by Jeremy Han
“The secret memorial hall to the Brocade Guards had been burnt to the ground?” Ji asked, shocked at this outrage. “Damn them to hell!” The commander shouted and banged the table.
“Yes Lord. When we arrived, it was burnt to the ground. So all we have is a list of men on active duty that night, but who lived and who died we do not know.” Li handed a folded piece of paper to Ji Gang.
Ji Gang unfolded the paper hastily, anxious to read the names. He read the list of soldiers that were assigned to protect the emperor and there were thirty names. Of these he knew that seven escorted the emperor out that night, based on what the abbot had told him. But which seven survived? He scanned the list again. He imagined the fire that consumed the small wooden shrine hidden amidst the bamboo forests. He could not help but feel cheated. “Somebody is covering the tracks, making it impossible for us to establish what happened that night.” Ji mused. “Somebody is protecting the identities of those who lived and died that night.” He muttered to himself, lost in thought.
“Zhao Qi…” Ji Gang whispered to himself. His men looked at each other, wondering why their commander had that faraway look, but they did not dare to interrupt his reverie.
The commander spoke as though he was talking to himself, “Among those in the list, the one whose status you must ascertain would be the commander of Jian Wen’s guard: Zhao Qi.”
“Lord, why do we need to know the identities of the bodyguards?” Yong asked.
“So we will know who we are up against. It is always better to know your enemy.” Ji raised a finger as he lectured his men. “Do not fall under the assumption that our prey is unguarded. There are many who want him to live, and among those are powerful men. If he was escorted out of the city by imperial bodyguards, then we have to assume that he would still be under their protection. And they are as good as we are.”
“Lord, why in particular this man Zhao?” Li asked.
Ji took awhile to compose his thoughts. “Zhao was known as the emperor’s ‘Pet Tiger’.
“How good is he, Lord?” This time Ma Hun asked, eager to know who their opponent was.
Ji explained, “At the former barracks of the imperial bodyguards, there stood a tree with its barked ripped. It looked like it was mauled by a tiger. The tree was where Zhao practiced his skills. He was given the nicknamed because he is one of the best practitioners of the Tiger Fist. He could ravage a tree with his fingers. Imagine what it would do to flesh and bone? He came to fame when he saved his platoon singlehandedly from a Mongol ambush.”
“Lord Ji, do you know him?” An asked, curious to know why Ji seemed to understand Zhao so well.
The commander smiled. “Our paths crossed before.” Then he was silent. His men did not ask. This was not a social gathering where they got to know one another better.
“What are your orders, Lord?” His men echoed.
“Put all your efforts into finding Wen. He is the key.” He said to Ma and An.
Turning to Li and Lu, he said “Find the men on the list. Find out everything you can. Use whatever means necessary.”
EIGHTEEN
Yula’s face was pale. Her world swooned, and another wave of nausea hit her, causing her body to heave. She controlled it as best as she could by closing her eyes tightly to ward off the giddiness. Even in darkness, the inky background swirled like whirlpools, and this time she succumbed; she leant over the side of the boat and vomited. She heaved again and felt the bitter bile juices travel through her throat, into her mouth, and then out of it in uncontrollable spasms. Ohh…the smell….
“Hey…don’t puke on my boat. Don’t stink it up!” The boatman shouted at her in his sing-song accent that identified him as a local of the region. The man stood at the rear of the boat working the oars. He was dark and lean. He wore a straw hat to cover his face from the sun and his clothes were a faded blue due to the constant exposure to heat and light. They had engaged the man to take them up the Grand Canal, where they could hitch a ride on a larger craft to sail up the Changjiang ‘Long River’ that would take them into the deep interior of the Ming empire.
Yula wondered why they couldn’t give her a horse. She had never travelled on water before and felt terribly sea-sick from the currents bucking the boat. When they reached the jetty, her legs were already too weak to stand. She was embarrassed that her legs were shaking as they descended the steps onto the boat. Long graciously held out his hand to support her, but she brushed him away. No way was she going to need a man to buttress her footing. When Long offered to rub her temples to relieve her giddiness, she growled at him and he backed off. Zhao could not hide his amusement, and Long grinned back at his commander. Both knew it was just a show of toughness.
As her puke hit the water, the whitish mess blossomed into the depth. Fish swam upward and started to eat the remains of her breakfast. She opened her eyes and watched in amazement as the river creatures emerged from the murky deep, drawn by food; never mind where it came from, darted in speedy jerky movements as they ate her vomit. She stared as her saliva formed silky bonds that stretched downward. She was fascinated by the variety of fish; the colours, sizes and shapes, but was also disgusted that there were creatures that feasted on puke.
“I guess that’s why Mongols seldom eat fish. You just might be eating other people’s puke.” She muttered through a sour and dry throat. She turned and faced the men. Long rushed over with a towel and wiped her face. He cooed lovingly, “It’s alright. It’s like that for some people, especially those who have never travelled by water before.”
