The Mandate of Heaven

  ‘I am Yun Cai,’ declared the male lead, a broad-chested singer with plenty of swagger. ‘In my youth I was exiled to my estate of Three-Step-House in far off Wei Valley …’

  The play unfolded for two tense hours. Yun Shu leaned forward in her seat, dabbing her eyes when the poet’s great love, Su Lin, betrayed him to satisfy the ambitions of the father who had been suborned by a corrupt minister called Lord Xiao afraid Yun Cai would expose his misdeeds. The plot was made yet more complex by the intrigues of the poet’s faithful friend, P’ei Ti.

  Ying-ge played the part of Su Lin. Her voice as she half-sobbed and sang was wonderfully pure:

  The wine in my bowl

  Is watered with tears,

  Let me assure you,

  The dregs of my heart!

  Handkerchiefs wiping away tears fluttered like butterfly wings.

  When Su Lin took poison, rushing back and forth upon the stage like a trapped moth, before subsiding gracefully into an artful heap of silks, make-up, jewellery and silver hairpieces, many in the audience rose to protest. So extreme was their anguish on her behalf. Prominent among them was the Salt Minister’s aging concubine, Golden Lotus.

  Teng’s own eyes filled with tears. How talented and beautiful was Ying-ge! How exquisite and graceful! No woman could compare with her for that. Yet in the midst of his admiration he recalled her pettiness and spite when crossed; her devotion to fashion and gossip. Ying-ge’s sole topic of conversation was Ying-ge – a topic of which she never tired.

  At last the Jade Emperor sent a Heavenly Official down to the Middle Kingdom. This Immortal’s face was painted a shiny white. He rode a hobbyhorse in the form of a gigantic goose onto the stage, to the great delight of the audience. His speech in praise of loyalty and duty was almost as prolonged as the crowd’s applause.

  Teng turned to Yun Shu. She wept freely while Deng Nan-shi murmured soothing words. Teng’s heart filled with pleasure. How natural they seemed together! Like father and daughter-in-law!

  ‘Oh, Teng!’ she cried, ‘what a wonderful play! How it honoured Yun Cai! I enjoyed it very much! So very much!’

  Then Teng understood. All along he had written I weep for Su Lin to please Yun Shu. She had watched from a shadowy corner of his mind through the long hours of composition, just as he sometimes imagined his dead mother’s presence. Except Yun Shu was real, her breath warm. Her unique fragrance touched his nostrils: a combination of incense and sandalwood, the willow-scent aromas of hair and body.

  As he led his party to the exit, acknowledging acquaintances and friends, Teng took a circuitous route to avoid Golden Lotus. Fortunately, deep in conversation with Deng Nan-shi, Yun Shu had not spotted him.

  With a final backward glance into the theatre before following Bo-Bai and the others outside, Teng noticed Ying-ge addressing the Salt Minister’s concubine, bowing and whispering. What about, Teng could not imagine. Then both looked straight at him. Their expressions were cold. A horrible suspicion took root in his gut.

  Twenty-four

  Yun Shu rattled and bumped in a heavily curtained wooden box. It was dark in the carriage. Only echoes of the world reached her: rain drumming on the roof; the coachman abusing someone who blocked their way; snatches of drunken laughter. Yun Shu closed her eyes and attempted the mantra Worthy Master Jian had taught her: om mani padme … om mani padme … wishing she understood the words. But then, she wasn’t meant to.

  Yun Shu recognised the toll of a bell. It belonged to Golden Bright Temple. She squeezed her amulets to suppress fear. What use would she be if less than serene? As ever, Yun Shu doubted her fitness for the test to come. Every seventh day of the month she participated in Worthy Master Jian’s magical rites. The seventh day was when the divine and human worlds touched – briefly, tantalisingly. Worthy Master had explained it all. Yet for all the pain and inner sickness she suffered, his handsome, dignified face showed no sign of regeneration. If anything, his silver hair had whitened, not darkened.

  The carriage came to a sudden halt and the curtain was flung open. Her face veiled, Yun Shu stepped out into humid air, glimpsing a temple courtyard wet with rain. A thick, round pagoda rose into the night sky. Its topmost storey bulged and red lights glowed behind shrouded windows.

  A nameless priest escorted her to the closed door of the pagoda. He rapped out a secret pattern and was rewarded with a tinkling bell. Having received this sign, he waved her inside.

