‘I have no objection to that. Do you, Tsu Ma?’
‘Not I.’
Li Yuan reached out and touched Chi Hsing’s shoulder. ‘It is best, after all, if these things are aired between us. In the open.’
Chi Hsing nodded, still hesitant, as if he expected Li Yuan to change his mind at any moment. Then, realizing he had achieved his end, he smiled.
‘Good. That’s very good, Li Yuan. As you say, it is best. In the open.’ He nodded again, this time decisively, then turned and went across to where Wang Sau-leyan and their host, Hou Tung-po, T’ang of South America, were standing. Wang listened a moment, then looked across at Li Yuan, bowing his head slightly.
‘In the open,’ said Tsu Ma beneath his breath. ‘You’re like your father, Yuan. Devious.’
Li Yuan turned, surprised, then laughed, seeing the humour beneath the surface of Tsu Ma’s words. ‘Words are words, Tsu Ma. We must bend and shape them to our needs.’
Tsu Ma nodded, pleased with that. ‘So it is in these troubled times, cousin. But history shall judge us by our actions.’
Wang Sau-leyan was leaning forward in his seat, his hands folded in his lap, his big, moon face looking from one to another as he spoke. He seemed calm, relaxed, his voice soft and deep, persuasive in its tones. Thus far he had said little that had not been said before, but now he turned the conversation.
‘In this room, as in the rooms of the Twenty-Nine and the mansions of the Supernal, there are those who are questioning recent events. Some with anger, some with sadness and misgivings. Others fearfully, remembering things not long past. But every last one of them is concerned, wondering where it will stop. For myself, I believe it has already gone too far.’
Wu Shih made to interrupt, but Wang raised his hand. ‘You will have your say, Wu Shih, and I shall listen. But first hear me out. This must be said, before it is too late for words.’
Tsu Ma reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a slender silver case. ‘Then talk, cousin. Let us hear what you have to say.’
There was an unconcealed hostility in the words that surprised Li Yuan. He watched Tsu Ma take a cheroot from the case then close it and slip it back into his pocket.
‘Thank you, cousin,’ said Wang, watching the older man light the cheroot and draw the first breath from it. He smiled tightly, then let his face fall blank again. ‘As I said, there is anger and sadness and a great deal of fear. Unhealthy symptoms. Signs of a deep and bitter hostility towards us.’
Wu Shih grunted indignantly, but kept his silence. His cheeks burned red and his eyes bored into the side of Wang’s softly rounded face.
‘We have sown a harvest of discontent,’ Wang went on. ‘And I say we, because this affects us all. And yet I hesitate to use that plural, because it suggests consensus on our part. Suggests a commonly agreed-upon set of actions, discussed and debated here, in Council, as has always been our way.’ He paused and looked about him, shaking his head. ‘Instead I wake to find the world a different place from when I slept. And myself every bit as surprised as those who came begging audience, saying, “Why is my son arrested?”’
In the chair beside him, Hou Tung-po nodded his head vigorously. ‘So it was for me. I was not notified, Li Yuan. Not consulted before you and Wu Shih acted. A poor choice was left to me, to seem a scoundrel or look a fool. Relations are bad between us and the Above. As bad as at any time during the last ten years. We must act to defuse this situation before it gets out of hand. We must make some gesture to placate the Above.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Li Yuan spoke, his anger at Wang Sau-leyan’s criticism barely contained.
‘When a man saves his brother’s life, does he say first, “Excuse me, brother, I would save your life, is that all right with you?” No, he acts, pushing his brother aside, out of the way of the falling rock. He acts! I make no apologies for my actions. Or for the lack of consultation. Surprise was a necessity. I could not risk informing anyone.’
He stood, going to the centre of their informal circle, looking down at Wang Sau-leyan.
‘Perhaps you relish death, cousin Wang. For myself I would grow old in peace, no dagger to my throat.’
Wang laughed; a short, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, yes, Li Yuan, you act like one destined to live long. For while your enemies multiply, your friends diminish.’
Li Yuan smiled back at him tightly. ‘So it is in this world. But it is better to trust one’s friends and know one’s enemies. To act than to prevaricate.’
