The Mandate of Heaven

  An entire wing of Deng Mansions was ablaze. A loud crash was followed by swarms of angry sparks as roof beams collapsed. The old man stumbled towards the well for a bucket of water. Then the wind changed direction and enveloped him in smoke. Flames danced and skipped like gleeful devils, leaping from roof to roof. Empty family apartments that once echoed with voices and gossip and ambition crumbled in on themselves. Kitchens where servants cooked three centuries’ harvests became giant ovens preparing a last banquet of ruin. Corridors raced with fire rather than heedless, running children. Everything burned, even Deng Mansions’ looted heart, the ancient library building where generations of scholars had come to study and learn. Finally the great reception hall converted into a classroom.

  The ancient complex of buildings blazed on Monkey Hat Hill, visible from the city below. Some pointed in alarm. Others laughed to see the Dengs destroyed at long last. A crowd from nearby wards and Cloud Abode Monastery hurried to put out the fire but were too late. Two of Deng Nan-shi’s grown-up pupils braved the flames, wet scarves tied round their mouths, emerging from the smoke with the scholar’s limp body.

  Deng Mansions burned through the night. Only rectangles of blackened, smouldering beams and ash remained, over-looked by a peculiar mound shaped like Holy Mount Chang. A battered moon-gazing pavilion perched on it, unscathed by the inferno.

  Twenty-six

  Months later, two men – the first short, with an affable smile, the other broad as a village bully – bowed themselves out of the Noble Count of Lingling’s audience chamber.

  ‘Ensure refreshments are provided for these gentlemen,’ ordered Hsiung from his throne.

  Chao and Hua, their silks gaudier than ever since the fall of Chenglingji, looked suitably grateful for this mark of favour. Once they had gone, Hsiung instructed the other servants to follow, so only Chancellor Liu Shui remained. Both sat in silence, considering the spies’ news.

  It was noon and the broad window shutters were wide open, revealing all the glory of Holy Mount Chang, its slopes and many shrines bright in the crisp winter light. Within the audience chamber, lesser symbols of power – bronze offering tripods and carved friezes depicting Yueh Fei’s immortal deeds – also caught the pale sun.

  Hsiung sighed heavily and removed a black scholar’s hat with long earflaps in the style of the previous dynasty. ‘I should have expected it,’ he muttered. ‘I should have offered them my protection here.’

  Liu Shui pursed his wet, red lips. ‘They would not have come,’ he said. ‘It was their fate, perhaps. But to perish in such a way, that was unexpected.’

  Rising from the chair, Hsiung threw down the hat and paced before the window. ‘I suspect murder,’ he said. ‘And when the time comes, those responsible shall pay with their lives. And the lives of their families to the third generation!’

  ‘Robbery certainly occurred,’ mused Liu Shui. ‘How else are we to explain the confiscation of Deng Library, a most valuable collection? Not least because it contains many unique papers relating to our great inspiration, Yueh Fei. I shall make enquiries about the whereabouts of those documents. Such artefacts must not remain in the hands of Salt Minister Gui.’

  ‘I say it was murder!’ exclaimed Hsiung.

  Again Liu Shui pursed his lips. ‘Possibly. Probably. One must not jump to conclusions. That is how injustices occur that rob the wise ruler of his integrity before Heaven.’

  ‘How else can Teng’s death be explained?’

  ‘You heard the spies, Your Highness, he perished in the fire. The question is, was it started deliberately? Accidents are not murder.’

  As usual Hsiung felt his rage deflate under the scrutiny of Liu Shui’s arguments.

  ‘At least my old master escaped,’ he said. ‘Hua believes he is treated well at Cloud Abode Monastery. I shall send a box of silver for his maintenance.’

  Liu Shui nodded. ‘It shall be arranged, Your Highness. Now to the other matter they raised.’

  Picking up his hat, Hsiung resumed his seat on the throne. ‘You refer to the transfer of troops?’

  ‘Yes, Noble Count.’

  Chao and Hua reported the Mongols had halved their garrison in the Salt Pans. Instantly Hsiung had realised that revenge, complete and perfect revenge, lay within his grasp. Imagining such a possibility, he forgot the Dengs. There were enough bitter reasons of his own to seize the Salt Pans without using their fate as a pretext.