  It took a moment for Yun Shu’s eyes to adjust after the darkness of the carriage. The walls and roof were painted black and decorated with constellations and deities. The lacquered floor shone with images of rivers, mountains, lakes, cities. A single piece of furniture stood in the centre: a reading stand carved to represent Mount Kunlun, home of the Immortals, on which an ancient book of bamboo strips rested. A pale lantern cast a silvery light.

  In this crucible of inner preparation and meditation Worthy Master Jian sat cross-legged and perfectly still. Yet she sensed his frustration.

  ‘Yun Shu! Sit beside me. We shall clarify our intentions.’

  She timidly took up the lotus position. They both stared forward into the Infinite. For a long while neither moved and Yun Shu’s heart beat slowed: she was accustomed to silence, stillness, the creation of spirit-rooms. It startled her when he spoke again: ‘Yun Shu, are you receptive tonight?’

  His voice was kindly, patient. Again fear flickered. ‘I have prepared myself, Worthy Master.’

  ‘Good.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Yun Shu, it is now six months since we began this Great Work. A noble, lofty work, do you not agree?’ She bowed submissively. ‘Yet our progress is slow. We have still not progressed from the Stage of Ch’i.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, guiltily.

  Why did her voice tremble? She should be proud, exalted.

  ‘Yun Shu,’ he said, ‘you are aware that I am from an impeccable family?’

  Again she nodded.

  ‘My family was second in this province only to the Dengs and they have almost passed away. Old Deng Nan-shi is sick and his son a foolish wastrel. All my life I have been accustomed to obedience, power. The Dao sends me whatever I desire. And now I approach my fiftieth year, despite all my piety, all my mastery of the Dao’s secrets!’

  She ducked her head at the imbalance in his voice. He was rumoured to drink elixirs of mercury to prevent aging.

  ‘Yun Shu, if anyone is destined to join the Immortals it is me. But can I rely on you?’

  Was there pleading in his voice? The stone of fear in her heart softened a little. ‘Worthy Master,’ she said, ‘if you … I am ready. Let us ascend now if you wish.’

  She sensed his breath quicken. He rose, bowed to the effigy of Mount Kunlun, and led her towards the stairs.

  For the next few hours he used her in the Seven Places of the Seven Primes. All as specified in the bamboo strips. At first there was pleasure for her but that soon passed as the rite progressed. Soreness and pain forced her to gasp. Gasps she stifled lest he grow angry. He had struck her once for ruining the rite. All the while he held back his jing, his precious seed, as he had for twenty years.

  For long hours he harvested her life force, projecting it up his spine to swell the pearl of light that would one day make him Immortal. At intervals he forced her to drink a bitter, foul elixir that sent her head spinning, before gulping deeply himself.

  Worthy Master Jian rose and re-tied his gown. Bowing to the Five Directions, he departed quietly, leaving Yun Shu alone on the bed, her body and breasts shining with perspiration in the lantern light, her inner places bruised. The worst ache of all swelled in her spirit like an ugly toadstool releasing venomous spores.

  For days after the ceremony Yun Shu withdrew to her chamber, sick in soul and body. She suspected Worthy Master Jian had encouraged her to drink more of the bitter elixir than before. Each time a little more. She would have feared poison except he drank so much of the metallic, green sludge himself.

  Lady Lu Si attended her frequently
, tight-lipped with anger. Yun Shu knew very well what the older nun thought of Worthy Master Jian: a distrust she was beginning to share. But when she voiced her fears, Lady Lu Si cut the subject short. ‘Abbess Yun Shu,’ she said, genuinely distressed, ‘it is for you to decide what is best, not I! There can not be two Abbesses.’

  Yun Shu regarded her predecessor through bloodshot eyes. The bags beneath them hung like bruises. Her once shiny black hair, so thick and strong, was thinning. ‘I need good counsel,’ she whispered.

  She was surprised to see tears in the old nun’s eyes. ‘That is why I will remain silent. Remember, silence is thunder.’

  The next day she brought an unexpected visitor. Yun Shu had risen finally and was resting on a marble bench overlooking the lake. The monsoon rolled west, leaving a flawless blue sky. Despite sunshine on her face she felt cold inside.

  Yun Shu looked away uneasily as Lady Lu Si led her guest over, ashamed what he would make of her wan face and trembling hands.

