On the upper Mian river, near Kim-Me Ridge, imperial officials observe pink-complexioned farmgirl ‘Coral’ Li, a notional concubine for their solemn Emperor. She carries baskets of rice (China’s staple, equivalent to Western corn) brashly, with jaunty step and laughing eye. ‘The Emperor craves spirited maidens’; she accedes, curious to behold capital and ruler. At the palace, she is bathed in a scented pool; items of toilette are employed, bemusingly unfamiliar. Finally she is ushered to audience. The Emperor bids Li - a supposed great honour - to approach. At close sight of him she exclaims: ‘Old man! You’re less regal than I am. Pth! I’ll return home, where village men are hearty, not wizened; straight like bamboo, not crooked as a crane’s neck.’ Courtiers gasp, horrified. Silence holds, for a breath. Then, a roar - a gale unpent; breaking long precedent, the Emperor is laughing.
[I wonder if such deconstruction of the given words will be allowed?]
|