It was then that Most Delicate Harmony began to breathe very fast, then very slowly, then fast again. She shivered and her hind legs twitched and my brother was born....

The sun had long since returned to the sky. The three pups were nestled against the belly of my mother. The eunuchs were swaggering nervously about the room, congratulating themselves on the birth of the three pups and cursing the loss of my sister—and blaming Uncle Stupid for it. As one of them leaned timidly out the doorway seeking reassurance that the sun would remain in the sky, my mother suddenly jumped up and raced past him, pursued by howling eunuchs, and leaving behind the three mewing puppies, who twitched and pawed clumsily in the bed of straw the eunuchs had prepared for them. After they brought Most Delicate back and tucked the puppies against her belly, she rose again, trotted to the far corner of the room, and rolled over on her side. She let out a terrible wail, and I was born.

“You will not find me harsh, Xiao Ji Long,” Li Huan said the next morning, after we had finished our walk on the still damp pebbles of the courtyard....

“A man who knows only the harsh strictures of law and punishment can know nothing of honor or shame and will act rightly only when the fear of mutilation or death weighs upon him. Just so, a dog who yearns only to escape the stinging switch and the choking rope will act rightly only when these are vivid in its mind. True and unerring right conduct can be attained only by the inner cultivation of right feeling, the spring from which all principles and rules of right conduct flow—and that can only be achieved by study and repetition of the practice of right conduct and the gentle correction of faults by one whose intentions are pure. In that way, one does not merely learn and practice the Li but absorbs it into the essence of one’s being.”

“Nor will you need to learn fancy tricks, Xiao Ji Long, for simplicity of manner should be no less valued in a dog than in a man. And fancy tricks are as empty of value and as unconducive to right conduct in a dog as tricks of rhetoric are to a man. Did not Master K’Ung [Confucius] himself say that such things disrupt virtue?”

Li Huan rose and walked to the door of the old servant’s room. He seemed to be listening for something, but I heard nothing. “But all of life cannot be study and discipline and self denial. Natural exuberance and passions will and must find their outlet. One cannot keep a bow forever stretched taut – still less can one leave it loose and not stretched at all. To stretch it and to loosen it, and then to stretch it and then loosen it again. It is in this manner that one begins to find the Way.”

I heard noises in the stand of pine trees just beyond me and ran towards them. Then, as I got closer, I heard a low, growling voice followed by a thumping sound. The sharp, acrid smells of violence flooded my nostrils and, badly frightened, I crawled into muddy reeds that lay at the base of a knoll of pine trees. Before me stood Wang Yu, his topknot loosened and strands of hair falling over his face. He held Minced Meat by the collar of his robe with one hand and with the other he pounded his back and face.

“Money?! You fail me and dare ask for money?!” he shouted in a strangled voice, his teeth biting into his lip so hard that a trickle of blood ran down his chin. He struck Minced Meat full in the face. “And to speak to me of ‘your poems.’ Why, they are nothing more than copies of the pinings of some lovesick scribbler.” “But I put myself in great danger—” “There, you are right,” Wang Yu shouted. “To speak to me with such insolence!”

He silenced Minced Meat with a volley of blows that drove him to his hands and knees in the deep, squishy mud that lay just beyond them. Then he grabbed the gray eunuch’s cap that now hung from Minced Meat’s ear and threw it even further into the mud.

“One thing you must know: after so much effort, that tasty plum must not be denied me! You must find another way.” Wang Yu grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back from the mud. He walked around Minced Meat’s outstretched body, kicking those parts that were least muddy. Minced Meat covered his head with his arms and cried for mercy.

“Ah, pie-eating sow,” Wang Yu said with sullen glee “Where is it?”. He bent over and tugged at the sash around Minced Meat waist, then pulled out the crumpled remains of his pie of flour paste and meat, looking at the mud on his hands in disgust. Wang Yu threw the pie into the mud. “Eat that pie, swine, and I may let you live.”

