A Single Petal

by Oliver EADE

  No-one seemed to know of Teacher Feng. After covering his tattooed hand with a bandage torn from Kong’s shabby tunic, and covering Kong’s with street filth, he made discrete enquiries about the White Tigers, asking people at inns and eating places whether they knew about the League and what its purpose might be, but he found himself up against a wall of silence. It was Kong who provided the breakthrough in circumstances for which, once again, Jinjin felt obliged to thank General Ma. This time the boy-servant’s anger over what Chen had tried to do, or might have done (Jinjin never knew which) played a role.

  Rather than talk, Kong would sit for long periods gazing at his sizeable hands, apparently still unable to believe he’d actually used them to kill not only a man but a nobleman. He would repeatedly curl his thick fingers into fists, uncurl them, grip his hands together, hold them up into the air and play at martial arts against an imaginary foe. He was sitting with his back against a wall, killing Chens with his bare hands, when a dark-robed figure wearing a tall hat of officialdom stopped and watched him with curiosity. Jinjin was further along the narrow street, standing beside the vendor who’d bought the sword, talking to whoever stopped to examine the vendor’s wares. It had seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement, for Jinjin’s engaging personality and easy way of talking appeared to help attract more custom. On noticing the official gazing at Kong, and fearing the worst, Jinjin ran back to his ‘servant’ and, after bowing to the official, began to explain:

  “My servant’s not been well. He does this sometimes. Take no notice.

  He... “

  “Servant?” interrupted the official. “Those are no servant’s hands. They’re the hands of a fighter! Can’t you see? Besides, you’re far too young and poorly dressed to think about having a servant. But I’ll give you a good price for him.” Kong let his hands drop and looked up at the man with the tall hat. “He’s no fool either. I can tell that from what I see behind those eyes.”

  Both boys listened. Jinjin doubled the offer, the official halved the increase, the urchin reduced this by half, adding the figure to the official’s proposed price. The official met him halfway and they agreed. Kong would be sold to the stranger ‘to fight’, and for the first time since leaving the White Tigers’ camp the boy with big hands smiled. To fight with no risk of meeting another Chen was more than he could ever have hoped for. He stood up, a good head shorter than the man but as solid and unflinching as a bull.

  “One condition,” announced Kong. “You get me a girl. And soon!”

  “Your hands, please. Let me see them again,” insisted the man.

  Kong held out his hands then turned them over. The official took the boy’s right hand and rubbed at the back of it with the sleeve of his tunic. On spotting the white tiger tattoo he continued to rub until the whole image was revealed. He laughed.

  “A good copy indeed,” he said. “One that might have increased your value tenfold! Hard luck! Should have been more open with me,” he added for Jinjin’s benefit.

  Jinjin, thinking he might also sell himself as a fighter since he’d had no luck tracing the whereabouts of Teacher Feng, checked the immediate vicinity for prying eyes and unravelled the bandage hiding his white tiger.

  “An even better copy,” praised the official, “but the hands of a poet, not a fighter. Look, follow me, the two of you. I believe we might be able to help each other. But first I want to see the boy in action.”

  Uncertain whether they were walking into a trap or on a path destined for glory, Jinjin followed the man, Kong close behind, his hands ready to take on anything and anyone. Heading towards the imperial palace, they stopped outside a large courtyard house.

  “Stay here,” advised the official. “Later, two imperial guards will enter my compound. Only they’re not really imperial guards. One has a scar on his right cheek. They’ll be armed. If the boy can dispose of them with his bare hands he’s already one of ours. An emperor’s special guard.”

  Jinjin and Kong stood together, Jinjin now wishing he’d not sold that sword, for relying totally on the hands of the urchin suddenly seemed not such a grand idea. The official soon re-emerged with a bruiser twice the size of Kong. The ruffian examined the boy’s hands, then his eyes, his teeth and his legs. He nodded at the official who slipped two strings of coppers from his shoulder and took a further silver coin from a leather pouch attached to his belt. He gave the coins to Jinjin.

