The Mandate of Heaven

  The blue-tattooed Yulai woman waved her to a nearby bench but continued to feed the winnowing fan. For a long while neither woman spoke. Stillness was a game Yun Shu had mastered in Cloud Abode Monastery. As a family woman, Muxing was less adept. When the prolonged silence got uncomfortable, she remarked: ‘I thought you would have moved on. The Nuns they send here never stay long.’

  Yun Shu stirred. ‘I wish to ask some questions, Mother Muxing.’

  ‘Oh?’ said the Yulai woman, suspiciously. ‘Crank harder, girl!’

  ‘You see,’ said Yun Shu, ‘strange things happen at Mirror Lake. A red glow in the hills. Armed men moving at night. I wondered if you know anything.’

  Muxing’s laugh was coarse and loud. ‘I know lots of things,’ she said. More grain entered the hopper; more husks blown out by the cranking fan.

  ‘Perhaps you might share those things?’ said Yun Shu.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ retorted Muxing. ‘I keep myself to myself. It’s the safest way in Ou-Fang.’

  ‘I see,’ said Yun Shu, glancing round at the Yulai woman’s house, which was notably larger and better appointed than its neighbours. ‘Then I shall advise Cloud Abode Monastery to cancel your annual stipend for acting as their agent here.’

  Yun Shu rose slowly and gracefully. For the first time Muxing paused in her work. Anxious thoughts betrayed themselves on her face.

  ‘Sit! Sit!’ she urged. ‘Of course I’ll tell you! Hornets’ Nest’s men have found something in the hills, that’s all. Something they wish to keep secret.’

  So her suspicions had been right! ‘Something valuable?’ she asked, eagerly.

  Now Muxing frowned.

  ‘Don’t go near them! Hornets’ Nest has four of his spies in this village. Bad, wicked men! Now they’re up in the hills and no doubt up to mischief.’

  With a sudden insight Yun Shu asked: ‘Was one of them called Hua?’

  ‘Yes, he’s their leader. His friend, Chao, struck my son in the tavern! Curse them! If it was not for Hornets’ Nest …’ The consequences for the unfortunate Chao dangled like a noose.

  Muxing ordered her granddaughter to crank. Once again she fed grain into the chute. Clouds of chaff drifted across the courtyard.

  ‘That is not all I wish to know,’ said Yun Shu. ‘Once I asked you about my predecessor here. I have been instructed to find out what happened to her.’

  Muxing shot her a sharp glance.

  ‘That is no secret,’ she said. ‘She disappeared a year after coming here. No one knows where for sure.’

  Yun Shu sensed evasion.

  ‘You have suspicions?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Crank. Crank

  ‘Then tell me, please.’

  The cranking stopped.

  ‘Go and play in the gatehouse until I call,’ Muxing instructed her granddaughter. Once the child had gone, she turned to Yun Shu. ‘Your predecessor was far prettier than you. And younger. She told me men had brought gifts of wine and fine food. As well as silks. She was flattered rather than afraid, foolish girl. It seemed someone had watched her bathing in the lake …’

  Yun Shu blushed at the thought that she, too, might have exposed herself to unseen eyes.

  ‘That particular someone is said to value virgins highly,’ concluded Muxing.

  ‘You mean Hornets’ Nest again, don’t you?’ said Yun Shu. ‘He seems everywhere in these hills. And behind everything.’

  Muxing nodded significantly.

  ‘He bought a virgin from Ten Pine Hamlet and two from Shang Village. None were heard of again. Perhaps he also bought the nun.’

  Yun Shu needed no more: Dear Uncle had taught her how virgins are put to use. ‘Then I will inform the senior nuns she is lost,’ she sighed.

  Mother Muxing leaned forward earnestly. ‘You must leave!’ she urged. ‘Do not stay here! Soon government troops will come seeking revenge. And if not them, Hornets’ Nest won’t like witnesses round Mirror Lake. Even my sons are afraid to hunt there. Whatever he’s up to, it’s of great importance to him. Go while you can.’

  Yun Shu hesitated. ‘What of you?’ she asked. ‘Why do you stay?’

  This time Muxing’s laugh was proud.

  ‘I am Yulai. My people are Yulai. Where do we belong, if not here?’

