“It is possible to find an excuse for almost everything, regarding it from one angle or another,” remarked the Mandarin impartially; “but the crime of destroying a husband—­and by a means so unpleasantly insinuating—­really seems to leave nothing to be said.”

“Yet, imperishable, even a bad coin must have two sides,” replied the hag.  “That I should be guilty and yet innocent would be no more wonderful than the case of Weng Cho, who, when faced with the alternative of either defying the Avenging Societies or of opposing fixed authority found a way out of escaping both.”

“That should be worth—­that is to say, if you base your defence upon an existing case—­”

“Providing the notorious thug Kai Lung is not thereby brought in,” suggested the narrow-minded Ming-shu, who equally desired to learn the stratagem involved.

“Weng Cho was the only one concerned,” replied the ancient obtusely—­“he who escaped the consequences.  Is it permitted to this one to make clear her plea?”

“If the fatigue is not more than your venerable personality can reasonably bear,” replied Shan Tien courteously.

“To bear is the lot of every woman, be she young or old,” replied the one before them.  “I comply, omnipotence.”

          The Story of Weng Cho; or, the One Devoid of Name

There was peach-blossom in the orchards of Kien-fi, a blue sky above, and in the air much gladness; but in Wu Chi’s yamen gloom hung like the herald of a thunderstorm.  At one end of a table in the ceremonial hall sat Wu Chi, heaviness upon his brow, deceit in his eyes, and a sour enmity about the lines of his mouth; at the other end stood his son Weng, and between them, as it were, his whole life lay.

Wu Chi was an official of some consequence and had two wives, as became him.  His union with the first had failed in its essential purpose; therefore he had taken another to carry on the direct line which alone could bring him contentment in this world and a reputable existence in the next.  This degree of happiness was supplied by Weng’s mother, yet she must ever remain but a “secondary wife,” with no rights and a very insecure position.  In the heart of the chief wife smouldered a most bitter hatred, but the hour of her ascendancy came, for after many years she also bore her lord a son.  Thenceforward she was strong in her authority; but Weng’s mother remained, for she was very beautiful, and despite all the arts of the other woman Wu Chi could not be prevailed upon to dismiss her.  The easy solution of this difficulty was that she soon died—­the “white powder death” was the shrewd comment of the inner chambers of Kien-fi.