  “This, in exchange for your servant! Jianjun, take the boy away! Test him, then bring him to my compound,” he commanded the ruffian, “and you,” addressing Jinjin, “the one with a tongue and too much of my money, follow me!”

  Jinjin saw Kong again later, terrifyingly transformed, but for the time being he felt a tinge of envy, for he felt sure the boy’s training would include using his jade stem with some pretty little maiden picked up from the street. He tried to persuade himself a brief period of pleasure with a poor street girl would count for nothing when compared with possession of the most beautiful girl in China.

  “Have you seen her?” the official asked later when he and Jinjin sat talking over steaming bowls of rice and vegetables in one of the local restaurants. Already the boy had off-loaded his story and explained how he was helping Teacher Feng for the reward of his daughter.

  “Don’t need to,” was the boy’s reply. “Her beauty is fabled in our prefecture. Many merchants have testified there are none in China who can match her beauty and that’s enough for me. She’ll be mine. When I find the teacher again. When the emperor hears what I know.”

  “So what do you know about Chang? I already know that he was one of the emperor’s eight special agents.”

  “Like you?”

  The official nodded.

  “Yes. Like me. The one without a name. But from what you tell me there’s little time left. The empress’s son could arrive from the west any time. And Ma’s one of the best generals we’ve had since the death of the last emperor. If he has the advantage of a surprise attack from the mountains, if the empress already has power over some of our forces within, we might as well hand over our weapons and our heads now. Save our civilians from slaughter. Whatever they say about our present emperor and his paintings and poems, he does care about his people.”

  “So?” asked Jinjin, his heart sinking. He’d told the official everything and only the truth. “I’ll lead your general to the camp. We could attack from the south. Ma would never expect that. Steal the girls away before the nephew arrives. Why wait?”

  “Before today I might not have taken the gamble. Our emperor is so fixated with the empress he simply won’t listen. And he’s unpredictable. But I met with my fellow agent, Master Tsu, this morning. At Xiuxia’s restaurant. The woman is also one of us and nothing much escapes her attention. Your teacher, Feng, was with him last night.” Jinjin put down the bowl of rice and chopsticks, his mouth open and speechless. “He’s an honest man, Tsu tells me. He has a daughter, as you say, and her looks are indeed legendary. The emperor himself has praised the man’s achievement in rural education. I told Tsu to arrange audience with the emperor. He’ll be at the palace this very minute, arguing his case with the eunuchs. But meeting you has changed everything now. Eat up quickly. I’ll leave you at the courtyard of my house and go back for the teacher at Xiuxia’s. Can’t risk taking you with me. Once she finds out, the whole city knows and there are imperial guards around the city who aren’t what they appear to be. Like those two traitors I’ll feed to your ex-servant.”

  Jinjin raised his bowl and hurriedly transferred what food remained into his mouth. They returned to the official’s courtyard home where Jinjin waited in the yard whilst the black-hatted man and the ruffian called Jianjun went back to Xiuxia’s restaurant to collect the teacher. Kong’s bamboo carrying pole and their basket were there, but there was no Kong to be seen.

  It wasn’t long before two imperial guards ent
ered the compound. Each carried a sword and they headed straight for Jinjin. The trap he’d so feared. Panic-stricken, he looked around for Kong. What none of them had seen was the crouched black figure on the low roof of the compound, invisible in the evening light. When the guard with the scar and a grin as fearsome as his sword was almost upon Jinjin, the squat figure in black leapt from the roof, caught the guard by the head, snapping it back as if just a plaything. The man would have been dead before he hit the ground. His alarmed accomplice gripped his sword with both hands and swung it wildly at the darting shadow. His blade sliced through the air as a blackened limb struck out from nowhere, unbalancing him. As he fumbled for his dropped sword he felt his head gripped by hands of steel. That was the last thing he ever knew.

  When the nameless official and that brute named Jianjun returned, accompanied by a third man, Jinjin was staring nervously at the two corpses whilst keeping a safe distance from a black-cloaked Kong who stood alone, arms folded, under the shade of a broad-leafed tree in the corner of the compound.

