by Lydia Kwa
Having finished his preparations, he wrapped the carcass with twine and secured it along a sturdy branch, which he rested between the pronged branches he had fashioned and driven into the ground. He fed the fire with more twigs and broken branches, then beamed with pleasure at his makeshift spit.
By now it was dusk and there was still no sign of Qilan.
“Why won’t she say …” Ling whispered to Old Chen, huddling close to his rugged form as he roasted the hare.
“She’s not like the rest of us. Knows lots, but likes to keep things private.”
“Why?”
“’Cause some folks are dumb. Got to keep the wisdom away from the stupid, that’s why.”
Ling admired his simple faith in Qilan. She relaxed, leaned against the old man, and inhaled deeply. She liked the smell of his clothes. She didn’t mind the stains on his sleeves, still fresh with blood from the kill. She could trust that smell; death and life all mixed in together, undisguised.
Old Chen took a swig from his goatskin flask and spat the liquid out in a fine spray onto the roasting carcass.
Ling was startled. “What was that?”
“Toad Tumulus. My favourite.”
She must have looked puzzled because Old Chen continued. “Bet you don’t know what a tumulus is, do you? It’s a burial mound.” He chortled loudly. “Imagine, what a name for a delicious ale! I say, life is made juicy with death. Here, try some.”
She shook her head vigorously.
“Suit yourself. More for me then.” He took a large gulp of the ale.
Ling stared at the hare’s carcass roasting in the flames. The smell of the meat seasoned with nuts and mushrooms made Ling feel even hungrier.
Old Chen took the hare off the roasting spit and placed it on a rock. He sliced the grilled meat with his knife and placed a piece on a large leaf, then scooped some of the stuffing onto the leaf. Steam rose from the cooked food, visible by the light of the flames. He cooled it down by blowing on it before passing the leaf to Ling. A nice breeze stirred in the night air, and it nudged at the scarf covering Ling’s hair, revealing a few loose strands. Old Chen smiled wistfully. When he finished eating, he got up and walked over to his mare. Speaking softly to her, he fed her and Qilan’s horse a few hazelnuts.
Old Chen returned to the fire with a wooden xiao flute and sat back down. He began to play the flute, his eyes fully closed. The melody that emerged was like water flowing. It reminded Ling of the stream nearby. The melody was punctuated with occasional full, sharp notes, interruptions in the peaceful and pleasant flow. Nothing is beautiful forever, she thought. It made her sad. She quickly wiped her tears away, not wanting Old Chen to see.
When Old Chen finished playing, he dropped the flute into his lap and cut another piece of meat for the girl and one for himself.
“I know Sister Orchid for about six or seven years now. Way back when she was about twenty-one sui. Much older than you are now.” Old Chen looked quizzically at Ling, half-expecting her to tell him her age. But Ling stayed silent.
“The brave girl ran away from home. Proud to say, I was the one who heard her knocks and opened the side door for her.” Old Chen looked around him cautiously, checking to see that the nun was not within earshot. He continued, sinking his voice into a whisper. “I get bits of gossip from the other nuns. Don’t you go repeating that I told you.”
Ling shook her head adamantly.
“Her father is tight with the Empress. I mean, she really likes him.” He winked. “People say he was a nobody before that. Struggling scholar, paid little—so many of those types nowadays, all the brains, but useless. He worked in the department of music and astronomy, collecting star charts. Tidied up all those sheets of music they have stashed in the bureau in the Eastern Sector. Heavens, all those dusty scraps of paper. Some bamboo scrolls in fragments. I don’t get it, how come music and stars in the same department? But that’s the gossip. Who knows if it’s true.”
Ling licked her fingers as she ate, listening with rapt attention. Old Chen paused to chew the meat. He murmured his approval and smacked his lips with satisfaction. “Mmm … I’m a good cook, don’t you think?”
She nodded and smiled with a quizzical expression. “And then?”
“Here’s what I heard.” Old Chen paused with a faraway look in his eyes, lit by the flames of the fire. “Before Qilan showed up at the temple, when she was a girl, she dreamt that her father was lost one day in some strange, isolated place. She told him about the dream, saying she feared for his life. She begged him to retire from serving the government so that they could move to a small town far away from Chang’an. But Xie took no heed of his daughter’s dream and refused.” Old Chen took a large swig from the water gourd, and burped not once but three times.
