A Single Petal

by Oliver EADE

  His wonder was tainted with fear, for it was a terrifyingly magnificent sight. Rows of grey tents of varying sizes striped the lush green meadows to the blue hills beyond. There were paddocks of horses, beautiful creatures that bore little resemblance to the old nag that pulled the cart full of ‘petals’ now winding its way down the path that descended towards the plain. Clutches of spears stood proud, like bristling stems of death, and all over the camp were scattered groups of warriors, tens of thousands of them, talking, resting, walking about or testing their weapons.

  The rebel army!

  ***

  Feng withdrew his hand. The temptation of a mantou bun would have to wait.

  “I’m a man of words. And of poetry and arts. Like our Emperor,” he said, watching carefully for some sort of a response on the other man’s face. There was none. The monk’s visage could have been carved from wood.

  “Indeed! A man of great learning,” the sun wu kong finally agreed.

  “Not everyone sees it that way, but... “ Feng paused, looking for a change in the wooden face.

  “So you think those villains, the White Tigers, are up to something?” asked the monk.

  “The monasteries. like this one. You know.”

  “I know nothing!” interrupted the old monk. “But I’m all ears. Monks from other monasteries where some seem to have strayed from The Way tell me things. About comings and goings. Disappearances.”

  “The White Tiger League?”

  “I was hoping you’d give me the answer!”

  “Look, the only thing I’m certain of is that people are stealing Miao girls. Who they are I mean to find out.”

  The face of stone transformed. Wrinkles appeared, the lips, the eyes, everything changed. The monk was smiling. He broke out into a series of staccato guffaws, a curious noise akin to a pig being slaughtered, as he slapped his knees in mirth.

  “Stealing Miao girls? Now why would anyone want to do that, huh? Chickens, maybe, oxen, yes... but Miao girls? Teacher Feng, you amuse me.” His expression changed, the stony visage returned. “And you annoy me,” he added. “You know why that young White Tiger monkey was looking for you, why you were left for dead. And I believe you’re aware of the curse that’s spreading through our temples. We’re dangerously close to the imperial court here. Next thing, the court guards will sweep through our monastery like a swarm of farmers with scythes cutting a field of corn. They’ll show no mercy if they suspect us monks of being involved with the White Tigers. Give me the truth, teacher. Tell me what’s happening!”

  Feng stared at the bowl of Mantou buns with disinterest, his appetite gone.

  “I thank you for saving my life. The boy you mention - the one with the verbal flux - he. he seemed... “ The teacher paused. How could he have been so wrong about Jinjin? He’d not even noticed the white tiger tattoo on his hand, but in truth he hadn’t looked and with the state he’d been in that evening he could easily have missed it; or perhaps the boy had kept the tattoo hidden under layers of dirt. As for innkeeper Wong and his bubbly wife, were they also in on the intrigue and using the urchin as a fact-finder? But why had Wenling been so reluctant for him to go to Chang’an? Why was the innkeeper’s wife so overly concerned for his safety as to advise him against visiting the capital of the heaven-sent-guardian of the central kingdom on Earth? Nothing made sense.

  “From your description he has to be the young boy I met in Houzicheng. Can’t have been much older than my own daughter who...”

  “Yes, your daughter. He mentioned her. Said he was seeking you out for her sake. To give her a better life. And he said.” The smile returned. “Said she’s the most beautiful girl in China.”

  Feng frowned. Jinjin had never met Feier.

  “He’s little more than eighteen, at a guess, but seems to think he’s older. Much older!”

  “And with the tongue of a brigand twice that age!” interjected the monk. The teacher nodded.

  “I thought he might help me. It was he who suggested the White Tiger League had been planning something. Said he knew about the disappearing Miao girls. So why? Also said he’d followed a trader with a tattoo on his hand. So why come after me... unless...”

  “We do know something about them! Traders working for the empress and her nephew in the west. Government spies, perhaps?”

