which they began to sharpen against the slowly revolving stone wheels.
“At least two copper coins saved, Master!” the cook cried.
“What a bonanza!” howled Miser Shen.
“Manure!” cried the peasant. “Fresh manuuuure!”
Another pair of shutters flew open, and Fat Fu pointed toward a heart-shaped face and a pair of luscious almond eyes.
“Pretty Ping,” she said. “Pretty Ping owns one cheap dress, one cheap coat, one cheap hat, one pair of cheap sandals, one pair of cheap shoes, one cheap comb, one cheap ring, and enough humiliation to last twenty lifetimes.”
“More cutlery!” howled Miser Shen. “Bring the hoes and shovels too!”
“One million mortifications,” moaned Pretty Ping, and the shutters slammed shut.
“Manure!” the old peasant cried. “Fresh manuuuure!”
“The heat,” Master Li panted, fluttering his fan in front of his face. “The stench. The noise!”
“Our lord is weary and must rest!” Fat Fu shouted to One-Eyed Wong.
“Even this pigpen will do,” Master Li said weakly.
One-Eyed Wong rapped Miser Shen's shoulder with his gold-tipped staff.
“You there!” he bellowed. “A thousand blessings have descended upon you, for Lord Li of Kao has condescended to rest in your miserable hovel!”
“Eh?” said Miser Shen, and he gaped at the gold coin that One-Eyed Wong slapped into his hand.
“Lord Li of Kao shall also require a suite for his beloved ward, Lord Lu of Yu!” bellowed One-Eyed Wong, slapping a second gold coin into Miser Shen's hand.
“Eh?” said Miser Shen, and a third gold coin smacked into his palm.
“Lord Li of Kao shall also require a suite for his goat!” bellowed One-Eyed Wong.
“Your master must be made of gold!” Miser Shen gasped.
“No,” One-Eyed Wong said absentmindedly. “His goat is.”
A few minutes later I found myself in Miser Shen's best room with Li Kao, the goat, and the garbage. The fake gold coins were concealed inside fish heads and mildewed mangoes, and Li Kao fed a shovelful of the stuff to the goat. This was followed by a pint of castor oil, and shortly thereafter he raked through the mess on the floor with a pair of silver tongs and extracted two glittering coins.
“What!” he cried. “Only two gold coins? Miserable beast, do not arouse the wrath of Lord Li of Kao!”
A dull thump from the hallway suggested that Miser Shen had toppled from a peephole in a dead faint. Li Kao gave him time to recover, and then tried again with the garbage and castor oil.
“Four? Four gold coins?” he yelled furiously. “Insolent animal, Lord Li of Kao requires four hundred coins a day to maintain the style to which he is accustomed!”
The dull thump shook the flimsy wall. After Miser Shen recovered, Master Li tried for a third time, and now his rage knew no bounds.
“Six? Six gold coins? Cretinous creture, have you never heard of geometric progression? Two, four, eight, not two, four, six! I shall sell you for dog food and return to the Glittering Glades of Golden Grain for a better goat!”
The sound of the thump suggested that Miser Shen would be unconscious for quite some time, and Master Li led me out into the hallway. As we stepped over the prostrate body he took my arm and said quite seriously, “Number Ten Ox, if we are to survive our visit to the Ancestress you must learn that a soldier's best shield is a light heart. If you continue with that long face and soggy soul you will be the death of us, and we will attend to the matter immediately.” He trotted briskly up the stairs and opened doors until he found the right one.
“Who are you?” cried Pretty Ping.
“My surname is Li and my personal name is Kao, and there is a slight flaw in my character,” he said with a polite bow. “This is my esteemed client, Number Ten Ox.”
“But what are you doing in my bedchamber?” cried Pretty Ping.
“I am paying my respects, and my client is preparing to spend the night,” said Master Li.
“But where is Miser Shen?” cried Pretty Ping.
“Miser Shen is preparing to spend the night with a goat.”
“A goat?”
“It will be a very expensive goat.”
“A very ex… What are you doing?” cried Pretty Ping.
“I am undressing,” I said, because I had been well brought up and I would never dream of contradicting so venerable a sage as Li Kao. Besides, I had been told to obey him by the abbot, who was praying for my soul.
“I shall scream!” cried Pretty Ping.
“I sincerely hope so. Ah, if I could only be ninety again,” Master Li said nostalgically. “Ox, flex a few muscles for the young lady.”
Pretty Ping stared at me, as Li Kao turned and trotted back down the stairs. I grinned back at a young lady whose family had fallen into the clutches of a usurer, and whose beauty had condemned her to the embraces of an elderly gentleman who was equipped with a pair of glittering little pig eyes, a bald and mottled skull, a sharp curving nose like a parrot's beak, the loose flabby lips of a camel, and two drooping elephant ears from which sprouted thick tufts of coarse gray hair. Her luscious lips parted.
“Help,” said Pretty Ping.
The noises downstairs suggested that Miser Shen was acquiring a goat, some castor oil, and a load of garbage, and Pretty Ping and I took the opportunity to get acquainted. In China when young people wish to become acquainted they usually start by playing Fluttering Butterflies, because there is no better way to get to know somebody than to play Fluttering Butterflies.
“Eat!” Miser Shen screamed to the goat.
After young people have become acquainted it is customary to warm things up with the Kingfisher Union, because it is impossible to engage in the Kingfisher Union without becoming close friends.
“Gold!” screamed Miser Shen.
A cup of wine is then called for, and a discussion of relative merits that is usually resolved in favor of Hounds by the Ninth Day of Autumn.
“Eat!” screamed Miser Shen.
The young gentleman then plays the lute while the young lady dances in a manner that would cause a riot if performed in public, and they inevitably become entangled in Six Doves Beneath the Eaves on a Rainy Day.