THE WHITE MOUNTAIN
DAVID WINGROVE is the Hugo Award-winning co-author (with Brian Aldiss) of Trillion Year Spree: The History of Science Fiction. He is also the co-author of the first three MYST books – novelizations of one of the world’s bestselling computer games. He lives in north London with his wife and four daughters.
1 Son of Heaven
2 Daylight on Iron Mountain
3 The Middle Kingdom
4 Ice and Fire
5 The Art of War
6 An Inch of Ashes
7 The Broken Wheel
8 The White Mountain
9 Monsters of the Deep
10 The Stone Within
11 Upon a Wheel of Fire
12 Beneath the Tree of Heaven
13 Song of the Bronze Statue
14 White Moon, Red Dragon
15 China on the Rhine
16 Days of Bitter Strength
17 The Father of Lies
18 Blood and Iron
19 King of Infinite Space
20 The Marriage of the Living Dark
First published in Great Britain in 1991 by New English Library.
This revised and updated edition published in special edition hardback, trade paperback, and e-book in Great Britain in 2014 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Copyright © David Wingrove, 1991, 2014
The moral right of David Wingrove to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Hardback ISBN: 978 0 85789 823 4
Trade paperback ISBN: 978 0 85789 824 1
E-book ISBN: 978 0 85789 825 8
Printed in Great Britain.
Corvus
An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd
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CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PART SIXTEEN The Shattered Land – Autumn 2207
Chapter 67 The Tiger’s Mouth
Chapter 68 Willow-Plum Sickness
Chapter 69 In the Open
Chapter 70 The Shattered Land
INTERLUDE Dragon’s Teeth – Winter 2207
PART SEVENTEEN The White Mountain – Summer 2208
Chapter 71 Between Light and Shadow
Chapter 72 Dragonflies
Chapter 73 In a Darkened Eye
Chapter 74 The Dead Brother
Chapter 75 White Mountain
Chapter 76 Flames In a Glass
IN TIMES TO COME…
Character Listing
Glossary of Mandarin Terms
Author’s Note and Acknowledgments
For Mark and Ben, the new generation
THE WHITE MOUNTAIN
Book Eight
The way never acts yet nothing is left undone.
Should lords and princes be able to hold fast to it,
The myriad creatures will be transformed of their own accord.
After they are transformed, should desire raise its head,
I shall press it down with the weight of the nameless uncarved block.
The nameless uncarved block
Is but freedom from desire,
And if I cease to desire and remain still,
The empire will be at peace of its own accord.
—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, Book One, XXXVII (Sixth Century BC)
INTRODUCTION
Chung Kuo. The words mean ‘Middle Kingdom’ and since 221 BC, when the First Emperor, Ch’in Shih Huang Ti, unified the seven Warring States, it is what the ‘black-haired people’, the Han, or Chinese, have called their great country. The middle Kingdom – for them it was the whole world; a world bounded by great mountain chains to the north and west, by the sea to east and south. Beyond was only desert and barbarism. So it was for two thousand years.
By the turn of the twenty-second century, however, Chung Kuo had come to mean much more. For more than a century, the Empire of the Han had encompassed the world, the Earth’s bloated population of forty billion contained in vast, hive-like cities that spanned whole continents. The Council of Seven – Han lords, T’ang, each more powerful than the greatest of the ancient emperors – ruled Chung Kuo with an iron authority, their boast that they had ended Change and stopped the Great Wheel turning. But Change was coming.
It had begun twelve years before, when a new generation of powerful young merchants – Dispersionists, formed mainly of Hung Mao, or Westerners – had challenged the authority of the Seven, demanding an end to the Edict of Technological Control, the cornerstone of Han stability, and a return to the Western ideal of unfettered progress. In the spate of assassination and counter-assassination that followed, something had to give, and the destruction of Dispersionist starship, The New Hope, signalled the beginning of the ‘War-that-wasn’t-a-War’, an incestuous power struggle fought within the City’s levels. The Seven won that War, but at a price they could ill afford. Suddenly they were weak – weaker than they had been in their entire history. The new T’ang were young and inexperienced. Worse than that, they were divided against themselves.
But the War was only the first small sign of greater disturbances to come, for down in the lowest levels of the City, in the lawless regions ‘below the Net’ and in the overcrowded decks just above, new currents of unrest have awoken. In the years since the War, Ko Ming – revolutionary – groups have proliferated, and none more powerful or deadly than the Ping Tiao, or Levellers. The War was no longer a struggle for power, but for survival…
PART SIXTEEN THE SHATTERED LAND
Autumn 2207
Chapter 67
THE TIGER’S MOUTH
Ebert looked about him, then turned back to Mu Chua, smiling.
‘You’ve done well, Mu Chua. I’d hardly have recognized the place. They’ll be here any time now, so remember, these are important business contacts and I want to impress them. Are the new girls dressed as I asked?’
