by Jeremy Han
He approached it stealthily, each step measured and light, until he could touch the door. The wooden door was cold to the touch and the singing continued undisturbed, the singer unaware of the man just outside, or did not care. Then the Farmer pushed the door and rushed in, weapon at the front.
FIFTY ONE
The Farmer froze. His weapon raised in striking position. For a moment, the scene seemed as strange as it could be: a warrior with a weapon raise in combat position in front of an old lady who sat on the ground looking up at him with resignation in her eyes, expecting a blow that would bring her long stay on earth to an end. Such sadness! Fu Zhen took a moment to realise the meaning of it all and then he slowly lowered his weapon. The old lady’s eyes never left him. The eyes were yellowed with age and suffering; tears brimmed over and trickled onto the lined face like water on a rice terrace. Her face told an age-old story of hardship, the lines creasing the skin were like the rings that told of a tree’s age. She swallowed visibly, relieved that the man before her was not here to kill her.
The Farmer diverted his gaze from her face and saw what she was doing. In her hands was a black tunic with elaborate silver inlays and beads. Colourful feathers and pieces of semi-precious stones were also part of the decoration. Her old hands held a string and needle as she tried to line a series of beads in a complicated design. The workmanship was exquisite, no doubt from a lifetime of practice. But at the moment, he noticed that her present clothing was just a plain, faded black outfit –tunic and pants. What she was wearing was nowhere comparable to the piece that she was making. She sat alone in what seemed to be the courtyard of a home. The house was derelict but if one looked closely, one could see that the desertion was only recent. Scant details told of recent human habitation; dried vegetables like chillies and corn stalks hung from the roof, the scent of recently burned wood etc. The Farmer concluded that this woman must have lived here or came to take refuge in this empty house. He approached her carefully, feeling sorry for her. As he got close enough, he smiled. She indicated for him to come closer, and he did. Just when he was about to sit down, she screamed! A dagger flashed as she tried to stab him.
Fu’s hand rose effortlessly and swept the attacking hand away. The dagger clattered to the floor but it did not stop the old crone. She screamed like a banshee, the volume beyond what she looked capable off. She tried to gorge his eyes out but Fu caught her offending hand, turning the force away skilfully so that she lost her balance and fell. He had neither hit her nor acted aggressively so far; he merely defended himself. From the few strokes, Fu Zhen knew she was not skilled in fighting; she was acting purely out of hatred or fear. Only these two emotions could provoke such an angry and unfocussed attack. He stood up and towered over her. She scampered away, fear in her eyes.
FIFTY TWO
Attempting to put her at ease, he took out a mantou and gave it to her. The old lady took the white bun and munched it down hungrily. Then he handed her his skin of water. She drank from it and then smiled at him, grateful that this man not only did not kill her, but also fed her despite her attack. He looked around for any signs of hidden danger or alarm before he took a seat next to her, laying down his weapon. He wanted to find out from her what was going on? Where did everybody go? He started by asking her what was she making? With a smattering of the Han language and some hand signals, she told him that this was a funeral dress. The women of her lands made their own funeral attire – it must be the most elaborate, beautiful and expensive clothes they ever wore. And it must be handmade by the wearer. The Miao believed that the funeral dress would be the last and final piece of clothing they wore so it had to be the best. She held it close to her body, afraid that someone would take it away from her. Even though Fu Zhen was no threat, she did not trust him enough to get so close to her most treasured possession. He finally asked the question that weighed heavily on his mind:
“Where is everybody?”
Yula scanned the empty city from her perch atop the pagoda and then signalled to Commander Zhao that Fu Zhen was nowhere to be seen. The rest of the team had returned, but the short man had not turned up. All of them reported the same thing; the city was empty but they could feel a ‘presence’ in it. Unseen eyes observed them warily but did not show themselves. There was an impalpable fear here. Whether the invisible host was hostile or afraid, they did not know. Meanwhile, Zhao thought that the pagoda, with its panoramic view was the safest place until they could figure this place out. Then suddenly Yula shouted, “Fu Zhen is heading back!” She aimed the bow just in case somebody followed him. This place gave her the creeps. She never felt comfortable in closed up places where an enemy could come from anywhere. Her eyes and hands followed him until he disappeared under the entrance of the pagoda and they could hear his steps getting louder and louder as he approached the top. Jian Wen was relieved to see the last member of his guard return. The former emperor was grateful for the sacrifices each one had made; he cared a lot about each one. He did not want any of them to come to any harm. Zhao was more concerned with tactical matters,
“Was there any trouble?”
“No. But I found someone that can shed light on what happened here.” He said without missing a breath.
Zhao interjected, “Who is it?” The rest of them came closer, curious to know who Fu Zhen had met. Fu Zhen took a drink of water,
“Come. I think all of you need to know about this.”
