All his family and retainers found quarters in this new city named Meiwu.
Tung Cho visited his city at intervals of a month or so and every visit was like an imperial progress, with booths by the roadside to refresh the officials and courtiers who attended him to the Hêngmên and saw him start.
On one occasion he spread a great feast for all those assembled to witness his departure and while it was in progress there arrived a large number of malcontents from the north who had voluntarily surrendered. The tyrant had them brought before him as he sat at table and meted out to them wanton cruelties. The hands of this one were lopped off, the feet of that; one had his eyes gouged out; another lost his tongue. Some were boiled to death. Shrieks of agony arose to the very heavens and the courtiers were faint with terror, but the author of the misery ate and drank, chatted and smiled as if nothing was going on.
Another day Tung Cho was presiding at a great gathering of officers who wereseated in two long rows. After the wine had gone up and down several times Lü Pu entered and whispered a few words in his master’s ear. Cho smiled and said, “He was always so. Take Chang Wên outside.” The others all turned pale. In a little time a serving man brought the head of their fellow guest on a red dish and showed it to their host. They nearly died with fright.
“Do not fear,” said Cho smiling. “He was in league with Yüan Shu to assassinate me. A letter he wrote fell by mistake into the hands of my son so I have had him put to death. You gentlemen, who have no reason, need have no fear.”
The officials hastened to disperse. One of them, Governor Wang Yün, who had witnessed all this, returned to his palace very pensive and much distressed. The same evening, a bright moonlight night, he took his staff and went strolling in his private garden. Standing near one of the creeper trellises he gazed up at the sky and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly he heard a rustle in the peony pavilion and some one sighing deeply. Stealthily creeping near he saw there one of the household singing girls named Tiaoch‘an or Sable Cicada.
This maiden had been brought up in his palace, where she had been taught to sing and dance. She was then just bursting into womanhood, a pretty and clever girl whom Wang Yün regarded more as a daughter than a dependant.
After listening for some time he suddenly called out, “What mischief are you up to there, you naughty girl?”
The maiden dropped on her knees in terror, “Would thy unworthy handmaid dare to do anything wrong?” said she.
“Then what are you sighing about out here inthe darkness?”
“May thy handmaid speak from the bottom of her heart?”
