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So Ming Ti was brought to the garden of the mandarin. He was bathed and dressed in elaborate clothes, after which he was served a meal fit for the gods, a meal that was a poem in fifty courses. And as the meal progressed the mandarin entered and sat at the table also. In glowing phrases he bade Ming Ti welcome.
"Henceforth," said he, "you will be permitted the run of my house, for you are now my brother. We are blood brothers, united by an exchange of ears."
Ming Ti smiled insolently. "Hardly that," said he, "for I did not receive any ear in return."
"That is true," the mandarin said blandly, "but in my eyes, you have an ear. This ear that I am wearing will ever be yours. And to seal the compact I give you this house and garden as your home till death."
Ming Ti bowed. "You are most gracious," he declared. "First you give me my life. And now you give me a new splendid world in which to enjoy it. Truly it is like being born anew. May I be worthy of the honors which you are showering down upon me."
"If you have a wife," Wang Mok went on, "she shall be brought here so that you may enjoy the pleasures with which she is able to supply you."
"I have no wife," Ming Ti said curtly. "There is no one I wish to bring here."
"If you have any desires, make them known to me," the mandarin told him at parting.
Before that day had drawn to a close and the sun had gone over the far hills to die, Ming Ti had flamed with a great desire, but he did not mention the matter to the mandarin. For as he walked through that enchanted garden in the late afternoon, he encountered Jasmine, who was walking alone. Her slender body vied with the flowers ifl loveliness. There was fragrance in her breath, fragrance in her smile as she stepped aside for Ming Ti to pass. And though Ming Ti passed, his thoughts remained with Jasmine. He paused and looked back, scarcely believing that such enchantment could be reality. And at that moment, Ming Ti stepped into a dream, a dream that became more beautiful day by day. It warmed and grew rich in color. Now Ming Ti was no longer a bandit. He was merely a man, conquered by love. Nor was his love fruitless, for it stirred an echo in Jasmine's gentle breast.
In the ensuing days they contrived to meet each other frequently, and it happened, as such things do, that eventually their love blended and became one. Their two lives flowed onward like a peaceful river. But they were not happy, for Ming Ti knew that the mandarin shared the favors of Jasmine with him, and jealousy overcame him like a mighty flood. He felt as though he were drowning, unable to breathe. He must get Jasmine away from this enchanted prison. Not for a moment did Ming Ti think of all the comfort he would be surrendering by leaving the garden to go into an exile of poverty. Jasmine would go with him. Therefore nothing else mattered. Having Jasmine, he would have everything. At last Ming Ti had become as profound as any of the sages of old China. All that is worthwhile in life is reflected in the smile of a beloved woman.
When Wang Mok, the mandarin, was advised one morning that they had fled, he was distraught. It was as though sunshine had vanished from the garden. The birds no longer sang, there was no melody in the tree-tops, and the flowers had lost their fragrance. Night after night he lay sleepless, listening to the wooing of Ming Ti. Although he did not know where the lovers had gone, each night he list-
