‘What of the prisoners?’ I ask.
‘I cannot see, Father. Surely it doesn’t matter what happens to them?’
My hands, hidden by the sleeves of my robe, squeeze themselves for comfort.
‘Go and tell the servants to prepare a good selection of dishes,’ I say. ‘Send word to Youngest Son. Ask if he will honour our dinner. Ensure this is done quickly.’
My son sighs.
‘How strange you are today, Father!’ he says.
He sets about my commands with alacrity, and soon a servant descends to the village. Within half an hour he’s back. I watch him climb the hill as I sit by the gatehouse.
‘Well?’
‘The Captain says he has urgent business to attend to, and cannot dine with you.’
‘Is that all he said? Did he not express his regrets? Did he not apologise?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘I see.’
The servant hurries off, glad to be in the safety of Three-Step-House. Raucous voices rise from the village and I try not to imagine the indignities my people are suffering. The girl who vanished last night has still not been found. It is strange to regard them as my children. When I first returned here I mocked them as rustics, resenting them for everything they were not. Yet now I am determined to offer myself for punishment when the blow falls.
I must ensure those without blame are spared. It was my folly to hide the cavalrymen in the caves behind Heron Waterfall.
An hour passes. Still I hold my station by the gatehouse.
*
Darkness confirms itself across the world. A moonless night, lit by a thousand stars. The wind drops so that the trees of the valley cease to murmur. Now is the time when malign, red-eyed spirits seek out mischief. They will find plenty in Wei tonight. A scent of burning in the air, roasting meat, the peasants’ precious pigs and fowl slaughtered. All this I have brought on their heads.
Another hour. Youngest Son and his officers must have dined by now. Perhaps they are already drunk. Distant screams tear the dusk as the prisoners are questioned.
Soon they will reveal that a villager told them where to hide. Perhaps Wudi is being beaten. Soon, for few resist torture long, he mentions my name, my orders. Youngest Son has no choice but to record his words, for Wudi is being interrogated before witnesses. Perhaps he feels horror, to discover his Father’s life is forfeit, and that he, unwittingly, is the cause. Perhaps, even in the midst of distress, he senses opportunity. When I am gone there will be a new lord in Wei. What could be more natural than that the General should reward his loyal follower with my title? Eldest Son must be punished alongside me, his complicity taken for granted, his children disinherited and Daughter-in-law reduced to poverty. If the General decides to invoke the laws of collective punishment, even the children will not live.
I return to my room to await the summons, sitting fully dressed in the dark. I cannot eat. No appetite for anything, least of all sleep. Even my memories offer scant comfort. Bell by bell the long night passes.
*
At dawn Youngest Son issues commands. Our entire household is to descend to the village square at once. It is now the third morning since he returned. By my calculation, Wei’s stores will be exhausted within another two days.
I lead a silent procession down the hill, servant girls walking arm-in-arm for comfort, the men cautious and wide-eyed. Only Eldest Son seems happy, convinced of our present release. I lack the heart to teach him otherwise. Lack integrity. Perhaps I simply cannot bear to see him lessened by fear.
At the foot of the hill I signal for a halt. We gather by the sty adjoining Chiao Sung the blacksmith’s house. His hammer taps with unusual energy, ringing faintly on metal. The scent of pig wafts in the breeze, mingled with burning charcoal.
‘I will instruct you how to act,’ I announce. ‘I believe we have been summoned to witness a trial. On no account must anyone disturb the proceedings. Some prisoners will probably be paraded and then taken away. A few may be executed. Whatever happens, I repeat, whatever happens, you must remain still.’
My gut trembles and gripes, yet my voice sounds firm.
I fully expect to be marched off to Chunming with the Imperial cavalry. My fear is simple. When the time comes, will I find the courage to offer myself, so the village is not implicated?
We enter the square and I am taken aback. The whole population has been assembled! Hundreds of peasants, men, children, women, even the infirm and old, kneeling in the dust, filling one side of the square. Facing them, over a clear strip of ground used for fairs and markets, two companies of halberdiers, standing at ease. The soldiers talk openly, a sure sign of ill-discipline. The peasants whisper under their breath, if they dare speak at all.
