Oracle Bone

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Oracle Bone Page 9

by Lydia Kwa


  He sat on his meditation cushion, but his mind was restless, and he kept recalling the reply that Li Zhi had made to his request only two-and-a-half years before: “Let it be said of you as was said of the wise men of antiquity, ‘The Great Recluse never leaves town!’” Xuanzang had so longed to have some time away from the city, to continue his work with only one or two disciples at the temple on Mount Shaoshi. He recalled how vulnerable he’d felt, begging the Emperor to be allowed to leave Chang’an for Mount Shaoshi. He had been sorely disappointed at the Emperor’s reply. But not surprised.

  He fidgeted on his cushion. It was difficult not to feel bitter about being a captive in the city. But a voice inside his head urged, Take the precipitous path and you will be rewarded. He opened his eyes in astonishment. There was no time for bitterness about an unfulfilled wish, especially when his life’s calling had been far more compelling.

  Later, at the Translation Hall, meeting with his elite group of disciple translators, Xuanzang sat in the centre of the circle. Huili was the first to speak up. “Venerable Master, we have been discussing the Mahaprajnaparamita. We think it preferable to translate only certain portions, not the whole six hundred fascicles. We will make an abridged version.”

  “Why would you think this?”

  “Master, your health … We mustn’t overtax you.”

  Another disciple spoke up. “Besides, some portions are obviously repetitive. Redundant.”

  Xuanzang’s face, usually pale and grey, turned a shade of red at this dismissive tone. “You are only paying attention to the superficial structure of the words. There is a purpose to that so-called ‘redundancy.’” Xuanzang proceeded to relate his dream to his disciples. Then he added in a definitive tone, “I believe we ought to undertake to finish the remaining 100,000 lines. Only then will I be able to enter the cave and fulfill my destiny.”

  His disciples were speechless and bowed their heads. Their Master had been guided and protected all those years through dangerous places and treacherous situations to bring the sutras back from India. They knew he had fought off countless ghosts and demons, that he’d heard the voices of bodhisattvas. There was no arguing with such a determined and strong spirit.

  Xuanzang added, “I’m not going to let worry about my health stop me.”

  Huili bowed deeply at the waist, made his way to the gong to the right, and struck it three times, signalling the retinue of copyists waiting outside to proceed into the Translation Hall.

  Qixi Festival,

  Seventh night of the Seventh Lunar Month

  DA FA TEMPLE, WEST CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  Beyond the walls of the temple, crowds gathered to view the stars. Sitting in her inner courtyard, Qilan heard people gossiping and the sharp, jubilant squeals of children. Firecrackers exploded sporadically.

  She directed her gaze upward. It was easy to find the Weaver Girl in the upper northwest with the Cowherd star in the south.

  A young girl’s singing voice carried above the noise, sweet yet firm.

  The reeds flourish, lush

  White dew still falling

  My beloved, so dear

  Wanders lost along the shoreline

  Upriver I search for him

  The journey, long and tortuous

  An ancient song from the Han Dynasty sung by the common folk for hundreds of years. Qilan hummed along. She imagined herself on the other side of the wall, one of the common folk, happy to be part of the celebrations. She wasn’t capable of such fanciful, romantic notions; she’d never been like the other girls her age, longing for a future husband who would be loyal. There was no one she needed to be reunited with.

  Wait, a voice whispered, how about your mother? And your father?

  “My father is no longer a man,” she mumbled under her breath. But it was true; she did long to be reunited with her mother, even though she knew it was an impossibility for as long as she remained in Chang’an. Every year at the time of the Qixi Festival, since her departure from the family home, she had felt a particularly strong tug at her heart, thinking of her mother. Where is she now? Her mother had told her to hide, to cultivate her strength, to wait for a sign. But no sign had arrived. Qilan recalled her mother’s words before they bid each other farewell: You must wait for the eleventh anniversary of your father’s departure.

