Tu Tzuchun desperately kept his eyes closed firmly remembering the old man’s warning. He remained like this for a few moments, until a very faint voice, as soft as breathing, came to his ears.
“Never worry about us. Our suffering does not matter at all. Nothing could make us more contented than to know that you are happy. If you wish, keep silence, however hard the king may press you.”
The voice that spoke was without doubt the loving voice of his dear mother. Tu Tzuchun involuntarily opened his eyes, and saw that one of the wretched horses lying at his feet had its eyes intensely fixed upon him. The expression on her face showed no sign of anger, even though she had been lashed so cruelly, for, in her great love for him, she had forgotten all her bodily pain. What a heavenly heart! What bravery! How different from the selfishness of the world, and of the people who said pretty things to him when he was rich, and who cut him so cruelly when he was poor. Then Tu Tzuchun, regardless of the old man’s orders, ran to the side of his mother, and took the neck of the dying horse in his arms, and as the tears streamed down his face, he could hold out no longer and he cried:
“Mother! …”
All of a sudden everything seemed to change, and he found himself standing at the western gate of the city of Loyang, gazing absentmindedly at the setting sun. The sky was hazy, and a white new moon shone in the sky above him. Surging past was an incessant stream of men and vehicles … he saw just the same scene as before.
“Young man, do you know that you can never be a magician, even though you become one of my pupils?”
Looking up he beheld the old man with the squint eye. He was smiling.
“No, I cannot, but I am rather glad of it.”