by Ng, Wayne;
“You mean outlaws such as yourselves?” the Major said, looking over at Shun’s men who were emptying the soldiers’ pockets and picking through their weapons.
Shun shrugged, “Outlaws we may be, though we take only what we need, rather than what is easily taken.”
As Mei was being attended to, Shun told his tale. He had been conscripted by one of the Wu armies and even served closely with Sun Wu as a spy, then deserted after refusing to participate in the slaughtering of yet another defenseless village. He had been on the move for years. He apprenticed in forging metals, took up fishing, and even farmed at one point. But peace was never with him for long. He had been drifting for years but had learned that living day-to-day, hand-to-mouth, fists-to-foes came easily for him. Over the years he recruited a band of outcasts and renegades, honing them into a disciplined and skilled hunting and thieving force. They had never been subdued, nor bested. They identified strongly with the weak and the powerless, and prided themselves on their clandestine skills.
“Then the tale of the White Renegade is true?” I asked Shun.
He chuckled. “Yes, but like all tales, it is heavily seasoned. We bleed like all other men. But what of the great philosopher, Lao Tzu?”
“Like you said, all tales are heavily seasoned.”
Over the next several weeks we shared our journeys as the men escorted us, evading patrols of mercenaries working for the Chu and Prince Meng, as well as parties of other bandits.
“We part here, dear cousin,” Shun said without a hint of sentiment. “Beyond this river crossing you will be in Qi. There are no known perils here for good, honest men.”
“Then why don’t you cross with us?” I asked of him.
“Did I not say honest?” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “It has been years since any of us did an honest day’s labor. To do so now would invite an uneasy restlessness. No, I leave it for you and your companions to sow the seeds of humanity.”
Shun and his men departed. This time there was little doubt that it would be final. A sense of loss for Shun and the years we hadn’t shared together struck me. I almost begged for the steady hand and mind he would have provided, but knew better.
With some nourishment and fresh supplies, the Major kept us moving for another week or so, taking a long but careful route to a quiet corner of Qi.
******
Captain Yin leaned on a wall, staring off into the distance. His entire platoon had gravitated into the guardhouse. All stood silently, heads bowed, spellbound by the Old Master whose eyes had suddenly rediscovered their vigor.
“And so it was. I hope your curiosity is satisfied.”
Lao Tzu stretched his back, and as he stopped talking, the first crickets of the evening could be heard. Otherwise an unruffled calm permeated the guardhouse and the world around it.
“That was forty springs ago. Since I left Mei and her son, not once did I share these experiences with anyone.”
Lao Tzu begged for more tea and a moment’s rest.
“You too are from Qi originally, are you not, Captain Yin? I recognize your accent.”
The Captain nodded.
“Perhaps near Linzi, west of it in fact, in a little bay off the river?” Lao Tzu asked.
The Captain answered, “Yes, how did you know?”
“Do you recall a family named Tang? Their patriarch was a former soldier named Tang Dengjie. I spoke of him earlier. He would have died before you were born. But they were a special family. They took me in on my way to Chengzhou for the very first time. If you lived anywhere in that area, you could not miss them.”
The Captain nodded and with a puzzled look said, “Yes.”
“And your grandfather; he was likely the tallest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. He often lost his balance. An injury caused by an arrow which grazed the side of his head during a raid by bandits. Your grandmother, she had a diamond-shaped face, and small, dark inquisitive eyes as shiny as the finest lacquer.”
The Captain stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“After we fled Chengzhou, we eventually settled west of Linzi, where Mei begat a son. A miracle, really. There we heard of Prince Meng’s assassination but rumors of him having had a son was a threat to any other claimants to the throne. So we kept a low profile. Eventually, I felt it was safest, though most regrettable, for me to leave the Major, Mei and her son. That Major was as loyal and proud a soldier and father-figure as could be. And as it turned out, he was both a fine husband and grandfather.”
Lao Tzu paused, allowing his words to sink in, then continued: “I assume you have memories of the man who called himself your grandfather?”
The Captain gave a hesitant nod. “What do you mean, ‘the man who called himself my grandfather’?”
Lao looked squarely at the Captain. “It was your true grandfather who defiled Mei, your grandmother, some forty-five years ago. The man you believe to be your grandfather was in fact, Major Huang.”
The Captain stifled a nervous guffaw, then stood transfixed. “You are mistaken. My grandfather was named Yin Lu. You must be thinking of someone else.”
