Oracle Bone

by Lydia Kwa

  Hearing this from Qilan herself sent shudders through Ling.

  “About a month before Father was possessed, I dreamt I was standing over a deep well, peering into the darkness from above. I heard the sound of water sloshing below. I felt a strong pull, as if some force wanted to suck me in, as if I could topple into the well at any moment. I smelled my father’s scent. But he wasn’t alone. There was another presence close to him, even though its scent was barely perceptible.

  “I woke up with chills, shivering dramatically for half the night until dawn. I lost the ability to speak. The physician visited me a number of times, yet I could say nothing, not even make a sound. He looked progressively concerned with each visit. Sometimes he pursed his lips, other times he merely shook his head. My body felt heavy, as if submerged under some viscous liquid.

  “In my delirious state, I saw my father cast anxious glances in my direction and talk to my mother in hushed tones. I had so much I wanted to say, but I remained unable to speak.

  “I had no awareness of the weeks passing. I kept returning to the same dream, standing at the well and looking down. Until one day, the dream changed. I succumbed and fell for an eternity. I landed on my feet in the water. I extended my arms out, found the walls of the well, and walked the circumference. I had no sense of the size of the well. It puzzled me. Although my father wasn’t there physically, I was able to detect his scent and, yet again, the scent of another presence, more powerful now that I was in the well.

  “My mind called out to my father. There was no response. Was it only a few miao or even hours? Or years? Time became irrelevant. It seemed to me that I had entered a place outside of time.

  “A flurry of heartbeat sounds thrummed at my ear. A heavy presence approached me from behind, then I felt a tight squeeze around my throat.

  “My mother was shaking my shoulder when I screamed myself awake. I was drenched in cold sweat that smelled of rusty metal. I cried out—I was able to speak. All the details of my dream came pouring out of me.”

  Qilan’s eyes misted over. She looked down at her hands.

  Ling felt light-headed. She was frightened, yet she wanted to hear all that Qilan wanted to share. “What happened next?”

  Qilan poured herself and Ling more barley tea before she resumed her tale. “My mother told me that I had spent many days in a delirium, about one hundred days. Most humans would have perished. The day before I emerged from this horrible illness, Father had gone in search of some kind of healer. He wouldn’t tell my mother where he was going except to say that a trusted scholar had suggested a place where he would obtain help for me.

  “Mother and I were suspicious. A person in so serious a delirium does not suddenly recover—unless there’s some kind of exchange. What was the price Father had had to pay?

  “As we spoke, Mother detected the rapid approach of some oppressive entity nearing our home. It would have been dangerous for us to remain. We changed into our fox selves and fled, rushing into the bushes in a corner of our front courtyard.

  “Someone entered riding Father’s horse. When we scanned the form of that person, we knew immediately that it was no longer the man called Xie, who had been my father.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no longer the man’?”

  “From the outside, this form vaguely resembled Xie, so that most ordinary people would be fooled because they wouldn’t be able to penetrate past the appearance.”

  “You could see something else?”

  “We saw the demon inside.”

  A shiver ran down Ling’s spine. She clasped her arms at the elbows, holding herself in. These were terrifying things she was being told—a world of spirits and demons, a world of danger, of selling one’s soul and body.

  “Mother told me she would seek out her fox family. She instructed me to find my way to Chang’an.”

  “Why Chang’an?”

  “Mother thought that Gui—the demon who possessed Xie—would want to be in Chang’an so that it could use Xie to infiltrate the Tang court.”

  Ling thought of Old Chen’s words on that night after they’d emerged from the Forest of Illusions and were cooking at the fire. Sister Orchid is not like the rest of us. She knows lots of things, but maybe she isn’t sure it would be a good idea to tell us everything she knows.

  “Old Chen said you have gifts. Like your father.”

  Qilan’s eyes flashed brightly and her mouth twisted into a half-grimace. “Not quite correct. My gifts, I have acquired from my mother. His powers are a result of being possessed by Gui.”