“You … you burp a lot. Then you talk. So slowly.”
“Hush now with your complaints. You’re not too talkative yourself.”
Ling bit her lip and lowered her eyes. Old Chen seemed not to notice Ling’s sudden change of mood.
“Patience, girl. You’re not going to be going anywhere fast.”
Ling blushed.
“As I was saying, Xie didn’t take her warning seriously. You know, some folks are too smart for their own good. It’s pride. Poison—all you need is a titch inside your body—it spreads like a disease and soon it slays you. Invisible-like. The man’s the head of his household, and here’s his daughter telling him to drop a stable government post, just because of a dream? So he thinks it’s ridiculous.” Old Chen chortled and almost choked on a piece of hare, but gulped down some water just in time.
“So then …”
“What do you know—next thing, she falls ill. And I mean she’s hanging on for dear life. Fever for a hundred days. Isn’t that something? The rest of us would have died after a week. Doctor came to the house, tried his best, but you know how bad it was when even he shook his head and couldn’t say much more than ‘make her comfortable.’”
Old Chen lowered his gaze, took another gulp of water, and thumped his chest twice. His voice sank to a whisper. “Heaven got angry. She tried to interfere with Fate by trying to pull that undeserving father away from his destiny. That’s why some big sacrifice had to be made. In the end, he knew he had to do it. He went to a temple to pray for her recovery. She’d have died if he hadn’t done that. Had to be.” He nodded his head with a weighty solemnity and grunted.
Ling stared hard into the flames, the heat stinging her eyes. Was that really the reason Qilan fell ill? Because she didn’t go along with Heaven’s will? She reckoned if she asked Old Chen whether he thought Qilan deserved to fall deathly ill, he would say no. And yet he was invoking the traditional idea that Heaven punished or rewarded based on wrong or right actions.
“You’re not making sense. First you say he was poisoned by pride, ignoring his daughter’s advice. Then you tell me that Heaven punished Qilan for interfering with Fate. Which one is it?”
“Whoa—that’s the most words I’ve heard from you!”
A shudder passed through Ling and her face burned with rage. What if she applied the same logic to her life? What had her parents done to deserve their deaths? Was Qilan guilty of interfering with Fate when she rescued her from the auction? Maybe Heaven had no say in punishing or rewarding; maybe it was human beings who decided whether there was going to be hatred or mercy.
Ling stared into the darkness. Qilan was somewhere out there, but what exactly was she doing? From a distance came the faint hoot of an owl.
“They say,” Old Chen continued, “that the temple was haunted, and Xie sold his soul there in order to save his daughter’s life. A pact with the Spirit World.” He suddenly looked worried, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Qilan recovered. But when she opened her eyes, she no longer saw the man she’d known as her father.”
“What do you mean?”
Old Chen shrugged his shoulders. “I’m only telling you what I heard.”
Ling frowned, deep in thoug
ht. What had Qilan noticed about her father? Did he look completely different? Or was it something less obvious but still noticeable by those closest to him? Ling had many questions. She vowed that one day she would ask Qilan.
“Instead of feeling happy that she didn’t die, our friend Qilan was horrified to learn that her father had sold his soul to save her life. How did our beloved Sister Orchid decide to view the whole disaster? She believed that she was made to fall ill by the demon, and that was how her father ended up getting trapped into losing his soul!”
“You know how Sister Orchid thinks?” Ling was skeptical. Would Qilan have shared these thoughts with others?
Old Chen nodded and took another swig of the ale. “That’s what I heard. Sister Orchid told Abbess Si recently that she believes it was her father’s love for her that was at the root of the tragedy. She was saved from death and, in return, her father was lost. I just don’t know …”
Ling was wide-eyed. Why would Qilan feel guilty? Her father had made his choice! Ling took a drink of water and accepted more food from Old Chen. “Is he dangerous?”
A rustle of leaves overhead led them both to suddenly look up, although it was too dark to see.
“Of course the fellow’s dangerous. If you’re possessed by an evil spirit, you’re going to do more harm than regular bad folks.”