But the Captain’s protests lacked strength. Lao Tzu held a hand up, then in a soft voice and with a slight bow said, “Yin Lu was the name the Major assumed. Your father was named Yin Song. I know this because I was present at his miracle birth and for his first five years. It is all true, Captain. Prince Meng, Mei, your father… and now you… your Highness. I never thought it would be possible to ever meet you. One may easily lose hope when the path meanders endlessly along no apparent track. But the Way has its own direction. It sets its own course. If there is anything to be learned, it is that Nature’s course should not be questioned or altered.”
Several of the Captain’s troops gasped. Then a moment of complete silence befell the shelter and all around it. It was as though Lao Tzu’s soft voice had halted everything in existence.
The stillness was broken by a growing clamor outside and a determined voice called for the Captain. His men investigated. The Captain reluctantly pried himself away from Lao Tzu.
Lieutenant Zhang and their General rode in with a platoon of heavily-armed troops. The General dismounted, as did the Lieutenant. The Captain bowed and greeted his commanding officer. The General wasted little time: “Your Lieutenant reports that your command is slovenly, and your troops lack discipline. I might have ignored such troublemaking had you not shown the audacity to commandeer my scribe without my knowledge. Even worse, you shelter a suspicious traveler.”
The Captain looked at his men. “Sir, that these men would serve nobly and loyally in battle I have no doubt. But I will not deny that extreme boredom has made them more slovenly than is desirable, and a lack of training has imbued them with erratic discipline. I make no excuses and take full responsibility. But I was sent farmers and peasants who would best serve Zhou by feeding it. As for your scribe, he will impart a previously untold story that speaks for itself. Hear it out. Then do with it as you wish.”
“The spy, General… the spy,” the Lieutenant interrupted. “The Captain has not answered to this. There is an old man here who has fled the Royal Court. Only a sympathizer would protect a spy.”
The General approached the Captain, stopping only an arm’s distance away. “What say you, Captain?”
The Captain didn’t hesitate. “If a sympathizer is one who protects and cherishes truth and virtue, then that is I. If a spy is an individual of upstanding moral character, then indeed, it is a spy that I sympathize with.”
The General glared at the Captain. “It is as I feared. As of now, you are relieved of your command. Follow me. And bring this mysterious traveler. The Lieutenant shall be the commanding officer until this matter is investigated.”
The General began to turn away, but the Captain’s group of ragtag farmer and peasant soldiers fell into a tight battle formation beh
ind their Captain, rusty swords, and halberds at the ready. Even the scribe stepped forward wielding a fallen tree branch.
The General stepped back, as did the Lieutenant. The General addressed the Captain’s men.
“This is a mutinous act. As your General, I command you to stand down. Your commanding officer has been relieved. He will be taken in for questioning, no more.”
The corporal shouted back: “Sir, the rightful heir of Zhou stands before us. He is your leader and mine.”
Lieutenant Zhang laughed nervously then gave the corporal and the other soldiers an exasperated look.
The Captain looked behind him, astonished at his troops’ new found spirit.
The General signaled for his men to assume a battle formation. They drew their weapons and stepped forward. The Captain’s troops responded in kind. Both sides carried an equal number of troops. For a brief moment the only sound was that of the evening crickets. The only thing that stirred was a gentle breeze.
“Enough,” a soft but authoritative voice called out.
Everyone looked back at the shelter from which Lao Tzu had emerged, half bent over, hands resting on his walking stick.
“General I beseech you, blood will not irrigate our parched land, nor will my head satisfy the insatiable cravings of power mongers. I have spent an innumerable number of years wandering the earth, reliving lost opportunities, castigating myself and trying to repent my errors. It has taken me this long to accept the natural consequences of my actions and inactions. But these have all passed, and I am prepared to go, however ill-at-ease I remain. Take me if you so wish. I shall come freely if it averts more suffering. I fear you not, for my end is already at hand.”
The General looked at Lao Tzu, then at the Lieutenant Zhang. “This is the spy you speak of?”
“Sir, the Captain behaves as though this spy has scoured his mind,” Lieutenant Zhang shouted. “The old man gives every indication of having escaped from the court. A reward and favors might follow his capture.”
“Sir, I would have arrested him myself if treason and sedition had been suspected,” the Captain responded. “But there is no evidence of this, for he poses no more a threat than a sparrow does to a tiger.”
“What then of you, whom your men say is the rightful heir to Zhou?” the General asked the Captain. “Such a claim, together with your insubordination, demands severe consequences. Perhaps you will invoke your heavenly powers as the Son of Heaven-in-waiting?”
The Captain let those words hang for a moment. He turned towards his men. His eyes met each one of theirs. He looked back towards the General. He removed his officer’s tunic and dropped his sword.