  As Yun Shu bowed gratefully, the little granddaughter came running.

  ‘Grandma,’ she whispered, ‘there’s a man at the gate. He says he knows the nun is here and that he wants to speak to her.’

  Muxing gestured for Yun Shu to hide. Inside the house, she crouched near a curtained window, listening to a familiar, insinuating voice enquire where the nun had vanished and why she went missing from Sitting-and-Whistling Pavilion last night. The voice belonged to Hua.

  Yun Shu realised he must have visited the shrine yesterday evening, while she was seeking the source of the red glow. No wonder she found the door ajar. Yun Shu fingered her lucky amulets: she would not like to trust herself to such a fellow’s power, especially after hearing what had befallen her predecessor.

  ‘Do you know,’ he declared, in an amused tone, ‘I think my Holy Aunty can hear every word I’m saying! Are you hiding her in the house? Bring her out!’

  Muxing replied hotly, ‘Leave! You are not welcome!’

  ‘Careful, you old … Oh, my! What do we have here?’ Hua’s bluster took on a brittle edge. ‘If it isn’t more of my blue-faced friends.’

  For the first time he sounded unsure and Yun Shu risked a peep through a tiny gap in the curtain. Four of Muxing’s sons had appeared from behind the house. Each carried a hatchet or bamboo club. Hua touched his sword then backed away.

  ‘Well, well!’ he said, whistling. ‘We’re growing bold! I’ll be back soon, Mother. Only next time I’ll bring friends.’

  So saying, he swaggered away as though he owned all Ou-Fang Village.

  When Yun Shu ventured outside Mother Muxing said, ‘You see how it is! Go now, while you still can. For all our sakes.’

  But the young woman looked at the winnowing machine and wondered if she, too, was to be blown from place to place like rice chaff.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘First I will pray to Lord Lao for guidance.’

  Muxing shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Let’s hope he’s in a sensible mood.’

  Twelve

  The fat man’s name was Liu Shui, Hsiung remembered that much. Yet the terrible day he had been enslaved and shipped to the Salt Pans was something he chose not to remember. Or the months spent scavenging like a wild dog after he escaped, desperate enough to rob peasants of precious seed corn, widows of their last coins, ever more bold and indifferent to capture. Sixteen years old and already despairing of life. If hopelessness and anger had turned him cruel, better not to remember that either.

  He paced up and down his hut, heart beating excitedly. A dog barked outside. He imagined twisting its neck sharply, so that all annoying noises ceased. Then he felt ashamed and confused. As so often, Deng Nan-shi’s watchful, patient face flickered across his mind. He almost heard the old scholar’s voice: ‘Of course one does not kill a guard dog for barking. Its nature is to bark.’ Of course. Of course.

  Hsiung strapped on his sword and strode into the camp. Instantly his shoulders went back, chest puffed out and buttocks moved in a decisive manner. His hand steadied the hilt of his long sword as he walked. Whenever soldiers or camp-women encountered him they bowed low, for young Captain Hsiung was held in awe since his courage at Port Yulan.

  Perhaps such deference should have been enough. He knew he should be happy, proud, pleased, all three at once. But doubt crawls behind every triumph – and always catches up. So what if he was brave? Were not many men? He wanted respect as a leader, a master of tactics. He wanted … he couldn’t say what, except that for now it eluded him.

  As for this fat man, this Liu Shui, his false information ten years earlier had sent Hsiung to the hell of the Salt Pans. Not a trace of Father had been found there, not even a rumour; h
e wondered if Liu Shui was a liar and deceiver who deserved a harsh punishment.

  More vexing still, the fat man was obviously avoiding him. Ever since his arrival he had stayed hidden in Hornets’ Nest’s house in the cavern, engaged in secret conferences. Whispered words in the camp identified Liu Shui as a leader of the Red Turbans in Chiang-Che Province, far to the east; he was said to be seeking an alliance with Hornets’ Nest after his victory outside Port Yulan. Hsiung, however, knew this could not be true. For one thing the journey to Chiang-Che was long. Liu Shui could hardly have heard of the battle and then rushed here in so short a time. For another, the victory itself was far from decisive. In his more honest moments, Hsiung conceded it was akin to an act of brigandage.

