The Mandate of Heaven

  In this guise they entered Chunming and collected, as Teng had intended, a curious and admiring crowd. What could be more natural than leading such notable travellers to the foremost Daoist shrine in the city, Golden Lotus Monastery? Its abbot, Wang Daguang, head of the Provincial Daoist Council, greeted the Serene Ones with garlands of flowers.

  Well he might. The Daoist cause in Chunming had suffered under Mongol rule and the arrival of so many blessed Nuns stirred immediate excitement among respectable wives and ladies. Although women were unimportant in nearly every respect, the Abbot understood their power when it came to household devotion.

  At last the Nuns of Serene Perfection were treated with honour, especially after it became known a descendent of Chunming Province’s most famous son, the illustrious poet Yun Cai, led the Holy Ladies. Hundreds gathered to stare and make offerings at Golden Lotus Monastery, prompting Abbot Wang Daguang to establish an impromptu temple market.

  All that summer Teng went back and forth between Chunming and Wei Valley, accompanied by Wang Daguang and the faithful Shensi. He found it an uncultivated place in every respect, its population halved by war, banditry and the incompetence of a Mongol lord – a descendent of a certain Khan Bayke, now thoroughly Chinese in outlook and as poor as those he ruled. Hence, Teng bought a large estate for a trifle. With it came a noble title that once belonged to his ancestor, Yueh Fei: Lord of Wei.

  When he returned to Chunming expecting praise and gratitude, Yun Shu turned away, her eyelids fluttering dangerously.

  ‘I see you are angry with me,’ he said, taking her aside.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Because Wei Valley belonged to the Yuns! It belonged to my family! Did not Yueh Fei state in the scroll you gave me that it should be ours forever? And now it is lost to us forever!’

  He smiled. ‘Forever is a long time,’ he said, ‘perhaps it need not be so long.’

  ‘Oh, do not provoke me!’

  Teng maintained his faint smile. ‘I want to. I have always wanted to. Besides, forever could be as short as a week if … but I must do this properly.’

  The next day Wang Daguang called upon Yun Shu with gifts and a proposal on behalf of his new friend, Deng Teng. The Abbot played the role of matchmaker with gusto, outlining the numerous advantages of such a match for one and all, not least the continuation of the noble line of Yun Cai. ‘Think what a blessing that would be for our Province!’ declared the Abbot.

  Afterwards Yun Shu sought out Teng’s company.

  ‘It seems everyone thinks I should resign my position as Abbess and breed like the Ten Thousand Creatures,’ she said. ‘Is that why you asked for my hand?’

  Both stared at different corners of the room.

  ‘We do owe it to our ancestors to produce heirs,’ conceded Teng, cautiously. ‘You know that as well as I. It was Father’s dearest hope. You were the daughter-in-law he always sought for me. His face lit up when you entered the room. But that is not why I ask. It is because I owe it to my heart. Perhaps you feel the same, dearest Yun Shu? Do you owe it to your heart?’

  If she did, no immediate sign was given, for she bowed and left in evident agitation. Teng cursed himself for approaching such a delicate matter too bluntly. He feared Yun Shu believed he did not honour her. That she would never surrender her position as Abbess.

  When Teng reported their conversation to Wang Daguang, the wily old priest smiled without revealing his teeth.

  The refugees moved into Three-Step-House in autumn, nearly a year after leaving Hou-ming. They found it half ruined by neglect. Teng felt instantly at home amidst decaying roofs and walls, mildew and cobwebs, ghosts of former greatness.

  During the bitter winter that followed Yun Shu agreed to become his wife, resigning her position as Abbess in favour of Lady Lu Si. A change widely anticipated, for people are neither fools nor easily fooled. Having fulfilled her duty to save the Nuns of Serene Perfection, it was clear Yun Shu felt no desire for the long, arduous task of re-building the holy order. And to be the Lord of Wei’s wife offered great honour in a small world. Most importantly, she did owe her heart to Teng. To their longing for happiness in this world not the next.

  Two miscarriages and a stillbirth demanded all the heart that the newlyweds could muster. Yun Shu grew certain Worthy Master Jian’s elixirs had poisoned her womb. After each loss her husband found a hundred reasons why it could not be true. As someone who had returned from the dead he scorned obstacles.