“No, please, I will come up with something,” Minced Meat begged. Wang Yu picked up a thick, broken branch of pine that lay near by and began to beat Minced Meat on the back with it. “Eat it,” he commanded and Minced Meat crawled after the pie and began picking pieces of it from the mud and putting them in his mouth. When he began vomiting, Wang Yu threw the stick at him. “You are too filthy to kill. Do not fail me next time,” ...

The ceremony bestowing on me the medal for Abundant Talents of Unusual Degree took place, despite the chilliness of the day, in a field of frost-covered grass alongside Sea-Like Lake. The Emperor had encouraged all nobles and high officials and even the eunuchs to bring their pet dogs with them, for he wished me to be honored not only by the court and all mankind, but by my own kind as well. The special attendant led me down the path that wound through the hills of the Garden of Ever-Present Breezes, resplendent in my jeweled collar and yellow cap and jacket, and very much annoyed that, for some reason, I could not paw the cap off my head this morning.

When at last we rounded a hill and the field came into full sight, I saw such numbers and sizes and shapes of dogs as I had not known existed in the world. For, except for Prince and Waking Bear and the shadowy remembrances of my infancy, I knew of my own kind only the distant
occasional sight of some ragged, skulking creature spied from Li Huan’s carriage or of some ribbon-bedecked pile of hair on the silk leash of a fine lady.

Stretched out now before me, was a pulsing, barking, howling, whining, yapping mob of dogs, wearing jackets and robes and caps and hats of all colors and designs, adorned with pendants and muzzles of jewels and silver and even gold. Short bucked-toothed creatures covered with blond hair, huge black or gray hounds with enormous long heads and paws, pointy-nosed dogs
with thick fur of reddish gold or white or brown. All of them straining at the leashes of silk or embroidered rope or leather held by their masters or by servants whose costumes were specially designed to match their own. I reared back on my leash, my nose drinking in an intoxicating, dizzying profusion of smells, far more raw and powerful and uncomplicated than
anything I had ever experienced with humans. I did not know whether to charge or flee and pulled this way and that, growling with menace at one moment, yelping with terror at the next, until finally the special attendant had to pick me up and carry me, struggling wildly in his arms, onto the platform constructed at the head of the field.....

“I do not at all like this business of honors, Little Lucky One,” Uncle Stupid said to me several days later. “As I predicted, officials and scholars have been trooping in from all over the country to pester the Grand Empress Dowager with complaints about the ceremony honoring you. From places that she did not even know existed. She is most exasperated....

“I tell you again, Xiao Ji Long, I do not like this business of honors. In my experience, honors always precede tragedy. I have sought all my life, with remarkable success, to avoid honors.”

The next morning, after I had eaten and done my necessaries, Uncle Stupid placed me in the bamboo pen. “A very highbrow gentleman is coming to visit you this morning. I have not yet myself had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman.” Several eunuchs had gathered round the pen and they laughed as Uncle Stupid spoke to me.

“But he is said to be a great champion. He is called Charging Lion and is descended from many great champions and the sire of many more. The unfortunate Waking Bear was one of his sons. You should be honored. The Grand Empress Dowager herself has selected him to be your husband. Or perhaps I should call him your paramour. He is said to be a bit of a rogue and greatly adverse to the settled life.”

Charging Lion seemed to me twice as large as Waking Bear. His jowls descended into thick rolls of flesh around his neck and these widened into a great mane of silvery tan fur. His mask and whiskers had whitened with age and his face was without a trace of refinement. One of his eyes was half-closed as though about to fall asleep and, when he trotted about the pen, his left rear leg jumped out oddly every third or fourth step. Nonetheless, he showed great interest in me and, after rounding the pen, he rushed to me and begin sniffing my nose in great, snorting draughts. Then he moved to my rump and began sniffing even more eagerly.

