known each other for many years. The old mystic was a most interesting companion and countless were the tranquil hours Hwei-Ti passed listening to his quaint philosophies.
"Of all senses," mused Woo Ling-foh, "that of sight is the greatest. Who really looks with eyes that see? In every man is hidden the shadow of his ancestors. From his shadow he can not escape. Therefore might it not be possible for one to gaze at a man so intently that one could see his ancestors reaching back dimly through the mists of the ages? However, this is purely speculative on my part. I have never had opportunity to pursue this particular road of thought farther. I have been too intent on experimenting with spiritual things. For years this has been my main subject of research, and do you know what I have come to realize? Vision is granted a man only just before his death. At that period his senses are developed to their most superb degree. Animals and people do not see things in the same manner. Visions are of different intensities. For instance, birds can not distinguish blue because of the presence of yellow granules in the retina of their eyes. Numerous animals can distinguish ultra-violet rays which are not apparent to human sight, due perhaps to the fluorescence of their eyes. I merely mention these things in a fragmentary way to emphasize my point. If such things can be, might it not also be possible for one to gaze into the spiritual world if one's vision was sufficiently tuned? Not only is it possible but it has been done. I have wandered through a silent Blue City, a city of peace and contentment and rest, a city of soft whispers and sweet tones, of beauty and rare love. Come with me upon a pilgrimage. You have not long to live, six months at best, and I will take you to realms that will make your passing splendid."
Hwei-Ti was interested. He leaned forward. "Where is this city of which you speak?"
Woo Ling-foh extended his hands. "Who knows?" he said slowly. "Who knows the exact position of anything? Most places exist only if you believe in them enough."
In the early evening the old mystic
stopped for Hwei-Ti at his garden.
The sun was setting and the
rose-tinted lights of late afternoon
splashed on the mountains in gorgeous
splendor. They walked on and
on, without heat or hurry. The air
was cool and refreshing, in strange
variance to the humid heat of the
day that had passed. Gradually the
rose-tinted lights faded, giving place
to purpling mists as night crept into
its own. Onward they continued up
a winding mountain-road, a road
upon which no other wayfarers
walked, a road deserted, sad, rough.
Woo Ling-foh said nothing nor did Hwei-Ti, although it was true that the rich merchant's interest and enthusiasm were raised to a pitch never attained before. He felt, as he climbed up the crooked mountain-road, as though his old life was falling from him, like a shell that had become useless. The future held mystery. He could sense it in the air. Whether it held happiness he did not know. But he doubted it because his uttermost goal was dearth within six months anyway. Still the night's adventure was attractive, and he labored onward up the road beside old Woo Ling-foh, the mystic, who seemed unable to appreciate fatigue. He walked forward without effort despite his age and the steepness of the trail.
Now the mantle of night had fallen completely, the stars gleamed forth. They seemed of immense size, more brilliant than ever before.
Finally they reached the summit of the mountain—a broad, tablelike plateau that faded off into the gray of the night distances. The sky was
