The great man paused. Flunkies, priests, acolytes, and apprentices peered around for sneezers or coughers. Nobody breathed. The great man continued.
“The proper tone possesses eight qualities: clarity, wonder, remoteness, sadness, eloquence, manliness, softness, and extensibility, but the tone will suffer under any of six conditions: bitter cold, extreme heat, strong wind, heavy storm, noisy thunder, or swirling snow, and the Wen-Wu lute must never be played under any of seven circumstances: mourning the dead, simultaneous playing with orchestra, preoccupation with worldly matters, uncleanliness of body, untidiness of costume, failure to burn incense in advance, and lack of an appreciative audience.”
The audience held its collective breath as the demigod slowly raised the lute from his lap. He plucked a string: plink! He plucked a second string: plonk! He returned the lute to his lap.
“I,” he announced, “am currently mourning my wife, secondary wives, concubines, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and pet parakeet, all of whom perished during a typhoon. The snoring of those louts in the corner constitutes playing with orchestra. The leering moron in the blue robe is more interested in dancing girls than in art. Half of you haven’t washed in a month, and the other half have spilled soup on your robes. I fail to perceive the slightest trace of incense, and to call this collection of oafs an appreciative audience would be to provoke the gods into howls of hysterical laughter.”
The world’s greatest master of the Wen-Wu lute slowly rose to his feet. The forefinger of his left hand lifted. “However.” A divine nimbus appeared to envelop the awesome figure. Six more green leaves appeared to sprout from the staff as his fingers closed around it. “My period of mourning ends in two days, and if the other factors are rectified, I may possibly grant you a performance. In the meantime you may direct me to my suite. See that I am not disturbed, for I wish to contemplate the phenomenon of human fallibility.”
The great man shuffled slowly from the room, accompanied by a series of dull thuds as guests fainted and toppled to the floor.
“Fraud, my children! Fraud and forgery. Dry rot covered with paint and gilded with lies,” Master Li declaimed. He tossed the Wen-Wu lute to a hook on the wall: plunk. “A fool will study for twenty or thirty years and learn how to do something, but a wise man will study for twenty or thirty minutes and become an expert. In this world it isn’t ability that counts, but authority.”
“Sir, you’re doing wonders for my education,” I said.
“And mine,” Grief of Dawn said admiringly.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Wait to be arrested,” Master Li said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t fool the king for a moment, of course, but I hope I entertained him. What did you think of the Golden Girls?”
Of the king I had seen only a vast shape looming in the shadows, but his bodyguards had been very visible.
“They’re beautiful,” Grief of Dawn said. “Beautiful and dangerous. Did you see the captain? She worships the king and can’t wait to kill to prove it.”
Master Li nodded. “Be very careful when we’re summoned to his majesty’s presence. Was Moon Boy there?”
“No, sir,” said Grief of Dawn.
The suite was enormous, with a number of private bedchambers connected to bathing rooms that made my eyes bulge almost as wide as Grief of Dawn’s. There were jade-tiled tubs that one could sit in while warm water poured from the mouths of nine-headed bronze dragons. There was soap made from perfumed Fenglai peas, and thick velvet towels, and the water exited through the mouths of nine-headed bronze tortoises. In the central suite were racks containing beautiful paintings in rich brocade cases with jade-tipped scroll unrollers, and an entire wall was covered with books. The ink stone on the desk had the most perfect purple eyespots I had ever seen, and Master Li said it was a genuine Tuan from Ling-lang Gorge. His nose led him to a cabinet that contained wines from every corner of the empire, and he selected a jar and moved to the windows.
He was studying the layout of the castle. A deep moat ran between two high parallel stone walls, and anyone crossing the drawbridge was stopped at three checkpoints. Getting out was not going to be easy, and I was not cheered by King Shih Hu’s idea of decoration. The walls were lined with pikes holding severed heads, and a row of bare pikes had nameplates beneath them—bandit chiefs, I learned, who would sooner or later join the decorative scheme.
“They’re here,” Grief of Dawn whispered.
I hadn’t heard a door open, but I turned to see six of the Golden Girls and the captain. The captain had the eyes of an eagle, fierce and pitiless, and she gestured commandingly. Master Li held up a hand.
“Would you mind if I remove this atrocious thing first? I’m either going to strangle in it or trip over it.”
He removed his fake white beard, and then his huge eyebrows. The Golden Girls escorted us outside and down a maze of marble corridors We approached a pair of very pretty lacquered doors that stood fourteen feet high, and they swung open to reveal the most beautiful room I had ever seen.
It was big enough for five village dances and a riot. Various sections were curtained off by shimmering screens of falling water that flowed into pools where brightly colored fish swam. Skylights let sunbeams play over magnificent rocks that had been left as nature had placed them, and the air was rich with the scent of growing flowers. In the center of the room was a boulder of bluish-green stone that needed only a cushion to become a throne, and upon it sat Shih-Hu, King of Chao.
The closer we came, the huger he grew. His eyes were small bright dots in the vast expanse of his face, and I was relieved to see a suggestion of a twinkle in them. We knelt and performed the three obeisances and nine kowtows, and he signaled for us to rise. His voice was soft, with thunder rumbling beneath it.
“We prefer you without the beard,” he said to Master Li. “It was rather overdone, although we cannot fault you for allowing artistry to overpower reality. It was a superb performance.”
Master Li bowed.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“Your Majesty, my surname is Li and my personal name is Kao, and there is a slight flaw in my character,” Master Li said politely. “This is my esteemed former client and current assistant, Number Ten Ox, and the lovely young lady is Grief of Dawn. With your permission, she would like to show Your Majesty her hair clasp.”
Grief of Dawn removed the clasp and handed it to the Captain of Bodyguards, who examined it for sharp points and poison before passing it to the king. He examined the interlocking phoenix and dragon and turned it over and read the names. He whispered to one of the Golden Girls, who bowed and left the room.
“Grief of Dawn wishes to see Moon Boy again, and I saw no reason why I should not help her enter the palace,” Master Li said smoothly. “As for my own interest, I am seeking a manuscript. I wish only to read it, not take it, and I have heard that Your Majesty is the greatest collector of rare things. I took the liberty of a harmless deceit to gain entrance, and I have a small fragment of the manuscript in question.”
He handed the fragment of the Ssu-ma to the captain, who checked it over and handed it to the king. I began to warm to the huge monarch when I saw the obvious incomprehension on his face. He could no more read ancient scholar’s shorthand than I could. He shrugged and handed it back to the captain, who passed it to Master Li.
“It means nothing to us,” he said. “Your information is slightly inaccurate. We do indeed collect the rare, but our interest is not in things but in people. Here is the jewel of our collection.”
The Golden Girl stepped from behind one of the screens of falling water accompanied by a young man, and Grief of Dawn forgot protocol completely and let out a squeal of joy and ran toward him. The young man whooped happily and met her halfway, and the two of them blended together in an embrace so tight that I had the impression of a single body with two heads. I assume that my complexion was bright green, and the grinding of my teeth was probably aud
ible in Soochow.
Nobody had any right to look like Moon Boy, who was the handsomest man in the whole world. In addition, he would have put a peacock to shame. He wore a purple cap embroidered with gold and trimmed with jewels. Circling his forehead was a silver band with the same phoenix-dragon motif as Grief of Dawn’s clasp, and the same names were probably interlocked on the back. Around his neck was a golden chain twisted in the form of coupling snakes, and his dark red tunic was embroidered with bright flowers and butterflies. The tunic was secured by a belt woven into a design of flower stems and ears of corn, and over the tunic he wore a blue satin cloak fringed with gold. His gold-embroidered shoes were also of blue satin, and the maddening thing was that none of the finery was overdone. Moon Boy was all of a piece, and the only thing missing was applause. The damned creature was destined to ride through the world in a shower of rose petals while Number Ten Ox pitched manure in a barnyard.
They finally broke apart. The king gestured. Moon Boy led Grief of Dawn up to the throne, and with great gentleness the King of Chao reached down and picked up first Moon Boy and then Grief of Dawn and placed them upon his vast lap.
“What charming children you are,” he said. He kissed Moon Boy’s cheek. “This is the most special of all my special people, and clearly he shares his soul with Grief of Dawn. Why should that be?” He gently tilted Grief of Dawn’s chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Are you special too, my child?” For a long time he studied her, and then he said, almost whispering, “Yes. In you is something very like the strange inner core of Moon Boy, although he is not properly named. He is more like the sun and it is you who are more like the moon. One cannot look directly at the sun without being blinded, so wise men study the sun by looking at the moon.”
The king suddenly smiled, and it was breathtaking. His smile was as open and spontaneous as that of a child, but there was a strange hint of yearning and melancholy to it, and he delicately lifted her free hair and replaced the clasp.
“Would you like to wear a uniform of sable and carry a golden bow?” he asked softly. Then he chuckled. “That is not a fair question, of course, and you are not forced to reply. None of our girls has ever been forced. Grief of Dawn, we want you, but we shall court you as we have courted all the others, and the decision will be yours alone to make.”
He effortlessly picked up both of them and placed them back upon the floor. His eyes moved to Master Li.
“Even this humble orphan has heard of the astonishing Li Kao, whose achievements are said to be without limit,” the king said graciously. “There is much we would like to discuss with you, and we look forward to the enlightenment of your wisdom. One day you may even confide in us the real purpose of your visit, but there is no hurry. You have brought us Grief of Dawn, for which we are deeply grateful. She shall be our honored guest, and may your own visit be a long one.”
A flick of a royal finger dismissed us. We bowed backward from the throne room. The chamberlain directed us back to our suite, where a splendid repast was waiting.
“Master Li, did he mean what I thought he meant?” I asked.
“That Grief of Dawn and I have just joined his collection of special people? I hope so,” Master Li said cheerfully. “Well, my love, are you ready for gold and sable?”
Grief of Dawn blushed and lowered her eyes. “What an extraordinary man,” she whispered.
I didn’t realize just how extraordinary the king was until late that night. I awoke just after the third watch. Musical instruments were playing somewhere. I slipped into my tunic and stumbled out to the central room, yawning and rubbing my eyes, and I discovered that Grief of Dawn had heard it also and was standing at the window overlooking a garden.
It was the Golden Girls. Instead of bows they carried lutes and pipas, and they played very well. Then a great dark shape moved from the shadows, and the King of Chao stepped out into the bright moonlight. He was absolute monarch. He could take whatever he wanted, but that wasn’t his way. Even at a distance I could sense that he was enjoying himself immensely, and he bowed deeply toward Grief of Dawn’s bedchamber and then turned to face the moon. The king placed the big toe of his right foot upon the big toe of his left foot and began to sing a love charm from the barbaric country of his birth.
I can’t explain it, but it was one of the most impressive things I have ever seen and heard in my life.
“I loose my arrow and the moon clouds over,
I loose it and the sun is extinguished,
I loose it and the stars burn dim,
But it is not the moon, sun, and stars I shoot at.
It is the heart of Grief of Dawn.”
His majesty flapped his arms, imitating some sort of bird, and began to dance with grace that was accentuated by his huge bulk. There was nothing funny about it. He was like a vast force of nature, totally incapable of making a fool of himself.
“Cluck-cluck! Grief of Dawn, come and walk with me,
Come and sit with me,
Come and sleep and share my pillow.
Cluck-cluck! Grief of Dawn,
When thunder rumbles remember me,
When wind whistles remember me,
When the Red Bird sings remember me,
When you see the moon remember me,
When you see the sun remember me,
When you see the stars remember me.
Cluck-cluck! Grief of Dawn
Come hither to me,
Let your heart come hither to mine.”
Three times the song charm was repeated, and then his majesty bowed again toward Grief of Dawn’s bedchamber. The Golden Girls also bowed. Then the king and his girls were gone, blending into the shadows, and I suppose that my face was rather expressive. How many young women are courted by a huge, powerful, infinitely courteous and gentle, yet infinitely barbaric monarch? Sable and gold awaited Grief of Dawn, not to mention an impossibly handsome young man named Moon Boy.
“Oh, Ox. Poor Ox,” Grief of Dawn said softly.
Her hand slipped into mine. “Come and walk with me, come and sit with me, come and sleep and share my pillow,” she whispered.
“Cluck-cluck!” I said.
There are mornings one would prefer to forget.
This one began beautifully, with sunlight shading through the window and dappling Grief of Dawn’s lovely shoulder. I nuzzled her cheek and listened to the lethargic buzz of lazy flies, and a drowsy drone of bees, and the curtains gently rustling in a whispering breeze, and a happy voice that bellowed, “Come back here, you little bugger!”
I sat bolt upright.
“Oh, damn,” Grief of Dawn sighed plaintively.
A naked boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, ran past the window on the veranda.
“Hey, bugger, don’t you want the plugger snugger?” the happy voice yelled.
“Ten million curses,” Grief of Dawn groaned, smothering a yawn.
A naked young man galloped past the window after the boy, stopped, trotted back, and stuck his head inside the room.
“Good morning, my love!” Moon Boy said cheerfully.
“Why must you waste that thing on boys?” she said.
He glanced down complacently at his crotch. “Waste? What do you mean waste? You know very well that some of the little darlings can’t sit down for a month.” Moon Boy climbed through the window and sauntered up to the bed. “My, you’ve certainly picked a splendid specimen this time. Congratulations!”
I hastily jerked the covers up to my shoulders.
“You’re Number Ten Ox, aren’t you? Where did you get that divine nose? Looks like a cow stepped on it,” Moon Boy said.
“Er…. A slight disagreement with Big Hong the blacksmith,” I mumbled.
“I trust he received a decent funeral,” Moon Boy said, and then he sat down on the side of the bed and began caressing Grief of Dawn’s right thigh. “Speaking of funerals, I once saw Master Li during one of his black periods,” he said. “He wouldn’t remember me. I was in the back row at
court waiting to give my first imperial performance, and this wicked old man kowtowed to the emperor, got to his feet, whipped a knife from his sleeve, and cut the throat of the Minister of Trade. Blood all over the place.”
“Moon Boy, is that true?” Grief of Dawn said skeptically.
“Every word. When the emperor learned the motive for the mayhem, he couldn’t decide whether to boil Master Li in oil or make him a duke, but it was academic because the old man had already escaped to Turkistan. Shortly thereafter the High Priest of Samarkand was found with his nose caressing the sole of his left foot, which says something about the condition of his spine, and when the bailiffs paid a call on Master Li, they found he’d suddenly been called to the sickbed of a great-granddaughter in Serendip.”
I was used to Master Li stories, only a tiny fraction of which are even marginally true, but I was not used to hearing one from a revoltingly beautiful young man who climbed stark naked through the bedroom window and began stroking my girl’s bare leg. Now he was stroking her left breast, and taking her into his arms.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
“How I love you,” she whispered.
The king was wrong about Moon Boy’s name. He was perfectly named, I decided, because the moon is inhabited by a large white rabbit, and everybody knows that rabbits are notorious perverts.
The Chronicles of Master Li and Number Ten Ox Page 37