  She and her mother had a wordless kinship that extended beyond their human forms. Her mother had shown her how to transform herself, to disappear into the air and travel about undetected by others. From her father, she had learned much from ancient scholarly texts: the sayings of sages such as Zhuangzi, the vast records of history, the poems from the Shijing, the ways of the Yijing.

  When Father travelled into Chang’an to work, Mother would take her out to forests, to rivers, to all kinds of magical places. She learned that there was a mind in nature that exceeded human limitations. She learned from her mother how to awaken that mind of nature within herself and how to unite with the greater mind that existed in nature.

  You are my dear heart, her mother used to say.

  The voices of the celebrants on the other side of the wall brought Qilan back to the present. She looked up at the Weaver and Cowherd in the sky. Strife between dark forces and life on earth might last for another two thousand years or more. It wasn’t entirely clear to her how it would all play out. All she knew was that this earth would no longer exist in the same way in that future era.

  There would be wars within the invisible realms of the mind and deep inside the bodies of humans and animals. An overwhelming greed would overtake the hearts of many, causing them to abandon acts of love and generosity. Deception would become the veil that separated many people’s minds from truths.

  It was inevitable—the human race would cease to exist. Miraculously, the earth would survive, along with creatures invisible to the eye, those who could proliferate in extreme weather conditions, parasites, and those that could transform themselves to adapt to changing circumstances. The chimeric creatures would triumph, the ones whose minds and bodies could transform in response to adversities, become two or three creatures combined, resistant to the diseases that had decimated purer variants. It would be the fulfillment of The Classic of the Mountains and Seas, all time collapsing and myths becoming fact.

  The girl’s song from the other side of the temple wall brought her back to the present.

  The reeds luxuriant, green

  White dew turns to frost

  My beloved, so dear

  Drifts beyond the waters

  Upriver I search for him

  The journey, long and arduous

  She would never forget that her father had loved her. Yet she mustn’t cling to the past. What had she said to Ling about destiny? She frowned, trying to recall. We choose, we always choose.

  She touched the centre of her chest. The secret wisdom would never leave her. All she had known and intuited, all she knew that was to come.

  WESTERN MARKET, WEST CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  Two guards pasted up large posters on the public notice board. The posters bore the chop of the Imperial insignia. After they’d done their duty and had departed, the crowd moved in to study the announcements.

  Old Chen had just finished loading supplies into the cart and secured the contents with a tarpaulin and ropes. Aside from the supplies of food for the nuns, he’d purchased ten more bottles of his favourite ale, Toad Tumulus. He chuckled with glee, thinking of the many evenings he would be enjoying the drink. He was so focused that he paid no mind to the murmuring throng until he looked up from his completed task, ready to leave. The cul-de-sac was packed. He made his way closer to the front of the crowd so he could read the announcement.

  “By order of the Empress Wu Zhao, a reward of one thousand strings of cash will be offered to the person who has information about the whereabouts of a precious cultural treasure stolen from the Imperial collection. This treasure is an oracle bone of great antiquity. It bears an unusual inscription. It is be
lieved that if this object falls into the wrong hands, there will be widespread chaos and danger to the populace.”

  A sallow-faced, slim youth stood on tiptoe, craning to read the announcement. “An oracle bone! So what? Rat’s piss.”

  The middle-aged woman behind him, sporting a conch hairstyle tied at the base with purple ribbons, snarled at him. “Ignoramus! It’s special. Only emperors get to have oracle bones. They use them to make big decisions.”

  Another woman piped up. “That cunning vixen. What’s she up to next?”

  A swarthy man pushed his way to the front, holding a hoe in one hand and a sack of sweet melons draped over his left shoulder. “Who cares about a stupid piece of bone? Are we paying tribute taxes so that these Imperial buggers waste our hard-earned money, searching for such a thing? Can this bone feed us, clothe us, keep us warm?”

  A few people laughed nervously while others cheered.

  The woman with the fashionable hairstyle replied in a whisper, “Hush! Soldiers still milling about.”

