Then a strange thing appeared, wriggling in the sky. It proved to be a big “Dragon-lantern,” the kind which is carried in the streets during religious festivals. It was some twenty feet long, and its body was a framework of bamboo, covered with paper. On it was painted in red and blue a gorgeous dragon. Though it was bright daylight, the candles in the lantern were alight, and as it floated in the air the lantern looked to him like a real, living creature. He noted how its long whiskers waved to and fro as it moved along. And lo! it too gradually melted from his sight, then suddenly disappeared altogether.
Succeeding this strange dragon, the pretty, delicate foot of a woman began to take shape in the blue dome of the sky. The foot was bound after the manner of Chinese women. It was very thin and slender, and no more than five inches long. At the end of each gracefully-bent toe, the soft, white flesh showed itself through a delicately pale nail. The memory of this slender foot brought a deep sorrow to the heart of Khashoji. Oh, if he could but touch that delicate foot again! But he knew that such an accomplishment was quite impossible, for a distance of hundreds of miles lay between Khashoji and the place where the foot was seen. Then suddenly the foot became transparent and evaporated into the shadows of the clouds, as all the other visions had done.
It was then that Khashoji felt a strange, lonely feeling in the depths of his heart, a feeling such as he had never experienced before. Above his head the endless blue sky glared dumbly down upon him. Under that selfsame sky all the miseries of human existence must continue, and men must accept their destinies whether they liked it or not. They would continue being blown about like helpless leaves which are swept here and there by the winds of heaven. Oh! what great loneliness he felt! And a deep heartrending sigh escaped his dry lips.
Suddenly between his eyes and the sky there appeared a host of Japanese cavalry. They were charging down upon him at a furious pace. But just as they were about to trample upon him they vanished from his sight again as quickly as they had appeared. If it had not been a vision, he would have raised his voice in a mad cheer so as to forget his intense loneliness for one short minute. As he was thinking this, the troop of cavalry completely disappeared.
Then tears began to roll down his cheeks. He began to think over the shameful way in which he had lived, and as he raised his wet eyes to the sky, he felt a desire to fall at the feet of everyone whom he had harmed, and to ask for their forgiveness.
“If I am ever rescued, I will compensate for my ugly past by living a better life!” As these words were wrung from his heart, he again sobbed bitterly. The endless blue sky only stared cruelly down upon him, and foot by foot, and inch by inch it seemed to be dropping upon him and pressing heavily upon his breast. No more visions passed before him now. He sighed again, his lips suddenly quivered, and gradually his eyes closed.
Part III
It was an early Spring morning in the following year after the Sino-Japanese war. In a room of the Japanese Embassy in Peking a Japanese military attaché, Major Kimura by name, was chatting over coffee and cigars with a certain Mr. Yamakawa, a Bachelor of Science, and a civil engineer of the Japanese Agricultural Department, who had just been sent to China on some official business. These two men were talking in a very leisurely way, and had forgotten all the business which they had in hand. Though it was still early spring, a hot stove in the room made the atmosphere comfortably warm. On the table a potted plum-tree, already in bloom, gave off a faint fragrance.
For a while their conversation turned on the Chinese Empress Dowager, and then it drifted to stories and incidents of the Sino-Japanese war. Suddenly Major Kimura stood up, and fetching a file of Peking daily papers from a nearby table, selected one of the numerous sheets from the pile and spread it before Mr. Yamakawa. Pointing to a certain paragraph, he asked his friend to read it. His suggestion was so abrupt that Mr. Yamakawa was a little surprised, but knowing the Major’s peculiar manner rather well, he took the paper and read what was pointed out to him, naturally expecting to find there some extraordinary anecdote of the war. His supposition was right, for in the paper he found a paragraph printed in rather square and elaborate Chinese characters, which read as follows:
“Khashoji, the master of a certain barber’s shop, and a hero of the Sino-Japanese war, who rendered great services to his country, has, since his return home, become a man of very loose morals, indulging rather freely in wine and women.
“A few days ago he had a quarrel with another man while at a bar, and fighting with him, received a severe wound in his neck, and died on the spot.
“The cause of his death was due not so much to the wound inflicted during this quarrel, as to the opening of an old cut which he had received during the war. According to a witness, Khashoji’s head suddenly fell from his body with a thud, just as he was grappling over a small table with his assailant. But for a short strip of skin