I took only a few cautious sniffs of him, and, finding them quite repellent, I ran from him. He chased after me, still sniffing eagerly behind me. We went round and round the ring for quite some time until finally I wearied of it and turned on him, snapping and snarling. Charging Lion recoiled and looked at me for a long time as though perplexed. Then he resumed his chase, and so it went, round and round the pen, snaps and snarls, and a momentary pause. Then, again and again, around the pen. Sometimes Charging Lion would grow tired and lay down on the floor heavily, panting and drooling. But then he would rise again and resume his chase. Sometimes I would weary of running in circles and sit down on my rump so that he could not sniff me. But he would pester and nudge me until I could maintain this posture no longer
and I would growl and snort and resume my run once more.

The eunuchs grew impatient. “Do not be such a prude, Little Lucky One,” they began to complain to me. “It is well past lunch, we are hungry.”

“Come, give Charging Lion a chance, Little Dragon. Do not resist so much the secrets of Clouds and Rain.” Once the eunuchs tried to hold me still but I squirmed and bit and snarled with such vehemence that they let go of me.

“Come, Xiao Ji Long, do your duty,” Uncle Stupid said sharply. “He is, after all, no uglier than a Minister!”

Uncle Stupid fell silent and pulled two sticks from the pot. He blew on them and placed them again in the pot, then spread the sticks evenly about the sides of the pot.

“XXX is dead,” he said in a heavy, flat voice and a tear squeezed out of his eye and ran down his cheek. “She died while you were nursing your pups. It is said she died of a fever. But this is not true. ‘Small evils are recorded. Great evils are not mentioned!’ And what has befallen XXX, so young, so full of the sweetness of life, so perfect in her beauty, is a great evil!” Although I understood nothing of what he said, Uncle Stupid paused as he finished each thought until I raised my eyes and met his gaze, as though he needed my reaction before he could continue.

“XXX became pregnant. And though the pregnancy was ended, it was greatly feared that secrets would get out. The secret of the pregnancy itself. And the secret of the father. But XXX herself did not ever reveal the father.

“It was, in any case, now impossible that she could pass the examinations that are required after the Son of Heaven receives his cap of manhood.

“She could not be returned to her family. The disgrace of a concubine sent back after being chosen from many hundreds for the Son of Heaven would be too great, even if the pregnancy remained unknown. They told her that she could only live as a commoner in some far city. But that was just to frighten her further—for they had no intention of letting her live and risking
disclosure of so many secrets. So each day the eunuchs and those relatives of hers that lived in Chang ’An would gather round her to try to persuade her to commit suicide.

“After many days of pleadings and threats she consented. But when they brought the poison, she could not go through with it and threw the poison to the floor and ran crying from her room. The relatives could not bear her sorrow any longer and did not come any more to persuade her. But the eunuchs redoubled their efforts.

“They had become very afraid themselves. For there was not only the secret of pregnancy, and that of the violation of the sanctity of the harem— which clearly required the transgressions of many, not just one. It was feared also that her lover, in his boastfulness, might have told her other secrets. Secrets which would have placed many lives in danger.

“XXX again consented but again when the poison was brought, she could not do it and broke away weeping. But my brother eunuchs could not give up—too much was at risk—and they started on her again. And this time they brought to her a special potion. And XXX became
very happy and, singing her stupid poem about the lover who braves deserts and demons and slays ten men, she took the poison mixed in with still more of the potion.

For many days thereafter, I remained all the day in my room, leaving only to attend to my necessaries. Except for my meals—and my food bowl was always kept full, I cared for nothing but licking and cleaning the two pups, for the push of their paws against my belly, and their reassuring tugs on my nipples. A strange, hysterical protectiveness came over me and I wished no one to come near us except Uncle Stupid—and even him I barely tolerated, growling if he made as if to touch the puppies. And during this time, as the puppies nuzzled and suckled me, I was filled with a feeling of great happiness and gratification. This narrow life seemed perfectly complete to me and I felt as though I should never want anything more than to lie on my side in this bed of straw and torn silk rags.

