by Lydia Kwa
Ling sat down on the low stool in the corner, one hand pressed against the plastron nestled inside her tunic.
The older nun, known to Ling as Sanjiao, Triple Warmer, was in charge of the infirmary. She glanced at Ling in between inserting needles into Qilan’s scalp. She mumbled to herself as she worked. “Curious, curious. She’s been completely healthy all along, all these years here, and now this. Her pulses are … I’ve never encountered such a problem before.” Sanjiao frowned and shook her head.
Tears filled Ling’s eyes, but she felt annoyed as well. She leaned forward, arms crossed, and held onto her elbows. “Sister Sanjiao, what do you mean? If you can’t figure it out, who can?”
“Don’t fuss, and don’t be in the way,” chided Xu, whose face turned a slight pink.
“Shush, shush, you two!” Sister Sanjiao looked worried.
Ling ignored Xu, refusing to meet her friend’s gaze. She bent her head down and let the tears fall. They made dark spots on her tunic.
It seemed a long time before she heard Sister Sanjiao say to Xu, “Come with me to the apothecary.” Ling raised her head and watched the two nuns leave. She rushed to Qilan’s side and brought out the plastron.
“What happened? What has made you like this?” She sobbed and wrapped her arms around Qilan’s body. “I cannot go on without you.”
She placed the plastron in Qilan’s right hand. “If this plastron is so powerful, can’t you use it to come back?”
But nothing happened. She heard Sanjiao and Xu talking, their voices getting closer. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. She had promised Qilan she would never reveal what she had told her. She had to keep the secret. But what if telling Sister Sanjiao might save Qilan’s life?
She heard the nuns approach the infirmary, so she retrieved the plastron and slipped it back into her tunic.
“You best go tend to your duties.” Xu’s face showed her displeasure and her voice was stern.
Ling got up and ran away.
Sister Sanjiao patted Xu on the wrist. “You mustn’t be so hard on her. You know how close she is to Sister Orchid.”
Ling ran to the outer courtyard. She didn’t know what to do. She spotted the Abbess in the small alcove, kneeling in front of the altar along the west wall. She watched the Abbess as she chanted, the frail nun’s voice just barely audible from where she stood, but she recognized the mantra.
She listened to the soothing sounds with eyes closed.
Heaven and Earth
You and I
Nothing separates us all
Heaven and Earth
You and I
One
The Abbess finished chanting and noticed that Ling was watching her. She got up slowly and walked over to Ling. “My dear, you have been very distraught.”
Ling started to feel her whole body tremble. “Is she, is she …”
“She’s in a trance. But I have been praying for her release.”
Ling nodded but wasn’t sure what to say.
Just then, a beautiful butterfly flitted from the shortest juniper to the camellia bush. She recalled that first lesson Qilan gave her when she’d transformed the caterpillar into a butterfly.
“Not all transformation is an illusion,” she mumbled to herself.
The Abbess placed her right hand on Ling’s back. “Sister Orchid has taught you well and prepared you for assuming the position of Abbess one day.”
“I don’t know if I—why would I want to be powerful? What is the point of having power?”
“The point, my dear, is so that you can inspire others and guide them. And to do good.”
“But aren’t the Emperor and Empress—isn’t that power?”
“That, my child, is weakness. To be truly powerful is to be harmonious with everything else.”
Ling breathed more easily from the gentle energy that the Abbess directed at her. She felt that energy radiate from the Abbess’s hand, spread across her back, and move up her neck.
“Return to the infirmary, stay with her. I’m sure she can still sense your presence. I will give instructions to the others not to chase you out.”
Ling felt encouraged by the Abbess’s kind words. She bit her lower lip and bowed from the waist, placing her palms together, but keeping the plastron safely tucked in place with her right arm.
Returning to the infirmary, she was relieved that no one else was there. She gently moved the stool next to the bed where Qilan lay. She would chant the same words that the Abbess had uttered. She touched Qilan’s hand with her own and began. She kept going for almost a double hour until startled by the bell ringing from the tower for the mid-afternoon meditation.
At the sound of the bell, Qilan opened her eyes and smiled.
“You have awakened me by chanting those lines.”
