KUEI PING’S second son lived but a few hours. Chang, preparing the burial rites, sobbing her grief and disappointment even as she summoned the soothsayer to examine the Imperial Calendar for the lucky day upon which to place the small body in its coffin, felt utterly baffled by the quiet passiveness of the mother. It was to Fuh Tang that she must turn for every decision and whom she must help to still his grief while the message requesting burial in the Chia family burial grounds was written and dispatched by messenger.

It was Chang An who placed the mirror above the door of Kuei Ping’s room, hoping that it would change the evil that had entered the house into real happiness. It was she who procured the blue papers to paste upon the entrance gateway announcing a death within the compound. It was she who tied about the neck of the deceased child two wisps of cotton wool in order that he might bear away the misfortune of the family and save it from a too numerous brood of girl children.

Chia Sung Lien, fearing that this may have been a frustrated attempt by his younger son to come to the aid of his family by re-entering the world through the body of the child, returned with the messenger to make sure that the soul be given the most careful attention, and that the burial rites be attended with more elaboration than usual for a baby.

To Kuei Ping the weeks and months that followed were one long weary night-mare. By day she haggled with tradesman and food-shop keepers over the price of a bit of cloth for garments for Bo Te, over shrimp for soup or vegetables and rice for food. At night she lay shivering under the coverlets, listening to the restless tossing of her husband, kept awake by her own thoughts and his loud breathing.

Fuh Tang sank lower and lower into the lethargy of opium smoking until one day he returned home to announce that the British consul had no more work for him that season. He no longer strove to hide the use of the drug from her, his only desire was to get it. Day after day he sat dreaming his colorless dreams while she struggled with the problem of keeping a roof over their heads, one by one pawning their possessions until little save the bare walls remained.

These walls, closing in upon her daily, became menacing shadows at night. Bitterly she condemned her own blindness in believing that she had hoped to find freedom in this way.

Thus the poison of the poppy stilled into pleasantness the dreams of Fuh Tang and the poison of selfish despair did its work upon the heart of Kuei Ping.

Meanwhile the winds grew colder and winter came upon them.