  On hearing voices, Jinjin looked up. Even he was surprised by the relief and excitement he felt on seeing the teacher again, but what he saw standing there at the entrance was not just an overweight, ugly man, for super-imposed on this abomination, in his mind, was the most beautiful girl in China.

  21 sword

  22 Chinese pace

  One Less than a Thousand Petals

  How could she have slipped so easily from Heaven to Hell?

  Feier had difficulty turning round due to the confines of the cage, but shifting her position was the only way she could the ease the pain in her legs and bottom caused by the relentless pressure of bamboo struts. To stay still was impossible and to move about barely possible. Her cries of pain and tears brought no sympathy, only laughter from her captors. Not once was she left alone, for always two or three men sat around the cage, comfortable in their seats, talking, joking, drinking tea and eating. Even if Angwan were free, which was unlikely, there’d be no opportunity for him to end her torment. If they were planning to kill her why not just do it? To die and return as a pig because of what she’d done would surely have been more bearable. Maybe her karma demanded she should suffer to an intolerable degree till her limit of endurance had been reached and then for things to get worse. Or did they wish to keep her alive for some special purpose? Their pleasure - or something even more sinister?

  They fed her rice balls and leftovers through the spaces between the bamboo rods. Water was poured from above; most escaped her mouth, and the dung she was forced to sit on turned liquid. Most of all she dreaded the approach of Old Xiang for each time he would release his aging penis, dangle it to the amusement of others then urinate over her. She’d be forced to cover her face with both hands.

  Even at night she was guarded. She prayed for sleep to carry her away and never return her to the land of the living since even the most terrifying of nightmares would have been a welcome release; but the pain of confinement prevented more than brief interludes of slumber. After her own excreta had been added to the donkey shit and Old Xiang’s fluid offerings, the smell became so awful the men guarding the cage sat further and further away until they watched from a distance and only came close, after drawing lots, with food and water.

  Every day the girl prayed for death to release her but, as when she used to pray for the return of her mother, death remained deaf to her pleas.

  ***

  The teacher’s reaction caught Jinjin off guard. He ran at the boy with the sharpened end of his bamboo pole. If Jinjin hadn’t side-stepped at the very last moment he would have been skewered. He kicked Feng in the back of a leg and tried to grab hold of the bamboo, but the teacher was surprisingly quick for one so fat-bellied. He swung round and hit the boy across the shins with a blow that immobilized him, and was about to finish the job by cracking his skull open when the official, alarmed by the boy’s cries, called from the building:

  “Stop, you fools!” he yelled. Jianjun joined him, together with Kong. Soon they were pulling the teacher and urchin apart. Feng, still struggling to get at the urchin, spoke first:

  “You little cur! You were in on this business all along! Making a fool of me! Pretending to know my daughter, then setting your dogs... no, your tigers onto me. I tell you, no-one gets away with defiling my daughter’s name.”

  Jinjin remained speechless, for this wasn’t how he’d planned their reunion.

  “Teacher Feng, you’re wrong about the boy,” said the official. “Give him a chance. Let him speak. Then we must seek out Master Tsu in the palace. There’s little time left. General Ma probably realised his cousin was one of the emperor’s agents for he’s no fool, but he’ll still be wondering where this urchin boy fits into the picture.”

  “Tell me the truth, then!” said Feng. “But first my daughter. Why pretend you’d written a poem about her. You’ve never even seen her!”

  “The night before I left Houzicheng, Wong told me everything about you and your wife. How she was found and sold before being brought up by your father. That maybe she’d come from Hangzhou because of her beauty, and that a girl born to a woman like that would surely be as beautiful, if not more lovely. The beauty of the yin must be written into your destiny, teacher. To balance... well, you know... “

  The boy glanced at the teacher’s belly. Feng looked down.

  “Wasn’t always fat. Besides, that’s nothing to do with it.”