A sergeant bustles over to my household and indicates we should kneel with the rest. This indignity I must resist.
‘Fetch a bench,’ I drawl to my servants. ‘Quickly. Go to the nearest house and place it here.’
The sergeant seems to recollect I am his captain’s father.
Prudently, he allows two men to carry a long bench from the inn. Eldest Son and I take our seats, reassured by this small victory. Now I have leisure to look around.
The awning and ebony chair stand as before, surrounded by a dozen bright standards, restless in the morning breeze. A few soldiers tend a brazier, heating iron tools, no doubt intended for manacles and chains.
I am reminded of the annual court when the Sub-prefect visits. He hears few cases in Wei. We are too poor to purchase his justice. A few of the younger peasants talk softly among themselves and, as the soldiers do not rebuke them, conversation rises, as it will where people gather.
Eldest Son smiles at me, as if to say, See, Father!
I glance up sharply. A strange figure capers into the square, plucking grasshoppers from a bamboo basket and stuffing them into his mouth. Thousand- li-drunk! I am amazed by his folly. Yet the man is deranged, as all can see. He bows left and right, roaring blessings for any brave warriors of the clouds who are not buried in an emperor’s tomb. To my discomfort, he spies me and lurches over.
The warm weather has not improved his odour.
‘Lord Yun Cai is at a party and ravens prepare to duel!
Ah, but he knows ten thousand magpies will fly down and eat up his honoured guests!’
As usual there is hidden sense in his words. Ravens and magpies are obvious symbols.
‘Better for you to seek plump insects elsewhere,’ I say, quietly. ‘Go now, while the soldiers still find you amusing.’
Then Thousand- li-drunk is seized by a fever of scratching, as though devoured by huge lice! Even I cannot help but smile. The man is incorrigible.
‘If I wait long enough,’ he protests. ‘Winter cold will kill them all! But now it is so hot they thrive, wretched dragons! I don’t even like eating them, for they have dined on my blood! So I must wait patiently, like a golden pheasant.’
He fixes me with a hard stare. What is he trying to say?
That I must wait, too? The golden pheasant symbolises a high official. I recollect P’ei Ti, imprisoned by General An-Shu in Chunming. My heart quickens.
Thousand- li-drunk stumbles through the peasants, scratching furiously, then slumps against a wall, where he appears to fall into a deep, contented sleep.
We are startled by a dozen drums. The square at once falls silent. The soldiers stiffen into parade positions.
Drummers and standard bearers march into view, followed by Youngest Son at the head of his officers. He wears full uniform, pride in every strutting step. A fine-looking man! At once I feel cowed. My fears return. I count ten breaths and struggle to build calmness between them.
Youngest Son nods briefly to me. No bow! Even to his father! A bad sign. Many in the square look ill-at-ease.
Such a neglect brings him no honour. He takes his place in Father’s ebony chair, laying a plumed helmet across his knees. All watch expectantly. His face is blank as pressed earth.
‘Bring out the prisoners!’ he commands.
His eyes flick in my direction. Surely he knows! The cavalrymen have revealed my secret.
A group of manacled men are prodded with halberd-butts into the centre of the square. I blink. Squeeze my eye-lids together. Look again. My heart finds new courage.
These are not the Imperial cavalry I expected, but the deserters who fled up the valley at the start of General An-Shu’s rebellion! They have been living in caves near the foot of Ying Mountain for a month now, causing few depredations. I stifle an involuntary laugh. Little decency in welcoming another man’s ruin if it diverts one’s own. I cannot help myself.
The deserters cower. A miserable lot. Many bear the mark of beatings, all have their hands manacled behind their backs. Once-proud uniforms hang in tatters. Their hair stiff and grimy, bare feet covered in mud.
I settle back on my bench. Soon this will be over.