Mu Chua nodded.
‘Good. Well, keep them until after my entrance. These things must be done correctly, neh? One must whet their appetites before giving them the main course.’
‘Of course, General. And may I say again how grateful I am that you honour my humble house. It is not every day that we play host to the nobility.’
Ebert nodded. ‘Yes… but more is at stake than that, Mother Chua. If these ch’un tzu like what they see then it is more than likely you will receive an invitation.’
‘An invitation?’
‘Yes. To a chao tai hui – an entertainment – at one of the First Level mansions. This afternoon, I am told, there is to be a gathering of young princes. And they will need… how shall I put it?… special services.’
Mu Chua lowered her head. ‘Whatever they wish. My girls are the very best. They are shen nu… god girls.’
Again Ebert nodded, but this time he seemed distracted. After a moment he looked back at Mu Chua. ‘Did the wine from my father’s cellar arrive?’
‘It did, Excellency.’
‘Of course, General.’
‘I want no deceptions, understand me, Mu Chua. Carry this off for me and I will reward you handsomely. Ten thousand yuan for you alone. And a thousand apiece for each of your girls. That’s on top of your standard fees and expenses.’
Mu Chua lowered her head. ‘You are too generous, Excellency…’
Ebert laughed. ‘Maybe. But you have been good to me over the years, Mother Chua. And when this proposition was put before me, my first thought was of you and your excellent house. “Who better,” I said to myself, “than Mu Chua at entertaining guests.”’ He smiled broadly at her, for once almost likeable. ‘I am certain you will not let me down.’
Mu Chua lowered her head. ‘Your guests will be transported…’
He laughed. ‘Indeed…’
After Ebert had gone, she stood there a moment, almost in a trance at the thought of the ten thousand yuan he had promised. Together with what she would milk from this morning’s entertainment, it would be enough. Enough, at last, to get out of here. To pay off her contacts in the Above and climb the levels.
Yes. She had arranged it all already. And now, at last, she could get away. Away from Whiskers Lu and the dreadful seediness of this place. Could find somewhere up-level and open up some small, discreet, cosy little house. Something very different, with its own select clientele and its own strict rules.
She felt a little shiver of anticipation pass through her then stirred herself, making the last few arrangements before the two men came, getting the girls to set out the wine and lay a table with the specially prepared sweetmeats.
She had no idea what Ebert was up to, but it was clear that he set a great deal of importance on this meeting. Only two days ago his man had turned up out of the blue and handed her twenty-five thousand yuan to have the house redecorated. It had meant losing custom for a day, but she had still come out of it ahead. Now it seemed likely that she would gain much more.
Even so, her suspicions of Hans Ebert remained. If he was up to something it was almost certain to be no good. But was that her concern? If she could make enough this one last time she could forget Ebert and his kind. This was her pass out. After today she need never compromise again. It would be as it was, before the death of her protector, Feng Chung.
The thought made her smile; made her spirits rise. Well, as this was the last time, she would make it special. Would make it something that even Hans Ebert would remember.
She busied herself, arranging things to perfection, then called in the four girls who were to greet their guests. Young girls, as Ebert had specified; none of them older than thirteen.
She looked at herself in the mirror, brushing a speck of powder from her cheek, then turned, hearing the bell sound out in the reception room. They were here.
She went out, kneeling before the two men, touching her forehead against her knees. Behind her, the four young girls did the same, standing at the same time that she stood. It was a calculated effect, and she saw how much it pleased the men.
Ebert had briefed her fully beforehand, providing her with everything she needed to know about them, from their business dealings down to their sexual preferences. Even so, she was still surprised by the contrast the two men made.
Hsiang K’ai Fan was a big, flabby-chested man, almost effeminate in his manner. Treble-chinned and slack-jowled, his eyes seemed to stare out of a landscape of flesh, yet his movements were dainty and his dress sense exquisite. His lavender silks followed the fashion of the Minor Families – a fashion that was wholly and deliberately out of step with what was being worn elsewhere in the Above – with long, wide sleeves and a flowing gown that hid his booted feet. Heavily perfumed, he was nonetheless restrained in his use of jewellery, the richest item of his apparel being the broad, red velvet ta lian, or girdle pouch, that he wore about his enormous waist, the two clasps of which were studded with rubies and emeralds in the shape of two butterflies. His nails were excessively long, in the manner of the Families; the ivory-handled fan he held moved slowly in the air as he looked about him.
An Liang-chou, on the other hand, was a tiny, rat-like man, stringily built and astonishingly ugly even by the standard of some of the clients Mu Chua had entertained over the years. Flat-faced and beady-eyed, he was as nervy as Hsiang was languid, his movements jerky, awkward. Meeting his eyes, Mu Chua smiled tightly, trying to keep the aversion she felt from showing. Rumour had it that he fucked all six of his daughters – even the youngest, who was only six. Looking at him, it was not hard to imagine. She had seen at once how his eyes had lit up at the sight of her girls. How a dark, lascivious light had come to them: the kind of look a predatory insect gives its victim before it pounces.
