While I had been indulging in my sweet daydreams, the following incident was taking place in Shi’s house.
Once the servants had come back from the market, the Butler summoned Van.
“Was the way to the city difficult for you?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” answered Van, in due humble and respectful manner, not anticipating anything wrong.
“Was the market crowded today?”
“Yes, very crowded, Sir.”
“Do you love your young Illustrious Lord?”
“With all my heart, Sir,” replied Van, and with this her cheeks acquired the slightest tint of pink.
What else could a servant reply? This was the only possible answer for her. However, the slight flush caused the fatal decision.
“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” said the Butler. “Then you won’t mind accompanying me to the nearby village to choose flowers in honour of the young Illustrious Lord?”
The red silk ribbons on Van’s clothes were light-heartedly waving in the breeze. She was watching the path and simply following the Butler, in her habitual mincing-steps manner. On her back there was a bright green basket, it was as long as Van was tall, which she was carrying by holding onto a thick rope. In silence, the two reached a rickety suspension bridge which connected the two edges of a rock split in twain by a rapid stream of a crystal clear river flowing from up high in the mountains. The Butler waited for Van, and let her go first.
The bridge, as if alive, gave a sigh when Van stepped on it, its dry twigs responding with a crunch to every step they were making. The Butler was walking slower, and started falling behind Van. He was making deliberately heavy steps, which made the bridge shake in a baleful way. All at once Van’s straw sandal caught on a twig, and she lost her balance. At that moment, the wave of the bridge’s shaking reached the place where she was, and the bridge swayed to one side. Van fell down on the bridge, but as she feared to lose the basket, she kept holding its rope.
The shaky wave was going back in the other direction. The Butler, knowing what it meant, immediately lay down on the bridge and clutched at it, his fingers like cat’s claws. Van was trying to hold on by the twigs to avoid falling off the bridge, but she failed to find a good place to clutch by. At last she dared to let the basket go, but it was already too late – the bridge was shaking again, and, just like a horse that knows how to spill an inexperienced rider, it spilled Van, wresting its twigs and the last hope from her. Everything happened in no time at all, and the girl was so shocked that she did not even scream. The current picked up her body and carried it downstream. The only reminder of Van’s existence was a piece of red ribbon caught on some twigs of the bridge.