  “I knew the sun wu kong was holding something back. I can always tell. So I mentioned your daughter to show I had your confidence. That I was to be trusted.”

  “Confidence? Trusted? What are talking about?”

  “Get on with it,” urged the official. “Tell the teacher what happened and why. And show respect for a change.”

  Jinjin eyed the official sharply before giving Feng a reluctant bow.

  “I saw that trader again,” he began. “I was up early, wanting to impress you. Thought of following him, finding out more about the White Tigers, to help you trace the Miao girl. And with your knowledge, search for your friend’s killer.”

  “By disappearing?”

  “Hid in the cart. Learned the other man was Chen Jiabiao, the man you spoke of when you told me about the dead merchant. Jinjin remembers everything.” He glanced at the official. “The emperor will reward me, won’t

  he?”

  “Ask Master Tsu. He’s more important than me. Number one agent!” “Chen Jiabiao a White Tiger?” questioned Feng. “Not as simple as that,” responded the official. “But let the boy speak first.”

  Jinjin held nothing back. He recounted the whole story, up to and including the killing of the nobleman by the other boy, Kong, and their onward journey to Chang’an, stopping off at the Xiangjisi Temple monastery.

  “They were trying to protect me,” answered Feng. “The sun wu kong told me a lot about the White Tigers. But your tattoo? I’m sure it wasn’t...”

  “I did it myself. To get into their camp. Met their general. A man called

  Ma. The girl’s in his tent. Your Miao friend’s girl. Blubbering for her baba all the time.”

  “They accepted you?”

  Admiration had now crept into the teacher’s expression as he stared at the boy. Jinjin glowed with pride.

  “The general, yes. I think he already suspected Chen.”

  “An agent of the emperor. Like Tsu and Xiuxia and your murdered friend,” explained the official. “There are eight of us. There were, at least. Very few at court even know who we are.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve been told. Chang too,” Feng interjected. “So your friend... “

  “Servant!” corrected Jinjin.

  “Your servant killed the man who would save China from the imposter from the west! A fine mess!”

  “Wait, Teacher Feng. I beli
eve Chen was truly with the White Tigers all the time. Working the other way round. He’d have been the downfall of our emperor. As Ma told me, his visit to Chang’an would have given him all he needed to destroy the city from within.” The boy pointed to the bamboo basket. “In that basket. Some scrolls I found in his tent. Coded as poems. I know enough characters to realise they weren’t real poems. Anyway, Chen was no poet. These proved he was a traitor. So what my servant went through probably saved my life. Ma only wanted to be sure before killing me, and he knew I’d have had nothing on Chen!”

  “I’m sorry, Jinjin. Forgive me. I looked for you that morning in Houzicheng. Wenling just said you’re unreliable. But I should have known. She didn’t want me to come to Chang’an. Maybe thought she was doing me a favour, afraid you’d be a bad influence. So you found the girl! I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  Jinjin was tempted to suggest the reward he had in mind but decided the better of it having witnessed the teacher’s earlier reaction. He’d leave this to the very last minute after confirming the child was, in life, as she appeared to be in his head - or more.

  “Follow me,” instructed the official.

  Instead of taking a direct route, the official led Feng and Jinjin, accompanied for protection by the swarthy ruffian Jianjun and Kong, through the city’s lush residential quarters in the west, with its temples and pagodas, past the magnificent palaces of princes and princesses, explaining how White Tiger spies, masquerading as imperial guards, had infiltrated troops lining the main avenue leading to the palace gate. There was a smaller entrance at the side of the west palace wall with trusted guards, dressed in black. They passed through the gate, following the wall round to a vast inner courtyard from where wide steps took them up to the palace. On either side, spear-bearing guards in black stood like carved figures, unblinking in the strong sunlight. Another long-cloaked, black-hatted official emerged from the palace entrance and ran down the steps to meet them, his haste suggesting to Feng he’d been anxiously awaiting their arrival. He bowed to his colleague in government, looked askance at the ruffian and Kong then approached Feng. “Teacher Feng?” he enquired.