Now there was present among the council one wrapped in a mantle made of rustling leaves, who spoke in a smooth, low voice, very cunning and persuasive, with a plan already shaped that seemed to offer well and to safeguard Ko’en Cheng’s word.  None remembered to have seen him there before, and for this reason it is now held by some that this was Leou, the Whisperer, perturbed lest the sacred nail-sheaths of Ning should pass beyond his grasp.  As to this, says not the Wise One:  “When two men cannot agree over the price of an onion who shall decide what happened in the time of Yu?” But the voice of the unknown prevailed, all saying:  “At the worst it is but as it will be; perchance it may be better.”

That night there was much gladness in the camp of Ah-tang, and men sang songs of victory and cups of wine were freely passed, though in the outer walks a strict watch was kept.  When it was dark the word was passed that an engaging company was approaching from the town, openly and with lights.  These being admitted revealed themselves as a band of maidens, bearing gifts of fruit and wine and assurances of their agreeable behaviour.  Distributing themselves impartially about the tents of the chiefs and upper ones, they melted the hours of the night in graceful accomplishments and by their seemly compliance dispelled all thought of treachery.  Having thus gained the esteem of their companions, and by the lavish persuasion of bemusing wine dimmed their alertness, all this band, while it was still dark, crept back to the town, each secretly carrying with her the arms, robes and insignia of the one who had possessed her.

When the morning broke and the sound of trumpets called each man to an appointed spot, direful was the outcry from the tents of all the chiefs, and though many heads were out-thrust in rage of indignation, no single person could be prevailed upon wholly to emerge.  Only the lesser warriors, the slaves and the bearers of the loads moved freely to and fro and from between closed teeth and with fluttering eyelids tossed doubtful jests among themselves.

It was close upon the middle gong-stroke of the day when Ah-tang, himself clad in a shred torn from his tent (for in all the camp there did not remain a single garment bearing a sign of noble rank), got together a council of his chiefs.  Some were clad in like attire, others carried a henchman’s shield, a paper lantern or a branch of flowers; Tian alone displayed himself without reserve.

“There are moments,” said Ah-tang, “when this person’s admitted accomplishment of transfixing three foemen with a single javelin at a score of measured paces does not seem to provide a possible solution.  Undoubtedly we are face to face with a crafty plan, and Ko’en Cheng has surely heard that Wu Sien is marching from the west.  If we fail to knock upon the outer gate of Ti-foo at noon to-day Ko’en Cheng will say:  ‘My word returns.  It is as naught.’  If they who go are clad as underlings, Ko’en Cheng will cry:  ’What slaves be these!  Do men break plate with dogs?  Our message was for six of noble style.  Ah-tang but mocks.’” He sat down again moodily.  “Let others speak.”