by A. H. Wang
“Sure. Thank you, Hank,” she says, then adds: “Give Muffin a cuddle for me.”
“I will,” Hank replies, and Georgia can hear the smile return to his voice. “She’ll like that.”
They say their goodbyes and she looks out the window, watching the cars flash past them on the highway. Shingu is the long-fabled location of where Hsu Fu had landed in Japan. In fact, in many areas of Japan he’s worshipped as a deity known as Jofuku: the god of farming, medicine, and silk. There’s a tombstone in town which commemorates him, and a Jofuku Park where you can buy tea from the medicinal plant he supposedly discovered. You can even dress up in hired Chinese costumes and get your picture taken in the park’s Chinese garden.
At the thought of this, she rolls her eyes. The fact that Lambert has her chasing after clues in Shingu is testament to his specious reasoning. She is pretty certain this errand he’s sent her on will yield no useful information. Annoyed as she may be about the expedition, however, she has promised Sarah she’ll at least try and enjoy herself in Japan. What’s more, the person Lambert has organised for her to meet today is none other than Akiko Hata: the last remaining heir of the prominent Hata family, owners of the famed Hata Collection. This fact alone will be worth the tiresome trip.
As they drive away from Osaka, the trees blur into a mass of green, and her eyelids begin to feel heavy as her mind drifts back to the night of her dinner with the billionaire.
“Think about the possibilities, Georgia. If it’s true that Hsu Fu found something, anything, it could be the single most important discovery in the history of mankind. If he’s still alive, this could mean the end of illness, of cancer, of HIV.” Lambert paused, then added: “It could bring an end to child mortality.”
Georgia felt as if he’d punched her in the gut. Winded, she searched his face, trying to detect any signs of knowledge about Jacqui. She could not find any, for he was now moving on to his next point.
“As I’ve said before: in all of my years in business, I’ve seen the potential as well as the shortfalls of pharmaceuticals. Wouldn’t it be a worthwhile cause to bring an end to suffering for everyone who is sick, and also for the loved ones around them? Now that, professor, is something I’d like to have as part of my legacy.”
She looked at him, and found herself at a loss for words.
“I know you have your doubts. But really, what is there to lose? If you’re right, then the world will stay as it has always been. If I’m right, well—then mankind would have much to thank you for.” Mark leaned forward, holding her gaze with his silvery eyes. “So my proposal to you is this, Georgia. Go to Japan for me. See what you can find, and bring it back to my scientists and biochemists. This could very well be humanity’s greatest quest.”
Akiko Hata gathers her silver hair, pulling it into a bun at the back of her head. She examines her reflection in the mirror, satisfied with the result. Glancing at her watch, she notes that her guest should be arriving any time now. She settles herself at the low, antique table with her knees tucked under her and rests her hands in her lap, impatient for the visit.
Akiko has reluctantly agreed to this meeting at the request of Mr. Lambert, and she wishes her late father had never put her in this position. In fact, over the past week she has debated fervently with herself over whether or not to go through with it. In the end, however, she decided she is bound by honour and duty to carry out her father’s wishes, regardless of any reservations she may have.
That being decided, she is now anxious to get the whole affair over and done with, as quickly and smoothly as possible.
Hearing the crunch of gravel beneath the tyres of an approaching car, she rises from her seat and walks out of the house, watching patiently as the black vehicle slows to a stop. A young, attractive Chinese woman exits the car, smiling warmly at her.
Akiko makes the customary greeting for the Japanese, bowing to her visitor. “Hello. Professor Lee, my name is Akiko Hata. Welcome to my home.”
The young professor returns the deep bow, uttering a greeting in Japanese. “Hajimemashite. Thank you for having me,” she says in a gentle voice. “Please, call me Georgia.”
Akiko smiles in response. She watches as Georgia’s bright eyes roam appreciatively over the exterior of the two-storey house, and Akiko feels a surge of pride as she follows her gaze. The traditional Japanese architecture is a rarity nowadays, with its wooden frame and dark grey tiled roof, and perfectly manicured pine trees in the front yard. Sometimes Akiko forgets just how beautiful her family home really is. She has lived here all of her life, and it is easy to take it for granted until a new guest makes you see it again with fresh eyes. Sadly, it is also a rarity to have a visitor at the Hata estate these days.
The driver opens the trunk of the car to retrieve a couple of large black cases, and Georgia smiles almost apologetically at Akiko. “I hope you don’t mind,” she explains, “I came prepared with some equipment in case I needed it. I know how precious your time is and I just want to make sure I get all the information I can.”
Akiko gives a slight nod of her head. “Of course.”
She leads Georgia into the house, pulling open a sliding shoji, a traditional Japanese door made of translucent paper over a frame of wooden lattice. Beyond the shoji is a world from another time. The drawing room is of traditional Japanese design with tatami straw mat flooring and sparse, elegant furniture. Across the room from them, beyond another set of open shoji reveals an enclosed Zen stone garden: a simple yet sophisticated composition of rocks and raked sand to represent ripples in water. The faint scent of incense fills the room.
At Akiko’s prompting, Georgia sits down at the low table at the centre of the room, tucking her legs underneath her. “You have a beautiful home,” she compliments.
