Hanging Waters by Keith West

KUNG HIAO LING had chartered, amidst great excitement, the only two carrying-chairs in Ch'ang Sui. That thus devehicled village had now been left far behind, and the two chairs bounced steadily along the road to Ha Foo. Kung himself sat placidly smoking in one chair, pondering on some abstruse and literary matter. From the second chair came at intervals small squeals and gurgles, so that the bearers, sweating as they were, muttered remarks about love-birds.

-"It is more kind of the gods than we deserve," sighed Pai Mei in her ecstasy.