  Yet Yun Shu often stared bitterly into space or grew querulous and Teng laboured hard to distract her. They talked intimately at night, their chamber lit by glowing lamps, swapping poems and word games, reminiscing about Hou-ming and its characters, enjoying the simple pleasures of well-cooked food and strong wine. Or they would laugh over the trials of setting up home in this strange district with its even stranger accent. Later, when lamps were blown out, he marvelled at her knowledge of the bedroom arts. Some good had come of the bamboo books, after all.

  Yun Shu pressed him to use Chao and Hua’s looted fortune to build a new Cloud Abode Monastery, though it could be no more than a shadow of the Nuns’ stolen glory. A boundary wall, a gatehouse, a shrine, a dormitory: they could afford no more. Even that hampered Teng’s plans for Three-Step-House and the village’s broken water wheels. Of course he agreed. He found it hard to deny his wife anything dear to her heart.

  In one matter he did not consult anyone, other than the casket containing Deng Nan-shi’s bones and spirit. A portion of Three-Step-House was set aside for a school, teaching any pupil who could pay a modest fee. There Teng led classes in the Five Classics required by the previous dynasty’s Imperial Examinations, just as his father had taught the boys of Hou-ming. Teng never lost faith that the Emperor’s Golden List would be restored as the proper means by which one gained high office, instead of wealth or birth or powerful friends.

  Nearly three years after the Nuns of Serene Perfection fled Hou-ming Province, Cloud Abode Monastery was in a state of excited gestation prior to its rebirth. Yet Yun Shu still did not carry the child they craved.

  Gongs clanged and incense smouldered. Droning prayers continued into the afternoon. Twenty Buddhist monks from nearby Whale Rock Monastery arrived to offer a blessing. The new monastery’s chief servant, Eunuch Bo-Bai, ensured the crowds were marshalled and that all priests, nuns and magicians were in their allotted places. He took a grave, dignified pleasure in his office and the crowd of country people viewed him with undisguised awe.

  Eventually all but the most patient and pious among the well-wishers drifted down to the festival gathering pace in the village square. It was proper to leave the conduct of the rites to those best qualified – and generously paid – to enact them. People declared excitedly that a plentiful harvest could be expected with such a fine new monastery to bring the valley luck.

  Teng also tired of chanting and prayers. Descending the new Hundred Stairs, he remembered how many times he had travelled their namesake in Hou-ming. Yun Shu remained at the inauguration, assisting Abbess Lu Si.

  When Deng Teng reached the market place he sensed a changing mood. Everywhere people looked anxiously towards the road. A few stallholders discreetly packed away their wares.

  He strode deeper into the market, glad to meet Shensi on the way accompanied by Ts’u and Ts’an, all wearing swords.

  ‘Trouble,’ said Shensi.

  Teng nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a travelling holy man had appeared as if from nowhere. There came the sound of running feet. A dozen youths bearing halberds and other weapons gathered round their officers, Ts’u and Ts’an, for Teng had organised a militia in the village to deter brigands.

  ‘Guests,’ said Shensi.

  ‘It is polite to greet one’s guests,’ said Teng. ‘I shall do so before they take offence.’

  Conspicuous in his scholar’s robes, Teng walked through the subdued market until he encountered the source of the
disturbance. Twenty armed men guarded wagons laden with boxes. Another carriage, its ornately carved doors closed, stood motionless. Horses snorted while grooms unpacked bags of grain. That small point set Teng more at ease.

  ‘Lower your weapon,’ he murmured to Shensi.

  Teng walked over to the carriage with fancy doors. It looked oddly familiar, built in a style he remembered from Hou-ming Province. Then the door swung open and he stepped back in surprise. A round, Buddha-like man squeezed through the narrow entrance. Once upon the ground, he reached inside and helped down a boy – little more than three years old – who clutched the fat man’s fleshy hand and stared fearlessly at the huge soldiers on their vast horses. Teng recognised a likeness in the child’s face. He turned to the fat man and bowed low.

  ‘Liu Shui,’ he said, ‘delighted to see you here!’

  The old man returned the bow. ‘Honourable Deng Teng, how I grieved to hear of your noble father’s death!’

  ‘I see you are as well-informed as ever,’ said Teng, glancing at Ts’u and Ts’an, who avoided his eye. ‘Honour us deeply by being our guest at Three-Step-House.’

