Taming Poison Dragons

by Tim Murgatroyd

  Still he languished, and began to suffer fits of vomiting.

  Honoured Aunty resorted to more proven methods.

  Buddhist and Daoist monks were hired to chant spells and produce charms inscribed with potent characters, which Cousin Zhi wore continually, so his amulets clanked whenever he moved.

  Finally, Honoured Aunty summoned her old familiar, the sorcerer who had frightened me when I first arrived in Uncle Ming’s household. The intervening years had fattened him. His robes, paid for by Honoured Aunty, shimmered with gold and silver thread.

  One night everyone was barred from the house at his command, even Uncle Ming. Strange chants and smells escaped through cracks in the windows, or when Honoured Aunty, unable to contain herself, bustled in to check her son’s progress. The whole household crouched outside in the courtyard, waiting in appalled fascination.

  At dawn the sorcerer appeared, pale and exhausted, propped between two young boys, smears of sickly yellow powder on his hands. He swayed as if in a trance, screaming hysterically that an evil influence lay heavy on the family, and that until it was removed, no cure was possible. Then he stumbled from the house and would only communicate the demons’ messages through secret letters to Honoured Aunty.

  Cousin Hong cornered me and whispered: ‘Ah, Little General, the sooner you pass that examination the better for everyone. I have heard that the demons mentioned your name.’

  I was so alarmed by this news I begged an audience with Uncle Ming. He saw me in his office. I got down on my knees and stayed there.

  ‘Uncle,’ I said. ‘Have I displeased you?’

  His customary smile had grown thin and fixed of late.

  Sighing, he poured himself a cup of wine from a simple, earthenware cooler which always stood by his divan.

  ‘Do you see this wine cooler?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Uncle.’

  ‘Do you know who gave it to me? Of course not. It was your father. When we were young we barely had enough food to get from one winter to another. The only reason I am here today is because your father shared half his rations. And they were little enough. Sometimes he gave me more than half, for I was feebler than him. Did you know that?’

  ‘No, Honoured Uncle.’

  ‘Of course not! Why talk of unpleasant things. He gave me a present when I married, this wine cooler. He advised I would need it. And though it is cracked and poor, and I could buy a hundred carved from the finest green jade, I still use it each day. Does that answer your question?’

  My confusion must have been evident.

  ‘Simply pass the examination, win the honour your

  *

  father deserves, and I will consider this wine cooler paid for. Whatever befalls my youngest son will never make the wine I pour from it taste sour.’

  ‘I understand, Honoured Uncle.’

  ‘Good. Now leave me in peace. I’m sick of the lot of you.’

  Afterwards I heard through Peach Blossom that the sorcerer had been set upon by unknown bravos and beaten to an inch of his life. I never again saw him loitering in Uncle Ming’s house. Yet every time I met Honoured Aunty she examined me coldly. Deep thought lay behind her look.

  A month before the examination, P’ei Ti and I received a summons.

  I have often watched the wind pluck seeds winged with fine, downy strands from a flower, and wondered if destiny or chance determines their settling place. Our poems had not been delivered by chance. Unexpectedly, they sprouted leaves.

  We found ourselves in the huge antechamber of a mansion on Phoenix Hill, dressed in our best clothes, clutching yet more poems of praise. P’ei Ti could hardly disguise his elation and anxiety. This was the game he had been born to play. My own feelings were mixed.

  We were both chaperoned by uncles, our fathers being far away. Uncle Ming wore robes of exceptional splendour which seemed to make him itch. P’ei Ti’s uncle, an official in the Imperial Treasury, exclaimed constantly about the value of the furniture and statues around us. We had been summoned for a test of worthiness, along with fifty others in the same expectant, awkward position, everyone competing to win patronage. In truth, Lord Xiao was merely looking us over, as one might a new wardrobe.