Wang Sau-leyan glared back at Li Yuan, infuriated by his words, all pretence of calm gone from him. ‘Ai ya! – but must we all suffer for your rashness, cousin? Must we reap what you sow? You sound like your dead brother – hot-headed!’
For a moment there was a tense silence, then Li Yuan gave a soft laugh. ‘Hot-headed, you say?’ He shook his head. ‘Not so, cousin. Not so. You ask for something to placate the Above, like a woman begging for her son’s life. Has it come to that? Are we so weak we must beg for our existence? Are we not to crush what seeks to destroy us? It seems you have changed your tune, Wang Sau-leyan, for once you sought to lecture us…’
Wang was shaking his head. ‘Young men, Li Yuan, that’s all they are. Young men. Misguided, over-enthusiastic, that’s all.’ Wang looked beyond Li Yuan, a faint smile resting on his lips. ‘It would defuse things if we let them go, and in time this thing would certainly blow over.’
‘Blow over?’ Li Yuan shook his head in disbelief. ‘What must they do before you see it, cousin? Must they hold the gun to your head? This is no act of high spirits. This is revolution. Open rebellion. Don’t you understand? It begins with ideas and it ends with bloodshed.’ He paused, then took a step closer, pointing down at Wang. ‘They would kill you, Wang Sau-leyan, T’ang of Africa, and set themselves up in your place. Just as they killed your eldest brothers. Or do you forget?’
Li Yuan stood there, breathing deeply, staring down at Wang Sau-leyan, forcing him to meet his eyes.
‘Well? Do you still want appeasement?’
Wang nodded.
‘And who else?’ He looked at Hou Tung-po, then across to Chi Hsing. Both nodded, though neither met his eyes.
‘And you, Wei Feng? What do you counsel?’ He turned, facing the aged T’ang of East Asia. ‘You, surely, know the depths of this problem.’
‘You speak as if I had the casting vote, Li Yuan.’
‘You have.’ It was Tsu Ma who answered for Li Yuan. Beside him Wu Shih looked across, bowing his head in assent.
Wei Feng sighed and looked down. ‘You know what I feel,’ he began, his low, toneless voice picking out each word slowly, meticulously. ‘You know my dislikes, my prejudices.’ He looked up at Li Yuan. ‘You must know, then, that what you did pleased me greatly.’ He smiled sourly. ‘However, that is not what is at issue here. What’s at issue is our manner of conducting ourselves, Li Yuan. Not the action itself – with which I basically agree and on which I would support you at any other time – but the way in which you acted. As Wang Sau-leyan says, you acted without consulting us.’
He paused, considering, then spoke again. ‘We are Seven, Li Yuan. Not One, but Seven. In that lies our strength. For seven generations now, our strength and the reason for peace in the world. For the strength of our society. Break that cohesion and you break it all.’
‘You defer, then, Wei Feng?’
Wei Feng nodded. ‘I say free the young men. Then do as Wang says. Make the best of a bad lot and seek conciliation.’
For a moment longer Li Yuan stood there, then he shrugged. ‘So be it,’ he said, looking across at Wang. ‘I will hand my prisoners over to you, cousin, to do with as you will.’
He looked away, leaving it there, but in his head the words resounded. Not One, but Seven. In that lies our strength. He had never questioned it before, but now, standing there amidst his peers, he asked himself if it was really so.
He glanced at Wu Shih, seeing how the T’ang of North America was looking dow
n, his anger unexpressed, and had his answer. The days of unanimity were gone, and what had made the Seven such a force had gone with them. What Wei Feng had said, that had been true once, back in his father’s time, but now?
Seven… the word was hollow now, the Great Wheel broken. It had died with his father. Four against three – that was the new reality. He looked across at Wang Sau-leyan, seeing the gleam of triumph in his eyes, and knew. It was finished. Here, today, it had ended. And now they must find another path, another way of governing themselves. That was the truth. But the truth could not be spoken. Not yet, anyway, and certainly not here, in Council.
He smiled, suddenly relaxing, as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders and turned his head, meeting Tsu Ma’s eyes; seeing the light of understanding there.
‘Shall we move on?’ he said, looking about the circle of his fellow T’ang. ‘Time presses and there’s much to do.’