Ling gasped with joy. “You are back!”
“No, Ling. I am going to leave you soon.”
Ling gave a little cry, like a wounded animal.
“Listen well. When I entered the Demon Star Temple, I knew that Gui would meet me, expecting to defeat me. There had been some degree of fear existing in me all these years. That’s why I had to wait eleven years—in order to master my own fear. Gui didn’t expect me to use the oracle bone to absorb its energy and take it into me.”
“You, you …” Ling shivered with the shock of this revelation.
“Yes, I embraced Gui and took it with me through a portal. Then I entered the well that I’ve dreamt about all these years. Who knows how this happened? As in all things, it was a mystery. But I let myself remain there, without giving in to my fear.
“At first I didn’t understand fully what had happened, whether or not I had succeeded. I felt quite ill when I emerged from the demon’s lair. I believe it was my mother who helped me ride my horse back to Da Fa Temple, casting a spell for us to travel very quickly. She risked her life bringing me back to Chang’an.
“I could feel the chill and hatred of the demon trying to consume me, to conquer me, but it wasn’t able to succeed. All the souls that Gui had taken into itself have been released. Including my father’s. All except one. The one I am holding inside me. When I am finally released from this form, my soul will accompany Gui’s soul back to the Underworld.” Qilan beamed with a look of complete joy.
“I had to wake up—your voice reminded me of my ties to you,” she continued. “The least I could do is to tell you this one last story and say goodbye. But, Ling, our parting is only temporary. It will be a long time before we meet again under different circumstances. Dear one, trust me, there will never be a permanent farewell between us.”
Ling felt a sudden change inside her, a release from fear and anger. Without knowing what the future held for her, she now resolved that she would believe Qilan’s words.
“You know why you had to stay behind at the temple?” Qilan asked. “So that you could be here when I returned.”
Ling nodded and closed her eyes for a few miao. When she opened them, she saw that Qilan’s form had altered. Her face was slowly changing, returning to her fox features, her body withering.
“Now, you cast the spell for me,” Qilan said.
“Which spell?”
“The one I taught you at our favourite spot by the stream, just before I left. The one that ends life as we know it.”
“You want me to end your life.”
“Yes. Only then can I bring Gui back to the Underworld. But it is not really to end life, but to end the attachment to this physical manifestation. Life flows into death, and that death will generate new life.”
“No, Qilan, I can’t,” Ling sobbed. “You saved me.”
“Do it, Ling. Quickly. Don’t delay. I can only hold Gui a little while longer, and if we wait too long, I will not only lose this life, but Gui as well. Do you understand?”
Ling swallowed hard. She understood. More importantly, she accepted. She touched the plastron and knew that it was now the right time to draw it out.
Sh
e placed it on top of Qilan’s body and stepped back. She thought of what Qilan had taught her about casting spells. She had to have pure intent, the motivation to reduce suffering, to respect another’s wishes.
Taking a deep breath, she held up her arms and called upon the Great Spirit of the Universe. She created a spiral of energy deep within her body, then uttered the spell in a low but firm voice charged with purity of intent and love. She kept repeating the spell, as the changes came into effect.
The room shook and the windows were blown open, causing a massive forceful wind to rush through. Ling stood firm and kept her gaze fixed on Qilan.
Qilan’s body slowly began to disintegrate in front of Ling’s eyes. She saw the desperate, writhing form of Gui only for an instant.
The room quieted down. Only the plastron remained on the bed. Then the sweet scent arrived, bringing Ling back to the first day she’d met Qilan. The scent that had wafted from Qilan’s hair when she had been carried on the nun’s back. It was the smell of apricots.
Ling’s entire body was drenched with sweat. She shook with such force that it took her a great deal of effort to stay upright as she stumbled back outside again. The main courtyard was empty. All the nuns were in the meditation hall, chanting. Their combined voices rose up, soothing and harmonious.
Ling lay on the soft white gravel and looked up at the sky. It was true. She too had died, all that she had been, the lives she had led until now, this moment. She was a third kind of creature, just like Qilan had been. Still was. Somewhere in the universe out there, transformed.
She breathed deeply and felt her body welcome all the sensations on her skin—the last rays of the setting sun, the light breeze caressing her face—she was grateful for everything.
