* * * * *
Distances are as variable as the wind in the Middle Kingdom.
The first forty li on this journey were much shorter than the last
thirty, which took about twice as long to cover. I dragged along over
the narrow path through the wheat fields, and, making for an old man,
who looked as if he should know, I asked him the distance to my
destination. His reply of twenty li I accepted as accurate, and I
reckoned that I could cover this easily in a couple of hours. But at the
end of this time we had, according to a casual wayfarer, five more li,
and when we had covered at least four another rustic said it was "two
and a bit." This answer we got from four different people on the way,
and I was glad when I had completed the journey. One does not mind the
two li so much--it is the "bit" which upsets one's calculations.
The following day, on the road to Huan-chiang, I lost myself--that is, I
lost my men, and did not know the road. I got away into some quaint,
secluded garden and sat down, tired and hot, under a tree in the shade,
where a faint wind swung the heavy foliage with a solemn sound, and the
subdued and soothing music of a brook running between two banks of moss
and turf must have sent me to sleep.
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