Meandering River, Ardent Flame

by Vivian Chak

  Chapter 8: Return to Bianjing

  The waters lapped quietly against the hull of the boat. All three of them were still outfitted as the circumstances had demanded. When Jiang had asked about removing the sword, and coat of plates, since they were now on water, Wong had dismissed the notion. They could still encounter guards at checkpoints, he warned, and besides, he had an indefinite loan of boat, outfit, palanquin and all.

  “Did you kill someone for them?” asked Jiang, with alarm.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” snorted Wong. “I bought them all.”

  “A true monk― ”

  “―pledges his belongings entirely to Buddha and carries no cash,” Wong finished for her. “Well, circumstances call for a bit of pragmatism. Anyhow, An's always had ways of acquiring funds for me, to run her errands.”

  “Then she's no true nun either,” said Jiang decisively. Flame was somewhat surprised at her sister's new pointedness. Maybe because they had been away from the monastery for more than two days. Or because of the lack of sleep. She also realized that she was noticing these things in her sister. Flame attributed this to the fact that they'd been spending so much time in each other's company, a thing that had rarely happened at Yongtai.

  The full moon brought a sheen to the waters of the canal, and Flame couldn't help but wonder how they were going to leave Bianjing undetected. Barges were being stopped every few docks. Jiang voiced this with concern.

  “They're lax, you'll see,” Wong assured her. “Despite Li's hold, underpaid guards aren't keen to search for two likely dead girls.”

  “Even when said girls are in the company of a supposed Jurchen traitor?”

  “I'm dead to the world, and no one cares,” shrugged off Wong. “Unlike you two.”

  If Li had been dead, there would be no chase, Flame reflected. Defeating the troupe of constables at the market had been pointless; in fact, it would probably encourage Li further, to hunt them down. Even after the deaths of her parents, the magistrate was still intent on wiping out the entire Lian line. She stared down at the water. The moon's reflection stared back at her from the river surface, a shivering facsimile.

  “Supposing that we do leave the city, successfully, where are we going then?” Wong shrugged in reply to Jiang's question.

  “That's up to you, as I've said before. Might want to avoid Longhua, though, seeing as Li most likely knows you're headed there.”

  That was troublesome. Flame felt that it might be better, if they simply stayed in Bianjing and dealt with Li. The moon was blotted out as they passed under a section of a huge arched bridge, and in the momentary shadow, she felt that the barge was about to smash into the side of the canal. They neared a dock, swarming with policemen. Flame could recognize them by uniform. Unlike the earlier attackers, however, these ones weren't as well-armed. A few had spears, but most held only wooden staffs. There were a lot more of them, however. Flame tensed, quickly locating her sister, in case she needed to draw blade.

  But they drew a different type of attention.

  “Hey, old man, share what you've got!” One of the men waved at Flame.

  “This lowly servant has, alas, been instructed not to share,” replied Wong, in mock bow. Though Flame could see Wong's sarcastic expression clearly, in the light of the single lantern hanging from the barge prow, the overpowering lights of the dock blinded the constables to Wong's dry smile. Jiang stood up, sword rattling.

  “Some palm grease, then,” grinned one man. He poised himself to board a nearby boat and give chase, in case they gave an unsatisfactory response. Wong grumbled and dropped anchor.

  “I've no money. You think my master would trust me with his coppers?”

  “What's he doing, trusting you with her, then?” The rest laughed drunkenly.

  “You monkeys. I get my commission after she's safely delivered,” Wong grated. “And besides,” he added, indicating her sister, “he's here to make sure I do.” Flame thought she saw Jiang wince.

  “You want a song instead?” Her sister made the offer, not bothering to disguise her voice. Flame couldn't help but wince. Though it was hard for the men to tell who had spoken, she knew she sounded nothing like her sister, so she wouldn't be able to respond.

  “Song and that nice beizi you're wearing.” The man pointed at Flame's clearly visible and expensive silk coat, which she'd forgotten she was wearing. She should have hidden herself behind the curtain, scolded a voice in her head, but Flame brushed it off. It was too late now.

  “That coat's embroidered with my master's family name,” shot back Wong. “No sale value, though a mistress might fancy it. But how are you all going to share one coat?” The men started muttering among themselves.

  “You cheater; you were going to paddle up for that coat and keep it all to yourself, weren't you?” accused one man, as he swung a drunken fist at the one who had been readying the boat. The latter shoved him back, almost off the dock. The other men moved mutinously.

  “Alright, a song then,” their leader replied, grudgingly. It was too late to let the barge pass freely and still keep face.

  That was a bad idea, Flame thought furiously. Surely her sister could have come up with the coat idea first? At least that would have been faster to throw. Now they would have to waste their escape time, entertaining drunken louts. Or to be more precise, they would have to waste their time listening to her do the entertaining. It was maddening. But there was no choice.