A thought whisper, clear as a bell, entered her mind.
Dear heart, we will meet again. Take care of the oracle bone until I return for it.
It was a glorious end to the day. She cried until laughter overcame her.
AUTHOR’S NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This is a work of fiction. Although certain characters and events in this novel are based on historical figures and incidents, these have been altered to suit narrative purposes. Some known myths have also been borrowed and transformed beyond conventional understandings.
Chuanqi tales were a literary form/tradition that emerged during the mid-Tang Dynasty period; they are tales of marvels, and the term literally means “transmitting the strange.”
The Heraclitus quote in the epigraph is from Guy Davenport’s 1976 book, Herakleitos & Diogenes, San Francisco: Grey Fox Press, fragment 113.
The map of Chang’an in this novel is a fictionalized recreation of the city based on various details taken from Daily Life in the Tang Dynasty by Charles Benn (Westport: Greenwood, 2002) and the Wikipedia page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chang%27an
The three sections of the novel have titles based on names of hexagrams from the Yijing:
Gu - Poison, based on Hexagram 18
Fu - Return, Hexagram 24
Ji Ji - Completion, Hexagram 63
Details about Chang’an and daily life during the Tang Dynasty were taken from Daily Life in The Tang Dynasty by Charles Benn.
Historical references about Wu Zhao and Li Zhi came from Denis Twitchett’s chapters in The Cambridge History of China: Sui and T’ang China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979) as well as C.P. Fitzgerald’s The Empress Wu (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1968).
The system of dividing the twenty-four hours of the day into twelve double hours (using the animals of the Chinese zodiac) and the naming of the various seasons and lunar months were taken from Chinese History: A Manual by Endymion Wilkinson, revised and enlarged edition (Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2000).
In the Chinese system, a person is considered one sui when born, hence a year older than the western way of counting age. The age in sui takes into account the time spent in the womb.
The tale of Gui was inspired by the myth of Gui Xing , who became the God of Literature in the Daoist pantheon. The character Xie was inspired by the Daoist sorcerer Guo Xingzhen who had been Wu Zhao’s lover.
Langgan Elixir was mentioned in Stephen R. Bokenkamp’s Early Daoist Scriptures (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), page 289.
The Verse for opening a Sutra—“The unsurpassed, profound and wonderful Dharma …”—is one English version of a traditional gatha thought to have been spoken by Shakyamuni Buddha. This version was found in The Vajra Prajna Paramita Sutra: A General Explanation (California: Buddhist Text Translation Society, 2003).
“To become whole, let yourself be partial …” is my paraphrase of Stephen Mitchell’s translation of Tao Te Ching, Number 22 (New York: Harper Collins, 1988).
Zhuangzi was a third-century BCE philosopher who told fables about famous people such as Confucius and Mencius to demonstrate his teachings. Irreverent and wise, Zhuangzi’s allegories inspired many poets in later centuries. Several excerpts in the novel are paraphrased from Zhuangzi: Basic Writings, translated by Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003).
Many details about Xuanzang were taken from The Silk Road Journey with Xuanzang by Sally Hovey Wriggins (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2004).
The first stanza of “Return to Gardens and Fields” by Tao Yuanming (365–427 CE) is translated by me based on the original as well an English translation by Richard C. Fang, Gleanings from Tao Yuanming (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1980), page 40.
Description of Torch Dragon, Zhulong is my paraphrase from page 188 of The Classic of Mountains and Seas by Anne Birrell (London, UK: Penguin, 1999).
“The reeds flourish thus …” are lines from a folk song, “The Reeds.” My translation is based on translations by Yang Xianyi, Gladys Yang, and Hu Shiguang (Selections from the Book of Songs, Beijing: Panda Books, 1983).
For “Frolicking above the Graves” by Tao Yuanming, my translation is based on the original and an English translation by Richard C. Fang in Gleanings from Tao Yuanming (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 1980), page 105.
The inscription on the oracle bone, “A dream wants waking, a sky needs light,” is my translation of a couplet by Sweden Xiao,
, pronounced Ao, is a mythical marine turtle. I have created a new myth based on it.