Unlike Hsiang, An Liang-chou seemed to have no taste at all when it came to dress. His gaudily coloured pau hung loose on him, as if he had stolen it from another. Like Hsiang he was heavily perfumed, but it was an unpleasantly sickly scent, more sour than sweet, as if mixed with his own sweat. She saw how his hand – the fingers thickly crusted with jewelled rings – went to his short ceremonial dagger; how his lips moved wetly as he considered which girl he would have first.
‘My lords… you are welcome to my humble house,’ she said, lowering her head again. ‘Would you care for something to drink?’
Hsiang seemed about to answer, but before he could do so An Liang-chou moved past her and, after pawing two of the girls, chose the third. Gripping her upper arm tightly, he dragged her roughly after him, through the beaded curtain and into the rooms beyond.
Mu Chua watched him go then turned back to Hsiang, smiling, all politeness.
‘Would the Lord Hsiang like refreshments?’
Hsiang smiled graciously and let himself be led through. But in the doorway to the Room of Heaven he stopped and turned to look at her.
‘Why, this is excellent, Mu Chua. The General was not wrong when he said you were a woman of taste. I would not have thought such a place could have existed outside First Level.’
She bowed low, immensely pleased by his praise. ‘Ours is but a humble house, Excellency.’
‘However,’ he said, moving on, into the room, ‘I had hoped for… well, let us not prevaricate, eh?… for special pleasures.’
She saw how he looked at her and knew at once that she had misjudged him totally. His silken manners masked a nature far more repugnant than An Liang-chou’s.
‘Special pleasures, Excellency?’
He turned then sat in the huge, silk-cushioned chair she had bought specially to accommodate his bulk, the fan moving slowly, languidly in his hand.
He looked back at her, his tiny eyes cold, calculating amidst the flesh of his face. ‘Yes,’ he said smoothly. ‘They say you can buy anything in the Net. Anything at all.’
She felt herself go cold. Ebert had said nothing about this. From what he’d said, Hsiang’s pleasures were no more unnatural than the next man’s. But this…
She waved the girls away then slid the door across and turned back, facing him, reminding herself that this was her passage out, the last time she would have to deal with his kind.
‘What is it you would like?’ she asked, keeping her voice steady. ‘We cater for all tastes here, my lord.’
He smiled, a broad gap opening in the flesh of his lower face, showing teeth that seemed somehow too small to fill the space. His voice was silken, like the voice of a young woman.
‘My needs are simple, Mu Chua. Very simple. And the General promised me that you would meet them.’
She knelt, bowing her head. ‘Of course, Excellency. But tell me, what exactly is it that you want?’
He clicked the fan shut then leaned forward slightly, beckoning her across.
She rose, moving closer then knelt, her face only a hand’s width from his knees. He leaned close, whispering, a hint of aniseed on his breath.
‘I have b
een told that there is a close connection between sex and death. That the finest pleasure of all is to fuck a woman at the moment of her death. I have been told that the death throes of a woman bring on an orgasm so intense…’
She looked up at him, horrified, but he was looking past her, his eyes lit with an intense pleasure, as if he could see the thing he was describing. She let him spell it out, barely listening to him now, then sat back on her heels, a small shiver passing through her.
‘You want to kill one of my girls, is that it, Lord Hsiang? You wish to slit her throat while you are making love to her?’
He looked back at her, nodding. ‘I will pay well.’
‘Pay well…’ She looked down. It was not the first time she had had such a request. Even in the old days there had been some like Hsiang who linked their pleasure to the pain of others, but even under Whiskers Lu there had been limits to what she would allow. She had never had one of her girls die while with a client, intentionally or otherwise, and it was on her tongue to tell this bastard, Prince or no, to go fuck himself. Only…
She shuddered then looked up at him again, seeing how eagerly he awaited her answer. To say no was to condemn herself at best to staying here, at worst to incurring the anger of Hans Ebert. And who knew what he would do to her if she spoiled things for him now? But to say yes was to comply with the murder of one of her girls. It would be as if she herself had held the knife and drawn it across the flesh.
‘What you ask…’ she began, then hesitated.
‘Yes?’
She stood then turned away, moving towards the door before turning back to face him again. ‘You must let me think, Lord Hsiang. My girls…’
‘Of course,’ he said, as if he understood. ‘It must be a special girl.’
His laughter chilled her blood. It was as if what he was discussing were a commonplace. As for the girl herself… In all her years she had tried to keep it in her mind that what her clients bought was not the girl but the services of the girl, as one bought the services of an accountant or a broker. But men like Hsiang made no such distinction. To them the girl was but a thing; to be used and discarded as they wished.
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