This made Ling recall Shan Hu’s menacing presence and the way he used his whole body to threaten everyone around him. Was he possessed too?
“So you’re saying that if a person sells his soul, that means he gets possessed?”
“Uh-huh.”
Old Chen caught sight of Ling’s puzzled look in the glow of the fire. “You know what else? Xie got promoted two years ago and is no longer slaving away in that music and stars department. There’s juicy gossip, uh … her father isn’t really working for the Emperor. He’s … he’s … oops, wait, wait, maybe you’re too young to hear this.” Old Chen paused and stuffed more food into his mouth.
Ling had had enough. She poked Old Chen in his ribs with her elbow. He pretended to double over, clutching at his sides in a mock show of agony. She liked the way he did that so convincingly. She gently slapped him on the top of his bald head. There was a moment in which they both froze, watching for a reaction from the other, then Old Chen giggled.
“Tell.” She poked him again.
“What?”
“Tell me everything!”
“Xie is the Empress Wu Zhao’s lover.”
“Oh?”
“They’re up to no good.”
Old Chen picked the remaining meat from the bones and wrapped the leftovers in a large leaf. He secured the packet with twine.
“Remember, it’s none of our business. Just gossip, is all.”
They were silent for quite a long time, then were startled when Qilan appeared. She said nothing to them and refused the meat that Old Chen offered to her.
Old Chen threw some blankets on Ling as she settled in for the night. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. It was as if her body still craved sleep. She roused for a brief moment when she felt Qilan stroke her hair and adjust the blanket around her.
Later that night, Ling saw a wild dog come up to her and circle three times around her. She wasn’t afraid, just aware that this animal was watching her intently. Was it a friend or an enemy? She couldn’t tell.
THE INNER PALACE AT TAIJIGONG, NORTH CENTRAL CHANG’AN
Surely it was an illusion, something she misperceived in that half-asleep state, when she stirred momentarily and glanced into the mirror next to her kang. Her image seemed not to be entirely tethered to her; suddenly its outlines quivered. Wu Zhao could have sworn her reflection started to enlarge. It leapt out from the mirror toward her. She crossed her arms in front of her face and cried out, “Ah Pu, Ah Pu,” her voice stripped of artifice, exposed and vulnerable.
The maid appeared, not betraying any sign of surprise or anxiety. In silent obeisance, the devoted maidservant patted Wu Zhao’s shoulder. She was used to Her Highness’s nightmares. She fetched a cup of water for her mistress who sat up straight, eyes wide with alarm.
“It always passes,” murmured Ah Pu.
“Another bad dream. Although I wonder …” Wu Zhao’s voice trailed off before regaining a firmer tone. “Keep the lamp lit,” she commanded Ah Pu.
After making sure she had tended to her mistress’s needs, Ah Pu left the room to return to her sleeping chamber behind the screen. Wu Zhao didn’t want to fall asleep. She willed herself to stare into the mirror. Her mind struggled, trying to make sense of why this was happening. Was this all a figment of her imagination? Was Li Zhi correct to imply it was all in her mind?
She screamed. Ah Pu came rushing back in. “What is it, Your Highness?”
A dirty red streak stained the front of the mirror, and the smell of blood permeated the room. Ah Pu gasped at the sight, stunned.
“Summon the guard, quick!”
Ah Pu scurried out and in short measure, the eunuch guard arrived. Even he was shocked, his face ashen. His legs felt weak as he bowed to Wu Zhao, bending down to the floor on one knee.
“Get rid of that mirror. Now!” She was furious but didn’t know whom she could punish. “I cannot rest until this is taken care of,” Wu Zhao mumbled to herself after the guard left.
The candle on the far table suddenly sputtered and its flame lengthened to three times its height. Wu Zhao grabbed the cup next to her and flung it at the candle. Both the cup and the candle fell to the floor.
You think you got rid of us, did you? a woman’s voice whispered in Wu Zhao’s ear.
On the kang, Wu Zhao curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around her legs. Her mind raced back to the time when the former Empress and the concubine Xiao were killed. An idea soon came to her. “Summon the guard who got rid of the former empress and concubine Xiao!” hissed Wu Zhao at Ah Pu who shook her head in confusion.