  “The boy, a government spy? Jinjin, as he calls himself, said he’d spied on this man who paid an imperial guard to capture a girl in a Miao village. On the Chang’an road. Only he might not have been a true guard of the emperor, Jinjin thought. And my murdered friend, a certain Merchant Chang.”

  “Merchant Chang?” The monk’s surprise betrayed recognition.

  “You know him? Travels widely. I mean travelled. Impaled with a bamboo pole. The one in my cell. Did you realise he was.?”

  “Never met him!” interrupted the monk, avoiding eye contact. Feng could tell he was lying, but was beginning to understand the man’s strange behaviour. Why should he believe anything from a stranger left for dead by the White Tiger League at the monastery gate?

  “You see, it was the first time I’d heard about the White Tigers,” Feng continued, “when I told my story to that little dog of a street boy and mentioned my dead friend’s tattoo. But what he said - and what we dis-cussed - all made sense. Elements in the League. not my late friend, of course, but others who have connections through trade with the west. they might be involved in a plot to overthrow the emperor.”

  “You’re a dangerous man indeed!”

  “Not at all! Just caught up in this mess because of my karma. To honour my dead friend and my live Miao friend whose daughter’s gone miss-ing. Just thirteen. Small breasts. A lovely child, if a bit simple. You see, by telling Chang about the missing girls, asking him in good faith to help the Miao people, I’ve caused one death and a fate worse than death for a widowed father.”

  “Wait a minute. A White Tiger trader gets murdered by one his own then. “

  “No, Chang was not in on this! I’m sure of it. Most merchants are hardworking, law-abiding. They bring wealth to our mother-land. But I begged him to inform Nobleman Chen and the sun wu kong at our monastery.”

  “The monastery near Houzicheng?”

  “Yes. Suggested it because you monks seem to know everything!” Feng had regained the strength to give vent to his scorn.

  “Everything? We only know what passes through our temples. And whatever truths you wretched outsiders tell us. Like you’re finally trying to

  do.”

  “Well, whether it was the sun wu kong at the monastery near my village, or Chen, or both, I’ve no idea. My daughter discovered the merchant’s body near the lotus lake, the poor girl. Thick with flies, it was. No-one in our village seemed to care. Guess they knew he was my friend, a man of the world too and, well, there are one or two problems back home with a marriage maker in league with a devil... because of disagreements over my views.”

  “Your views?”

  “On education. Treating girls as equals. Teaching them to read and write as well as any boy.”

  “I see our Buddhist ways have touched your heart, Feng. And that the master from Qu Fu hasn’t completely warped your senses with his didactic aphorisms. Strange how even those who follow the way of the Dao seem to misinterpret yin and yang, don’t you agree, wise man of education? Claim their qi force will only flow strongly when the yin is down there in the Earth with the darkness of ignorance and the yang up on top enlightened by closeness to Heaven. Are you a Buddhist, teacher Feng?”

  Feng’s mind filled with thoughts of Meili’s swift and cruel death, Feier’s distrust and fear of all religion, and of Minsheng’s criticism of his failure to pay dues to the monastery.

  “I was. once,” he replied.

  “Good, good! So you must be the teacher they all speak of. A lit
tle village school open to both girls and boys, right?”

  “All speak of? No, that can’t be. I run two small schools. A second one for Miao children. To learn the tongue and writing of the emperor must surely widen their prospects.”

  “And open up paths, teacher. Paths to follow! It’s what we try to teach the ignorant peasants but so few understand!”

  “But you do understand what I’m saying? I have to warn the emperor. If these men are murderers there’s no telling what’ll happen to our beloved mother country should this.” He narrowed his eyes at the monk who knew so much more than he’d let on. “Look, the empress’s nephew, I’ve heard it said... is in with a power-hungry Governor in the far west. And the disappearing Miao girls are either a distraction or.”

  He paused.

  “Or what?”

  “An idea I had. The tree of a thousand petals in the imperial palace. Each Miao girl - and they say only the pretty ones are stolen - each would be like the petal of a gigantic imperial flower. Combined with his yang, their yin could produce an overwhelming qi. And a future emperor’s ready-made nest of beautiful concubines! Maybe he reckons few Han folk would worry about vanishing Miao girls. Certainly seemed true in our village. No-one but me and Feier seem to care back home.”