  “Pick a song,” urged Wong, elbowing her. Flame nearly stumbled. What song could she remember? She looked up at the clear night sky, moon full and shining. The canal's waters were black as ink, but where the lantern light struck, the water reflected sharp yellow streaks that wavered drunkenly, with the movement of the boat. She tore her gaze away. It made her feel dizzy, near inebriated.

  I'll sing Mulan ci, Flame decided. She stared up at the bright moon. The sight of the men made her angry with indignation. Consequently, the first eight verses were wavering, as her fury, at being responsible for mollifying the dock guard, made her stumble through the sounds of Mulan weaving at the loom. However, by the time she passed the twelfth verse, her anger had abated, in part due to her staring fixedly at the moon.

  Father has no adult son,

  Mulan has no older brother.

  Wish to buy a saddle and horse,

  and serve in Father's place.

  She passed quickly over a good half of the song expounding on travelling, Mulan not hearing her parents call, and the conclusion of the war. Flame's heart just wasn't into it. Because it didn't resonate with her, Jiang would have said, but her sister was listening silently, hand gripping the sword's hilt, as the barge prow rose and fell in drunken strokes.

  Father and Mother hear Daughter is coming.

  They go outside the city wall, supporting each other.

  When Older Sister hears Younger Sister is coming

  Facing the door, she puts on rouge,

  Flame was nearly finished, so she sped up the words. It wouldn't affect the song anyway; Flame was confident that she had articulated all the words clearly. Singing had been the only thing she'd ever excelled at, though for some reason that ability didn't translate to chanting sutras. That was probably because she mumbled them. Sutras didn't mean as much to her as songs did.

  I take off my wartime gown.

  And put on my old-time clothes.

  Simple lines, but Flame muttered the words. She concluded the song slowly, articulating each word, describing the incredulity of Mulan's wartime comrades, when they discovered her secret upon their reunion, many years later. Flame couldn't remember the number.

  “Alright, off with you,” waved the man who had started the trouble in the first place. Wong raised the anchor, and the barge rocked. Flame removed the coat. The boat resumed its journey.

  “An interesting choice of song,” Wong commented, after some silence and empty waters. Flame shrugged.

  “It was the first song I thought of.” Flame didn't know
why she'd chosen it either. Her sister turned to her, moonlight glinting dully from the sword hilt.

  “Perhaps you should hold onto this,” Jiang said, offering the blade hilt first. Flame waved it away.

  “Brother Wong said that you'd need it, for the outfit. And anyway, I can always sing again, if we meet anyone.” The last words came from her mouth before she could stop them.

  “My apologies for forcing that option on you,” said her sister hurriedly. Flame was silent. In truth, it was because she had nothing to say, not out of anger for her sister's singing suggestion.

  “A poet's moon,” noted Jiang, as she viewed the sky, to break the silence. “The kind that would have inspired Li Bai's best works. Of course, some might say the wine helped.”

  “Do you know why I chose that song?” Flame was abruptly struck by an uncommon desire to explore her feelings. Her sister seemed to look guilty.

  “I thought you were trying to place me in the role of Mulan's siblings, who did nothing throughout the song to help their sister, or father.”

  “Actually, I didn't think of that, though maybe unconsciously it's true. It just seems that the song suits me. That's all.”

  “But you went through nearly half the verses in a rush.” That was true, Flame had to admit.

  “Those ones didn't feel as right. The ones about Mulan not hearing her parents calling, for example.” Her sister looked pensive in the moonlight. Flame herself was illuminated, up to her hands, in pale white light. She moved out, from under the canopy of their borrowed pleasure barge, to catch the full light.

  “Because ours have passed on?,” her sister asked quietly.

  “No. Because I hear them calling,” Flame replied seriously. It was only a few seconds later that she recognized the strangeness of her statement. But it was the truth, as she did hear them; her mother primarily, whenever they visited her sleep.

  “Very well. I'm not the one who suffers such dreams.” Clearly Jiang was still uncomfortable whenever Flame mentioned them.

  “The dreams might be a good thing. To chase off ghosts.” Changing topics at Jiang's discomfort, Flame gestured at the sword.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “The sword seller sold me that blade for the cost of seven bowls of rice because he said that it was an old sword.” Jiang looked at the blade dubiously when Flame pointed at it.

  “An old sword trailed by the spirits of those it has slain.”

  “They won't bother you. You're a Buddhist nun,” grinned Flame.

  “And you?”

  “I already said, I've got Ma and Ba to keep evil spirits off. If anything, I need to keep them off, to keep them from making me feel guilty when I sleep.” Flame refrained from adding, and to do that, I need to kill Li.Her sister would just try to dissuade her.

  “Maybe it would have been more practical to save those coppers for your rice,” said Jiang, sounding annoyed, as if she had divined Flame's unspoken words. Or maybe it was because they had unconsciously returned to the subject of their parents, despite Flame's efforts to change the topic.

  “I'll just eat less.” Flame waved off her sister's concern. “This is more useful.”

  “Alright, both of you be quiet. We're passing another dock, and this time, the canal's not as wide,” growled Wong. He poled the barge as close to the centre of the canal as he could.