“Ignorant woman!” Wu Zhao said. “The head guard! The one I demoted to position of gardener. He’s now somewhere in the workers’ quarters. Ask anyone guarding the corridor! They will know. Immediately!”
Ah Pu once again ran out, relieved to be away, if only temporarily, from her mistress’s chambers, which now reeked of rotting flesh.
Wu Zhao wanted to punish someone. Would it be the former head guard? She shivered as the memory of that fateful night came to her. She had seen her enemies’ decapitated heads—he had brought them in a box to show her. All the body parts had been burnt down to ashes. How then could the women have returned when their heads were separated from their bodies?
She remembered the Abbess Si at Da Fa Temple. The muscles in her neck stiffened, and her face flushed with annoyance. The nun had been far too obliging to be believable. Hadn’t the Abbess reassured her that the exorcism would work? Wu Zhao scowled.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the former head guard appeared before her. He prostrated before her. “Your Highness.”
“Do you know that the women formerly know as Empress Wang and concubine Xiao continue to pester me as ghosts?”
“A guard showed me the mirror with the blood, Your Highness.”
“How did you get rid of their bodies?”
“I burned them as you had instructed, Your Highness.”
“What did you do with their ashes?”
“I took them outside of Taijigong and scattered them into a tributary of the Wei River.”
“If you are lying to me, you will lose your life.”
“I give you my oath, Your Highness.” The former head guard clasped his hands together and said in an unwavering voice, “It is my duty to serve Your Highness in whatever way you see fit.”
After the gardener left, Wu Zhao gritted her teeth together. She was not going to be defeated by these stubborn ghosts. She was the one who was alive, who had the power to do as she saw fit. Ghosts are merely ephemeral, she told herself. But a shiver passed through her, nonetheless.
There was not much you could tell from the outside, except that a gold insignia emblazoned on both front doors proclaimed that the current owner of the mansion had the last name of , which meant gratitude. Some people joked that the ideograph was actually , insinuating that the Empress’s current favourite, Xie, was less than honourable, or worse, evil.
The previous owner had been an official who had fallen out of favour with the Court and exiled far to the south, to an inconsequential outpost. Ever since claiming his mansion, Xie relished creating a private world of meaning and pleasure, a dreamscape to fulfill his particular needs. He cared about decorative details, such as the gold insignia on the front gate doors. He stripped the rooms of all evidence of the previous owner and replaced the art with his favourite calligraphic pieces. He named his home Rogues’ Mansion, a name shared only with his inner circle. Those bold enough to gossip about Xie would comment that his appearance had been undergoing unusual changes in the past few years, insinuating that only a sorcerer could make himself more youthful and stronger with the passage of time.
The Vice Hamlet was accustomed to deviance, but even so, to suspect that a sorcerer lived in their midst was unsettling for some—but not those who benefitted from vice. The Hamlet contained the city’s quota of brothels and was resplendent with various tattoo and drinking establishments. It wanted for nothing. Even spiritual appetites could be indulged here; the area included places of worship for Buddhists, Daoists, Nestorian Christians, and Zoroastrians. The respectable existed alongside the bawdy and illicit; which was why Xie felt so at home here in the Vice Hamlet. Unlike the rest of Chang’an, the dusk curfew was never in effect. It was as if the Vice Hamlet was a whole world unto itself. Xie knew he was scrutinized while at Taijigong. But the working residents of this special hamlet weren’t trying to be anyone but who they were.
The mansion’s large reception hall faced south across the outer courtyard. This was where Xie received visitors. Two guards always stood watch at the hall and answered knocks on the large main gates. In the middle section of Rogues’ Mansion was an area accessible only to his special guests. In the hall facing the middle courtyard, Xie had commissioned an enormous mural stretching three bays wide. It depicted a magical paradise, inspired by the classic Shanhaijing , the background of clouds rendered gorgeously in delicate shades of blue, grey, and cream. In the foreground drifted maiden fairies in diaphanous gowns, riding deer. Beasts like the Nine-Tailed Fox, the Awestruck, the Banereptile-Niece, and the What-Not Fish, roamed forests, mountains, or oceans across the impressive mural.