Before long, they were at the home of the old lady. Fu Zhen led them through the quiet streets all the way back to where he had come from. Passing through the silent, quiet town quickly, they came before her house. She was still sitting there sewing her dress and the posse of Han people gave her a shock. She relaxed when she recognised Fu Zhen, who came and sat next to her again. Her eyes passed uneasily over their weapons and then her watery eyes rested on the monk. Jian Wen’s presence softened the tension and she seemed to breathe more easily. Jian Wen took a step forward and bowed before her. He exuded an aura of calm.
“Old lady, tell me what happened.” He said. The rest of them stood transfixed as she told them the story of the town. When she finished, she seemed to hesitate. Then she said, “Come with me. There are those who need you.” She got up slowly as age tried to hold her down, her bones creaking. Otherwise, she was fine. She picked up the beautiful dress she was sewing and limped out of the house. The rest exchanged glances and then followed Jian Wen as he followed the old lady. She led them away from the town centre and through a maze of silent, winding streets. Only a local would be able to navigate through this warren of mud and bricks. The team of warriors followed behind the monk-emperor, tensed and ready for an ambush, but their monarch seemed at peace as he trailed the matriarch. A pack of pigeons flew away cooing when the group approached, filling the air with the flapping of their wings. Soon the path took a downward turn and before them loomed two large warehouses. The two buildings were cleverly built at a lower part of the town so that casual visitors would never be able to find it. Here, the town leaders must have kept the food reserves away from prying eyes and unwelcomed hands. She led them toward the door. Zhao Qi tensed as the monk-emperor followed her into the cavernous and dark building. He preferred to enter first and ascertain there was no danger but the emperor beat him to it. He wanted to draw his weapon but something stayed his hand. The Acrobat tightened his grip on the guan dao, ready to swing it at any unseen attackers. Long and Yula were behind, together with Li Po. When the door opened enough to allow the weakening sun light to fill the room, they saw a platform that dipped downward into a split level basement. And they saw a group of people huddled before them below. It was group of fearful, nervous and suspicious townsfolk.
In front of the huddling group were several men. They were armed with household tools and other utensils. Butcher’s knives, pitch forks, hoes were raised pointing at the group of strangers that had just entered. Zhao’s warrior eyes took in the scene. A group of shivering peasants and townsfolk holding what they
hoped passed off as weapons standing in front of a cowering group of children, old people and women. All of them were in the black ethnic clothes of the Miao. From the way they held their weapons and the way they stood, Zhao and every other member of his team knew that none of them had any fighting experience. If they were marauders, they could sweep through them like a hurricane through rice paper. But they were not raiders and there was something here that made them afraid. Diplomacy was not his strength so he kept his silence. The monk took a step forward. The villagers did not know how to react, turning to look at each other. How do you react before a man of peace when you expected violence? When they saw that there was no threat, slowly they lowered their weapons. The old lady’s presence assured them that no harm would reach them. If they were here with evil intent, the old lady would have been dead, or would have come under threat, but she had walked in freely.
Then Jian Wen spoke calmly, “Why are you afraid?”
Silence. More looking at each other, uncertain...then someone who seemed to hold some authority spoke. He was a pudgy man who held a butcher’s knife. By default the leader because of his bulk, it reflected the sorry defenceless and leaderless state the townsfolk were in. He pointed the cleaver at them in both horror and anger.
“Who are you? What do you want from us?” the voice was tinged with hostility, fear and an enforced bravado. It almost broke yet nobody laughed. The tension was so thick that one needed to wade through it.
“We are travellers seeking refuge.”
“You are Han!” He screamed accusingly. The shrill voice almost losing its pitch as though the word ‘Han’ was the most vulgar word in the world. The word was spat out like poison; something to hate and fear at the same time. Jian Wen looked at him, shocked at his vehemence. He did not know what to say. The old lady spoke up,
“They mean us no harm. They are different.”
“How do you know?” Butcher shouted back at her.
“I tried to kill him,” She pointed at the Farmer, “but he did not kill me. He fed me instead.” She explained.
“They wanted you to lead them to us. They are Han, how can you trust them?” He exclaimed, as though she was an idiot who had brought a disaster on them by her stupidity.
She spread her hands and pleaded, “Monks don’t harm people. You know that.”
Jian Wen took the cue. He stepped forward but he gestured for the rest to stay where they were. He walked down the stairs and stood before the butcher. And then to everyone’s surprise, he knelt before him.
“I put myself at your mercy Sir. If you are afraid, kill me now. If not grant us a place to rest.”
Another man, younger than the first, came forward from the huddled group. He held a pitch fork with purpose. “Shi fu ‘teacher’, using the polite term of greeting for a religious man, tell us why you are here.”
“We are travellers. Zhao shouted before Jian Wen could say. He did not want them to know who they really were. “This holy man is heading to the south to take a long journey to the southern seas. We are sent to protect him from bandits until he boards his ship.”
“And who hired you?” The man astutely asked.
“A rich man.” To prove his point, Zhao took out the bag of money that Wen had left him. “This proves that we are here to find lodging and food for the winter. We can pay. We are no thieves.”