  “Hmm! I see you’ve the imagination of a poet, Teacher Feng. That boy - Jinjin, as you call him - he, too, claims to be a poet. Read me a poem about your daughter.”

  Feng sprang to his feet, stung by anger, fists clenched.

  “That little ruffian knows nothing about my daughter!” he shouted. Rows of shaven heads turned and stared like interrupted grazing cattle. “I wouldn’t let him within a hundred li of my child! She... she’s being looked after by my Miao farmer friend. The one who lost his daughter to White Tiger thieves. She’s keeping the school going. And helping him with the rice harvest. looking after his house. cooking.”

  Poor girl! How could she ever learn to cook without a mother to teach her.

  “A slave, huh?”

  “I will keep my side of the deal and find the man’s daughter. But only the emperor can help me now. As for you monks, I thank you again for sending that that little upstart on his way and saving my life, but I really must leave!”

  “And I must help you! Sit down teacher! Let’s think things out. Tomorrow will find you in Chang’an, maybe in the imperial palace. One false step and you’ll lose your head. Even our peaceful emperor who loves art and poetry has heads stuck on poles. But as you say, if his first wife’s nephew succeeds in overthrowing him, anything might happen!”

  The teacher, uneasy, sat down again.

  “Eat up! Feed that belly of yours!”

  The old monk pushed the bowl of mantou buns towards Feng. The teacher took one and hungrily bit into it.

  “I had a horse when I was attacked,” he said through a mouthful of mantou.

  “A horse no-can-do, but food and money, no problem. Anything to save our dear emperor. But beware, my teacher friend. Why should that boy have deceived you if he wanted you dead? I assume he was the one who set you up. Arranged for those thugs to jump you. Who else knew you’d be on the Chang’an road?”

  “Could be,” agreed Feng reluctantly. “On the other hand, might’ve been a farmer who put me up the first night. I told him the whole story. Maybe he sent word ahead. He seemed convinced I was wealthy. Kept moaning on and on about the hard lives of farmers.”

  “Don’t I know it! We get nothing from farmers here. But they also hate whoever’s on the dragon throne. I can’t see one risking everything to back the emperor’s nephew. No, it’ll be that White Tiger rascal. Came to check on your body perhaps, make sure you’d been marked? Maybe this was planned. for you to be the corpse closest to the imperial palace. The first White Tiger victim dumped near the South Gate of Chang’an! Doesn’t that make you feel good?”

  He grinned mock humour at the teacher.

  “Whoever attacked me, I’ve no time to lose. And in Chang’an, do you have any contacts? Buddhists who might.” He paused awhile as he recalled Feier’s horrified face after finding Chang’s mutilated body. “.who might have renounced all killing? Who would prefer an emperor more skilled with the calligraphy brush than the sword?”

  “I was coming to that. Master Tsu. Two blocks from the palace. Teaches brush painting to mandarins’ children and their women. Like you, he sees equality in yin and yang and is very much in favour at court. He was here yesterday. I told him about you - when you stopped being a corpse -and I told him I’d send you his way if my suspicions are confirmed.” The teacher again searched the sun wu kong’s unreadable face for explanation but saw nothing. The man enlightened him: “That you’re up to your neck in something way beyond anything you could hope to understand.”

  That night, Feng ate and slept well in more comfortable quarters. The confinement of the cell had merely been a precaution before they’d sized him up and his precise purpose and place in the cosmic way of things was uncovered. Now, the teacher and the most senior monk were not only friends but allies. Apart from Feier and Li Yueloong, others, like the magistrate and innkeeper Wong, were either unknown quantities or treacherous enemies such as Jinjin. Here, in a monastery on the outskirts of Chang’an where he knew no-one, he no longer felt alone, and the old sun wu kong appeared to understand him almost better than he understood himself.

