The Snapped Willow
enthralled. While Ping Yung was present she was never fretful. For this reason Lao Tzu begged him to delay his departure. Ping Yung was complimented by his host's cordiality. It pleased him to tarry at the little house. The comeliness of Shun Hua was a thing pleasant to contemplate. It was easier to sing for her than for any other woman he had ever known. Particularly good were his verses when he sang in the room of the silken rug. That rug held a fascination for him. He would sit for hours before it droning out his songs. At such times Lao Tzu spoke to him but he heeded him not. He was not conscious of his presence. He was entranced by the sheen of the soft silken carpet. For hours after leaving the room Ping Yung would wander about as though in a dream. It was hard for him to shake off its elusive fascination.
So passed days and nights of witchery more gorgeous than any of the poems of Lao Tzu. Existence had taken on a cast of perfection. There was nothing to break the magic contentment which lay spread over the little house like a coverlet until one night Ping Yung disappeared. He vanished like the night wind that sighs through the willows. With him vanished the silken carpet, the carpet into which Shun Hua had woven all the love of her soft body.
Lao Tzu threw up his hands in agony! He shrieked curses into the fragrant air of the garden! He besought all the gods of the hills and the waters to strike vengeance on the soul of Ping Yung. Shun Hua said
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