  “Your mother and you needed to flee this demon, so why do you need to be close to Gui?”

  “To keep an eye on it.”

  Ling frowned, thinking hard about this. “How many years has it been since you and your mother escaped?”

  “Almost eleven years ago.”

  “What are you keeping an eye on Gui for?”

  “I am waiting for the eleventh anniversary of Xie’s body being possessed.”

  “And then?” Ling’s voice betrayed a nervous quiver.

  “I must confront Gui at that time.”

  “Aren’t you still afraid of that demon?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you want to meet it? Could you still save your father—is that it?”

  “Not his body. But his soul, perhaps. I’m not sure.”

  “Why eleven years?”

  “The eleventh anniversary date is an auspicious time to halt Gui and immobilize it.”

  “Immobilize?” Ling thought of how they had released Shan Hu into the Forest of Illusions. “How?”

  “I hope to capture the demon’s soul. The constellations in the sky will assist me.”

  Ling shuddered. It was one thing to fight and conquer a human being, even one as repulsive as Shan Hu, but how does someone go about defeating a demon? “What has this demon been up to, all these years?”

  “Gui wants to gain complete control of the Tang court by allying itself with Wu Zhao and installing her as the Emperor.”

  “Emperor? A female Emperor?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And then?”

  “It wants to use its power at court to perpetuate more dark magic. Through Xie, it wishes to exercise control over the minds of the ministers and Wu Zhao and eventually cast a deep and lasting spell against this land and its people.”

  Ling stood up suddenly and spilled tea on her jacket. “That … that is despicable!”

  “It would only be the beginning of its scourge.”

  “The beginning?”

  “It wants to destroy for destruction’s sake—to destroy this city and then other parts of the country, and to possess many more humans. It wants to create havoc.”

  “Why?”

  “Gui is motivated by sheer hatred of human beings.”

  Their conversation was punctuated by the sound of bamboo clappers. A man’s plaintive voice called out the time. It was one xiaoshi, a small hour, past the Hour of the Horse. Ling’s tummy rumbled. Maybe they shouldn’t have skipped lunch.

  “Sister Orchid, how will you go about immobilizing a demon?”

  “It has something to do with freeing the demon from its attachment to hatred.”

  The colour drained from Ling’s face.

  Qilan reached out to take both of Ling’s hands in hers. “Dear one, fear is the greatest obstacle. You and I—and anyone else who wishes to be liberated—must conquer fear, above all else.”

  “Is that more important than destroying a demon?”

  “Fear is the demon. Eliminate fear and the demon cannot have power.” Qilan’s face reddened. She lowered her gaze and took a few slow breaths before speaking in a subdued tone. “All kinds of dark energies operate in our world and beyond. We can always choose how to respond, whether to join or resist. There are those, human and otherwise, who have decided to use their magic in the service of hate.”

  “In the service of hate,” m
uttered Ling, mulling this over.

  “I must capture Gui and free its soul.”

  “Isn’t that a contradiction?”

  “No. There are no contradictions and no separations in the realm of subtle realities. That is where I must travel to, bearing Gui’s soul with me.”

  Qilan got up, went to the camphor cabinet, and brought out a cloth bundle. She unfolded the purple cloth slowly to reveal the object hidden within. She held it up gingerly.

  Ling stared at the small plastron. There were squiggly symbols on the dorsal surface, but she couldn’t decipher what they meant.

  “A dream wants waking, a sky needs light,” offered Qilan. “The demon is keen to possess this turtle plastron—it went missing a few years ago. Let’s say I borrowed it. Just before I met you, actually. Gui believes the bone could be used to further gain power.”

  Qilan placed the plastron into Ling’s hands. Ling looked at both sides of the shell. It was oddly warm. She closed her eyes. It was getting warmer in her hands. The heat spread from her hands and up her arms. It made her feel as if she wasn’t simply confined in her body. She was expanding beyond the limits of her form and disappeared into the warmth completely.