The English translation of the Heart Sutra is taken from Red Pine’s the heart sutra (Berkeley: Counterpoint Press, 2004).
The poem recited by Hamed the Turkish tea seller is my adaptation of a poem by Rabia Basri, eighth-century Sufi mystic, found in Islamic Mystical Poetry, edited by Mahmood Jamal (London, UK: Penguin, 2009), page 7.
The Zhuangzi fragment from Autumn Floods—based on Burton Watson’s Zhuangzi: Basic Writings (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003) has been paraphrased as well as added to. “Time moves beyond the human” is a line I inserted, and it was inspired by a talk given by Professor Pheng Cheah (Department of Rhetoric at University of California, Berkeley) at a conference at UBC, on March 17, 2017 on “Worlding Literature.”
The quote “Be like a virgin …” is a paraphrase from the translation of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: Translation, Essays and Commentary (Boston: Shambhala, 2009), page 258.
Shangguan Yi’s poem “Early Spring in Guilin Hall” is my adaptation based on Stephen Owen’s translation in Poetry of the Early T’ang (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), pages 73–74.
Portions of Qilan’s chant for exorcism are based on The Great Petition for Sepulchral Pliants translated by Peter Nickerson in Stephen R. Bokenkamp’s Early Daoist Scriptures (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pages 261–71.
“Be deep and still and so perpetually present” and “Returning to the root is stillness” and “In the midst of its dark depths are essences” are taken from Xiang’er Commentary in Early Daoist Scriptures, translated by Stephen R. Bokenkamp, pages 81, 101, and 113, respectively.
Many thanks to Arsenal Pulp Press for beli
eving in this book—for all the great skill, dedication, and love everyone put into it. My appreciation to Dayaneetha De Silva and Cathy Stonehouse for reading an earlier version of the manuscript and to many friends and acquaintances who listened to me talk about this work.
One of the primary literary influences that seeded ideas for Oracle Bone was Pu Songling’s Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, translated by Herbert A. Giles (Tokyo: Tuttle, 2010). I owe a great deal to Pu’s work. Daniel Hsieh’s Love and Women in Early Chinese Fiction (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2008) was also an invaluable resource regarding the various stories of fox spirits created by male scholars of the literati class.
I owe a great debt to all the martial arts movies I watched as a child, teenager, and adult, for furnishing some of the narratives and tropes which I employed, referenced, and sometimes subverted in this novel. The Japanese TV movie Onmyoji was also influential.
Much appreciation to Dr Lawrence Chan who helped with providing some Traditional Chinese Medicine diagnostic details for Xuanzang the monk based on a known incident in which he had suffered prolonged chills while on a journey through the Tian Shan mountains. Dr Chan also provided feedback about the fight scene between Ling and Shan Hu at Prosperity Tavern—in addition to being a naturopath, he has many years of experience as a martial arts practitioner and instructor.
Thanks to Sweden Xiao who gave me permission to use his couplet and my translation for this novel.
Last but not least: To you, dear reader, who was willing to follow me on this journey.
AN EXCERPT FROM LYDIA KWA’S
The Walking Boy*
Jinzhe Jieqi, The Waking of Insects, Second Lunar Month, 702 C.E.
MOUNT HUA, 270 LI EAST OF THE WESTERN CAPITAL CHANG’AN
At this time of the early morning, just as the perpetual lamp indicates the Hour of the Rabbit, everything exists in the bluish shadows before dawn, suspended between life and annihilation. The candles on the altar to Harelip’s left flicker in the draft. His upright torso vibrates, swayed to and fro by an invisible wind. The sensations from the dream are still with him, the raspy dryness in the throat and the fickle heart rhythms. His hands clasped in his lap break out into a sweat. Last night he washed off the blood immediately after coughing it up, but the memory hasn’t disappeared. He checks the height of the incense stick on the altar. Barely half. Why is time passing so slowly? He directs his gaze back to the ground. A dull ache spreads across his shoulders and he stifles a sigh. The jade pendant rests against his chest with the weight of regret. Ardhanari has probably spent all these years wondering what has become of him. Last night’s dream took him by surprise, seeing his friend’s face just as he had looked all those years ago.