  ‘With my new fleet I could fall on them like a hawk! Then the Salt Pans would be ours and, with them, such revenue! Ah, that would be power, Liu Shui. The Mongols would fear me then! And any who have mistreated the slaves there will feel the harsh cut of their own whips.’

  The Noble Count’s chancellor nodded: ‘They appear to have made a foolish blunder.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Hsiung, ‘according to the Zhongs in Chenglingji, the Salt Pans have not been so poorly defended since the last dynasty fell.’

  ‘Which is all very strange.’ Liu Shui shifted huge buttocks in his chair, a lower, plainer seat than the Count’s. ‘It seems rather too tempting, rather too convenient. Perhaps it is a trap.’

  ‘There is such a thing as good fortune,’ protested Hsiung. ‘One must not always be suspicious.’

  ‘Perhaps. Assuming you capture the Salt Pans, Noble Count, what then? For the first time the Imperial authorities in the capital would really take note of us. They would be forced to send a large force to crush you. The salt monopoly is vital to them.’

  Hsiung put the hat back on his head, adjusting the earflaps so they pointed defiantly upwards. ‘Good! Then we can test my new fleet.’

  ‘A fleet, Noble Count, that is untrained and lacks experienced officers. What would be the consequence of its loss?’

  Now Liu Shui had his ruler’s full attention.

  ‘Surprise is a powerful weapon in war,’ Hsiung countered, ‘as is courage. But do not be alarmed, Liu Shui, I will take to heart your wise warnings.’

  ‘Please do,’ said the Chancellor, blandly. ‘And, Your Highness, please ensure your bodyguard are always close. Your exploits at Chenglingji have earned you many enemies.’

  ‘You are like a hen fretting for its chick,’ said Hsiung.

  ‘Hens are known to drive away evil spirits,’ pointed out Liu Shui. Then he, too, bowed himself out of the audience chamber, leaving the Noble Count alone.

  Shadows shifted. Hsiung remembered Teng as a boy, their games, alliances, quarrels. It seemed he had possessed no other friend since, at least, not of his own age or who shared so deep a bond. The audience chamber pooled with dark corners. Clouds advanced over the winter sun. Hsiung recollected Chao and Hua’s more pleasant piece of information – and how it might offer a temporary cure for loneliness.

  All day, a chamber in the Noble Count of Lingling’s palace was prepared for a special entertainment. It involved a private performance by a notable actress from Hou-ming who happened to be in Lingling to visit the shrines. She also happened to have travelled under the protection of two merchants named Chao and Hua.

  The lady in question applied much energy and enthusiasm to her preparations. Musicians were summoned from the town and auditioned. Several were rejected before she declared herself satisfied. Then came the matter of a suitable banquet while the entertainments unfolded, including those of the ‘looking at flowers and buying willows’ variety. In short, a delightful evening was planned for the Noble Count’s pleasure.

  Once the many preparations were complete – not least the lady’s make-up and tantalising outfits – she sprawled on a divan, fanning herself with a vacant expression on her pretty young face. In this pose Chao and Hua found her, having slipped past while the maids arranged their own hair.

  ‘Ying-ge!’ called a knowing voice. ‘Idling, are we?’

  She sat upright with a start. Her long-lashed eyes narrowed and her mouth – described by a recent admirer as resembling a carp’s – pouted angrily.

  ‘It is just you!’ she said, fanning hersel
f with extra vigour. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To see all is in readiness for the Noble Count,’ said Hua. ‘What else?’

  ‘With you, it could be anything.’

  The understanding between them was revealed by the way she glanced sideways at him. Chao, who knew all about it, chuckled coarsely.

  ‘Now, you two!’ he warned. ‘Hands to the oars.’

  Ying-ge rolled her pretty eyes. ‘Is it a large oar?’ she asked, sweetly.

  ‘You can tell me later,’ said Hua. ‘Now remember what we discussed.’

  She hid a yawn behind her fan.

  ‘How can I forget when you say it so often?’

  Hua grinned without mirth.

  ‘Well, that’s good then,’ he declared, stealing a sugared plum meant for the Noble Count on his way out.

  Hsiung’s gloom persisted over the afternoon. He tried to dispel it through intense sword practise with a local master and four hundred arrows discharged at targets dragged on wheels. At least his exertions provoked an appetite. Hsiung donned fresh silks then proceeded to the Chamber of Willow Music – as he was begged to refer to it by a demure maid who accosted him on the way.

