Victory
matum of the rabble. Men who but a few days ago slunk away at the approach of the retinue of a Mandarin were now presuming to give orders to their Emperor.
"My death?" repeated Yang Kuei-fei, almost inarticulately. "My death? Am I a menace to the safety of China? Can these small hands bring ruin upon the country?"
Ming Huang found his voice. He spat out viciously, "These men are traitors! The head of every last one of them must fall before the sword of the Executioner!"
"Would you slay sixty-five thousand men?"
"Yes, to prevent harm from befalling Yang Kuei-fei! They deserve death!"
"That I grant you, but there is no one to perform so gigantic a task."
"Are all my men traitors?"
"Revolt is a pestilence that sweeps troops, as a black plague devastates a city. Only a few have escaped its scourge. Against a multitude, their efforts would count little."
"Sooner would I be blasted from this earth than have anything happen to Yang Kuei-fei!"
"What then would happen to the fifty-eight million people who dwell in this Empire? For the sake of our people, I implore you, do not arrive at a decision too hastily."
However, Ming Huang remained steadfast in his love. "Rather would I see China in ashes, than sacrifice Yang Kuei-fei!"
