Victory
He knew it before nightfall. One of his messengers came to him secretly.
In excited whispers he told an astounding tale. Li Mi was dead. He had walked into a trap. With him had perished two hundred thousand men. It was a ghastly blow to Kuo-chung, who longed to be a Generalissimo. Nevertheless he did not lose his grip on reality. He swore the messenger to secrecy. No word of this must ever reach the Emperor.
All through the night, Kuo-chung drank heavily, and Kuo Kuo tried with little success to comfort him. By dawn he was maudlin. He had shifted the blame so that not the slightest suspicion of mismanagement could fall upon himself. The debacle was the sole fault of Li Mi. He had been unworthy of the task with which he had been entrusted. If Li Mi had followed the orders of Kuo-chung, all would have been well. He wept for the perfidy of Li Mi. But eventually, he quieted. After all, the defeat was not irreparable. If only the visible elements of life would stop swaying. The floor rose and fell like that of a junk in tempest. He closed his eyes and braced himself in a valiant effort not to fall down. He had the sudden fear that if he did so he would plunge into an abyss of sleep so deep he might never awaken.
"No country," he said petulantly, "would be so brash as to attack China, so what need is there for a large army?"
He struggled to his feet and walked lumberingly up
and down the room. One of his boots had come off, and
