To please the God of Scented Pine Trees, though with considerable reluctance, he entered the room for sleeping. It was of an elegance that quite captured his breath. A pale lantern hung from the azure blue ceiling like a summer moon. The green rug was as thick and soft as dew-drenched grass at daybreak.
On the walls were written pictures. One in exquisite brush strokes: "How cool moonbeams drip from bamboo leaves." Another, "The color of distant hills—oh, those chrysanthemums!" He meditated a moment before them. Their eloquence he could appreciate. Like all Chinese he had the profoundest respect for the written character.
Quickly he slipped out of his clothes, stretched out on the kong and drew the silk coverlets over him, nor did he pay any attention to the large golden dragon that was embroidered upon it. Sleep should have come to him at once, for he was very tired, but his eyes did not close. First it was the pale light of the lantern that annoyed him. He was used to sleeping in darkness. The silk coverlets made him uncomfortable. The soft slinkiness was repulsive, almost like a slimy snake's skin. And he wondered why he had permitted himself to be flayed with words into this pretense of grandeur. He was but a coolie, a coolie who loved poetry, flowers, sunsets, the natural loveliness of life. What kind of a god was this God of Scented Pine Trees who forced him into doing that which was abhorrent to him?
He rose from the kong, put on his simple blue clothes and returned to hut. He stretched out on the bare earth and sighed contentedly. Sleep came to him at once. And now, in his dreams, his wife was beside him and the night was tender with perfume and sweet music.
The joy of peace and morning was on the land when he awakened. He walked to the door of the hut and breathed deeply of the clear, cool air. What need had any man for greater riches? He thought ruefully of the God of Scented Pine Trees whom he had worshipped for so many years. Now all that was ended. He would worship him no more, for he was an advocate of false doctrines. He knew nothing of the greatness of simple things, the joy of humility. What need had he for a false god, when there was so much in nature that was fine and true?
Coming toward him was a familiar fat figure, though not wearing his elaborate robes. Now he was arrayed in rags. He prostrated himself before Fo Wen and touched his forehead to the ground.
"Permit me to worship you, O Mighty Sage," he said fervently. "You were the sole remaining worshipper I had. That was why I erected this house for you. I was not satisfied with humble devotion. I wanted to be kowtowed to by a man of prominence. But now all this is over, and I have been flung down from the high places of the gods and reduced to the status of mere mortal. Nor am I dismayed, for I shall follow your guidance and your teachings. You have shown me the meaning of devotion. And so I prostrate myself before you in adoration."
Fo Wen felt strangely uplifted as though he could climb to the sky and
