Particularly he disliked yellow men. His birth and education inShadwell had taught him that of all creeping things that creepupon the earth the most insidious is the Oriental in the West.
And a yellow man and a child. It was... as you might say... so...
kind of... well， wasn’t it？ He bellowed that it was “unnacherel.”
The yeller man would go through it. Yeller！ It was his supremecondemnation， his final epithet for all conduct of which hedisapproved.
There was no doubt that he was extremely annoyed. Hewent to the Blue Lantern， in what was once Ratcliff Highway，and thumped the bar， and made all his world agree with him.
And when they agreed with him he got angrier still. So thatwhen， a few hours later， he climbed through the ropes at theNetherlands to meet Bud Tuffit for ten rounds， it was Bud’sfight all the time， and to that bright boy’s astonishment he wasthe victor on points at the end of the ten. Battling slouchedout of the ring， still more determined to let the Chink have itwhere the chicken had the ax. He left the house with two palsand a black man， and a number of really inspired curses fromhis manager.
On the evening of the third day， then， Cheng slipped sleepilydown the stairs to procure more flowers and more rice. Thegenial Ho Ling， who keeps the Canton store， held him in talksome little while， and he was gone from his room perhaps halfan-hour. Then he glided back， and climbed with happy feet theforty stairs to his temple of wonder.
With a push of a finger he opened the door， and the bloodfroze on his cheek， the flowers fell from him. The temple wasempty and desolate； White Blossom was gone. The muslinhangings were torn down and trampled underfoot. The flowershad been flung from their bowls about the floor， and the bowlslay in fifty fragments. The joss was smashed. The cupboardhad been opened. Rice was scattered here and there. The littlestraight bed had been jumped upon by brute feet. Everything thatcould be smashed or violated had been so treated， and—horrorof all—the blue and yellow silk robe had been rent in pieces，tied in grotesque knots， and slung derisively about the table legs.
I pray devoutly that you may never suffer what Cheng Huansuffered in that moment. The pangs of death， with no dying；the sickness of the soul which longs to escape and cannot； theimprisoned animal within the breast which struggles madlyfor a voice and finds none； all the agonies of all the ages theagonies of every abandoned lover and lost woman， past and tocome—all these things were his in that moment.
Then he found voice and gave a great cry， and men frombelow came up to him； and they told him how the man whoboxed had been there with a black man； how he had torn therobes from his child， and dragged her down the stairs by herhair； and how he had shouted aloud for Cheng and had vowedto return and deal separately with him.
Now a terrible dignity came to Cheng， and the soul of hisgreat fathers swept over him. He closed the door against them，and fell prostrate over what had been the resting place ofWhite Blossom. Those without heard strange sounds as of ananimal in its last pains； and it was even so. Cheng was dying.
The sacrament of his high and holy passion had been profaned；the last sanctuary of the Oriental—his soul dignity—hadbeen assaulted. The love robes had been torn to ribbons； theveil of his temple cut down. Life was no longer possible； andlife without his little lady， his White Blossom， was no longerdesirable.
Prostrate he lay for the space of some five minutes. Then，in his face all the pride of accepted destiny， he arose. He drewtogether the little bed. With reverent hands he took the piecesof blue and yellow silk， kissing them and fondling them andplacing them about the pillow. Silently he gathered up theflowers， and the broken earthenware， and burnt some prayerpapers and prepared himself for death.