A slow smile spread over Tao Gan's face. He saw the prospect of getting information and a free meal at the same time.
When the rice merchant came puffing and blowing upstairs, Tao Gan offered him a seat at his table. The fat man heavily dropped into the chair, and ordered a large pot of hot wine.
"It's a hard life nowadays," he wheezed. "If the merchandise is just a little bit wet, they return it to you. And I have a weak liver too." He opened his fur coat and tenderly laid his hand on his side.
"Not so hard for me," Tao Gan remarked cheerfully. "I'll eat rice at a hundred coppers a peck for a long time to come."
The other sat up quickly.
"Hundred coppers!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Man, the market price is a hundred and sixty!"
"Not for me," Tao Gan said smugly.
"Why not for you?" the other asked eagerly.
"Ha!" Tao Gan exclaimed. "That is a secret; I can only discuss it with professional rice-dealers."
"Have a drink on me," the fat man said quickly. And as he poured out a beaker: "Do tell me, I love a good story, you know."
"I haven't much time," Tao Gan replied, "but I'll give you the gist of it. This morning I met three fellows. They came to the city with their father, bringing a cartload of rice. Last night their father died from a heart attack; they need money quick for en-coffining the body and bringing it home. I agreed to take the whole lot, at a hundred the peck. Well, I had better go now. Waiter, the bill!"
As he rose the fat man quickly grabbed his sleeve.
"What is the hurry, my friend?" he asked. "Join me in a plate of roasted meat. Hey, waiter, bring also another pot of wine, the gentleman here is my guest."
"I don't want to be uncivil," Tao Gan said. Sitting down again he said to the waiter: "I have a weak stomach, make it roast chicken. And the largest plate."
As the waiter went away he muttered:
"First he wants 'm small, then he wants 'm big. What a waiter has to put up with."
"To tell you the truth," the fat man said confidentially, "I am a rice merchant, and I know my business. If you store that amount of rice for your own use, it'll spoil. And you can't sell it on the market, because you are not a member of the guild. I'll help you, though, and buy that lot from you at a hundred and ten."
Tao Gan hesitated. After he had slowly emptied his cup he said:
"We might talk this over. Have a drink."
He filled their cups to the rim, then pulled the platter with roast chicken toward him. Quickly choosing the best pieces, he asked:
"Doesn't that house opposite belong to Guildmaster Liao, whose daughter disappeared?"
"So it does," the other said. "But he was lucky to get rid of the wench. She was no good. But to come back to that rice ..."
"Let's hear a spicy story," Tao Gan interrupted him, grabbing a new piece of chicken.
"I don't like to tell stories about wealthy clients," the fat man said reluctantly. "I didn't even tell my own old woman."
"If you don't trust me . . ." Tao Gan said stiffly.
"No offense meant," the other said hastily. "Well, it was this way. The other day I walk in the south section of the market. Suddenly I see Miss Liao, without a duenna or anything, coming out of a closed house there, near the wine house called The Breeze of Spring. She looks up and down the street, then quickly walks away. I think that's strange, so I walk over to the house to see who lives there. Then the door opens, and out comes a thin young fellow. He also looks up and down the street, then also runs away. I ask in a shop about that house. What do you think it was?"
"A house of assignation," Tao Gan said promptly, scooping up the last pieces of salted vegetable.
"How did you know that?" the fat man asked, disappointed.
"Just a lucky guess," Tao Gan said as he emptied his cup. "Come back here tomorrow at the same time, then I'll bring the bills for the rice. We might do business. Thanks for the treat."
He briskly went to the staircase, leaving the fat man looking in astonishment at all the empty plates.
Seventh Chapter
Ma Joong and Chiao Tai finished their meal in the guardhouse with a cup of bitter tea, then said good-by to Sergeant Hoong. In the courtyard a groom stood waiting with their horses. Ma Joong looked up at the sky. He said: "It doesn't look like snow, brother. Let's walk." Chiao Tai agreed. They left the tribunal at a brisk pace. They walked along the high wall in front of the Temple of the City God, then turned to the right and entered the quiet residential quarter where Lan Tao-kuei lived.
A sturdy youngster, evidently one of Lan's pupils, opened the door for them. He told them that the master was in the training hall.
The training hall was a spacious, bare room. Except for a wooden bench near the entrance there was no furniture. But the whitewashed walls were covered with racks holding a large collection of swords, spears and fencing sticks.
Lan Tao-kuei stood in the center of the thick reed mat that covered the floor. Despite the cold he was naked except for a tight loincloth. He was working with a black ball of about nine inches in diameter.
Ma Joong and Chiao Tai sat down on the bench, and eagerly watched his every movement. Lan kept the ball in continuous motion; he threw it up, caught it now on his left, then on his right shoulder, let it roll along his arm into his hand, let it drop but with one lithe movement caught it just before it touched the floor —all with an effortless grace that fascinated the two onlookers.
Lan's body was hairless like his head, and his rounded arms and legs did not show any musculature. His waist was narrow, but he had wide shoulders and a thick neck.
"His skin is as smooth as a woman's," Chiao Tai whispered to Ma Joong, "but underneath is nothing but whipcord!"
Ma Joong nodded in silent admiration.
Suddenly the champion stopped. He stood for a moment regulating his breath, then stepped up to his two friends with a broad smile. Presenting the ball in his outstretched hand to Ma Joong he said:
"Hold it a while, will you? I'll put on my robes."
Ma Joong took the ball but let it slip with a curse. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. It was of solid iron.
All three burst out laughing.
"August Heaven!" Ma Joong exclaimed, "seeing you working with it I thought it was made of wood."
"I wish you would teach me that exercise," Chiao Tai said wistfully.
"As I told you two before," Lan Tao-kuei said with his quiet smile, "as a matter of principle I never teach separate grips or exercises. It'll always be a pleasure to teach you, but you'll have to follow the entire course."
Ma Joong and a boxer hear a soldier's story
Ma Joong scratched his head.
"Do I remember correctly," he asked, "that your training rules include leaving the wenches alone?"
"Women sap a man's strength," Lan said. He spoke so bitterly that his two friends shot him an astonished look. Lan rarely indulged in vehement statements. The boxer quickly continued with a smile: "That is to say, it'll not hurt if kept well under control. For you I'll make special conditions. You have to give up drinking altogether, you must follow the diet I prescribe, and sleep with a woman only once a month. That's all!"
Ma Joong shot a doubtful look at Chiao Tai.
"Well," he said, "there's the rub, brother Lan. I don't suppose that I am fonder of a drink and a wench than the next, but I am nearing forty now, and they have grown to be a sort of habit with me, you know. What about you, Chiao Tai?"
Fingering his small mustache Chiao Tai replied: