She Who Became the Sun

by Shelley Parker-Chan

  But now as she saw a powerful black-clad figure making its way up the steps towards her, she thought: Here comes a chance.

  “Greetings, Master Zhu,” said Left Minister Chen. An ironic smile played on his mouth. His presence engulfed Zhu like the shadow of a mountain.

  Zhu felt a ripple of excitement that was partly an awareness of danger, and partly the thrill of subterfuge. She knew instinctively that Chen, the most cunning and ambitious of the Red Turban leaders, would one day be even more of a challenge for her than Little Guo. But for the moment, when he still had no idea of her desires, she had the advantage. She bowed, even lower than was expected of a young monk receiving an important guest. “Minister! This unworthy monk is too lacking to receive your esteemed person at this humble temple.” Her hands folded beneath her downcast eyes, she let her sleeves tremble. No doubt Chen would flatter himself to think it was a stolen insight into her character, rather than a gift she’d let him have.

  “Humble? For once there’s some truth to that word,” Chen said, making a show of surveying the crumbling structure and its hodgepodge of tents. His real attention hadn’t moved: Zhu felt it on her, as sharp as an awl. “At least you’ve cleaned out the stray dogs.”

  “Whatever other tasks this monk may have been entrusted with, his first duty is to the Buddha and his earthly envoys. This monk only regrets that he has too few resources to refurbish the temple and make it a fitting place for worship.”

  Chen’s dark eyes bored into her, hard to read. “A commendable attitude, Master Zhu. Your prayers certainly won the day at the Yao River. But I wonder whether such a feat can be replicated against Lu. You’ll find a city a more difficult challenge.”

  “Anything is possible with the Buddha’s blessing,” Zhu murmured. “We can only have faith.”

  Chen gave her one of his small smiles. “Indeed. Ah, how refreshing it is to find a young person with such faith in our purpose. If only General Guo would follow your example.” The ironic expression was back. She thought he hadn’t fully bought her naïve monk routine, although neither had he dismissed it—yet. Watching her closely, he said, “Don’t you think even an endeavor of faith can be made more certain with the addition of men and equipment, Master Zhu?”

  This was her chance. She widened her eyes in her best imitation of perplexity. “… Minister?”

  “I suppose you’ll have little enough chance, whatever I do,” Chen mused. “But I find myself moved to improve your odds. I’ve instructed Commander Wu to give you five hundred men before your departure. How many will you have then, seven hundred or so?” His laugh was like a slab of meat hitting the butcher’s block. “Seven hundred men against a city! I wouldn’t try it myself. But let me do what I can for you afterwards: if you do manage to win Lu, I’ll convince the Prime Minister to let you keep whatever you’ve taken from it. Then you’ll have enough funds for your new temple.” His black eyes glittered. “Or for whatever else you’d like to do.”

  Seven hundred men was better than nothing, though they both knew it was a far cry from the minimum needed for a reasonable chance at success. And even if she did succeed, the price would be becoming Chen’s playing piece in the pitched battle between himself and the Guos. But there was no point worrying about that yet. One problem at a time.

  Chen was waiting for her answer, though he knew perfectly well there was only one answer she could give. She bowed three times: humble, grateful. “This unworthy monk thanks the Minister for his generous assistance! Even though this monk is lacking in the skills of warfare and leadership, he will do his best to bring honor and success to the Red Turbans—”

  Chen’s teeth gleamed like those of a predator that would devour you without even spitting out the bones. The first fireworks of the New Year bloomed in the darkening sky behind him. “Then use the skill you do have, Master Zhu, and pray well.”

  * * *

  At first watch Ma slipped out of the front gate of the Guo mansion. She was only discreet out of habit: during the two weeks between the New Year and the Lantern Festival, everyone in Anfeng could be found wandering around at all hours enjoying the novel sight of the city’s streets packed with food stalls and drinking tents, acrobats and musicians and cricket fights, face readers and fish-ball makers.

  She found the monk Zhu waiting outside with his horse, a triangular straw travel hat tilted down over his face. All she could see under the hat’s shadow were his narrow lips, curved in a smile. The dramatic effect lasted until the instant he saw her and burst out cackling. Slapping his hand over his mouth he said, muffled, “Is that … a disguise?”

  “What? No. Shut up.” For ease of riding Ma had put on a man’s short robe, trousers tied at the knee, and boots. “Should I have put on trousers under my skirt?”

  “Why not? It’s not like anyone’s going to think you’re a man.”

  Ma glared at him. It was true, though, that male clothing did nothing to hide her feminine shape. With her sturdy thighs and rounded hips, nobody was ever going to compose a poem comparing her to a slender willow, or a gracefully bending blade of grass.

  The monk was looking down. “Your feet are even bigger than this monk’s. Look.” He compared them.

  “You—you!” It was rude.

  “Don’t worry, this monk doesn’t like bound feet. Women should be able to run a bit during a rebellion,” he explained.

  “Who cares what you like! You’re a monk!”

  He laughed as they walked towards the western gate. “It’s not like monks never see women. People were always coming into the monastery with offerings. Sometimes girls who wanted to learn more about the dharma would stay for scripture study with novices who were particularly … advanced. If you know what I mean.” The hat tilted; she saw a flash of teeth and, shockingly, a dimple. “Do you? Know.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” she said witheringly. “And if that was how the monks of Wuhuang Monastery carried on, no wonder that eunuch could burn it down without any bad karma.”

  “You’ve been checking up on this monk!” he said in delight. “Wuhuang was a good place. I learned a lot there.” His tone turned rueful, touched with genuine sorrow. “After the Prince of Radiance appeared and the Great Yuan tried to curtail the monasteries’ power, our abbot refused. He always was stubborn.”

  “Clever people know when to give in,” Ma said bitterly, thinking of Little Guo.

  Together they passed under the earthen battlements of Anfeng’s western gate. On the other side was a denuded pasture, lumpy in the moonlight, and beyond that the sparkling black loop of the Huai. Glancing around, the monk gave a theatrical shudder. “Ah, it’s so dark! Doesn’t it scare you to think that this is exactly the kind of place ghosts will come when the New Year drums drive them out of the city?”

  “If we’re accosted by hungry ghosts, I’ll take the horse and leave them to eat you,” Ma said, unimpressed.

  “Ah, so it’s this monk who should be scared,” he said, laughing.

  “Just get on the horse!”

  “Like—?” He clambered astride. “Ha! That wasn’t so—”

  Ma slapped the horse on the rump. It bolted; the monk, separating in midair from his hat, came down like a sack of river gravel. When she went over he was lying flat on his back grinning up at her. “Honestly, this monk can’t ride.”

  After an hour of instruction, Ma still didn’t know if that had been true or not. If he really was a beginner, he hadn’t been exaggerating about being a quick learner. Watching him in a relaxed canter, his robes dark under the moonlight and face obscured by the hat, she found herself thinking that he didn’t look much like a monk at all.

  He pulled up and dismounted, smiling. “Just think how much quicker this monk would have made it to Anfeng if he had been able to ride.”

  “You think we were missing you?” Ma scoffed.

  “Do you think miracles happen without prayers?” he said, grinning. “It’s useful to have a monk around.”

  Miracle. Ma felt
a realization trying to surface. It was related to the feeling she’d had the last time they met: a suspicion that his joking smile hid more than it revealed. She remembered the strange jolt she’d felt when she’d seen him kneeling before Little Guo on his first day in Anfeng. How, just for an instant, he’d seemed like someone who knew exactly what he was gambling, and why.

  And then she knew. Her breath caught. “That landslide at Yao River wasn’t Heaven’s work. You did it. You knew you’d be killed if that battle went ahead. You made everyone shout at the top of their lungs, knowing it would trigger a landslide, burst the dam, and destroy the bridge.” She said accusingly: “Prayers had nothing to do with it!”

  She’d surprised him. After a startled pause he said, “Trust me, this monk prayed.”

  “For your life, maybe. Not for the victory that the Prime Minister’s giving you credit for!”

  “What kind of monk would pray for the deaths of ten thousand men?” he said, and she thought at least that was true. “That would be a violation of the precepts. This monk didn’t know the Yuan were sending across a flanking force. It was Heaven’s decision to give us what we needed to win.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter how,” she said uneasily. “You survived once, and got a victory out of it. But now you’re heading off to Lu, and the Prime Minister thinks you can pray your way to another victory. But you can’t, can you?”

  “You don’t believe it was because of this monk’s prayers that Left Minister Chen gave him another five hundred men?” His voice lightened and gained a teasing edge. “This monk is touched by your concern, Teacher Ma, but the situation isn’t as bad as you think. This monk may yet win.”

  He was as slippery as a catfish; she couldn’t tell if he believed it or not. “Better hope they can fight better than you do! And don’t you see Chen Youliang is just using you to undermine the Guo faction?”

  “It’s true that General Guo doesn’t inspire others to wish him success,” he said wryly.

  For all Ma was more than familiar with Little Guo’s flaws, the criticism struck a nerve. She snapped, “You’re bold enough to think you can play in the Left Minister’s games?” She remembered Chen’s fingers grinding her bones together. “His patronage never ends well for anyone but himself. Surely you can see that.”

  His eyes went to her wrist, where she’d touched it without realizing. “Laypeople have this idea of monasteries as serene places where no one wants anything but nirvana. But I can tell you, some monks who called themselves pious were as vicious and self-interested as Chen Youliang.”

  It startled her to hear him say I. It was like reaching for someone’s cheek in the dark, but finding instead the intimate wetness of their open mouth. She said, unsettled, “Then you do know. If you join his side, you’ll regret it.”

  “Is that the lesson you think I learned?” His eyelids lowered, and for a moment the cricket-face under the hat was shadowed with something she felt herself curling away from. Then he said, “Anyway, monks don’t take sides. Left Minister Chen can think what he likes, but this monk serves only the Buddha and his earthly envoy, the Prince of Radiance.”

  Looking at him, she saw the eunuch general’s ten thousand dead men. “Sometimes that might look a lot like serving yourself.”

  His eyes flicked up, as sharp as a hook. But after a moment he just said, “Teacher Ma: since this monk is leaving soon for Lu, do you have any sage guidance?”

  Her answer was interrupted by red fire blooming above Anfeng. Shimmering threads of light fell in the shape of a jellyfish. “Is that a firework? I’ve never seen one like that.”

  “Jiao Yu’s work. He does have quite a talent for fire-powder.” After a moment of observation the monk added, “It’s exactly the same color as the Mandate.”

  Or the color of temple candles, Ma thought, watching the light bleed into the sky. The color of piety and prayers to the ancestors. Of her dead father. Suddenly she felt a violent surge of frustration about everything: the Yuan, the rebellion, the selfishness of old men as they competed for power. At Heaven itself, for its opaque signs that could seemingly point in any direction you wanted. “How little lives are worth in this war,” she said bitterly. “Theirs and ours, both.”

  He said after a moment, “You have a lot of feelings in you, Ma Xiuying.”

  “Don’t mistake it for caring about your life or death, monk.” But it was too late: she already cared. All it took was for him to ask for help. She said reluctantly, “You know my father used to be one of the Yuan’s generals. Towards the end of that time he got to know the man who became Lu’s governor. A Semu, like my family. That man wasn’t very popular in Dadu, because late in life he married a Nanren girl out of love, and people used that against him. But my father had a lot of respect for his talents. Later, when my father joined the Red Turbans, he always refused to attack Lu: he said with that man as governor, it was too strong. But he died not more than a month ago. The Yuan will be sending a replacement from Dadu. Who knows what he’ll be like? But if you can get there before him—you could have a chance.” She amended, “Part of a chance.”

  She didn’t know if she had scared Zhu or given him hope. After a mulling silence he said, “That’s useful. You’ve taught this monk well tonight, Teacher Ma.” He remounted and said in a completely normal voice, as though they hadn’t been discussing his inevitable death, “But why are we out here when the fireworks are so much better up close? Come on. It’ll be quicker with both of us riding.”

  He took her hand and swung her up in front of him. The strength and sureness of his grip surprised her. She’d thought monks spent all day sitting with their eyes closed. Striving for unimpressed, she said, “I’m the one who can ride. Shouldn’t I have the reins?”

  From within the circle of his arms she felt him laugh. “This monk can’t ride? Since you only offered the one lesson, this monk thought he was qualified.”

  “Qualified to fall off the first time someone shoots at you!” She leaned forwards and snapped her fingers next to the horse’s ear. It piked left in surprise, and Zhu went tumbling off the back.

  By the time Ma collected the horse and brought it around, he had caught his breath and was pretending to admire the stars. “Well. Maybe this monk could do with another lesson.”

  Ma snorted. “One lesson already makes you better than most people here who have a horse.” She pulled him up behind; he was lighter than she’d expected.

  He said, smiling, “If we go faster than a walk and you don’t want me falling off, I’m going to have to hold on somehow.” But he held her with just his fingertips, chaste. For some reason she was too aware of that light pressure, and the warmth of his body against hers.

  She would probably never see him again. She felt a surprising stab at the thought. Not quite pity.

  * * *

  Six days after the Lantern Festival in the middle of the first month, the boy thief Chang Yuchun found himself on the march with Monk Zhu’s seven hundred men through the lake-dotted plain between Anfeng and the walled city of Lu. Spirits were low, although someone (probably Zhu himself) had started spreading a story from the ancient Three Kingdoms period, in which General Zhang Liao of Wei’s eight hundred cavalry had defeated the entire army of the kingdom of Wu, numbering no less than two hundred thousand men, just outside of Lu. Yuchun, who had never been told stories in his childhood, refused to believe it as a matter of principle.

  They had already broken for the day at the afternoon’s Monkey hour, and were making camp. Yuchun lounged next to the tent of the newest addition to Zhu’s force, and asked with genuine curiosity, “So, at what point do you think you’re going to regret leaving Commander Sun’s force for an incompetent monk’s suicide mission?”

  Jiao Yu was holding a length of metal about a foot long. One bulbous end tapered to a narrow mouth at the other. As Yuchun watched with interest, he touched a flaming stick to a hole in the bulbous end and took aim at a tree about twenty paces distant. A moment later t
here was an astonishing retort that left them both choking in a cloud of smoke. Yuchun said, reeling, “Was something supposed to happen to the tree?”

  “He’s not incompetent,” Jiao said evenly. He banged the weapon on the ground until a handful of tiny metal balls and pottery pieces fell out the open end, then peered inside muttering to himself.

  “It’s not too late to run. If I were you, I’d be seriously considering it. I’m just saying.” Yuchun picked up one of the metal balls. It seemed too small to cause any kind of damage. “What is that?”

  “A hand cannon.” Jiao took the ball away from Yuchun. “The monk asked me to think about fire-powder weapons. The problem is reliability—”

  Yuchun looked at the completely intact tree. “You could reliably hit someone over the head with it, I guess. And how is he not incompetent? He can’t even swing a sword. Do you think he’s going to be able to take a city without fighting?”

  “To win a hundred victories in a hundred battles is not the pinnacle of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the pinnacle of skill.”

  “Skills, victories, what?” said Yuchun, struggling with the classical language.

  “That monk knows exactly what he wants. The night before the battle at Yao River, he asked me to make that gong for him. I made it, he used it, and he won,” Jiao said. “I’ve met his type before. They either go far or die early. And either way, they have a tendency to make collateral damage of normal people.” He raised his eyebrows at Yuchun. “Are you special, little brother? Because if you’re not, I’d watch out.”

  “I—” Yuchun started, then broke off as he saw movement. “What—”

  “Bandits!” came the howl.

  The camp dissolved into chaos. As the hundreds-strong pack of mounted hillmen, Yuan deserters, and former peasants descended upon them, Zhu’s men grabbed their weapons and defended themselves in the manner of every man for himself. Yuchun, who had always prided himself on avoiding the violent parts of the rebellion, found himself abruptly in the middle of a battle. Forgetting Jiao, half-blind in panic, he stumbled through the chaos with his arms uselessly shielding his head.