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Two Lazarist priests found me at dawn. They were travelling to Tien-Hó when they saw me unconscious. Cheerful Father Loriot said that they had arrived just in time. Black crows had already gathered around my body. The priests immediately carried me to the mission on a stretcher. The community welcomed me warmly because I was Portuguese and Christian.
The convent was the centre of a small Catholic settlement. It stood near the border between China and Mongolia. From my window, I saw tents covered with felt and skins. At times, nomadic families left in long caravans. They took their herds westwards.
Father Giulio was the head of the mission. He had lived among Chinese communities for a long time. He wore a purple robe and a long plait, and carried a large fan. To my eyes, he looked like a Chinese scholar. At the same time, he continued to lead the Catholic mission.
I remembered the days I spent there fondly. My white room had a black cross. I always woke to the sound of the morning bell. I attended Mass out of respect for the old missionaries. Those Latin words reminded me of my Catholic homeland.
In the afternoon, I visited the mission school. Chinese children were learning words in Latin. After meals, I listened to the priests' stories. They spoke about their journeys, the imprisonment they endured and the dangers of the missions.
I hid my supernatural adventure from them. I only said that I was a traveller taking notes. While my ear healed, I rested in that peace.
But I decided to leave China soon. I now hated the whole empire. I had come from far away to offer my millions. Yet I was robbed and stoned, and an arrow was shot at me. In my anger, I blamed the entire population of China. I thought of terrible ways to take revenge. Then I chose a simple revenge: leaving with my money.
My plan to replace Ti-Chin-Fú now seemed absurd to me. I did not know the language, customs, rites or laws. My wealth only exposed me to new dangers.
Ti-Chin-Fú and his kite remained invisible. I imagined that they had returned to the ancestors' heaven. I told myself that he had seen my efforts. I concluded that Ti-Chin-Fú was already satisfied. I imagined that he was resting for ever. As my remorse faded, my wish to repair the harm faded too. I only wanted to enjoy my gold in Lisbon or Paris.
Then I thought about Ti-Chin-Fú's supposed widow. I also thought about the women and children I imagined were members of the family. They were not responsible for the stones thrown by the crowd.
I was a Christian sheltered in a Christian convent. I had the Gospel beside my bed. Around me, the priests practised charity. Because of that example, I decided not to abandon the supposed descendants. I believed that I had taken abundance and comfort from them.
So I wrote a letter to Camilloff. I told him about my shameful flight from the inn. I also told him that the Christian mission had sheltered me. I also said that I wished to leave China.
I asked Camilloff to send the millions to the supposed widow. The money was held by the merchant Tsing-Fó. Tsing-Fó's house stood on Cha-Coua Avenue in Peking. The house stood near Tong's arch and the temple of Kaonine.
Father Loriot was going to Peking on a mission. I sealed the letter with the convent's seal. The seal showed a cross rising from a flaming heart. Father Loriot carried the sealed letter to Peking. The days passed.
The first snows whitened the mountains of northern Manchuria. Meanwhile, I hunted gazelles in the Land of Grasses. Mongolian hunters drove the game out among the bushes. Our falcon wounded a gazelle in the head until it fell. Afterwards, the dogs tore out its entrails beside still water.
One morning, Father Loriot came running back from Peking. He was carrying a naked, starving infant in his arms. He had found the infant abandoned and close to death beside a road. He baptised the infant in a stream and named the child Bem-Achado. Now he was hurrying to give the infant milk from the convent goat. Then he gave me an envelope with the Russian eagle, sent by Camilloff.
Father Loriot said that Camilloff and Vladimira were well.
The general had told Prince Tong about the attack that I suffered in Tien-Hó. The prince saw the case as an opportunity to fine Tien-Hó. The fine would be three hundred thousand francs, about fifty-four contos. Camilloff then left my problem and moved on to diplomatic news. Tu-tu, Madame Tagarieff's dog, had disappeared. Camilloff feared that some inhabitants of Peking might have eaten him. He also considered it extremely grave that Madame Grijon gave the place of honour to Lord Gordon, a mere British attaché. Because of that breach of protocol, the embassy was awaiting instructions from the governments.
