He looks at me suspiciously.
‘What’s your business here, sir?’ asks the night-warder.
He is young and, for all his tiredness, sharp-eyed.
‘No business,’ I say. ‘Except walking somewhere safe.
Best for an old man to be up early. This heat makes me swell like a melon.’
He laughs at my joke.
Encouraged, I say, ‘Hey, young fellow, where are your manners? Have you no tea for an old man?’
He brings a cup out. It steams in the cool air and I sip.
His accent intrigues me.
‘You’re not from Chunming,’ I say.
He grunts.
‘Not me, sir, I’m from the mountains.’
He names a valley adjoining Wei.
‘What brings you here?’
‘My father sold me to a tanner in Chunming, and when my bond was up my master decided to die. A shame he couldn’t do it seven years earlier! So I found myself penniless and came upon this job.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘People call me Golden Bells because I’m a good singer at weddings.’
I hesitate. Yet I must try. For P’ei Ti’s sake, I must try.
‘Would you prefer to be back home, Golden Bells?’
He looks at me sadly.
‘If I could afford some land, I’d be home tomorrow.’
I sip my tea.
‘Are you always the night guard?’ I ask. ‘They should pay you more for that. Perhaps you could save up a bit.’
‘Yes, I am. The Chief Warder doesn’t like me because I’m not from Chunming. He pays me less than the others.
*
The Chief Warder says its easier when the prisoners are asleep.’
So he has a grievance. I shake my head sympathetically.
‘A man like you should have his own bit of land up in the hills. A house and wife. You could make a bit extra by your singing. You could grow whatever you liked and sell it at the market.’
He lowers his steaming cup of tea. Looks at me closely.
‘I’d give a lot for that.’
But I have neither money to bribe him, nor a plan.
‘Let’s see what will happen,’ I say. ‘The Jade Emperor is full of surprises.’
He reaches out for my empty cup.
‘I’ve got a cousin who lives in Wei Village, sir,’ he says.
‘I won’t mention his name, but I’ve visited him a few times. You might even be a bit familiar, sir. Not that it’s anyone’s business but our own.’
I feel a sudden, anxious thrill.
‘Who knows what will happen?’ I say. ‘I’ll remember you, Golden Bells. One good turn deserves another.’
I leave, shuffling across the wide courtyard feeling strangely exposed. A few of the servants are awake and about their business. After so debauched a night the Empress-in-waiting’s courtiers sleep late. But as I pass through the gate I glance back and see the Head Eunuch, yawning on the terrace, and watching me. Did he observe my conversation with Golden Bells or has he just emerged to examine the sky? My hands are oily with sweat.
I am not suited to intrigue. It disturbs my essential breaths. My audacity with Golden Bells amazes me. Will he report our conversation in the hope of a reward? P’ei Ti himself may have sought to appease his torturers by betraying my name and the reason for his intended visit to Wei Valley. It is painful to suspect one’s friends.
I have acted out of character, like a sparrow mas-querading as an eagle, and must pay the price. The boldest thing about me is a taste for unconventional rhymes! Do I underestimate myself? Though old and weak, I am still Father’s son. Was I not brave when assisting the Ensign Tzi Lu to hide behind Heron Waterfall? Did I not kill a man when I was young?
I am still to be reckoned with.
Let me just find the courage to turn my conversation with Golden Bells to P’ei Ti’s advantage! If only I was rich, the man drools for bribes. But I must not let desire become rashness. Every action runs the risk of confounding itself. Even if we helped P’ei Ti leave the prison block, there is nowhere to hide, no horses or other means to escape Chunming, assuming the torturers have left him capable of walking. I am learning to wait, as though patience is a weapon in itself.
Still, intrigue does not suit me. I learned this long ago when I returned to the capital from Pinang. Some say we are lucky to dwell in a floating world, for one may gather wisdom from past errors and guard against similar errors in the future. Perhaps if I think back to that time I may remember lessons to assist me now.