“Thank you.” Akiko beams. “My great-grandfather built it, around the turn of the century. A lot of the furniture you see here was made by him too.”
Georgia nods, clearly impressed, running her hands over the smooth, varnished surface of the table.
Akiko asks of Georgia’s journey as she pours green tea and serves her guest some wagashi, a traditional Japanese sweet beautifully sculpted into the shape of flowers and fruits. They fall into easy conversation, and she takes an instant liking to the young woman as they chat cheerfully about the upcoming cherry blossom festival in Japan. Georgia’s knowledge of Japan is impressive, and she even speaks a little of the language. Akiko is surprised at how pleasant this young woman is, for she is nothing like any of Lambert’s other associates she has met.
“So I gather from Mr. Lambert,” Georgia asks as Akiko sips her tea, “that you are close family friends?”
Akiko purses her lips, feeling a stone lodged in the deep seat of her stomach. “Well, my late father was a passionate collector of ancient relics. He and Mr. Lambert met at an auction and became instant friends. They did a lot of business together.”
Georgia nods, her gaze lingering on Akiko’s face, and the older woman gets the odd feeling that the professor is reading everything she has left out of that response from her expressions. But she doesn’t elaborate. It is not her place to speak ill of her father’s friend. Instead, she clears her throat and says, “I guess we’d better get to the reason why you are here. Mr. Lambert has asked me to show you this.”
Akiko makes room on the low table, bringing out a length of soft cloth and spreading it across the surface. Reaching her hand under the table, she finds the small protruding peg and pushes against it, hearing the familiar soft click. A secret drawer to the side pops open. Reaching inside, Akiko lifts out the black lacquered box, setting it on the tabletop. She undoes its golden clasp to open the box, revealing its contents to Georgia.
She hears Georgia draw in a breath of anticipation, and unease fizzles in her stomach. Akiko gets the uncanny sense her very actions are setting something in motion, a series of events that may have far-reaching consequences. She wonders if Georgia understands the full extent of what she is getti
ng herself involved in.
Akiko slips on a pair of white gloves, and with both hands, carefully lifts the ancient scroll out of the box, placing it gently on the length of soft cloth.
“This scroll has been in my family for many, many centuries—much longer than this house has been around. My father first showed it to me when I turned twenty-one,” Akiko declares. “The preservation of history and relics has always been a strong culture in my family, you see, and throughout the generations the Hata family has acquired a significant collection of artefacts. After my father died last year, we donated a big portion of it to the Tokyo National Museum. Our collection was getting too significant for me to handle on my own, so I thought it best to share it with the rest of the world.”
Georgia nods, remaining quiet, though Akiko assumes from Georgia’s knowing smile she is aware of the Hata collection and her family’s reputation.
“But this particular piece,” Akiko continues, looking at the scroll before her, “I decided it was best to remain with us.”
“Why is that?”
Akiko takes a deep breath, weighing her next words. “My family believes it may lead to the proof of our people’s origins, and that it would ultimately refute the lineage of some of the most powerful families here in Shingu.”
She unties the red string holding the scroll together, and begins the slow and cautious unravelling of the fragile document. Long, narrow strips of bamboo, each carrying a single column of faded brush-written text, are bound by thread into the scroll format. In its entirety, the scroll is roughly twenty-five by seventy centimetres in size.
Before the invention of paper, these bamboo slip scrolls were one of the main media for written text in ancient China, the earliest surviving examples dating from as early as the fifth century BCE. The scroll before them is obviously very old, but there is also clear evidence of restoration to keep it intact. It is in excellent condition for its age, despite the fragments that have broken off the slips. There are also large sections where the writing has faded so much it is impossible to make out the text.
Georgia scrutinises the document before them, surprise evident on her face as she raises her brows. “This is written in the Seal script of the Qin Dynasty.”
“Yes,” Akiko confirms. “This is why we don’t believe it should be made public. As you know, the Japanese people are very proud, and many would still like to believe we as a people are descendants of the sun. Or at least, we’d like to believe our origins are very independent from our neighbouring countries. My family feels this letter would suggest otherwise, and that would cause a great uproar in our community.”
Georgia nods, turning her attention back to the scroll, squinting to make out the faded texts. “It’s a letter… to Emperor Qin,” she says softly, almost to herself, “…from Wang Jian?”
Georgia looks up with surprise, gazing at Akiko’s face as if searching for confirmation, who nods solemnly. Akiko is well versed in ancient Chinese history herself; the knowledge comes from years of managing the Hata collection on behalf of her father. She knows Wang Jian is considered one of the four greatest generals of the Warring States period, and a key player during the unification of China. Under his command, Qin’s army conquered the states of Zhao, Yan, and Chu. He was one of Qin’s most trusted advisors, and it has also been rumoured that he was sent to Japan when the imperial alchemist defected during the quest for an elixir.
“Has anyone else—any other scientists—examined this?”
