498. On Forgetting the Unforgettable ‘This is the thirty-ninth monastery I have now entered In search of the ultimate spiritual enlightenment. The sort I had, in fact – though briefly – during the very first hours of my journey! (Oh, if only I could still remember what that overwhelming insight was!)’

499. A Topographical Note ‘This small road is a mere swamp of churned mud, Though it leads to the abode of the greatest thinker who has lived hereabouts for centuries. (Yes. I do still wonder what he might be doing at this present moment.) [Still. I dare say it’s hardly worthwhile going all the way up there just to find out?]’

500. On Visiting My Aunt, the retired Imperial Concubine, Swaying Blossom, At her charming Hillside Retreat, to congratulate her on finally reaching her

100th Birthday And learning (alas!) that she had in fact died very shortly after I last met her. Tragic news, of course. Tragic. Yes. But, really – couldn’t someone have thought to tell me about this a bit earlier? No? Not even a whisper? A rumour? (I mean to say. Now, apart from anything else, I’ll have to pay my own way back.)

501. Every year, on the assumed anniversary of his death, A pair of mandarins meet here in this fine but rather out-of-the-way wineshop, To remember the dear friend who was once such a vital part of the wild, bright, incomparable trio of their youth. Yes. H’m. (In fact, he’s actually just upstairs, still pretty much alive.)

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