It is dark tonight. No moon. I close my eyes, remember a billowing cloud, a bright spring sky, drawing me to the greatest city under Heaven. That cloud was no creature of my imagination. It summoned me like a joyful voice. . .
‘See, sir! See!’
I was hunched over my horse, watching the road for ruts and potholes, careful because my left arm still hung from a sling. Luckily, it was a kindly beast. I believe it sensed my weakness and tried to plod evenly. I looked up, glad to be distracted from gloomy thoughts.
Mi Feng reared his own mount, making it dance on its hind legs in a tight circle, and waved his cap in the air.
What excited him? A longed-for, improbable sight. We had crested a hill and caught our first glimpse of the capital.
Mi Feng galloped around me, whooping at some peasants who were pushing wheelbarrows of cabbage to market. They scattered like frightened birds.
‘Did I not say we would come back!’ he cried.
I was gazing at a cloud. Golden edges round plump silver sails. My eyes descended to the jumbled rooftops and ramparts of the capital, ten thousand kite-strings of smoke from which the blue sky hung. The wind felt fresh and cool on my cheeks. I laughed uncertainly, not quite believing what I saw.
‘You did,’ I said.
Mi Feng reined in beside me, frowning.
‘Are you not pleased?’ he said.
‘I feel contradictory things at once, that is all.’
‘You think too much,’ he muttered. ‘Sometimes it is best to be simple, sir.’
I clapped him on the shoulder with my good arm, and nearly unseated myself. He steadied me.
‘Mi Feng,’ I said. ‘Do not call me sir any longer. You have saved my life too often for that. Your debt to me was long ago paid off. Though we can never be equals, from now on consider yourself my free companion. No gentleman could ask for a better.’
To my amazement, he began to cry, brushing angrily at the tears as though they were troublesome flies.
‘If you say so,’ he grumbled.
‘That is settled,’ I said, wiping the corner of my own eyes.
So we rode the last twenty li to the capital, drawing few glances on so crowded a highway. Wise to be inconspicuous, though I had little enough idea what, or who, awaited us.
Our journey across the Middle Kingdom had been an uncertain one. At first we limped through the mountains with hordes of survivors from Wen Po’s army, and every step was misery. I was in a daze of pain from my wound.
Mi Feng trudged beside me, urging me on with pleas and jibes concerning my manhood. At last we reached the nearest fortified city and found an Imperial Inn, where I waved Wen Po’s letter of passport and so secured a bed. I did not move from it for a month.
Feverish days and nights. The wound became poisoned, rheumy with pus, and I was fortunate not to lose my arm to a country surgeon’s cleaver. Then the sickness abated.
One morning I awoke in a small room to the sound of some travelling official snoring in the cot beside me. I laughed, scarcely able to believe myself alive.
We continued on our way, trusting to the vigour of youth and the kindness of strangers. Once we begged a ride from a high official sailing through the marsh regions of Lake T’ung, known as the Desert of a Hundred Li, for it was infested with brigands. Everyone on the boat feared for their life. The moon was so bright it might have been day. The soldiers protecting us called out from one boat to an
other, bows and crossbows ready to fire at the slightest danger. As we paddled along they beat continuously on drums and small bells and at last we reached more civilised districts.
A week later we could progress by water no longer and found ourselves marooned in a wretched town so poor it did not bother to protect itself with ramparts. Mi Feng suggested I wait by the river while he ‘had a nose about’.
When he returned it was with two sorry-looking horses.
‘Where did you get those?’ I demanded, certain he had stolen them, possibly through violence.
‘Do not ask, sir,’ he said, guiltily. ‘The truth is, I kept back a lot of the cash you gave me for food in Pinang.
Don’t judge me too harshly, sir. I couldn’t see the sense in ruining yourself for worthless cowards like those clerks. I thought you’d need some money later on.’
Though I could hardly reproach his intentions, by any standards he had robbed me.
‘Some of that was government funds,’ I chided.
He shrugged. Naturally, I insisted he surrender the rest of the cash, fully intending to pay back the Exchequer in full. I never did. So you might call me an embezzler.
Li by li, village by village, we journeyed south then east.