  When she eventually opened her eyes, she was surprised to discover that she was completely alone in the study. Where had Qilan gone? This was the same study, or was it? There were a few things on Qilan’s desk that were unfamiliar. She looked out through the latticed doors to the courtyard and was astounded to notice the lush garden, the trees and plants in full leaf and bloom. There were other things in the room that weren’t usually there—a few calligraphy scrolls that she had never seen before. What happened? It upset her. She closed her eyes and thought of Qilan. When she opened her eyes again, Qilan was there, sitting next to her, just the way she had been moments earlier.

  Ling gasped. “Guess what happened?”

  “What?”

  “You … you disappeared. Just for a few moments. I had to close my eyes and call up your image, and then you came back.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere. But I suspect you did.”

  “Why would a turtle shell take me somewhere I didn’t want to go?”

  “Because it was showing you your destiny.”

  “But I don’t want to make you disappear!”

  “Or was it that you were travelling to some time ahead, when I am no longer here?”

  That might be, thought Ling, but it was a deeply disquieting notion. “Qilan, what a mysterious plastron!”

  There was a ferocious glint in Qilan’s eyes. “There is a story behind this plastron,” whispered Qilan. “Shall I share it with you soon?”

  Ling blushed. “You know I love stories.”

  “But first we must go to the kitchen and find more food for you.”

  WU ZHAO’S STUDY, TAIJIGONG, NORTH CENTRAL CHANG’AN

  In the early hours before dawn, Wu Zhao awakened, feeling restless and in a foul mood. Two of her maids washed and dressed her. Shortly afterward, she went to her study, which faced the Vermillion Phoenix Pavilion. It was still dark and cool; the oil lamps were lit early in anticipation of her arrival. The drum from the Sentinel Tower beat out the Hour of the Rabbit.

  She sipped the smoky pine-flavoured tea, doing nothing else as she watched the sun peek above the trees, casting a slowly spreading yellow glow across the pond. The lotuses had not emerged yet, but there were signs of their roots below the water surface.

  She thought of her father and how he’d ended up with the oracle bone. She’d been ten sui when he died. What could she have done at that time about holding on to any of his possessions? Her half-brothers disposed of as many treasures as they saw fit, taking some for themselves while other things were relegated to their uncle’s care. She had known that the oracle bone was part of her father’s collection stored at Hsu the Elder’s. She also knew the oracle bone was special, but she’d banished fanciful thoughts about it for the longest time.

  And now—Xie seemed to know something about the oracle bone’s power. Wu Zhao’s heart rankled with unease. He was hiding something from her. Why was he so intent on recovering the oracle bone? Could she fully trust what he said? He had never completely revealed to her its purpose, although he had alluded to its usefulness for the Feng and Shan rituals.

  She pushed her right sleeve up her arm, picked up one of her small calligraphy brushes, and dipped it in ink. She would write about how prophecy had first entered her life. “One day, I will fulfill the prophecy,” she muttered to herself under her breath as she began to write.

  As a young man, my father, Wu Shihuo, dealt in timber and fared reasonably well in his business. Our wealthy family came from the prestigious Taiyuan area. More importantly, our lineage is distinguished, going as far back as the first Zhou dynasty. My father had acquired a reputation for loyalty to his sovereign, impressing the last emperor of the Sui dynasty enough to merit being summoned to office. Yet my father refused because he had consulted a diviner who advised him to avoid such appointments. Years later, when my father met Gaozu, he recognized the man’s greatness immediately and pledged allegiance to him. Not long after, he dreamed of Gaozu’s overthrow of the Sui emperor.

  My father was a man of incredible sensitivity and intuition. In advising Gaozu on his military campaigns, he encouraged Gaozu to act decisively, saying to the future founder of the Tang dynasty that he was sure to be victorious. Gaozu valued him tremendously and rewarded him when he ascended the throne. My father was given a dukedom and promoted to the position of governor-general of two important prefectures, Lizhou and Qinzhou.