  Lord Xiao. Chief Minister of the Imperial Finance, former Governor of Nanking and illustrious Foochow, author of a famous treatise on taxation which was notable for its rigour. While not of the Emperor’s intimate coun-cil, he had access to the sacred ear. Hundreds in the Imperial Administration built their careers upon Lord Xiao’s patronage, and through such obligations his influence spread far and wide in the Four Ministries. It was Lord Xiao’s custom to gather new protégés each year from the most promising students in the Academy. By virtue of our consistent success in the monthly examinations, and our flattering poems, P’ei Ti and myself had attracted his secretary’s interest, who had summoned us for an audience.

  So we found ourselves waiting for our names to be called. P’ei Ti constantly straightened and smoothed his clothes. Every few minutes a major domo called out a candidate’s name who he ushered to the nearby hall. Some returned downcast, others jubilant. In this way two long hours passed. My own attention wandered, drawn by a painting of waterfalls and sages on the wall, an original by my beloved Master Xie-He, as was proved by numerous seals of former owners, all illustrious. The painting itself must have cost a prince’s ransom.

  When my name was shouted out, I looked up in surprise. Uncle Ming poked me hard in the ribs, leapt to his feet and thrust me forward. At once I was nervous. A secretary led me to a high pair of purple doors. These opened onto a large audience-hall, its rafters painted in gay colours, walls adorned with frescos depicting the Son of Heaven’s ancestors. I advanced with bowed head, not daring to look at the man who waited on an ivory throne at the end of the hall, surrounded by friends and relatives.

  The silence in the room broken only by my shuffling feet.

  A dozen feet from his chair I sank to my knees and remained with head lowered. There was whispering around Lord Xiao, yet I could not look up. At last I heard him say out loud: ‘Ah, that one. The poet. Very well.’

  More silence. He was clearly watching me.

  ‘I have heard of your father’s deeds,’ he said.

  His voice was quiet and commanding, yet surprisingly high-pitched.

  ‘Such loyalty in the father speaks well for the son.’

  I bowed lower in acknowledgement.

  ‘I also hear reports you are a poet. Indeed, I enjoyed your verses – and those of your friend. Loyalty to a friend also speaks well.’

  My face reddened and he chuckled.

  ‘You may look at me,’ Lord Xiao said.

  I saw a man in his fifties, in the prime of life, enrobed as befitted his position. His face narrow and, I thought, supercilious because watchful for disrespect. Fine lines ran in parallels across his forehead. Perhaps I stared, for he said lightly: ‘Have you looked enough, young man?’ His confidants tittered. My head ducked down.

  ‘Let me sample some of this poetry I hear about from your teachers. No, not the poems you’ve brought with you. Improvise something.’

  There was a murmur of amusement among Lord Xiao’s followers. Here was the moment of trial. A verse in regular style at once shaped itself. I spoke hesitantly at first, then closed my eyes, possessed by words: Outside doors taller than my father’s I wait.

  Whisper of suitors. Shadows shaping.

  But my Lord’s painting by Xie-He lends ease.

  Sages and waterfalls blend wisdom, Approving the virtue of Lord Xiao’s house.

  I waited, breathless, as though my fate depended on those words. In a sense it did. Or one possible fate, among many. For Lord Xiao could have yawned and sent me away without further comment, having decided I was no use to him. Instead he said: ‘Interesting. So you noticed my Xie-He. Of course I own better, but that painting is certainly fine. Perhaps I should move it to a more promi-nent position. You may go now, Yun Cai. Yes, interesting.’


  He had remembered my name! Without raising my eyes, I shuffled backwards, and out. Amidst elation, I felt a deep tiredness. Great men exhaust their followers; one can never be at ease with them.

  P’ei Ti also gained Lord Xiao’s attention at that audience. He was not asked to improvise a verse. Instead Lord Xiao questioned my friend concerning proper ceremonial procedure at a prefectural levee. Of course, P’ei Ti had pleasingly orthodox opinions on the matter, but also dared to offer an idea of his own concerning official uniforms for Third Grade clerks. The great man nodded, as though in approval. P’ei Ti repeated this story until I knew it by heart.

  How often my life has resembled the absurd entertainments popular in the Imperial Pleasure Grounds!

  Certainly a bitter farce was brewing. Uncle Ming’s household made up the cast of this puppet show. But we were live puppets, with hearts to break and bodies to waste away, the strings animating us barely understood. If we did not speak our lines in the shrill nasal voices favoured by puppet-masters, it was merely because we took ourselves too seriously.