Youngest Son will rail at them to impress his men, then march them off to Chunming. A thorough whipping is the usual punishment for deserters, followed by a posting to one of the penal battalions. There is no helping what has always been.
Youngest Son slowly unfurls a scroll, and proclaims in a loud voice: ‘By the new laws and express will of His Glorious Highness, General An-Shu, judgement is here passed on these cowards assembled today.’
He pauses, and looks over at the villagers.
‘Just as my grandfather cleansed Wei Valley of bandits, I will do likewise. Let the prescribed punishments commence.’
This reference to Father offends me. All know the tale of how he apprehended a gang of cruel brigands by getting them drunk, and how the Sub-prefect ordered their strangulation. But there is no Sub-prefect here, no representative of He-Who-Rules-The-Five-Directions.
Youngest Son gestures with an impatient finger to Lieutenant Lo. The first of the deserters is dragged into the centre of the square. Soldiers push him to the floor, hold him fast. How young he is! His parents would weep to see him now. I lean forward curiously.
A fat soldier wearing a blacksmith’s leather apron has taken a pair of large shears from the brazier. Sparks fly up.
The iron jaws glow a virulent orange. He walks over to the prisoner, careful to hold the shears away from him, protecting his hands against the heat with leather mittens.
Stooping, the fat soldier positions the glowing shears over the prisoner’s face, and with a sudden, determined grunt, cuts off his nose. The man’s shriek pierces heaven.
All around me, the peasants cry out and recoil. Small children bawl and bury their heads in their mother’s laps.
It is the unexpectedness of the thing. But it is not over. The fat soldier shuffles round to the deserter’s twitching legs.
Another two guardsmen are summoned to hold him down, so that his bare feet protrude. The hot shears descend. First one foot, then the other.
The square has become a lake of distress. Luckily, the prisoner has fainted, and there are no more screams as his trousers are pulled away, genitals removed. The wretch lies on the floor, his external organs smoking faintly around him. Finally, the executioner takes up a heavy, two-handed sword. With two blows, the man’s waist is severed. It is done. The executioner stands panting, leaning on his sword. I remember the Four Punishments, beloved by the tyrants of Zhou, a thousand years ago.
So this is General An-Shu’s new law! Through tears I try to meet Youngest Son’s eye. I should remonstrate, beg him to remember the kindness of his mother. His scarred face is utterly strange. Then I understand this is new to him, too. He is intrigued. He is learning.
The next man wails, yet I cannot watch. All is known now. The Four Punishments are orderly, fixed by ancient tradition. Still I try to catch Youngest Son’s eye. He does not look at me, leaning forward on his chair, urging the executioner to make haste. Then the captain is angry because the deserters have tried to break free from their captors. Order is restored. And another man is brought forth.
To maim, and kill, twenty men in such a manner takes a long time. Two hours pass. At first the peasants weep or hug each other, then grow numb. I notice one winking at his friend as a particularly large set of genitalia are severed. There are dishes to suit every taste. I grip Eldest Son’s hand, and command him to close his eyes as I do.
He is shaking uncontrollably. If his little brother were not the instigator of this, perhaps he might view it with more composure. After all, we have seen executions before.
At last it is over. Our village square shiny with blood.
I watch through narrowed eyes as Youngest Son rises stiffly, pulling on his helmet with unsteady hands. It hangs askew on his head. He orders his drummers to strike up, and marches from the square. We are left to examine what remains. A few of the women begin to sob. Even the assembled soldiers seem restless. Many have been staring up at the clouds for the last two hours.
As soon as Youngest Son has gone, Lieutenant Lo hurries over to my bench. My official’s robes are stiff with sweat.
‘Lord Yun Cai,’ he says, gravely.
I ignore him.
‘Lord Yun Cai, it is over.’
My spirit rages against General An-Shu. That man has stolen my son from all affection. I look at him with accusing eyes.
‘Since when are the Four Punishments applied except in the case of gravest treason?’ I demand. ‘Gravest, gravest treason. Those men were conscripts. A good whipping would have sufficed.’