  On entering he frowned. The plain room had been transformed by rolls of hanging gauze, especially round a large bed at the rear. A cushioned chair and low tables laden with fine bowls stood before it – everything necessary for a banquet. A space had been cleared at the foot of the table, marked out by silk curtains. Behind these, musicians waited on stools, watched by Hsiung’s bodyguards – evidently placed there by Liu Shui. As the Noble Count entered they struck up a stirring, yet subtle tune on pi-pa, ch’in, flute and drum. A girl in neat red and green silks appeared, fluttering on tiny lotus feet. She bowed deeply to her guest.

  ‘I am Ying-ge,’ she said, smiling as her face turned gently from side to side like a flower in a gentle breeze. ‘Will you dine, Noble Count, until I perform for your pleasure?’

  Hsiung could think of no other response than a graceless grunt. As soon as he was seated, a line of servants appeared with dishes – a hot soup of pork and pickles, omelette with meat sauce, duck and slivers of toasted almonds, beef shredded with dried mushrooms, bamboo shoots and fried frog legs. Finally his favourite: flower kidneys with hot sauce. As he dined Hsiung remembered the simple meals he and Teng enjoyed in Deng Mansions. A bowl of millet had been a feast to them. And now Teng would eat no more. Hsiung had seen too many fire-shrivelled corpses not to know what must remain of his old friend. Between each dish he drank bowls of fine wine to suppress melancholy. Finally he belched and looked up, for the music had stopped. Ying-ge knelt before him, her forehead touching the floor while her back remained perfectly straight.

  ‘The Noble Count appears sad,’ she said, glancing up at him with a concerned expression. ‘Is His Highness displeased with my arrangements?’

  ‘No. It is just that I learned of a friend’s death today.’ Hsiung frowned, surprised by himself. The revelation emerged so easily. At first he was afraid to have shared so much. But her face was kindly, so he added: ‘A friend from when I was a boy.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ying-ge. She brightened tentatively. ‘Shall I sing happy songs to make you happy?’

  His expression offered no encouragement either way.

  ‘Yes, I shall,’ she said. ‘With your permission. But only after I have performed very sad songs to honour your dear friend.’

  Her first was from the popular play, The Soul of Chen-nu Flees Her Body:

  Pictures of spring stir my feelings,

  Spray upon spray of green willows,

  The briefest brush of wooing swallows,

  Bees in pairs, golden orioles,

  Each longs one for the other.

  I know the Jade Emperor commends

  Twoness – as a model for all mankind.

  It was a shock for Hsiung to realise he was weeping. He, who never cried! Never showed weakness! No, he must stop now, this would not do. Ying-ge realised the effect of her song and, after hurried instructions to the musicians, began another:

  One stroke and the world’s glories are gone:

  Leaves of autumn in a cloud of dust.

  Spring, summer, autumn, winter revolving:

  Leaves of autumn in a cloud of dust.

  Hsiung brushed away a last tear.

  ‘My friend once recited a verse like that. Perhaps it was the same one. Even as a boy he was a scholar, you see, whereas I …’ Hsiung drained a full cup. ‘Now play your happy songs,’ he commanded. ‘I want to smile! To laugh!’

  But he looked at her with a sense of wonder. She had brought him tears, stirred emotions he thought dead in his soul. He would always be grateful to her for that. And her graceful beauty fascinated him.

  Towards midnight they lay on silken sheets, entwined in each other’s limbs. Everything about Ying-ge delighted him. She seemed so curious about his life and all he longed to become.

  ‘So you will sacrifice at the altars on Holy Mount Chang in a fortnight’s time?’ she asked, admiringly. ‘Why, you are like an emperor!’

  Hsiung chuckled and pulled her closer. He was blissfully drunk, his body glowing. ‘You sound like Liu Shui! Oh, he has many rites planned. Even an hour praying by myself in the Buddha Maitreya’s sacred caves. Afterwards I will emerge reborn.’

  Prompted by her steady interest, he told her of the ritual, all the while resting his head on her soft, yet firm, mounds. How fine it was to be the Noble Count of Lingling! Would so fine and beautiful a lady have anything to do with him otherwise?

  Before they fell asleep she asked, as though moved by a sudden thought: ‘What was the name of your friend?’