  Lord Xiao sent his secretary to test my respectability one morning towards the end of summer. Only two weeks remained before the examination. The whole household stood in readiness. Every room and warehouse had been swept clean. Bright banners bearing the name of Lord Xiao hung from the eaves. Uncle Ming was determined to make a good impression, even at the expense of his wife’s good will. There was little enough of that. Honoured Aunty’s scowl lingered from the moment she appeared, lightened only by a peculiar smile when she met my eye, which vanished as soon as it began. At once my natural anxiety doubled.

  Lord Xiao’s secretary was not visiting to discuss the price of hemp. His time was valuable, for it implied favour. His task no less than assessing my character through that of my family, the two being inseparable. In our case he needed to be vigilant. We were not scholar-officials of longstanding like P’ei Ti’s relatives. Uncle Ming, though wealthier than most officials, was essentially shang, mere merchant, worthy of small honour.

  In my favour, it could be argued that Father was a Lord; but his elevation, so recent, bore a taint of vulgarity. I was walking a web of invisible threads whose strength I could not anticipate. Nothing was certain.

  Uncle Ming met Secretary Wen at the gates, and ushered him with due ceremony to a room full of presents for the great man. In pride of place stood a complete rhinoceros horn, a princely gift, for it might save Lord Xiao’s life in case of severe sickness. I knelt on the floor beside Cousin Hong, who risked a wink while the secretary was examining a casket containing a bolt of sky blue silk.

  Truly Uncle Ming had invested in me. Or in his love for my father, which amounted to the same thing. Indeed, I believe it was the only love he felt deeply.

  ‘I come in august of a greater presence,’ began the Secretary. ‘His name illuminates west and east. Millions are grateful for his wisdom.’

  Uncle Ming shifted uneasily in his best robes.

  ‘Lord Xiao,’ he said. He seemed at a loss for words.

  ‘Lord Xiao is a wonder.’

  I cringed inwardly. The Secretary looked at him in surprise, then frowned.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Such a one must not be associated with anyone base, lest his reputation suffer.’

  Uncle Ming, who had no reputation to lose, unless it involved the quality of his wine, nodded wisely.

  ‘I must ask,’ continued the Secretary. ‘Is your nephew of unimpeachable character?’

  ‘Why yes,’ said Uncle. ‘He’s a hard-working boy. He has read more books than I’ve sold jars, and that’s saying something.’

  If he expected the Secretary to soften, he was at once disappointed.

  ‘I see. Is his body sound?’

  Uncle Ming glanced across at me. Then at the presents.

  ‘He’s as strong as a rhinoceros.’

  ‘No deformities?’

  ‘None I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘What of his breaths?’ continued the Secretary. ‘Are they sound?’

  I awaited Uncle’s reply with trepidation. Clearly he was struggling for appropriate words.

  ‘They never smell anything but sweet,’ he said. ‘And he never gets short of breath.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  Cousin Hong rose slightly and whispered in his father’s ear.

  ‘Oh, I see. Of course. Yes, his breaths are wholesome.

  Definitely wholesome. I’d vouch for every one of them.’

  He spread his hands across his heart to prove his point.

  ‘Hmm. That is well,’ said Secretary Wen. ‘What of hidden vices?’

  ‘As I say, he’s a good boy.’

  ‘I must tell you,’ continued the Secretary. ‘While no one doubts this particular candidate’s ability, there are questions, how can I put it, concerning the provenance of his, ahem, ancestors.’

  A look of irritation crossed Uncle Ming’s plump face.

  ‘Honoured Secretary, let me beg a question of you.’

  Our interrogator’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘That is not entirely regular, but please proceed.’

  Uncle Ming waved to indicate the fine house in which we sat.

  ‘Do you know how I gained this place?’ he asked. ‘But of course you do, for you have made honest, careful enquiries concerning me. All this I earned through hiring the right men. Men who are trustworthy and know how to work. I would hire my nephew and rely on him like the morning sun.’