  I was born during the time my father was governor-general of Lizhou. I was the second of three daughters born to a union sanctioned by Gaozu himself. It was my father’s second marriage. He had two sons from his first wife, and then us three females. My mother, Lady Yang, was descended from royalty, having been a cousin of the last Sui emperor.

  Father invited the renowned fortune teller Yuan to our house when I was barely a toddler. He did this because he was convinced that Yuan would prophesize that one of his two sons must have some propitious future.

  Even my father, with his intuitive abilities, was mistaken. How could he entertain the possibility that one of his daughters, a child of his second wife, would evoke such a startlingly powerful response from the fortune teller? When Yuan first saw me—I’d been brought out by my wet nurse and was dressed in my half-brother’s old clothes—he exclaimed, “The appearance of this boy is rare and remarkable. It is not easy to understand.” Then the fortune teller told the nurse to put me down and let me walk. It was then, while watching me make my early clumsy steps, that Yuan detected the signs of greatness. “The semblance of the sun’s rays! A dragon countenance with the neck of a phoenix, resembling Fu Xi!”

  When my father revealed that I was female, Yuan realized that appearances—or rather, superficial interpretations of surfaces—were deceptive. A prophecy took hold of the fortune teller’s mind, dismantling his biases, until he finally exclaimed, “Even though she’s a girl, she will become ruler of the empire one day!”

  Of course I don’t remember the incident. I relied on my father’s account of what had transpired. My father would describe to me what Yuan said, but I could tell how perturbed and puzzled he was by the prophecy. It upset his understanding of the order of things in the universe. I could tell from watching my father over the years that this whole notion of a female—his daughter—becoming ruler of the empire was a profound challenge to his beliefs about the rightful place of women in relation to men.

  True enough, there had been other women who had risen to power and influence beside or behind their husbands, but a full-fledged female ruler sanctioned by Heaven? That was simply unheard of. Still, it is to my father’s credit that he did not conceal the nature of the prophecy from me. He told me about Yuan’s visit the way a parent would tell a fable to a child at night. To think that the reputable fortune teller and astrologer Yuan should be so bold as to mak
e such an outrageous prophecy—that was the way my father relayed the tale. It was a good story, rather glamorous and delicious, but merely a story.

  Despite my father’s skepticism, some part of him took a childlike delight in the prophecy and proceeded to accord me special attention. As a young girl, I studied the classics, wrote poetry, and practiced calligraphy. My half-brothers, much to my father’s chagrin, did not show as much interest in and aptitude for their studies. My father was sometimes startled by my degree of concentration. He was not used to children being as serious and intent as I was when it came to learning. I did not enjoy playing silly domestic games with my sisters. I often had wished my half-brothers would let me join in their war games, since I was sure I could have offered them some useful tips. I am certain they were jealous of me because our father took the time to teach me—yet whom could they blame but themselves? They were never as interested as I was in my father’s library. Nor did they do any more than was required of them, whereas I was marked from a young age by an inordinate degree of curiosity. Really, my half-brothers’ arrogant attitudes toward me were quite distasteful and always unfounded.

  My father would tell my half-brothers and me many stories of his adventures with Gaozu. When he got to the story about the oracle bone he’d discovered in the pit at the base of Mount Li, my brothers were bored and could not wait to be allowed to go out to play. I asked if I could see the bone.

  My father brought out a beautiful mahogany box that was two hands square and about four cun deep. Under the single lit candle, I stared at it, awestruck at the bone resting inside the yellow velvet-lined box. My father took the bone out of the box and let me hold it in my palms.

  It had a mysterious inscription, yet it bore no signs of having been used for divination. What had happened? When I pressed my father to tell me more about the pit where the bone was found, he simply fell silent.

  I was undeterred by his silence. I plied him with more questions. Is it really an oracle bone, when it has yet to be transformed by a divination ritual? Who had written that couplet onto the bone? Surely this was not a typical inscription—that much I knew from having read into the history of oracle bones.