  The swarthy man was not dissuaded. “What about the mysterious deaths of late, the deaths of newborns in the Vice Hamlet? Why doesn’t the court issue some edict to investigate what’s happening there?”

  “Who cares about those outcasts in the Vice Hamlet? And those born of outcasts?” shrieked the woman.

  Old Chen had seen enough. He pushed past people and returned to his cart. He led his horse carefully through the thinning crowd, the cart rattling behind them. He’d better return to Da Fa Temple and tell Sister Orchid.

  Fifteenth Day of Seventh Lunar Month,

  Feast of All Souls

  THE VICE HAMLET, EAST CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  Xie lost track of time. It seemed only moments ago that he heard the drum sound the lifting of the curfew. He peered at the sundial in the courtyard outside his bedchamber and was jolted back to the present. There was only half an hour left before the Hour of the Dragon.

  He changed into a light blue linen robe which did not betray his station or prestige and wrapped a dark brown sash around his waist. His cloth cap, a rather common kind, he wrapped around his head. Its tails hung down at the back of his head, without ostentatious flair. Once ready, he stepped out into the streets.

  It was breakfast time, and there were already many people rushing about—not those who inhabited the shadows and floated through the darkness, ghostly and rejected, but those who sold tools, household wares, and food. He had a pang of envy for ordinary folk. He imagined that they did not possess the kind of darkness he felt—or did they? Perhaps he was mistaken, but for now, he would regard them as blessed beings, free of curses, scurrying with their carts and donkeys to the Eastern Market nearby, or perhaps to open up their eating establishments. He enjoyed observing the bustle. Today, he especially relished hearing the gossip about the notifications posted in the market. He smiled to hear someone exclaim, “The reward! If only I knew where this precious oracle bone was.”

  He strode quickly, feeling the extra lift and strength in his body. He circumvented the Eastern Market, turning down Ironmongers Lane instead. Although named for the trade, there weren’t just ironmongers selling tools and implements; there were also pastry shops, each specializing in sweets from a specific region in the country. He headed toward his favourite.

  The shop was tiny, with only three tables. Xie sat at one of the tables and ordered two bean cakes and a cup of hot barley tea. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a book. Flipping through the collection of poems, his eyes finally rested on one by Tao Yuanming, titled “Frolicking above the Graves.”

  This day, beautiful and clear,

  Let’s go fluting and play the strings.

  The dead lay under the cypress,

  Make merry when we still can!

  Our singing fills the air with new sounds,

  A young wine flushes our cheeks.

  Can’t predict tomorrow,

  So I’ll bare my soul today.

  He bit into the deliciously sweet and smooth centre of the pastry. Almost as sweet as a soul, he mused.

  After his meal, he took a walk. A cool breeze caressed Xie’s face. Although his insides churned with a painful cold, his skin burned with fire, and his eyes glowed.

  Xie passed by the face reader sitting on a stool on the street. He had a lineup of people waiting to get their fortunes read. Xie smirked, wondering what, if anything, the man could detect in him.

  He headed southeast, toward the graveyard. As he walked farther and farther away from the hub, his body relaxed, and he smiled to himself without caring who noticed. It was gratifying to know that the potion worked on Li Zhi—thanks to the gu poison, the Emperor would be rendered completely helpless for at least a few more months. He might recover some speech but would have neither the strength nor the capacity to make important decisions. As Wu Zhao’s powers increased, Xie felt sure that he too would stand to gain.

  You’ll become immortal. And I, along with you, will remain in the world, forever changing forms yet untouchable.

  Li Zhi was such a weakling, too dependent on a woman. Even so, the Emperor served a purpose and was useful to keep alive until after the Feng and Shan rituals.

  I like it when we think as one, whispered Gui.

  The sky, sunny and clear earlier, now became crowded with clouds. A gust of wind stirred up the sand of the street and caused Xie’s eyes to smart.