But, as the days passed, I began to feel restless and, more and more frequently, I felt a rush of desire to leave these ever needy pups and look for treats or food outside my room—even though a bowlful of food lay next to me. When I would return from these leave-takings, the thought of lying down once again and having these two increasingly heavy and rambunctious
creatures clambering over me no longer seemed so pleasurable . The male pup was particularly annoying: always he pushed and pulled to be first to the teat.

But then he was never satisfied with the teat he was suckling! Wanting always then the teat on which his sister had settled. I began to stand up when they approached and when still they ran at me and tried to hang onto my nipples as I walked about, I would growl and snap at them. More and more I welcomed those times when Uncle Stupid, and even the physicians, would
take them from me and pet and clean them and place before them small bowls of milk and a watery, unappealing mush.

There was no time, day or night, during my life in the swamp when I did not feel pangs of hunger and stirrings of fear. I had many enemies—the hogs, the rats, the skulking dogs of the village, and the knobby-cheeked villagers themselves. Of friends, I had none. Sometimes I would try to think of Uncle Stupid, Splendid Moon and Precious Wisdom, and old Li Huan but I could not make these reveries vivid. They dissolved before the bleakness of my life and I was left with only a vague, dull feeling of sadness and loss. Sometimes, too, just to relieve my solitude, I would suddenly let out a few crisp barks and a kind of howl and just as suddenly silence myself, fearful that these sounds would bring on some calamity. I began to bring sticks and pieces of wood, which had never before interested me, back into my tunnel and to chew them incessantly. And sometimes in the full heat of the afternoon sun when all was still about me, I would run around in circles in the small clear space just outside my tunnel and leap into air as though trying to snatch some treat dangling above me, repeating this again and again until, panting and exhausted, I crept back into the shade of the lair, unable to continue.

“What do you think of this Buddha?” the Father asked Chung after the meal was finished. “His teachings are nothing more than those of Laozi, though they carry one less far, and are not so intelligent, and are led astray by fundamental errors.” “And is this Laozi also a god?”

“One cannot be what does not exist. He was a minor official who somehow learned that the way to act and think is not to act and think.”

“He sounds to me just as perplexing as this Buddha. You know him, of course, since you have known everyone and seen everything?”

“No, but I have studied his thinking and have learned some useful things. You would call them ‘tricks,’ I am sure. But I do not think he is a suitable subject of interest to you.”

“Because I am not intelligent enough?” “No, because you cannot bear inactivity.”

“For once I agree with you. Let us leave him, then, and come back to this Buddha. For there is one thing that most perturbs me. I am told that he says that men are reborn again and again in different bodies, or even as animals or insects; in fact, I am told that all the Hindus believe this. I am attracted to this idea—though only as it concerns being reborn as a man, not a sheep or a lizard or a fly. It would seem to me an excellent opportunity to better one’s position and to avenge oneself against enemies. But I feel in my heart that it cannot be true. This, however, is not what most perturbs me . What I find most strange is that these Buddhists say that one must direct one’s life towards ending this cycle of rebirth. What sense does this make, since men desire immortality as much as they desire wealth and profits.”

“I will not argue in favor of this belief since I do not believe any of it myself. If each man is but a reborn version of a previous one, there could be no increase in population—yet we have records that show a five-fold increase in the population of the Central Kingdom alone. It does not seem to me possible that these new men are those who have died in other parts of the world.”

Chung looked into the fire and gently rubbed one of the pouches in his belt and brought his forefinger to his lips before speaking again. “But of what account is a dead man anyway? A man who has died is but ice that has melted, a sack of rice from which all the rice has been eaten. He is no more. He is without form.”