“Sir, you know that I have served Zhou since I was able to lift a sword. But it is not the fabricated divisions of man I wish to conquer. What I seek is the manner and knowledge by which the natural world flows. You may take me as well. Or release us and I give you my word you will never hear of us again.”
The General chortled. “To do so would be to endorse desertion.”
“Sir, leadership is not the exertion of power and control alone. Rather it is the strategic use of enlightened thought and well-intentioned actions.”
Lao Tzu stepped towards the General and spoke softly to him.
“Perhaps the Lieutenant is partially correct. The Captain has indeed lost his mind. Who else under your command but a madman would willingly remove his uniform? He is not a deserter. You can just discharge a harmless madman who believes he is the rightful heir to the throne. Then you will not have to answer as to why your own men have turned on each other.”
The General looked at Lao Tzu, then again at the Captain. Lieutenant Zhang called out to the General, but the General shot back with a look that silenced him. The General stepped aside and signaled his men to withdraw. He then ordered the scribe to follow. The scribe reluctantly did so, but not until he gingerly wrapped the many bamboo slips and nodded at Lao Tzu as if to say, his work was safe.
The Captain watched them depart, then unhitched the rope attached to Lao Tzu’s water buffalo before handing it to him.
“Do you not tire of loneliness, Master?” asked the Captain.
Lao Tzu threw his few possessions back onto the water buffalo.
“Loneliness foments lucidity. If you offer music and food, strangers may stop for you; but if you offer…“
“… the Way, then all the people of the world will keep you in safety, health, community and peace,” the Captain interjected. “The Way lacks art and flavor, it can neither be seen nor heard, but its virtues cannot be exhausted. What was once discounted by me as confusing chatter by my grandfather was in fact a precursor of a future path, one that until now I did not realize I was on. Take me with you, Master.”
“No,” Lao Tzu said. “I cannot allow you to do this. There is nothing left I can offer anyone.” He hesitated. “The Way has run its course, and so have I.”
The Captain held Lao Tzu’s arm.
“It may be ironic, but Prince Meng, my grandfather, was correct. The Way can have its place for individuals, and it can resonate further if enough people stand together and someday harness the cadence of the natural world. I do not need to be convinced of this, I already live it. I simply was not aware of the balance it had given me. And so it must begin somehow. Just as your father’s idea saw the betterment of the world one plot of land at a time, so too can the Way make a difference. These ideas were passed down over the generations, eventually to me. Do you not see that it is possible that many others have come to live and see the world as such?”
Lao Tzu remained silent.
The Captain continued. “I believe so. And I believe this is your legacy, which you cannot deny. Nor should you. How else can you explain how the gnarled path of the Way brought us together? It has its own design, it sets its own course.”
Lao Tzu weighed this as he studied the Captain. He saw a naïve and innocent man for whom a fondness of birds, of all things natural and unhindered, superseded all else. But he also saw a man at peace, one who was calm but whose hunger was infectious. And through him Lao Tzu saw possibilities, which made him smile like he had not in many years. The Way in it’s infinite capacity to bend, had taken him through innumerable lows and disappointments. Yet perhaps his journey had not reached its end, but had arrived at yet another turn. Perhaps he had one final pupil. It pleased him that he could still dream.
With the soldiers at attention, the Captain eased Lao Tzu onto his beast. It was much too late in the day to begin a long journey, yet neither appeared concerned. The Old Master and his new follower walked towards the Han Gu Pass, oblivious of the waning sun in their eyes. Together they passed through the gate and left the Royal territory. Neither looked back.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Chris Crowder, Amy Tector and Alette Willis—my writing group of many years. They define superb critiquing with an eye for the finer details and a vision for the bigger picture.
Alice Poon for recognizing a diamond in the rough.
Graham Earnshaw for promoting stories of China with a rare enthusiasm.
Melanie Fogel, my writing instructor whose no-nonsense approach and attention to craft launched many a good writer.
Doreen Arnoni, Marc Brown and Mary Gelner for their discerning eyes during my last edits.
And especially my wife Trish Lucy, for her unwavering support throughout and for making me read her favourite book, The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff, which led the way to the Master Scholar.
About the Author
Wayne Ng was born in downtown Toronto to Chinese immigrants who fed him a steady diet of bitter melons and kung fu movies. Like Lao Tzu, his romantic, idealist protagonist in Finding the Way, he dreams of a just society, of worlds far from his doorstep, and of tastes, sensations and experiences beyond his imagination.
Wayne works as a school social
worker in Ottawa but lives to write, travel, eat and play, preferably all at the same time. He is an award-winning short story and travel writer who has twice backpacked through China. Wayne continues to push his boundaries from the Arctic to the Antarctic, blogging and photographing along the way.
www.waynengwrites.com