“No.” Akiko shakes her head. “You have to understand, professor, this piece is very precious to us and we almost never show it to anyone outside of the family. It’s only at Mr. Lambert’s request that I have agreed to do this today. I haven’t been able to decipher much of the contents myself, but throughout the generations of my family, it has been passed from parent to child, an heirloom that is part of our legacy. When my father mentioned it to Mr. Lambert, he took a special interest.”
When Lambert called Akiko, he at first besought her to send the scroll to his scientists for examination. At her polite refusal, he suggested the professor make a personal visit instead. This, Akiko had to grudgingly oblige. To decline the request a second time would have been considered rude in her culture and brought shame upon her family, especially given the close friendship between Mr. Lambert and her father. Nonetheless, she made it clear she would allow only this one visit.
Georgia points to the badly faded sections of the document. “These areas,” she says, “I may be able to recover them using a technique called multispectral imaging. The process is non-invasive. I’ll need to take a series of photos of the scroll using different lights and filters. Will that be okay with you?” She gestures to the cases of equipment she has brought with her.
Akiko hesitates briefly, then gives her consent with a slight nod of her head.
It takes Georgia a while to set up her imaging system, but slowly and painstakingly, she photographs every detail of the scroll. She goes through the whole process with Akiko as she works, and explains she will later analyse the images using various algorithms to recover the missing texts.
When she is finished, she turns to Akiko. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” The older woman shakes her head. “The secrets of the scroll were lost long ago when all those words faded.”
Perhaps for the best, Akiko thinks.
She wonders what the young scientist will find, and if she has any inkling of the kind of person she is working for. Looking at Georgia intently, Akiko says, “I must emphasise our wish for your discretion on this, Georgia. Whatever information you find in this document, please remember to use it wisely, and keep it to yourself. As far as the world is concerned, this document does not exist.”
5
Back at her hotel in Shingu, Georgia spends many long hours tweaking her algorithms and analysing the photographs of the scroll. The anticipation to know what secrets it holds is almost impossible for her to contain. She works tirelessly and persistently, examining every section of the document with careful scrutiny.
Some parts of the text were so badly damaged that she had to extrapolate the content, but when she finally sees the faded script and drawings appear on her screen, her breath is taken away by what it reveals.
Your Majesty, Son of Heaven and Lord of Ten Thousand Years:
At last, I have captured the traitorous Hsu Fu at Your Holy Highness’ orders.
Wo remains a place for primitives, it has none of the comforts of our newly united China. Since our arrival, my men have scoured much of its lands over many months with no fruit to bear, and they grew weary and sick for […]
[…] gods were on our side the night we heard a man of Wo speak of a legendary healer living on the southern coast. The rumour was, that his magic could banish any ailments, and that he had extraordinary jade-coloured eyes.
It was not long after that when we located the knave. Wo has changed him, but those treacherous green eyes are undeniably his.
We tortured him. Of course, he denied me any answers at first. Yet I have come prepared with an expert in interrogations, Lu Hsing. Lu Hsing possesses a wealth of wisdom on the art of torture, and he performed one of his own invention on Hsu Fu. He named it Lingchi: death by ten thousand cuts.
Your majesty may find it of great interest, for it is a long, drawn-out, lingering death that dismembers the victim piece by piece while he still lives. It consists of a slow slicing of the arms, legs, and chest—taking care, of course, to avoid severing any major veins, which may kill the victim immediately. Then, the limbs are amputated, followed by decapitation or a stab to the heart.
Lu Hsing had boasted that no man would last beyond two or three cuts without begging for mercy, for the excruciating pain was often too much to bear and the fear of not being whole in the afterlife would sway most into submission. Yet, Hsu Fu was a stubborn man, refusing to speak even after Lu Hsing had spent hours with him. His screams echo
ed through the valley, it left the horses perturbed and restless. Upon nightfall, Lu Hsing left the loathsome toad bleeding and unconscious, promising of more by daybreak.
I awoke early morning to find Hsu Fu unconscious, still bound against the tree. He was plenty bloody from the interrogations of the day prior; yet, the wounds had vanished. The flesh which had been cut from his body was once again replenished. I ordered men to bring water to wash him and, indeed, there was no longer a mark left on his body.
I took Hsu Fu by the throat, demanding to know how this was possible. With those accursed eyes he bore into mine, and a most blood-curdling laughter erupted from him. Upon seeing this some of my men very well lost their minds. They disappeared with several craven others […]
Lu Hsing explained that this was an advantage: if the alchemist could heal overnight, then it was possible to inflict even more pain without killing him. Though his body could sustain the torture, certainly he still felt the pain of a mortal man. No doubt, his mind would soon yield to us.
[…] and the screams continued day and night […]
Three days passed. Each night, Hsu Fu’s wounds magically healed by daylight, and the next day Lu Hsing would continue Lingchi on him. Yet the haggard fiend was silent save the grunts, moans, and occasional screams. By now my men were truly unnerved, and more deserted during the night. A weariness had even overcome Lu Hsing’s usual […]
[…] the alchemist to acquiesce. I threatened to write to my emperor at once, to beseech your majesty to grant Nine Familial Exterminations on the Hsu family. My men in China would hunt down every last of his relations and each of them would suffer Lingchi, and the Hsu lineage would be forever forgotten from the earthly realm.