  ‘Which friend?’ he replied, dreamily.

  ‘The dead scholar you told me about.’

  ‘Oh, Teng. Deng Teng. Poor fellow.’

  He began to snore. Beside him, Ying-ge’s limbs stiffened and she stared intently into the darkness.

  Hsiung had heard this particular lesson many times before. If not from Liu Shui then, long ago, from his old master Deng Nan-shi in distant Hou-ming. Now, standing in Precious Forest Temple on Mount Chang, Hsiung stifled a yawn.

  ‘Thus,’ concluded Liu Shui, ‘the Sons of Heaven regulate Time and Space through the Proper Rites. Without this service the seas would boil and mountains crumble.’

  ‘I am not the Son of Heaven,’ pointed out Hsiung.

  ‘True, but you have been granted the Mandate of Heaven in Lingling County – and other places besides. It is surely significant your palace overlooks one of the sacred mountains upon which Heaven itself rests?’

  Hsiung was holding a large hat with seven tassels upon which heavy jade charms hung. Liu Shui wished him to wear this outlandish headgear for a whole night, calling it a Hat of Communication with Heaven.’

  ‘There is one reason I agreed to this,’ grumbled Hsiung, ‘and that reason still holds. After so many years of poor harvests I must do everything in my power to aid the people.’

  This answer pleased Liu Shui deeply, for his Buddha-like smile – so often absent of late – returned wider than ever. The Chancellor bowed very low.

  ‘Thus speaks one worthy of the Mandate of Heaven,’ he said. ‘Maintain yourself in purity all night and you shall be called upon at dawn.’

  It was a long night in the shrine room of Precious Forest Temple, slumped in front of the statues on a coarse hemp mat. Dozens of Hsiung’s ‘bravest and best’ patrolled the courtyard and walls, for Liu Shui was alarmed by reports from his spies that the Mongol court wished to assassinate the Noble Count in revenge for the loss of their Salt Fleet. Neither food nor wine were permitted. Nor was company of any kind and this lack troubled Hsiung more than an empty stomach. His hunger was very specific.

  In the weeks since Actress Ying-ge’s arrival he had summoned her more and more frequently; likewise his presents to her had increased in generosity, for he hoped to persuade her to remain in Lingling as his concubine after her pilgrimage to Holy Mount Chang wa
s complete. Maddeningly, she would only pout in reply and pretend to look serious, saying: ‘Noble Count, that was not why I came here!’ or ‘What of my dear parents in Hou-ming? I must return and ask their permission.’ The more she resisted his suggestions, the more he wanted her.

  Towards dawn a loud gong resounded through Precious Forest Temple and Hsiung rose reluctantly. Now he must place himself on display. Straightening his Hat of Communication with Heaven, he strode to the entrance and slid open the doors.

  The courtyard beyond was crammed with people: priests, monks, soldiers and officials from Liu Shui’s growing secretariat. Behind them came lines of townsfolk from Lingling and peasants drawn to the luck-bringing festival from hamlets and villages. At the sight of the Noble Count, the front ranks fell to their knees, followed by those behind. Hsiung surveyed the people in the aloof manner Liu Shui had advised. A deep silence reigned in the courtyard.

  Then the Noble Count descended to the group of priests, who rose, bowing and chanting continuously. They cleared a path through the crowd, out of the temple complex and onto the Holy Mount itself. Here a newly-built road climbed to a specially constructed altar above the temple. Soldiers from the Guards lined the way with flaring pine torches. Hundreds of lights danced on the dark hillside, mirroring the apparent jumble of constellations above. Glancing back, Hsiung saw a red dawn behind the eastern hills.

  With Liu Shui at his side he climbed the cinder road. Still no one spoke or sang. The only noise was the steady chant of the priests, Daoist and Buddhist, and the wind against the mountain. At the top he found more priests sacrificing thrice-blessed cocks and hens on a side altar to deter demons. On the main altar, decorated with a carved relief of the Emperors of the Five Colours, Hsiung found a scroll designed to aid germination of all seeds presently sleeping in the earth. He picked it up and pretended to read. Liu Shui had taught him the supplication by rote yet Hsiung caught himself mumbling as whole phrases fled his mind. He felt light-headed from hunger. Giving up, he stood with his head bowed, apparently in profound communion with the Jade Emperor. A sumptuous breakfast filled his imagination.