  14 empty space

  15 white tiger

  A Flower, a Petal and a Fool

  Feier hadn’t the courage to ask about Angwan. Besides, there seemed little point in finding out what had happened for her fate had been sealed. Obviously Farmer Li assumed neither the teacher nor his own beloved daughter would be seen again, and she, a Han girl in a Miao community, had become a liability; perhaps more so since he claimed to embrace that great religion from beyond the mountains to the west. Other villagers, particularly Uncle’s grouchy old brother Xiang might see the girl, who was also supposed to be a Buddhist, as a threat.

  She disliked Xiang almost as much as she’d hated Chang. Although there was none of the predatory ogling or unwanted touches she’d suffered from the merchant, Xiaopeng’s uncle was forever looking at her through cold, questioning eyes. He must have known of her love, and this surely had something to do with both Angwan’s disappearance and the marriage maker’s decision.

  Of Uncle Li’s own feelings, Feier was uncertain. As with religion, his loyalties seemed divided. They no longer spoke together of the past, of her father and Xiaopeng; instead, for much of their time spent together he sat and watched as she cooked and washed for him and they always ate in silence. But she felt sorry for a man forced to grieve so inwardly.

  “Feel proud that the teacher tried, Feier,” Li said on one occasion. So he still had respect for her father.

  But there were times when his eyes told her things that caused her to fear for her innocence. She recognised a fire similar to the flames that flickered in the lecherous eyes of the merchant before they got extinguished by that bamboo pole, flames that had threatened to lay waste to her childhood. The Miao farmer’s fire would fix on her and she would blush and look away, busying herself with things that needed no attention. She would nervously wait for the man to retreat outside to the pig pen, and under the straw on her stone bed was hidden a knife. One night, after he was gone, she’d sharpened it to a point so keen it could have cut through the hide of a dragon. Confused, frightened and very much in love, she vowed she would use it against any man who wished to take the only thing she had left to give to Angwan: her virtue. And she’d lie awake thinking in what ways she might give pleasure to the young priest, mentally yielding every fibre of her body and soul to those hands whilst they caressed her milk-soft skin and traced the goddess curves that of late contoured her body like magical hills rising mysteriously from a freshly sown landscape. She could almost feel his strong fingers
stroking that body, and in her dreams it would happen...

  ***

  The cart approached the plain below, the two men up front unaware of four young eyes trained on them and their covered cargo from atop the grassy mound. At the edge of the camp, Chen Jiabiao and the trader were met by a group of soldiers in imperial uniform and, after a brief exchange, leapt from the cart as three guards lifted kicking bundles from the back and ran with them to one of the tents. Dozens of other similar carts were scattered about the camp which hummed with activity. Standing away from all the action was a lone, broad, squat figure wearing elaborate armour and an absurdly high, plumed helmet. “Kicking petals, huh?” chuckled Kong.

  Jinjin grinned as his mind peeled off the covers, and more, from the captured girls.

  “Lively, yeah! Hope the empress’s nephew appreciates jumping petals. But just look at all those carts. If the teacher’s correct we’ve not much time left,” said the other boy. “Three girls to each cart - can’t be far short of a thousand by now!”

  “A thousand? What’s he going to do with them all?”

  Jinjin chuckled.

  “Now there’s a good question! If only I had the experience to answer, but I’ve heard them say you can try out different positions. Maybe even a thousand... I don’t know! You see, the teacher - the one with the beautiful daughter - he seems to think a thousand Miao girls in the nephew’s possession will be an excellent excuse for deposing the emperor. Like owning the imperial tree of a thousand petals and more, he reckons. Maybe he’ll use some of the petals to pay off the generals who fight for him. Whatever, I’m going to get one little petal back to win a flower! The Miao girl’s name’s Xiaopeng, though chances are they’ll have changed it in that place down there.”

  “What about me? Don’t I get a girl for helping you?” Jinjin gave his new friend a playful punch in the side. “You can have Xiaopeng - after she’s been entered a thousand times. Mind you, they go all wrinkly when they’ve been used that often.” “Don’t believe you! How old is she?”