  ‘I was told you are unwell,’ said Teng, examining her closely. ‘May I join you?’

  She nodded, indicating a marble bench beside her own. For a long while he seemed reluctant to talk. Yun Shu noticed Lady Lu Si had withdrawn, leaving them alone. Finally, he looked up. ‘Tell me,’ he said with unexpected passion, ‘have your meetings with Worthy Master Jian continued?’

  She blinked at him. Teng rose and began to pace the meditation platform.

  ‘No need to reply! I see the mischief. That rogue! No, I am to blame. It was I who gave him those accursed bamboo strips. I who translated their obscurities!’

  ‘I do not understand,’ she said.

  ‘Of course you do! Or, at least, should. Don’t you see that Jian is following slavishly, quite slavishly, the ancient method for gaining Immortality! Stage by stage, leap by hop! He is mad!’

  ‘It is a great honour,’ she mumbled. ‘He promised to ensure Cloud Abode Monastery does not pass to the Buddhists if I help him.’

  ‘The rogue!’ repeated Teng. ‘The Jian clan always lacked principle.’

  She might have mentioned what the Deng clan’s high principles had cost the populace of Hou-ming. ‘As ever, I have no choice in the matter,’ she protested.

  ‘Even so, I beg you not to drink the elixirs,’ he said. ‘Do not look so surprised I know about them! Remember I translated the infernal list of ingredients he is using. Utterly irresponsible to spend so much cash on dubious potions when half the city longs for a bowl of broth! Mad, I say!’

  Despite her pale cheeks, Yun Shu managed a feeble blush. ‘Then you must know about …’

  ‘Of course!’ he waved her embarrassment away. ‘Such practises are well known. But I worry about the elixirs. They contain, let us say, unnatural things.’ Teng laughed harshly. ‘Jian is a fool to be so credulous! If the bamboo books spoke truly we would hardly have found a pile of bones in the dead prince’s coffin.’

  Both fell silent. Again he settled on the marble bench. ‘Do you remember Mirror Lake, Yun Shu? How innocent we both were. Sometimes I dream of the limestone hills.’

  She watched him closely. ‘As do I,’ she said.

  Side by side they stared out across glittering Six-Hundred-Li Lake. Fishing boats and flocks of white birds floated between tree-clad islands.

  ‘You must take care,’ he said. ‘I need not mention Lady Lu Si’s concern for you.’

  ‘There, at least, you are mistaken,’ she said. ‘Lady Lu Si will never forgive me for becoming Abbess.’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘Is that what you believe?’

  ‘How could I believe anything else?’

  ‘I see. Yes, I see.’ Again he brooded. ‘Yun Shu, you need a little fun. A diversion from your duties and burdens. Just like Lady Lu Si herself at this time of year.’ He rose with a business-like air as though something had been settled. ‘Yes, that’s it.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I take it you are at leisure, Yun Shu, in two days’ time?’

  ‘I am, but …’

  ‘Then consider the matter decided.’

  With that he bowed and departed. Yun Shu was left to ponder the significance of two days’ time. Yet she made no alternative appointments, just in case.

  The mound stood near the Gate of Ten Thousand Victories, higher than the decaying city ramparts, more hillock than mound. Those still dwelling in Hou-ming called it The Grave. No more was necessary.

  It wore robes of grass and ferns. Hundreds of flowers planted by mourners. Petals of every shade and shape, blue to vermilion to white then back to blue. Why should not The Grave sustain colour and beauty? So much colour and beauty lay within it.

  On this exact day, forty-four years earlier, the mound had been constructed, layer by layer. Nearly two hundred thousand corpses, as well as countless dogs and cats. Even, absurdly, caged songbirds and parrots. Proof Prince Arslan’s vows were cast in stone. His dead brother’s grave mound cast a long, cold shadow over Hou-ming.

  Teng and Yun Shu stood to one side as Lady Lu Si knelt at the foot of the mound. Tears glinted on her once lovely cheeks. Her spirit was far away, mingling again with the companions of her youth. All banished too early. Too senselessly. Each day she woke to the insoluble guilt of survival and escape. If being used by dozens of Mongol braves and abandoned as dead, bleeding from every orifice, can be called escape.

  Yun Shu glanced at Teng. He was watching the old nun carefully as she knelt and wept. She felt an urge to take his arm and lean against him. Buttress his pity with her warmth.