Yes, he thought; but none of it matters now. From now on this is merely play, a mask to hide our real intentions. For all the real decisions will henceforth be made in secret.
Out in the open. He laughed, recognizing finally the full irony of what he had said earlier, then turned, looking at Tsu Ma, and smiled, seeing his smile returned strongly. Yes. So it would be from now on. In the open…
It had been summer in Rio. In Tongjiang it was winter.
Li Yuan stood on the terrace, looking out over the frozen lake. He wore furs and gloves and thick leather boots, but his head was bare, snowflakes settling in his fine, dark hair. Below him the slope was deep in snow while on the far shore the trees of the orchard formed stark, tangled shapes against the white.
He looked up past the gentle slopes towards the distant mountains. Vast, sharp-edged escarpments of rock speared the colourless sky. He shivered then turned away, finding the bleakness of the view too close to his present mood.
He looked across at the palace, the stables beyond. His men were waiting on the veranda, talking amongst themselves beneath the great, shuttered windows. They did not like it here, he knew. This openness appalled them. They felt exposed, naked to all the primal things the City shut out behind its walls, but for him only this was real. The rest was but a game.
He had expected to find her here, or at least the memory of her, but there was nothing. Only the place itself remained, robbed of its scents, its vivid greenness, all human presence gone. As if all that had happened here had never been.
He shivered and looked down at his feet. A leaf clung to the ankle of his right boot. He removed his glove and stooped to pluck the wet and blackened leaf, then straightened up, feeling the icy cold against his flesh, the wetness in his palm. What did it all mean? He brushed the leaf away and pulled his glove back on, turning to walk back to the palace and the waiting transit.
Nothing, he decided. It meant nothing.
He flew south-west, over unbroken whiteness. Not snow this time but the endless City, three thousand li without a break, until they reached Kuang Chou, ancient Canton, at the mouth of the Pei River. Then, for a while, there was the blue of the South China Sea, before Hong Kong and, to its southeast, the island of T’ai Yueh Shan, where Yin Tsu had his estate.
He had put this off too long. But now it was time to see the child. To bestow his gift upon his past-wife’s son.
Coded signals passed between the ship and the estate’s defence system, then they came down, Yin Tsu greeting him in the hangar. He was kneeling, his forehead pressed to the cold metal of the grid as Li Yuan stepped down.
Li Yuan had changed on the flight down, shedding his furs and gloves and heavy boots in favour of thin satins of a fiery orange and slippers of the finest kid. Approaching the old man, he stopped, lifting his foot.
Yin Tsu took the offered foot with care and kissed it once, then once more, before releasing it.
‘Yin Tsu, once-father, please.’ He reached down and took the old man’s hand, helping him up. Only then did Yin Tsu look at him.
‘I am honoured by your visit, Chieh Hsia. What may I do for you?’
‘Fei Yen… Is she still here with you?’
The old man nodded, his thin lips forming the faintest of smiles. ‘Yes, Chieh Hsia. She is here. And the child.’
‘Good. Good.’ He hesitated a moment, feeling awkward, then spoke again. ‘I’d like to see her. And… the child too. If she would see me.’
‘Please. Come through.’ Yin Tsu led the way, half turned towards Li Yuan in courtesy as he walked, bowed low, his hands held out but pressed together in an attitude of the deepest respect.
While he waited for her, he thought of what he would say. He had not seen her since the day he had insisted on the tests. Had she forgiven him for that?
He gritted his teeth, thinking on it, then turned to find her standing there. She was wearing a pale lemon-coloured dress, her dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders. The child was not with her.
‘I…’ he began, but the sight of her struck him dumb. She seemed more beautiful than ever, her face stronger, her breasts much fuller than he remembered them. As he had turned to face her she had bowed and now rested on one knee, her head lowered, awaiting his command.
‘Fei Yen,’ he said, but the words came out so softly that she did not hear them. He went across and touched her gently on the crown of her head, wanting to kiss her there, his cheek muscle twitching with the tension he felt this close to her. He stepped back, straightening up. ‘Get up, Fei Yen. Please…’
She got up slowly, her dark eyes filled with awe of him. She had seen how powerful he was; how his servants laid their necks down for him to tread upon. Had seen and was afraid. This was not the boy she had known. No, he was no longer a child but a man: the cub a lion now, dressed in flame.