  The graveyard was situated against the large city wall, several blocks south of the Chunming Gate. The area around the graveyard was quiet, with very few residences. There were mostly shops selling incense, altar papers, and ritual objects. Soon, many people would arrive at the graveyard to burn paper money and incense and to pray for the liberation of hungry ghosts. The world was an open field of possibilities. And he, a man possessed by a demon, now belonged to a world unseen by most. He, like one of those mysterious creatures in The Classic of Mountains and Seas, was a creature bound for immortality.

  Here, at the corner of the ward, it seemed as if the wily wind gathered in eddies, trying to penetrate the walls. A few gingko leaves lay scattered on the ground around the roots of the parent tree at the far corner. He lightly touched the tombstones with his long, slender fingers as he walked between the rows, heading toward the tree.

  When he reached the corner, he sat against the trunk of the tree. It soothed him to feel the tree against his back. He closed his eyes, thinking of nothing. But after some time, there was a noticeable change in the air. He opened his eyes quickly and looked up at the sky. He could see that there was some kind of disturbance in the air—invisible waves that were moving toward him. No, it was a single undulating wave, shimmering with edges of light gold and orange, changing to indigo.

  Xie was about to get up, but the vortex of light got to him first and pinned him against the trunk of the tree. His body was paralyzed and the skin on his face prickled.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The one who stole the plastron.

  “What do you want?”

  To do battle with you, in exactly four years’ time.

  Xie laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”

  At the cursed temple, eleven years from that day you claimed this soul.

  Xie stopped laughing.

  Defeat me and you can have the oracle bone.

  “How do I know you have the oracle bone?”

  The branches overhead shook violently, throwing off a flurry of leaves. Then the ground beneath Xie shifted. An invisible force wrote out two lines on the ground in front of him.

  A dream wants waking, a sky needs light.

  The vortex swirled higher and moved away, over the wall and out of the city. Gui, in a rage, left Xie’s body as a cloudy blue column and also cleared the wall. It saw that the vortex had gone as far as an orchard and then disappeared.

  Gui was sorely tempted to follow. But it hesitated—perhaps it was a ruse to draw it away from Xie. It turned around and returned to the graveyard, then re-entered Xie, wh
o felt waves of cold pass through his body, down to his toes. He shivered awake, opened his eyes and began to weep.

  “I remember how she used to make me feel,” Xie said, between sobs.

  What are you going on about?

  “It’s her,” Xie said. “How could I ever forget?”

  BOOK TWO

  Fu - Return

  Toward the end of Longshuo reign period

  Xiaohan Jieqi, Slight Cold,

  Twelfth Lunar Month, New Moon

  DA FA TEMPLE, WEST CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  Ling glanced up at the rooftop, which wore a thin blanket of snow from the day before. It was mid-afternoon, and the sky was overcast, portending more snow or perhaps rain.

  She took one long deep breath, filling up her belly and bringing her energy right down to her toes. She took a few steps back then propelled herself forward so that her body was almost horizontal as her feet went up the wall. As her hands slapped the roof tiles, she leapt forward and curled into a ball in the air, landing on the roof.

  “Well done!” exclaimed Qilan, having emerged from her study. “Next time, do it without making noise.”

  Ling jumped down and hunched her shoulders inward, looking crestfallen.

  “Like this,” said Qilan as she ran up the wall, gathering such speed that she shot up into the air and landed on the roof without a single sound, her body upright.

  Ling looked down at the snow around Qilan’s boots. It was as if she wasn’t even standing on the snow.

  “Now, keep up with me.”

  Qilan raced ahead, and the snow showed no trace of her path.

  Ling pushed herself hard, but Qilan was always way ahead. Snow now began to fall. Qilan wove her way from the southern wing, along the eastern edge of the temple, then sped along the northern roof. She leapt onto the roof of the stable and building where Old Chen and his family lived and completed the circle by proceeding along the western wing. Below them, in the outer courtyard, a few nuns were wrapping the bases of camellia bushes with hemp cloth and twine in preparation for the approach of colder weather. They were so engrossed in their tasks that they hadn’t noticed the race overhead.

 

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