It is a miracle no bandits troubled us. After so much ill-fortune the spirits of the highway must have decided we had suffered enough. Wherever we could we joined other groups of travellers and perhaps that kept us safe.
At last we caught sight of the capital. Four whole months had passed since our flight from Pinang. Blossoms unfurled from gnarled branches. Grass sprouted green shoots, drinking sunlight. And always my left shoulder ached.
We passed through the Gate of Elegant Rectitude at sunset. I halted my horse and Mi Feng waited alongside.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Unless we sell something, there’ll be no food tonight.’
We were penniless but not friendless. Indeed, one might call it proof of a life well-lived that I had several to approach. By any natural instinct I should have sought out Cousin Hong, for he was family. Or P’ei Ti, for he was my oldest companion. But a harsh, self-punishing desire took hold. I wished to test the woman who had caused me so much misery. If I found her wrapped in another’s arms, I would know love was dark folly, illusion like everything else. Then, perhaps, I might be cured.
‘We shall go to Su Lin,’ I said.
Mi Feng replied cautiously: ‘You might find her busy.
Perhaps best not to surprise her, as it were, sir.’
‘I told you not to call me that, damn you! Accompany me to her house or go to hell. For that is where I am going.’
Without grumbling, he cantered behind me down the Imperial Way. How familiar the city seemed, and strange.
After so long away I felt like one traversing a dream. Face after face, each turned inward upon its business. Voices and smells mingling. Not a soul caring that we had been at the edge of the world, engaged in a desperate struggle.
Wine shops were as busy as ever. Tea-houses from which a faint thread of melody unwound into the street. Did anyone recognise me? I would not have noticed if they had. I rode stiff-backed, viewing everything through the corner of my eyes, afraid tears might begin, tears I could barely explain.
We rode right through the city to the West Lake.
Hundreds of craft on the water, lit by more lamps than there are stars in the sky. Gay laughter floated, then died away. I watched the scene coldly.
‘This must be a happy sight!’ said Mi Feng. ‘Sir always loved the Lake!’
He sounded anxious that I should be happy, so I tried to smile. Soon my mouth fell.
‘I thought this place loved me – no, not that, only that I loved it. But it is indifferent, Mi Feng, it does not care about us at all.’
He glanced at me, then at the West Lake.
‘How can water care about anything?’ he asked.
I stared at him.
‘You are the true poet here,’ I said.
He sighed, and would have said more, but I rode on, eager to discover what I most dreaded. We reached the cottage by the lake where Su Lin dwelt. Here came my first surprise. A strange singing girl stood outside her house, hugging a drunken suitor, evidently eager to send him on his way.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘Where is Su Lin?’
She blinked at me artfully, and giggled. The suitor bristled, as though I was trying to steal his girl. Then he caught a glimpse of our weapons.
‘Don’t you know, sir?’ she said. ‘Su Lin doesn’t live here anymore. She wouldn’t dirty her slippers here now. That’s where Su Lin lives.’
I followed her pointing finger. On a knoll above the lakeside, stood a fine house in its own grounds.
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
The girl’s laugh tinkled like ice.
‘Yes, the lucky whore!’
I should have struck her for such impudence. Turning my tired horse, I cantered up the low hill to the gatehouse.
A sleepy servant tried to stop me, but I brushed him aside with my good arm and marched up to the house. I wanted no announcement, I wanted to find her exactly as she was, however it pained my heart. Mi Feng hurried behind me, pausing only to intimidate the gatekeeper with a glare.
‘That’s right, sir,’ he said. ‘Catch her at it.’
I strode to the entrance and did not bother to knock.
Throwing open the door, I stood for a moment, one arm in a sling, the other resting on the hilt of P’ei Ti’s sword.
What I saw lumped my throat.
Fear creates a thousand miseries which never occur.
Longing a thousand more. I was met by a gasp. A sudden cry. Su Lin sat on a stool in the courtyard beside a small pond green with lily-pads. Lanterns lit the water, softening her gentle features. In her hand, a lute; on her face, sheer consternation. She froze in mid-song, for she was practising a tune. Her lifeless fingers released the instrument and it slid down her knees to the ground, clanging with a discordant sound.