‘You look well,’ he said, aware of the inadequacy of the words.
‘I wondered when you’d come. I knew you would.’
He nodded, surprised by how subdued she sounded. So different from before. ‘And the child?’
‘He’s fine.’ She looked away, biting her lip. ‘He’s sleeping now. Do you want to see him?’ She glanced at him, aware of his hesitation. ‘You don’t have to. I know how you feel about all this.’
Do you? he thought; but he kept silent and simply nodded.
‘Han,’ she said. ‘I called him Han. As you wished.’
She was watching him, trying to see what he made of it. His cheek muscle twitched once more and then lay still, his face a mask.
‘Come,’ she said after a moment, then led him through, down a high-ceilinged corridor to the nursery.
A girl sat beside the cot, her hands in her lap. At the entrance of her mistress she got up and bowed. Then she saw Li Yuan and abased herself, as Yin Tsu had done. Fei Yen dismissed her hurriedly, then turned to face Li Yuan again.
‘Don’t wake him, Yuan. He needs his sleep.’
He nodded and went close.
The child lay on its side, one hand up to its mouth, the other resting lightly against the bars at the side of the cot. A fine, dark down of hair covered its scalp, while about its neck lay a monitoring strip, the milky white band pulsing quickly, in time with the baby’s heartbeat.
‘But he’s so… so tiny!’ Li Yuan laughed, surprised. The baby’s hands, his tiny, perfectly formed feet were like fine sculpture. Like miniatures in tarnished ivory.
‘He’s not six weeks yet,’ she said, as if that explained the beauty of the child. Li Yuan wanted to reach out and hold one of those tiny hands, to feel its fingers stretch and close about his thumb.
He turned, looking at her, and suddenly all of the old bitterness and love were there, impurely mixed in what he was feeling. He hated her for this. Hated her for making him feel so much. Frustration made him grit his teeth and push past her, the feeling overwhelming him, making him want to cry out for the pain he felt.
As at first, he realized. It had always hurt him to be with her. She took too much. Left him so little of himself. And that was wrong. He could not
be a T’ang and feel like this. No, it was better to feel nothing than to feel so much. He stood with his back to her, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself, to still the turmoil in his gut and put it all back behind the ice.
Where it belonged. Where it had to belong.
She was silent, waiting for him. When he turned back all trace of feeling had gone from his face. He looked across at the cot and the sleeping child, then back at her, his voice quiet, controlled.
‘I want to give you something. For you and the child. It will be his when he comes of age, but until that time it is yours to administer.’
She lowered her head obediently.
‘I want him to have the palace at Hei Shui.’
She looked up, wide-eyed with surprise. ‘Li Yuan…’ But he had raised his hand to silence her.
‘The documents are drawn up. I want no arguments, Fei Yen. It’s little enough compared to what he might have had.’
She turned her head away, unable to disguise the moment’s bitterness, then nodded her acquiescence.
‘Good.’ He turned, looking at the cot once more. ‘There will be an allowance, too. For both of you. You will not want for anything, Fei Yen. Neither you nor he.’
‘My father…’ she began, pride creeping back into her voice, but she cut it off, holding her tongue. She knew he need do nothing. The terms of the divorce were clear enough. Hers was the shame. In her actions lay the blame for how things were.
‘Let it be so, then,’ he said finally. ‘Your father shall have the documents. And Han…’ He said the name; said it and breathed deeply afterwards, a muscle jumping in his cheek. ‘Han shall have Hei Shui.’
Tolonen looked up, his long face ashen, his grey eyes filled with a deep hurt. For a time he stared sightlessly at the wall, then, slowly, shook his head.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said quietly, pushing the file away from him. ‘I just can’t believe it. Hans…’ His mouth creased into a grimace of pain. ‘What will I say…? What will his father say?’ Then he thought of Jelka and the betrothal and groaned. ‘Gods, what a mess. What a stinking, horrible mess.’
The White Mountain Page 7