‘We must have no disorder,’ he whispers. ‘Any display of resentment would be rebellion.’
‘At the very most, a simple beheading or strangling for the ringleaders, as an example to the rest,’ I continue, ignoring him. ‘ That would accord with natural practice.’
‘Lord Yun Cai, I beg you! For the sake of your people.’
I come to my senses.
‘What must we do?’ I ask, wearily.
‘Speak to the villagers. Order them to disperse quietly.’
I rise to my feet.
‘Go home,’ I say. ‘Wudi! Where is Wudi?’
He appears at my elbow. I have never seen him so pale.
Or relieved. It could easily have been us facing red-hot shears.
‘Tell them to go home,’ I say.
We separate the crowd into groups and dismiss them from the square. One has already left. Thousand- li-drunk vanished as mysteriously as he arrived. I frown and scowl continually. Let nobody imagine that I condone my son.
Lieutenant Lo insists on accompanying me up the hill.
We exchange no words and he bows silently as I enter the gatehouse.
Watchmen have been placed on high ridges and outcrops all along the valley. Guards patrol the streets; no one leaves their home. A flight of geese form a ragged bow across the sky, and this gives me hope, reminding me of the day I accompanied Father to Mulberry Ridge. When the steward brings my wine, he says the soldiers have marched back up the valley, no doubt seeking their elusive enemy. I grunt in reply.
As soon as the door closes I ladle out a large cup. It is a mirror where past and present meet. A slight swirl of oil in the clear liquid, reflecting drops of light. I raise it to my lips and gulp, my throat lumpy with emotion. That will pass. How sweet it tastes! Ever since our troubles began I have avoided wine, restrained by duty. Little good it has brought.
The second cup tastes even better, thawing numbed sinews of self. Ah, how I loved to drink when I was young! Close your eyes, old man. See! The West Lake unfurls once again. You are nineteen, tall and eager, your heart full of expectation. Ladies glance at you coyly when you stroll down the Imperial Way. Bright, bright the sun. . . a scent of chrysanthemums in the air. . . and a hundred sorrows are yet to occur. . .
*
At Lord Xiao’s garden party, I had hinted to my great patron that I cared whether the peasants starved. Also that I hoped for a posting which might allow me to aid their famine. My first position was entirely a matter of his whim. Perhaps he took the decision between sips of tea, or
over a game of draughts. Either way, I was awarded a posting entirely suited to my talents, but completely at odds with my ideals. For I earnestly hoped to achieve great things for my fellow men.
P’ei Ti fared better in this game of offices. His dearest wish was for influence, the proximity of power, and he was not disappointed with the position of Secretary to the Lesser Censor of The Right Hand. While he might not determine policy, in such a post he could learn how one did. More importantly, he might gain important friends.
Whereas I, fired by a thousand vague visions of the public good, was allotted an obscure berth.
How often those who intend the most are passed over in favour of those who intend least, and so attract the approval of their superiors! For change requires imagination and integrity, dangerous qualities in an official.
I found myself set aside from the great currents rocking the ship of His Imperial Highness’ state, but in a position by no means ignoble. Indeed, I counted myself fortunate to be hailed as Under Librarian at the Hall of Imperial Records, a post worthy of several thousand cash a month.
At the age of nineteen, I earned more than clerks who had toiled for forty years from dawn until dusk. It was no fortune, but enough to end my dependency on Uncle Ming.
Lord Xiao summoned me to his office in the Finance Ministry at the commencement of my post. Naturally, I abased myself, proffering half a dozen poems of gratitude I doubt he ever read. Certainly they were never mentioned again and I took no copies.
‘So,’ he said, peering down at my scalp. ‘Is the son of the famous saviour of General Yueh Fei, pleased with his first appointment?’
I immediately understood Lord Xiao’s mood was not balanced. Perhaps one of his many rivals had pleased His Majesty more than himself at the morning’s Golden Audience.
‘I am overwhelmed by my Lord’s faith in me,’ I said.
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