Our eyes found each other’s soul.
‘They told me,’ she cried. ‘Oh, I thought!’
Her voice trailed away. Then came a flurry of silks in motion. She was clasping me hard, hurting my injured shoulder.
‘They told me you were dead,’ she sobbed against my chest. ‘Oh Yun Cai, you have come back.’
I peered around. No other man was visible. But I could not be sure. I held her away from me suspiciously.
‘Is anyone else here?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean? There’s just us, and the servants.’
At last, I could relax. If another man had been present I do not like to think what I would have done.
‘Dearest Yun Cai, how thin you look! And your arm!
What has happened to your arm?’
Like a kite abruptly falling when the wind drops, my fury became its opposite. I was myself again. We clutched each other, crying out excited questions, murmuring endearments, calling out each other’s name. Yet in my soul, barely noticed, was a coldness. Though I longed for it to melt, something had frozen inside me like ice one sometimes sees, full of grit and dead leaves.
What a night followed! For all my exhaustion it continued until dawn. The finest food appeared, and wines.
The more I drank the more boastful I became, for I sensed Su Lin expected me to boast. She wanted me to resemble a hero in a tale. And P’ei Ti was summoned, rushing across the city to join us. I told them stories of our journey from the frontier, joking about the rapaciousness of fleas. Su Lin sat close by, urging me to drink another cup, eat another morsel, occasionally clasping me and murmuring how thin I looked.
Finally, sitting beneath the stars in Su Lin’s courtyard –
I insisted we eat outside because it was what I had grownused to – P’ei Ti grew serious. He indicated to Su Lin that she should be silent, though she wanted to entertain me with a favourite song. Actually, she was drunk, in the most endearing way possible.
‘Well, m
y old friend,’ he said. ‘No, not my old friend, but my dearest friend. It’s obvious you’ve had a very bad time of it.’
I tried to shrug, drank more wine.
‘How did you come by your wound?’ he asked.
‘An arrow,’ I said.
‘Ah. So you saw no, what do they call it, close quarter fighting?’
I looked at him, suddenly sober.
‘Better not to mention it,’ I said. ‘But P’ei Ti, your sword saved my life.’
I rose, pushing Su Lin aside, and paced up and down.
‘I had to kill a man,’ I said, a brittle edge to my voice.
‘If the Buddha is right, I am damned for torment in the next life, or even hell itself. I stabbed him in the groin and his blood sprayed all over me! But I had no choice, P’ei Ti, I was allowed no choice!’
He gripped my shaking hands.
‘Do not distress yourself. You are safe among friends now.’
‘It was Lord Xiao’s doing!’ I cried. ‘He hired assassins, P’ei Ti. I had to kill one of them. Oh, it is an unpleasant story!’
Su Lin was watching me, her mouth slightly open.
‘Let us talk of this tomorrow,’ said P’ei Ti, soothingly.
‘Lord Xiao will reap what he has sown.’
‘He hates me, P’ei Ti! He will never let me be.’
‘No, my friend, it is his own ignominy he despises. His pride is a kind of madness and will be his undoing. Let us talk of it tomorrow. Tonight I wish you to feel only joy.’
I sat down again, flustered beyond measure. Then a voice from the shadows spoke up. It was Mi Feng, clutching a flask which he emptied from the nape. His voice slurred.
‘So what if he killed a man!’ he said. ‘I killed three of ’em, and they all wanted my master’s head. You people are always letting others fight your wars, but he acted like a man.’
Then, as P’ei Ti and Su Lin listened, he told of Wen Po’s siege works and the tunnel, our fight in Pinang and flight from the Kin. I was so befuddled by drink and exhaustion, I hardly took in half of what he said. Su Lin dragged me to my feet, and led me to bed, whispering endearments. I left P’ei Ti gazing open-mouthed at Mi Feng, encouraging him with yet more wine.
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