After wiping her face, she opened her eyes and spoke weakly,
“I can see why Mongols eat only sheep and cows. They eat grass which is clean. I can’t imagine you Han eating fish and pigs that eat rubbish.”
She took a swig of water drinking large gulps of it. Their little boat passed the riverside houses as it meandered along lazily. There were lots of activities along the side of the canal; people moving various goods as boats brought in rice and salt from the south, bales of silk and cloth from the north. The boatman said jovially,
“You ain’t seen anything yet. Fish eating puke is not the worst. When we pass the city’s edge, you will see lots of fish again. And this time you’ll be surprised by what they eat.” He smiled exposing the uneven teeth he had.
“What do they eat?” She rasped.
“At the edge of the city is where they dispose the shit of city, there you will find the fattest fish and the busiest fishermen. The fish there all grow fat!”
“Orrrrppp….” Yula heaved again. The boatman laughed loudly. She just remembered that two nights ago, they ate fish from a stall in the city. The cook at the roadside eatery proudly told them that the fish was freshly caught that morning. She had asked Long Wu why the fish tasted like mud. Was it because they ate mud? Now she swore never to eat fish again. In her discomfort, she didn’t notice that the boat was approaching a half-moon bridge. There was a group of boys playing on it. They were about seven to ten years old, a mischievous age. Playing, laughing, running about: until they saw the approaching boat. Then someone who looked like the leader; a boy with his hair cropped all around leaving only a small patch in the centre, pointed at the boat, diverting the attention of the group. They were too far away to hear what he said, but the group burst out laughing as they all gestured at the little boat. They ran over to the side of the bridge that faced the boat like soldiers defending a fortress wall.
“Oh no! Damn you brats! ” The boatman started to yell obscenities at them, but the boys laughed louder. The current was carrying the boat forward towards the inevitable. He cursed in his tongue the way that river workers would, but it had no effect on the boys because they knew that there was nothing the boatman could do except stir in his own impotent rage. They laughed louder.
Zhao knew what was going to happen. Long anticipated it too, but his concern was for the lady leaning against the bow of the boat, heaving into the water, oblivious to anything else. Zhao
retreated under the canvass sheet that provided shade on the boat just as he heard the pitter-patter of urine raining down onto the boat, drenching both Long and Yula and dirtying the boat. The boys laughed even more rambunctiously as they aimed at the raging boatman. Zhao could not stop laughing too.
After they had washed themselves by the river to get rid of the sour stink of dried urine, the little party docked by the side of the canal and prepared to rest for the night. By now, Yula had recovered from her first, and to her, the last boat ride of her life. She said the next time she will either walk on the water or drown. After she recovered, she clubbed Long on the head, scolding him in a loud and colourful language. The Mongolian tongue sounded strange to all of them, but the tone that lovers used to rebuke their partners were universal. Zhao and the boatman could not help but laugh their guts out at the meekness of their comrade. Zhao shook his head as he tried to picture the man Long Wu was. He was an imperial bodyguard, specially selected and trained; he guarded the emperor with valour. And now, he allowed this lady who was shorter than him bawl him out. Zhao looked at the boatman and they laughed together, the latter showing rows of bad teeth. As laughter racked his body, his bony frame heaved and his ribs were visible under the torn shirt.
After the cussing, Long was sent to buy food; he was severely warned not to buy any creature that ate shit. She made it clear to him that if he returned with anything that has fish in it; he would be swimming with them instead of travelling on the boat with the rest of the humans. She said it more than once, nagging like a wife. Long Wu later remarked to the laughing men that it was her way of showing affection; if she was truly pissed, she would have slit his throat to save her breath. He returned with meat loaves, white steaming wheat buns with a smooth texture and a clay pot of stewed meat in black sauce fragrant with spices. To kill time, the boatman took out two bamboo fishing rods to try their luck. Lighting up a large canvass lantern that cast an eerie glow over the water, they ate while waiting for the fish to bite. Zhao sat at the dock with the old man as they shared their food. They dipped the loaves into the pot, soaking the white bread dripping black. The sauce of the stew was flavoured by cinnamons, star anise, garlic and pepper. This was a southern dish and Zhao knew why Long had chose it. The man was from the south, and he obviously missed his home. The meat was boiled long enough to melt the fat. When they put pieces of meat into their mouth, heaven oozed. Between mouthfuls, they struck a conversation.
“How long you been rowing?”
“All my life. My father was one, so what else can I learn? Unless you become a trade apprentice, you can’t learn a trade.” It was not easy to become a tradesman or craftsman if one was not formally inducted as a disciple of a master.
“Guess so.” Zhao replied.
“You should know. You a tanner right?” The boatman continued, “How was your master like? Was he hard on you?”
“My master was old when I joined him. So he was quite happy to have a disciple who would take over. He didn’t treat me too badly.” Zhao blended some truth into his story. His master was old because Zhao joined him when he was a fugitive running from Yong Le. The lonely old man was only too glad someone wanted to become his apprentice, and there was no way he could ever ill-treat a man like Zhao who had the aura of a warrior. The master died not too long after, and Zhao had been taking care of the business ever since.