“You and this Buddha may take comfort in that. I do not. These problems of religion are vexing. Why can I not find a god that I can speak to straightforwardly? I tell him what I want; he tells me—not through signs, or omens, or oracles that one can interpret in 100 different ways, but directly, in clear speech—what he wants. Directly, I stress—not through some magician or priest who spouts gibberish and pretends to be a darling of the gods but ends up, despite this favored status, killed or tortured—or worse yet, runs off with your money. I want profit, wealth, an untroubled journey, revenge on my enemies, many wives and children. Let him tell me his wants . Then, perhaps a bargain can be struck.”

“All kings are descended from gods,” says Chung in dull, flat voice, “and their forebears reared by wolves, tigers, eagles, or elephants. They apparently do not thrive on mother’s milk.”

V.J. begins again: “The people of this city believe that god has chosen them—”

“All cities are the center of the universe and each one has been chosen by god as his earthly home,” Chung interrupts again.

“In the land of Ferghana,” says V.J., “if the king sees a beautiful woman, he immediately makes her his wife or concubine, even if she is already married. So the men hide…”

“That is standard practice among kings. I have never heard of a king anywhere who did not hog all the beautiful women—unless he preferred boys,” the Father says.

“Far to the south, in an island in the great ocean, there are men with tails.” “And you have seen them?” asks the Father “Yes, but only from a distance. For they run when they see foreigners.
But the native men on that island say that they mix with them freely and trade with them, and sometimes even marry them—though this is discouraged and the better class of people never do it.”

“I would not care if they had tails if I could get a good price for my wares out of them, but I do not believe I could abide having a wife with a tail. Though I might wish to lie with one just to see what it was like.”

There is suddenly a deafening roar from the front of the caravan and darkness begins to fly across the sky. For just an instant, the bandits appear as though they are nearly on top of us, then their image is flung far away. In the next moment, we are flailed by stinging, wind-blown sand and pebbles. Chung, who has been standing idly at our side since the bandits first appeared, moves his lips but we cannot hear him. The second-in-command and the bandits are forgotten. Chung grabs the shoulder of Kaidan, who grabs the arm of Ayaru with his free hand and we run toward the cart. But all becomes a whirling black of sand and stones and we can no longer see it. Ayaru feels the shaggy neck of a kneeling camel and pulls us down behind it, but Chung is lost to us, blown off somewhere in the black whirlwind. Kaidan and Ayaru struggle to loose the edge of a blanket of rough cloth from the camel and finally succeed in pulling it over us. They push me between them and wrap their arms around each other and wriggle close to the camel. There is nothing to do but lie there and listen to the roar and howl of the wind. Sand and stone beat against the blanket. The camel winces and groans from their sting and smack. The weight of sand atop the blanket becomes heavier and then lightens, then heavier and lighter, again and again.

“Desert demons,” the Father says. “They are calling to us but we must not heed them.” ...

The other headman says that he is certain that there is a small oasis due north of the dried-up water hole where we now rest—no farther than a full day and night’s march. It is decided that he and the Father and VJ. will go . there and bring water back. The rest of us will stay behind for they do not believe that many of us can survive another day’s journey without water. A tent is staked out to cover the dark spot, its sides left open so that the wind can blow through. Kaidan and Ayaru bury me up to my neck in the moist sand, which the night air has made cool again; then they bury the Mother and themselves in the moist sand. All others in the caravan do the same. But Chung will not be buried. Shivering and twitching, he says he will not stay behind. He is skilled in reading the stars, he says, and, besides, has become as light as dust;
it will be no burden at all for a camel to carry him.

Chung must be lifted onto the camel and the Father and V.J. and the headman totter and stagger alongside their camels before they are able to mount them. The Father’s camel will not get up. He beats it with a stick. Still it will not move; instead, it stretches out its neck and legs in the sand. “It wants only to die,” says the Father, and he stumbles to another camel and seizes its bit.

