Lao was thunderstruck at this awful catastrophe. He took no further interest in his affairs or the affairs of his country, and after the first numbness at his loss had worn off, he decided to write to the “Son of Heaven,” petitioning permission to retire from office. However, before even the ink had been rubbed upon the stone or the rabbit-hair brush dipped in the dead-black, sweet-smelling liquid known to barbarians as “Indian ink,” other events happened to prevent Lao from inditing his petition to the ruler of the Middle Kingdom. In this wise: The news of the death of the peerless Mah Su had instantly spread through Sung Ying Fu, and had furthermore been noised through the surrounding districts by itinerant merchants and travellers. As a result of this, before Lao had had any time to indulge his grief, he found dozens of poor but sympathetic relations arriving at his house with children, coolies, luggage, mules, and much wailing and lamentation. Lao, as befitted his station, suitably entertained and housed all, with their servants and cattle. Aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, cousins many times removed, all came with their servants and hangers-on. Lao was a rich man, and his house was large, but it soon became necessary to hire other extra apartments for his guests. In addition to this, the house was rendered doubly uncomfortable by the presence of numerous professional mourners. All day and night the house was filled with the squeaking of fiddles, crying of mourners, howling of relations’ babies, wrangling of relations’ coolies in the courtyards, and squealing of relations’ ponies and mules. Between looking after his unbidden guests, arranging for suitable funeral ceremonies, and indulging his own genuine grief at his bereavement, Lao naturally neglected his duties to the State.