  The Secretary waited, for Uncle was clearly approaching another point.

  ‘Come,’ said Uncle Ming, softly. ‘Let us take a cup.

  Talking is thirsty work. While we drink, perhaps you might honour me by opening the small casket to your left.

  It is an unworthy gift for yourself, Honoured Secretary.

  One man to another, you understand.’

  At once servants appeared with warm wine flasks and dim sum. The room filled with delicious scents. The Secretary opened the casket. His breath hissed involuntarily. Inside lay a bar of solid silver. A year’s salary to him.

  ‘Why,’ he said, slowly. ‘Why, everything seems in order.’

  Uncle Ming smiled his meaningless smile.

  ‘I am glad you find us so,’ he said.

  Beside me, Cousin Hong coughed.

  We left the chamber with the same ceremony with which we’d arrived. It was outside, in the courtyard, the trouble began. Honoured Aunty watched from a doorway beneath Cousin Zhi’s bedchamber. The servants were on their knees in neat lines. Abruptly, one leapt to her feet.

  We all froze in astonishment. Everything happened with agonising slowness.

  Peach Blossom was the servant. Who knows what terrible threats or bribes drove her to such desperate action?

  Her eyes were red with weeping and she clutched her belly. She wailed pitifully like a poorly-trained actress, and lurched forward.

  ‘Yun Cai!’ she cried. ‘I am with child! Oh, I am with child!’

  The Secretary gaped at her in amazement.

  ‘What is this?’ he demanded, angrily.

  Then a figure beside me was moving. Cousin Hong had the girl by the arm and was shaking her so hard her teeth rattled.

  ‘You whore!’ he roared. ‘Are you mad? What time is this to tell me such news!’

  Then he dragged her sobbing to the house, shoved her through a door and slammed it shut. A stunned silence lay across the courtyard. To my amazement he came over and literally grovelled before his father.

  ‘Forgive me, Father!’ he cried, with every sign of distress. ‘My concubine. . . she is afflicted, possessed by demons.’

  Uncle Ming glanced across at Honoured Aunty, who met his gaze without flinching. At once I understood. If her favourite son could not pass through the Vermilion Doors, I should not.

  ‘What is this?’ repeated the Secretary. ‘She used this young man’s name.’

  ‘It is my pet name with her,’ cried Hong, from his position on the ground.


  ‘I am shamed you have been inconvenienced,’ muttered Uncle Ming. ‘You have heard my son. His concubine, nothing to do with my nephew, that is for sure.’

  ‘Ah, I see. The girl is perhaps mad?’ offered the Secretary.

  ‘She’s not well in the head,’ broke in Cousin Hong.

  ‘I only keep her here out of charity,’ added Uncle Ming.

  ‘Which I regret because it has inconvenienced an Honoured Guest. Still, any act of kindness might help me in my next life.’

  The Secretary examined each of our faces in turn. I could not meet his eye. At last, he shrugged. He was no fool.

  Uncle Ming led him decorously to the carriage, bowing low as it drove away. Then, without a word to any of us, he swept to his office and did not emerge until late the next day.

  Until that moment I had never truly understood the extent of my indebtedness to Uncle Ming. And now to Cousin Hong. For the first time I imagined the possibility of failing in the examination I took for granted; and my disgrace if I failed. A terrible realisation of folly stole the blood from my face.

  ‘Let’s hope Lord Xiao’s secretary liked his silver,’ said Cousin Hong, brushing dust from his clothes. ‘Otherwise you’d better start looking for a new patron.’

  I never saw Peach Blossom again. Nor was the incident mentioned, except that evening when I sought out Cousin Hong to thank him.

  ‘You owe me for that, Little General,’ he replied. ‘And I always get repaid.’

  But I did not forget. When the time came, I did not forget.

  I often wondered what became of Peach Blossom. She was certainly with child. My child. Somewhere in the wide reaches of the Middle Kingdom there is a man or woman bearing my features, perhaps mourning an unknown father. Was that child’s life ruined for the sake of an hour’s pleasure? Perhaps he or she lives happily with children and grandchildren? One could speculate endlessly.