  What agitated him was that the fat man had known his name and even claimed he hoped to find him here. Why then did Liu Shui avoid a meeting? After all, Hsiung was easy enough to find.

  His voice boomed round the camp at regular intervals, instructing scores of recruits who had arrived since the victory at Port Yulan. Over two hundred impoverished peasants so far – and many thousands more were rumoured to support the Red Turban cause, assured that the Buddha Maitreya would sweep away the Mongols if the people enticed the Divine Messiah to appear. Hornets’ Nest should be sending out men to all districts and encouraging recruits by returning some of the taxes stolen by the Great Khan’s tax-farmers. To waste such an opportunity damaged their cause.

  Later that day his desire to glimpse the fat man was satisfied. Hornets’ Nest summoned his officers and advisers for an audience. As usual they gathered in the rebel leader’s treasure house, kneeling before the raised, lacquered throne. Hsiung noticed that Liu Shui sat to one side, hands hidden in his trailing silk sleeves, apparently deep in thought.

  Hornets’ Nest regarded the officers, his eyebrows jutting fiercely.

  ‘Which of you is the most loyal to me?’ he demanded.

  Though all the officers might have been expected to shout out, they glanced nervously at wall and floor. A declaration of superiority in this regard might lead to one of their chief’s cruel – and fatal – tests.

  ‘What!’ roared Hornets’ Nest. ‘None of you are loyal!’

  Now his oldest and stoutest officer took a chance.

  ‘What is your command? I am the most loyal, sire! Twenty years I have served you, and grown gaunt for your sake!’

  This last statement was contradicted by the old veteran’s bulging girdle.

  ‘I see,’ growled Hornets’ Nest. ‘What about you, Captain Hsiung? Are you not the most loyal? Or just the most eager for your own glory?’

  At this question the fat man dozing to one side glanced up.

  ‘Tell me your command!’ bellowed Hsiung. He was saved from further questioning by other officers taking up the shout, their fists placed together in salute.

  ‘Good! Good!’ said Hornets’ Nest. ‘Then how is it you fail in your duty?’

  No one wished to address that question. Luckily for them, Hornets’ Nest was tiring of the game and rose to his feet. At his full height he towered over most, his limbs thick as logs and chest solid as a bull’s. Only Hsiung was as tall – or would have been if he hadn’t bowed low like the other officers.

  ‘Not one of you told me the enemy has landed a thousand warriors at Port Yulan! Fools! If I did not have spies everywhere, we would be taken by surprise. I should have the lot of you beheaded for negligence!’

  The rebel leader sat down again with a crash that made the throne vibrate on its wooden platform. He seemed uncharacteristically agitated.

  ‘Prepare all the men for battle!’ he declared. ‘At a moment’s notice! These Mongol scum might attack any time. And when they do, I shall crush them!’

  ‘Sire,’ ventured Hsiung, once Hornets’ Nest had subsided and was mopping his brow. ‘Who is their leader?’

  The rebel chief glowered.

  ‘Jebe Khoja, of course! This is why Hornets’ Nest is glad. I beat that fool once before and will do so again!’

  No one chose to challenge this outrageous lie. The officers were quite content to slink away when dismissed.

  Outside Hornets’ Nest’s house in the high, echoing cavern, Hsiung found a servant waiting. He recognised him as one of the fat man’s entourage.

  ‘Captain Hsiung,’ whispered the man, ‘I have a message. Liu Shui requests that you meet him at dusk in the entrance of the cave.’

  ‘Why?’

  But the messenger merely bowed and returned to the outlandish mansion. Hsiung noticed an injured bat on the floor, dragging its wings. On impulse, he carried it to a ledge where others of its kind slept, awaiting dusk.

  Every sunset the huge cavern was transformed. Hsiung arrived early to watch, taking a seat on a limestone boulder near the soldiers on guard. He enquired whether they had eaten then gazed silently across the narrow valley hemmed in by cliffs.

  Below, smoke rose from cooking fires outside hovels crammed with men and their equipment. In the centre of the valley floor was the sinkhole like a gaping mouth in the earth. As Hsiung watched, women emptied buckets of waste into the abyss, where it would fall hundreds of feet, landing on the corpses of those executed after the battle of Port Yulan.