  Darkness had long fallen by the time the banquet celebrating the inauguration of Cloud Abode Monastery ended. Guests departed for chambers all over Three-Step-House or in the village below. Teng, however, lingered in an audience room beside the hall. He was not alone. Liu Shui, who had presented himself to the local worthies as a merchant-prince seeking good fortune by patronising the new monastery, sat with an untouched bowl of wine on the low, lacquered table beside him. At his request, Yun Shu was summoned from the women’s quarters to join them. With her came the small boy who had stepped from the carriage. He lay asleep in a servant’s arms, wrapped in blankets. The adults sat silently, examining the child.

  ‘We are honoured by your presence,’ said Teng. ‘Does the noble cause of Yueh Fei still prosper?’

  Liu Shui shook his head. ‘We endure.’

  ‘My ancestor will be glad even of that,’ said Teng.

  ‘I have not come to involve you in our struggles,’ said the fat man. ‘Quite the opposite. I have come with gifts.’

  ‘You are kind,’ said Teng.

  ‘Perhaps. First, the boxes in the wagons bearing Salt Minister Gui’s seal. Can you imagine what they contain?’

  ‘No.’ Teng turned to his silent wife with a smile to set her at ease. ‘Can you?’

  Yun Shu shook her head. She appeared distracted after her exertions during the rites. Teng easily imagined her contradictory feelings as Lady Lu Si led the ceremonies in the role of Abbess. Yet resigning that position, one of no practical importance in the world since the Nuns of Serene Perfection lost their ancient role as Chenghuang’s guardians, had been entirely her own choice. Liu Shui’s voice disturbed his thoughts.

  ‘I have a pleasant surprise for you,’ said the fat man, ‘the wagons contain all that remains of Deng Library, which is to say, most of it. There are many relics of Yueh Fei. You would be surprised how I gained possession of them.’ Liu Shui’s smile grew wolfish. ‘By the way, Lady Yun Shu,’ he added, ‘the last I heard, your father is well. He has been posted to supervise a new Salt Pans in the Yangtze Delta.’

  Yun Shu nodded with every sign of gratitude for this information. Yet it was noticeable she made no further enquiries.

  ‘Are you certain?’ asked Teng, sceptically. He was referring to the restoration of Deng Library, not the Salt Minister’s posting.

  ‘Quite certain,’ said Liu Shui, ‘I have expended a great deal to be certain. The Salt Minister only agreed to surrender the library he stole from your father when I threatened to reveal that certain paintings he once sold for a large profit are forgeries. Paintings I believe you know rather too well.’

  Teng bowed low. ‘A fitting irony. If only my father were here to see this!’

  Liu Shui cleared his throat. ‘I have another gift, if you will accept it.’ He glanced at the boy sleeping in the servant’s arms. ‘I suspect you have already guessed the child’s father.’

  Teng nodded. After all, the likeness was remarkable.

  ‘What is the boy’s name?’ he asked.

  ‘Hsiung,’ said Liu Shui. ‘What else?’

  Yun Shu and Teng exchanged looks. She nodded fiercely and he relaxed, reaching out to take her hand though it was hardly decent in company. Liu Shui glanced away to spare them embarrassment, tears glistening in his eyes.

  ‘What happened to Little Hsiung’s mother?’ asked Yun Shu.

  The fat man’s expression grew bland. ‘She died suddenly.’

  ‘How terrible,’ murmured Yun Shu, looking at the child. ‘I know all about lacking a mother. As does my husband.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Teng. ‘Yet for Little Hsiung, we shall do our best to fill that lack.’

  ‘Then I have every reason to sleep well tonight,’ muttered Liu Shui. ‘Every reason.’

  Not everyone slept. Many in Wei Valley had no wish for temporary oblivion unless it flowed from wine. The festival in the village below carried on into the night, punctuated by fireworks, raucous singing and countless draughts of ‘green wine’. An impromptu circle dance between unmarried youths and maidens had to be dispersed by anxious parents. Even so, a few couples used the confusion to slip into the darkness.

  It was a night when joy reigned in Wei Valley. Not only had a rightful Lord of Wei returned – and was not his wife a descendent of the poet Yun Cai! – but the new Lord was expending his own cash to build waterwheels, irrigation ditches, and clear ground left uncultivated by Khan Bayke’s descendents. He had even established a school where none had existed since the last dynasty fell. To many, that seemed the greatest blessing of all in a land where sword, rather than brush, held sway. Little wonder they conceived dangerous hopes.