  Lady Lu Si had told her how Teng, when just a boy, noticed her distress on an anniversary of the Great Sacrifice. ‘Aunty Lu,’ he’d said, ‘we shall go to The Grave and tell all those people they are not forgotten. Then I’ll cheer you up with a treat!’ His treat had been a picnic of wild fruit picked on Monkey Hat Hill. It had given Lady Lu Si heart to face another year. Every year since, he had taken her to visit the ghosts before arranging the best treat he could afford. A tale that moved Yun Shu deeply.

  After half an hour, Lady Lu Si rose and dusted down her skirts. When she joined the younger folk they bowed.

  ‘Well,’ she said, dabbing her eyes, ‘it is done for another year.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Teng.

  He led the two nuns in their blue and yellow robes back into the city. Although whole wards and districts still lay abandoned, home to vagrants and creeping vegetation, the area round prince Arslan’s palace was busy and populated. Before they entered a fashionable teahouse, Yun Shu cried out, ‘Look! Isn’t that the actress who was Su Lin in your play? Her voice is sweeter than a nightingale’s!’

  Teng followed her pointing finger. ‘I wonder what business she has in Prince Arslan’s palace,’ he said. His anxious expression made Yun Shu ask what troubled him. A question he brushed aside.

  Yet delightful hours followed. For once Teng had plenty of cash. Fine teas were served along with pastries and cakes, sweets and savouries. He drank wine, the ladies more sober refreshments. Yun Shu was presented with a health-giving cordial to counter her sickness.

  All the while, he exercised his considerable wit, sharing tales of actors vain as peacocks and theatre-owners miserly as squirrels. Towards the end of the long meal he grew serious.

  ‘Yun Shu,’ he said, ‘I have a confession. I invited you along not just for your pleasant company. No, it was to play matchmaker. Is that not so, Lady Lu Si?’

  The old nun smiled. ‘Teng told me,’ she said, ‘you believe I am angry with you for becoming Abbess. For stealing my position.’

  Yun Shu turned accusingly to Teng. ‘How could you? I told you in confidence!’

  He waved away her upset with a wine cup. ‘Hear Lady Lu Si out!’

  In a quiet yet firm voice the former Abbess explained the extent of Yun Shu’s mistake. ‘At first, when you asked for my advice, I always held back. Out of pride, perhaps, and hurt. But it is a long time since that has been my motive. I dread factions among the Serene Ones. I am af
raid to weaken your authority as Abbess.’

  Yun Shu reached over the table and took the older woman’s hand. ‘Well I insist on your advice from now on! Let there be no more misunderstandings between us.’

  The nuns talked earnestly as they walked back to Monkey Hat Hill, debating how best to avert the Buddhists’ claims. Teng followed behind, lost in thought.

  Before they parted at the foot of the Hundred Stairs, he said quietly to Yun Shu. ‘Come to Deng Mansions at noon tomorrow. There is something I must give you. While I still may.’

  She smiled at him. Never had he seemed so handsome. She felt reluctant to leave his company. ‘Your treat and your matchmaking have quite restored my health! Thank you.’

  ‘At noon,’ he said. ‘Time is pressing hard.’

  Noon the next day found Yun Shu outside Deng Mansions. A mournful bell tolled across the once great city of Hou-ming.

  Teng appeared promptly in the gatehouse, his bow of greeting low. She sensed he was nervous. Not to be outdone, her own bow exceeded his in gravity.

  ‘We are all politeness today,’ she remarked, adjusting her robes as she straightened. He watched her closely.

  ‘Surely politeness toward a guest is proper,’ he said. Dark shadows ringed his eyes. Under one arm he carried an ox bone scroll case capped at either end with carved jade stoppers. His clothes were creased as though recently slept in.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ she said.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘Come with me. We must talk frankly before Father discovers you. Then you’ll really see some politeness. You know how he dotes on you.’

  He led her across the courtyard to a door hanging on one hinge. Beyond lay a long corridor reeking of mould that terminated in a section of collapsed wall. Beetles and woodlice feasted on the wet wood.

  ‘The last big storm severely damaged this part of the house,’ he said, ‘and there is no money for rebuilding.’

  He led her to the rear gardens of Deng Mansions and the mound sculpted to represent Holy Mount Chang. Teng pointed at the moon-gazing pavilion on top of the false mountain. ‘We can talk privately there.’