The inquisitive old man queried, “So why are you travelling with two escort guards? You can’t be having some treasure inside that roll of stinking leather, do you?” He nodded at the strips of leather rolled together that concealed the sabre. Long and Yula were carrying weapons and that immediately revealed they were in the armed profession. Tanners do not need armed guards.
“We are childhood friends.” Another half-truth: Zhao and Long served as young men but did not know each other until they were in their twenties. “They told me that they will be escorting a caravan to the west, then south into Xizang ‘Tibet’. There is a need for tanners there.” Again it was a half-truth. The way to Xizang was through Sichuan, which was where they told the boatman they were going.
“Trying your fortune huh?”
“Too many tanners here. And well, it’s time for me to take an apprentice, so I can relax.” He emphasized the point by lying down and stretching lazily.
“True. So many people here. Trade is flourishing and I agree; you should seek your fortune in new places.”
“Yeah, tired of being just a nobody.”
“Just be careful; you never know what the people there are like. They aren’t civilized like us you know.”
“Yeah, one can’t be too careful. You never know when danger might come. Even sailing on the canal under a bridge can be so dangerous.”
The boatman chuckled his understanding. They were like good friends now, after having the ice broken by sharing the ordeal of a urine bath. On the boat, Yula and Long sat side by side after their meal. She had been tender towards him after he returned; she felt bad for being so hard on him. She looked up at the resplendent stars shining brightly like gems on a black velvet cloth. The moon was like the diamond and the stars its fragments.
“There is a saying that our ancestors look down upon us from the heavens.” She mused.
“They must be wondering why you are with a Han now.”
“They will understand; they saw the circumstances we lived through.”
“They would wish us well?”
“Yes of course. They understand the life of a nomad, the danger and suffering brought about by infighting among the clans and how brutal we can be to our own people. Many of our clansmen wish to live a peaceful life.”
Long shrugged, “I’ve always thought Mongols loved to go to war; either they fight us or they fight themselves.”
She shook her head, “No. That’s what the Han think. But my ancestors went to war, to invade the Central Plains simply because of one word: survival. There is not enough grassland to accommodate so many clans, and when winters come, people die. The land is too harsh for us to live, so the only way was to take your lands.”
“Just like us now? All we want is a simple life, and to get it, we are willing to risk all?” Long asked.
Yula did not reply. She gazed ahead into the stars, mumbled softly in her own language her desire for a settled life so that her ancestors would hear, but with her hand, she communicated her feelings for Long by placing her hand over his. An unlikely pair, a Mongol refugee and a former imperial bodyguard -- fugitives linked together in a way that only heaven could have designed: love. They sat in silence and pondered the future together.
NINETEEN
She covered her ears. The exploding firecrackers made her scream in delight. She opened her eyes to watch the Lion Dance. The ‘lions’ comprised of a team of two men. One man held the lion’s head, while the other formed the body and tail by bending ninety degrees and holding on to the waist of the lead man. The leader held the shizitou ‘Lion’s Head’, which was a heavy object complete with batting eyelids and a gasping mouth. It was lined with colourful ‘fur’ made of thick green and red velvet with white trimmings. To the rhythm played by a team of musicians, the lions danced, fought and raced against each other to reach its’ destination, which was the home of a rich merchant. The rhythm started slowly with a rolling drum beat, and the sleeping lions started to wake. They followed the beat of the drum mimicking the actions of an animal awaking. Scratching, stretching and shaking its massive head, the man-animals got into action as the crowd clapped. They mimicked the actions of the mythical King of the Beast; from the start of the dance, the sleeping lions were roused. They woke up reluctantly. Yawning, scratching, shaking off the fleas and preening itself, the lions became fully awake and entered into combat mode: shaking its mane, pawing its opponent and displaying threatening gestures against its rival as the tempo of the drum and cymbals increased. The audience followed the lions, cheering and clapping as the man-beasts tried to outdo its competitor.
F
ifteen year old Li Po ran ahead of her father, following the procession excitedly. She had never seen such a grand affair. The two older men, her uncle, the Farmer, and her father the Acrobat, strolled leisurely behind her. The Acrobat’s face reflected his only child’s delight. They followed her at a distance as she ran, clapping and cheering for the lions. Finally, the procession arrived at its destination: the mansion of the richest merchant in town. The villa’s gate was opened wide to welcome the lions. The wooden doors had posters that proclaimed ‘double happiness’ to the wedding couple. The lions were there to greet and escort the groom, who will go and fetch his bride. There was a red sedan chair, elaborately carved and painted with gold leaf. Its front was covered by a silk screen and four porters waited by its side. The Master-of-Ceremonies came out and handed out red packets to the lion dancers and to the accompanying band. And when the music started again, another stream of fire crackers exploded, adding to the noise and mood. The bright red wrapping of the fire crackers scattered and lined the road like rose petals.