The camels carry them off with tired, deliberate steps, as though fearful one misstep will cause them to crumple. I can hear their bronze bells jingling for a long time as they go into the desert. Then the wind blows up again and I hear only its creaking and howling and the labored breathing of the dying camel. Though it lies well away from us, the stench of its breath fills the air under the tent.

My screams have unnerved the whole caravan. The Father says that if I do not stop, he will skin me and make a fine hat out of me. But the higher we go up the rock-strewn, zigzag path, criss-crossed by banks of soggy snow, the more frequently the lop-sided feeling pours into my ears and I cannot repress my screams. Others in the caravan sense something as well. They raise their heads and sniff the heavy, still air as though they were dogs. The feel of the air is eerie, they say, and bodes no good....

* * *

The trail has become very steep and rugged, covered with ice and loose stone. Above us, a towering expanse of unbroken white reaches down ever closer towards us. The cart jerks back and forth continuously and it is impossible for me to settle myself in one place very long. The ponies slip more and more often; several of them have injured themselves so badly that we have had to slit their throats and hastily butcher them. Only the yaks seem never to lose their footing. They plod forward at the same slow pace without worry or difficulty, punctuating their walk with that never-changing monotonous grunt they make....

The jolt of the wheel against a boulder throws me against the back of the cart. Then the path is almost smooth and an engulfing stillness settles down on us. It becomes thicker with each moment and fills my head with the lopsided feeling and I can do nothing but turn in circles and let out my scream.

A blast of wind strikes us head on as we round a narrow bend and we are all at once submerged in an ocean of white. Men, yaks, and ponies—all stand still for a moment as though the wind has been knocked out of them. Then the men recover and try to force the ponies and yaks forward into the snow that is already deepening on the trail. They do not want to move—even the yaks resist—and have to be struck with whips and switches. The men grab the
bridles of the ponies and the ropes that run through the noses of the yaks and pull them forward. At last we begin to move again. But we cannot move more than a few feet at a time before we must stop, as the whirling snow confuses us and ponies and carts are forever slipping to the side of the trail. Each foot we advance must be won with curses and whips, with neighing and grunting and the gnashing of teeth. But we continue this agonizing, slow march
through the day and night and into the next day—for all are certain that to stop on the trail means disaster.

Li Huan pulled a patchwork hempen cloak, smelling richly of animal fat, off a peg by the door and we went outside into a cramped courtyard covered with damp pebbles. It was enclosed by high walls and filled with tiny trees and bushes and pots of flowers, all dripping with rain. The wetness of the raindrops and pebbles was very unpleasant and I lurched back towards the
doorway of the house. Li Huan halted me with a brisk snap of the leash.

“You must do that which is necessary to your health,” he said in a calm, steady voice. He began to walk me around the walls of the garden—four steps, a turn, four more steps, a turn, again and again. I had no idea why he continued this unpleasant, monotonous exercise and I looked up at him frequently for some sign that would explain it to me. “For health,” he would say each time I caught his eye. Round and round we went, as I grew wetter and wetter and more uncomfortable and Li Huan’s cloak turned black with rain.

“For health,” he said, over and over again. I began to shiver from the dampness and chill of the night air and my insides began to tremble with a desire to relieve myself. But this unfamiliar, damp courtyard, unmarked by my smells, hardly seemed suitable for such a purpose and I struggled on, turning now and then in a circle to see if I was wrong and that in fact there might be a place in the courtyard that was appropriate. “For health,” Li Huan would say each time I turned a circle, “For health.”

Rainwater clung to my coat and coursed down my flanks and dripped from my chin. Li Huan began to cough and sneeze and shake huge droplets off his cloak. Still we continued around the courtyard. A deep shiver ran through my innards. I turned round under a tree half the size of Li Huan, then turned again, then a third, fourth, fifth time—at last the feel of it seemed just right to me. I squatted down and relieved myself.

“For health,” Li Huan said, his calm voice inflated by a hint of excitement. “Most excellent.”