  * * *

  Up the hill, on the roof tiles of Three-Step-House, the Heavenly Official sat with knees pulled up to his chin. He was deciding where to fly next in search of flawless virtue. It seemed impossible to find anyone worthy of Heaven’s Mandate.

  Beneath the clay tiles he sensed Teng opening box after box and peering at the ancient scrolls and documents with growing excitement. Abruptly, the scholar stopped, touched his chin and smiled.

  Laying down a dusty book, he made his way to a chamber where Yun Shu knelt beside a small boy’s cot, stroking his hair to soothe him back to sleep. She glanced up. Her husband entered and she motioned him to be quiet as he knelt beside her. Reaching out, he took her free hand, entwining his fingers in hers so earnestly and lovingly she smiled at his foolishness. Continuing to stroke the child’s head, she lifted Teng’s ink-stained hand to her lips and held it there for a long moment.

  On the roof, the Heavenly Official sighed. No sign of Heaven’s Mandate here, just common affection. Unpromising material for a noble report to the Jade Emperor. Perhaps he should fly to the Great Khan’s palace in Dadu and see whether anyone virtuous might be found among the grandees gathered in that splendid place. But ambitious minds, though promising when it came to gaining Heaven’s Mandate, seemed narrow, dull and disagreeable after the pleasant day he had spent among the peasants of Wei Valley. Yet he was well aware that wickedness and bad faith were just as rife among them as in the Emperor’s court. Only their scope for harm was smaller.

  The Heavenly Official watched the Lord of Wei and his wife tiptoe, hand in hand, from the sleeping child’s chamber to their bed. Suddenly he felt lonely. With a thoughtful nod he wrote three glimmering characters in the air with his forefinger. Pine. Bamboo. Plum. The characters glowed from gold to silver then faded. Later that night something quickened into life in Yun Shu’s womb.

  It was time to leave these mortals to whatever future they might fashion together. A future cultivating the Dao’s eternal cycles of growth and withering. One sown with goodwill, harvested by kindness … perhaps. No future is fixed where hearts float like clouds.

  Reaching into his writing case, he unfolded the magical goose, hopped onto its back and rose int
o a heaven of space and peaks and stars – a thousand blessings of cloud.

  Author’s Note

  As with the previous novels in this trilogy, Taming Poison Dragons and Breaking Bamboo, the characters and places are fictional. An exception is the hero-general Yueh Fei, whose memory is still venerated in China to this day.

  The finally victory of the Mongols over the Song Dynasty in 1279 meant alien invaders now controlled the Middle Kingdom. Their Yuan Dynasty commenced with a semblance of good government under Khubilai Khan but by the time of his death their rule had deteriorated. Economic ruin set in: overtaxation by foreign tax collectors; inflation caused by printing worthless paper money (the Mongol version of ‘quantitative easing’); costly wars; and extravagant wastefulness within the court.

  The oppression and exploitation of native Chinese, who were literally fourth-class citizens in their own land, contributed to the people’s troubles. Divisions between Chinese Daoists and Tibetan Buddhists imported by the invaders stirred religious discord. Khubilai Khan’s successors proved increasingly inept and corrupt, provoking numerous rebellions of the kind led by Hsiung and his Yueh Fei Rebels.

  Scholar-officials like Deng Nan-shi and Teng found themselves ejected from the upper strata of society, ranked lower than prostitutes. Crucially, the Imperial Examinations that once provided their gateway to high office had been abolished. Little wonder scholars detested the Mongols and mocked them as unwashed barbarians unfit to rule. Many literati were forced to gain an ignoble living as teachers and popular artists. Some, like Teng, wrote commercial dramas for the theatre. The scholars’ fate demonstrates both the fragility of all culture and its ability to endure. In the end, writing brushes proved mightier than swords.

  One or two commentators have suggested that in Breaking Bamboo the Mongols were presented in a far too negative way. Such critics will certainly be affronted by The Mandate of Heaven. The three viewpoint characters are all Chinese with little reason to love the ‘barbarian’ invaders. In reality, of course, there were as many ‘good’ Mongols as there were ‘bad’ Chinese – although contemporary notions of good and bad differed deeply from our own. The fact remains, however, that their government became emblematic in China of misused, incompetent power. Certainly that is what the Mongols represent to Teng, Hsiung and Yun Shu.