The butcher regained his place as the spokesmen, “We have nothing for you. Everything we have is”, he gestured around the bare grain house and the fugitives behind him, “here.”
Jian Wen asked, “What happened?”
And they told him about the exploits of the One-eyed Dragon.
FIFTY THREE
“The One-eyed Dragon? Who is he really?” Zhao asked with raised eyebrows. By now, they were invited to sit round the fire that warmed the people hiding in the grain house. As their eyes adjusted, they saw the people there were mostly women and children. There were few men who were armed. They were farmers and townsfolk forced to bear arms against an enemy they did not know how to fight. The children and womenfolk softened at the sight of Yula and Li Po. These were not bandits although the men with the monk all looked deadly. Still, somehow their presence brought some calming effect upon the group. The leader of the group answered,
“Some say that he is a former soldier. After the unification wars, he was one of the soldiers who was discharged. He gathered a band of men and became a bandit in this region.”
“What has the Authorities done about this? Surely you have informed them?” Jian Wen asked. The butcher gave a harsh laughter that sounded like a sick dog barking,
“Authorities? Sir, you have been hiding in a monastery for too long. Yes it is true that the Miao lands are now populated by the Han and Han governance had arrived. But they treat us worst than dogs. They see us as animals so they accord us no rights and no protection. The Yamen only looks after the interest of the Han. When a Miao brings a case against a Han, there will be no justice. The local garrison commander, Hong He, arrives only after the raids were concluded. It had happened too many times to be coincidental. Hong He is in cahoots with the One-eyed Dragon.”
“That is unfortunate.” Jian Wen whispered as he looked away ashamed. What could he do to protect them? They too were his subjects, even though he no longer sat on the throne. Then the silent and perceptive Fu Zhen spoke, “There must be a reason why you are hiding here tonight.”
This time, the old lady who had brought them here spoke, “Because tonight the One-eyed Dragon’s men will come and finish off what they started. I did not hide because I intended to die.” That explained her final touches to the funeral clothes and the dagger. “The bandits took my entire family and tonight when they come I plan to fight them.” She said in a toneless voice; the voice of the dead.
“You crazy old woman.” The butcher cried out.
She rebutted him, “So what do I have to live for? Those of you here have something to protect”, she pointed at the women and children “What do I have?” Her ancient eyes gleamed with fury. She asked again rhetorically with angst,
“What do I have?”
Fu asked, “Are you certain they will come tonight? How many?”
The butcher replied, “The last time they came, there were fifty of them. But there should be less because they have taken the majority of our people. They will think this is just a mopping up operation to catch those fish that swam through their nets the last time.”
Fu looked out at the window; it was getting dark. “What time will they come?”
“Not too long from now.” It was the young man with the pitch fork. His hand shivered as he gripped the makeshift weapon. Zhao Qi could see that the nearness of the hour had clouded their courage. That was understandable; these were not warriors. But they were men with something precious to defend, so that raised the equation a little bit. Suddenly Zhao realised that all eyes were on them. This group of strangers had serendipitously walked in on the night of their last stand. Moreover, they looked like they could handle themselves in a fight. The commander could understand the look of hope radiating from their eyes as they saw the arrival of Jian Wen’s party as a stroke of good luck, a divine intervention and deliverance from death and slavery.
The Farmer turned toward Zhao. It was obviously clear; they had walked into a hornet’s nest. They could either walk away or they would be sucked into the vortex. Even if they left, they could not go far in the dark. If they stayed and fought, their mission could be over by tonight if the One-eyed Dragon’s men slaughtered them. Zhao looked at Jian Wen before his eyes moved over the rest of the group. Yula spoke first, bluntly as usual.
“If you want to ask me, I will fight them. It is a wicked thing to take a woman and her child away from her family and land. It is even crueller to let the devils do it and get away with it.”
Zhao knew he did not have to ask Long Wu. In their relationship, she wore the pants. The Acrobat spoke next, “The bandits do not know we are here. If we can o
rganise a defence, we can route them.” He followed with a disclaimer, “provided they are not too many.”
Zhao finally looked at Jian Wen again. The whole mission hinges on the monk-emperor. The emperor knew that he had the final say. He took a deep breath, inner conflict raging as he wanted a non-violent solution. But time was not on their side. And sometimes, violence was the only way to defeat evil and protect the innocent. Sad, but true. Even the Buddha recognised that. Warrior monks were ordained for this purpose throughout history. He remembered what his abbot had said about saving lives. Their only chance was to plan for a defence that leveraged on their element of surprise. He turned to Zhao Qi and nodded his head. Zhao stood up, and spoke to the townsfolk.
“We will fight with you on one condition; you take orders from me.” The butcher looked uneasy having his authority usurped but the rest of the men seemed to be delighted at that. Zhao shouted in his commander’s voice,
“We do not have time, do you agree or not?”
The man with the pitch fork answered on behalf of the butcher, “Yes. We will listen to you.” And before the butcher could reply, he shouted again, “Show us what to do!”