  He raised his eyes, alerted by a change in the light, high-pitched sounds at the edge of hearing. Dark, flitting shapes appeared all over the valley, skimming thatched rooftops to form a dense, swirling cloud of swallows. The birds were returning to ancient roosts in the cave. And as they flowed in like a dark stream, another cloud of creatures flapped out – bats, thousands of small wings making the air rustle like a forest in a gale.

  Hsiung marvelled at the co-operation that allowed two different kinds to share this place so amicably. Men would not be satisfied with less than complete mastery. Only then would they feel secure.

  A chuckle disturbed his thoughts and he glanced round. For all his girth, the fat man could move quietly when he chose. Now he joined Hsiung and for a while they stood in silence, watching the last few bats leave and swallows enter.

  ‘You wished to speak with me,’ said Hsiung, haughtily. He was determined the fat man would know his displeasure. The latter, however, seemed quite at ease.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, with the same Buddha-like smile Hsiung remembered from ten years earlier, ‘how you have grown!’

  ‘And what of that?’ demanded Hsiung. Without realising it, the young man began to pace, one hand on his sword hilt. ‘I do not know why I should talk with you,’ he said. ‘Because of you I was in the Salt Pans for three years. And never once heard a mention of my father.’

  ‘What name did you ask for?’ replied Liu Shui.

  ‘The one you told me! My father’s name. The same name as my own.’

  ‘I see. Do you think your father was so foolish as to use his real name there?’

  Hsiung fell silent.

  ‘It was wonderful of you to seek your father,’ said Liu Shui. ‘Noble and stupid. A sign of great character. Only, don’t blame me, Captain Hsiung. Your own impatience was the culprit. But that is not what I wished to discuss.’

  ‘Yet I do!’ replied Hsiung, angrily. ‘Where is he? Did he hear of my prowess at Yulan Port and send you?’

  The fat man shook his head. ‘I have no idea whether your father is even alive.’

  Hsiung examined him suspiciously. Could he trust anything this man said? Liu Shui glanced round for spies. Only dark clusters of swallows on their ledges were listening.

  ‘I came to see how the cause of Yueh Fei fares in this district,’ he said, quietly. ‘I must report great disappointment. Especially with your chief.’

  Now Hsiung looked round anxiously. Such talk could cost both their heads. Yet he did not contradict the fat man.

  ‘Hsiung, you should know Hornets’ Nest’s leadership no longer advances our cause. This is the most dangerous time for us. I want you to remember this: ridding our land of barbarians is more important than any single man, however brave and useful he may
have been in the past. That is true of you, me, any one of us – even Hornets’ Nest. No, especially Hornets’ Nest.’

  Before Hsiung could reply, Liu Shui placed his hands in his long sleeves and bowed.

  ‘I leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘When the time comes, remember what I have told you.’

  Hsiung watched him shuffle back to the bizarre house in the cave, trying not to soil his embroidered silk slippers with bat and bird guano. Then his pulse quickened. Was that a furtive movement in one of the lighted windows? Yet the shadow crossing the window was slender. It belonged to Hornets’ Nest’s concubine.

  The fat man left before dawn the next day and those who saw him go remarked on his haste. Perhaps rumours that the government forces in Port Yulan had advanced into the limestone hills sent him scurrying; perhaps he feared another night of Hornets’ Nest’s hospitality.

  That same day Hsiung noticed the plump officer who had declared himself most loyal to their chief marshalling a force of a hundred men by the gate. In addition to their usual weapons, many carried spades, pickaxes and large wicker baskets. Though Hsiung tried to learn their mission from his fellow officer it appeared the subject was forbidden.

  ‘I must do my special duty,’ declared the older man with self-satisfaction.

  With that he marched out of the camp, heading north. Hsiung was surprised so large a force, especially of experienced men, could be diverted from their small army when a battle seemed imminent.

  A few days later there was another departure, one that caused consternation. The rebel chief himself left his house in full armour, both of his famous battleaxes strapped to his back, and strode down the narrow pathway from his house in the cavern to the valley floor. A sizable procession followed: his personal bodyguard of ‘bravest and best’; three secretaries; a wine butler; two chefs (one for wet dishes, the other for dry), and two servants with large silk fans on poles resembling striped insect wings.