Vladimira spent hours on the sofa, languid and full of sighs. Camilloff believed that she was suffering from an old bladder illness. She sent me a greeting and asked for gloves, novels and perfume from Paris. The letter went on to discuss bakeries and embassies. Only the postscript answered my search.
The astrologer had been mistaken: the family did not live in Tien-Hó. According to new reports, there was a Ti-Chin-Fú family in Canton. There was another beyond the Great Wall, in the district of Ka-ó-li. According to Camilloff, the head of each family had died and both were poor. No one knew which of them, if either, was the family I sought. For that reason, Camilloff had not withdrawn the money from Tsing-Fó's house. Sá-Tó had returned alive, with an injured lip and a bruised shoulder. He had saved only the image of Our Lady of Sorrows that had belonged to my mother. The two Cossacks had died in a pool of blood. Prince Tong would pay ten thousand francs for each dead man, using Tien-Hó's fine. Sá-Tó offered to accompany me on a new search.
'No! Never!' I roared, crumpling the letter. I refused to return to the roads of China. I said that I had left luxury and crossed the world to no avail. I claimed that I had wanted to marry a Ti-Chin-Fú woman. I blamed that society's prejudices, while I myself called it 'barbaric'. I said that the law had prevented me from using the Mandarin's crystal button to reform China. I said that helping the poor could lead to my beheading. I also recalled that the people of Tien-Hó had stoned me. Finally, the families appeared far away and remained uncertain.
I refused to go to Canton or Ka-ó-li and risk another attack. I called Ti-Chin-Fú aloud and asked him to answer me. I claimed that I had done everything that was rational, generous and logical. The cloister gave me no answer.
At midday, the well pulley creaked, tea leaves dried and a Latin lesson could be heard. That calm brought me sudden peace. I lit a cigar and said, 'Well, Ti-Chin-Fú is satisfied.'
I went to find Father Giulio and announced that I would return to Europe. He said that Fathers Anacleto and Sanchez would leave for Tien-Tzin the next day. Father Giulio spoke of God's heart and offered me a sweet. Only afterwards did I place a roll of banknotes on his open breviary. The book was open at a page of the Gospel about poverty. I said that the notes were for the poor at the mission. That money remained with the poor at the mission, not with a Ti-Chin-Fú family. Father Giulio accepted the notes and ordered food to be prepared for the journey.
The next day, I left on a white mule between Fathers Anacleto and Sanchez. We went down to Hiang-Hiam to the sound of bells. Then a boat took us along the Pei-Hó to Tien-Tzin. The banks were white with snow and the water was beginning to freeze. We talked about missions and Heaven while sharing a bottle of gin. I parted from the priests in Tien-Tzin. Two weeks later, I boarded the Java in Hong Kong. The ship was about to leave for Europe.
When the Java began to move away from China, I was deeply moved. A feeling of unease returned to weigh on my soul. I had come to atone for Ti-Chin-Fú's death. Yet I had given no money to any confirmed heir. I had only dishonoured Camilloff's moustache and been struck on the ear by stones. I understood that my mission had failed.
I stayed by the rail until night covered the sea. The stars appeared and the propeller worked in a steady rhythm. In the captain's cabin, an Englishman was playing the flute. Around him, several women drank cognac while he played Bonnie Dundee. At eleven o'clock, I went down to my bunk.
The moon cast a pale light through the cabin window. Ti-Chin-Fú lay on the bunk in yellow silk, with the paper kite in his arms. It was him again. After that, the figure followed me everywhere. I saw it in Singapore and Ceylon. At the Suez Canal, it rose from the desert sands. It appeared in Malta, Sicily and Gibraltar. When I landed in Lisbon, the figure filled the arch of Rua Augusta. His slanting eye and the paper kite's painted eyes seemed to stare at me.