Pale Pink Porcelain
less, that he could pass starving children on the streets without as much as a glance, or that he permitted his own sister to die of want simply because once in her youth she had criticized his handiwork? The face of Tsang Kee Foo was a mask, a smiling mask, and few there were who knew the mind that lived behind it.
He was successful, rich, an artist. It was enough.
Now as he sat at the door of his house he felt great contentment. He was snatching a moment's rest for his family from the ceaseless toil that had gone on for almost a thousand years. Listlessly he watched the coolies trotting past laden down with porcelain-ware which they were taking to the furnaces to be baked. Not many factories in Kingtehchen could boast furnaces. For most of the pottery was made in the homes of the people. Almost every house was a factory. And even tiny children were skilled in the ceramic art. But Tsang Kee Foo was rich. He had his own furnaces for baking. Life was very good.
In this he eclipsed Lu Chau, his greatest rival. Lu Chau was equally as skillful but he did not own his own furnace. Tsang Kee Foo hated Lu Chau though he always greeted him with a smile and welcomed him to his home. In cordiality he treated him as a brother. Yet deep within him was buried a burning hatred, a hatred that burned as surely as the pine-wood in his furnaces. For one thing Lu Chau was handsome. He was possessed of a beauty that made all women his slaves. They looked up into his black almond eyes,
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