“What is it now?” Cui asked in a huff.
“The shape of an animal, here and here,” he pointed to the outline.
“Where?” Cui replied. “I don’t see it.”
“It’s there I tell you,” he said. “Here’s the head, the body and the legs. It’s a mountain lion, or some other four-legged creature.”
“Hah! It could be anything,” Cui said, growing frustrated. “Your yin-yang eyes are seeing things that are just not there. They are blobs of blue lichen. For the last time, get scrubbing. If Master Wen hears you, we’ll both be in big trouble.”
Bolin scraped his cloth over the surface and the lichen smudged across the stone and lodged inside the engraved script. Soon the lichen was floating on the surface of the water in the bucket and, as the mists cleared, the Stone Tablet was shining like the midday sun.
“Phew, finished just in time. Here’s Master Wen, upright as a fence post,” Cui hissed.
“Good, that’s how I want it,” Wen said. “More sweat, less speculation.”
As he bowed to Wen and adjusted his hair bun, Bolin heard a voice whisper to him… in his soul. “Save me. Release me. Don’t abandon me!”
Bolin pressed his palms into his temples and shouted, “Stop!”
“What’s the matter with him?” Wen asked.
“Nothing, Master Wen, nothing at all,” Cui said and shook Bolin by the shoulders. That brought him round. Bolin still felt dizzy.
“I hope so,” Wen replied, standing in front of him. “There are plenty of other conscripts I can call on. I’ve no time for indolence.”
“No, sir,” Cui said, jumping to his defence. “He’s a hard worker.”
“Mmm, well, this is his last chance!” Wen was curt and stomped off.
“Bolin, pull yourself together!” Cui hissed.
“I’ll try, I really will,” he said through gritted teeth. The punishment for gross indolence was a tattoo on the face and exile to a distant province, there to grind out a life of serfdom. That was the last thing he needed. The disgrace to his parents would be unconscionable.
Now he was seeing shapes in blue lichen. Whatever next?
CHAPTER 17
The Three Disappearances
There are no waves without wind.
POPULAR CHINESE SAYING
Luli stormed past the constable. “I will see him!” she yelled.
The constable stood at the threshold and fired off a quiver of apologies. “Master Bao, I’m so sorry, she pushed passed me.” He rushed over to grab her, but Luli was smart and nimble and nipped behind a man sitting opposite Bao.
“Feng!” Luli stammered. “What are you doing here?”
Feng didn’t answer.
“Shall I remove her?” the constable asked, trying to reach her.
“No,” Bao said, sitting up in his magistrate’s chair. “That won’t be necessary. You can leave us.”
The constable slunk back to his station outside the large entrance doors of the magistrate’s chambers. Luli thought Bao was savouring the sunset of his magisterial power – the new magistrate was due to arrive any day.
“Madam Luli,” Bao said, calm as you like. “You’ve interrupted an important meeting. This had better be good.”
“I don’t care about your stupid interviews,” she was livid. “I want my Ru released.”
“That’s impossible,” Bao replied, equally indignant. “He’s been accused of a serious crime and needs to stand trial. If that’s all you wanted, you can go back to your pathetic existence. Now, get out of my office!”
She stood on the spot, quaking with a mix of fear and rage.
Behind her, the sound of the drums on the top of the Bell and Drum Tower rang out in rhythmic pulses over the city, consuming it in an envelope of sound, intruding through the windows and beneath the door where the constable stood, in rigid contemplation of his faults. Moments later, the huge nipple gong was stuck thrice, the code for an imperial announcement.
“That’s the new magistrate,” Bao said. “He’s arriving.”
“Who is he? He’s got to be an improvement of the current incumbent!” she snarled.
“Yes, Bao. What’s his name?” Feng asked.
Bao coughed into his hand, “Master Gang.”
She gasped. “Gang? It can’t be. That lame excuse of a man who was here twenty years ago?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Bao said.
“Well I never,” Luli tutted. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, karma has frowned on me again.”
Feng piped up, “Why? Who is this man Gang?”
“Ssss,” Luli hissed. “You’d have just been born when all this happened. Back in those days, Gang was a junior official on General Tiande’s staff. Then the east end of the Great Wall terminated in the foothills of the Yanshan Mountains, leaving a thin neck of land to the Bohai Sea. Wing, the Dragon Master, advised the General to construct the fortifications here, to plug the gap. When the building work was finished, the Dragon Master was supposed to consecrate the new iconic eastern end of the wall, the Laolongtou and release the Laolong back into the wall. On the day of the ceremony, Wing never showed.”
“What’s this got to do with Gang?” Feng asked.
“Gang was reputed to be the last person to see Wing alive,” Luli replied.
“And…?”
“Don’t you see? That makes him a chief suspect for Wing’s murder.” Her words cut the air like flashing blades.
“I didn’t know Wing had been murdered. I thought—” Feng said.
“No, that’s wrong,” Bao interrupted. “Wing’s body has never been found. Strictly speaking, he’s still missing.”
“For twenty years! Bao, after all that time, his corpse has rotted. You know that and I know that,” she snarled.
Bao stood up and pointed his finger at her. “You listen to me. The prince ordered me to re-investigate this whole matter. If you have anything new to say about what happened in those days, report to me. Above all, do not spread malicious rumours!”
Luli shuffled uncomfortably on her feet and lowered her gaze.
Bao went on, “At the time, Gang was a young official who couldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, my investigations point to someone else.”
“And who would that be?” she growled.
“General Tiande, if you must know,” Bao said. “Wing discovered some dark secret about the General. To cover it up, Tiande had him murdered and disposed of the body.”
“That’s preposterous, what secret was that?”
“That’s what I need to find out.”
“Oh, do you?” she said, with an air of sarcasm.
Bao winced, but returned to the offensive. “Don’t forget that Tiande was poisoned a few years later, after he’d returned to the imperial court. That was the Emperor’s final justice. If he suspected Tiande of malfeasance, why can’t I? If anyone was responsible for Wing’s disappearance, it was Tiande and that’s the report I will make to the new magistrate.”
“And the other disappearances?” she asked. She was not going to yield on this matter. “What about Cheng? He also vanished without trace around the same time.”
“Who was Cheng?” Feng asked.
“Cheng was the Abbot of the Temple of the Eight Immortals,” Luli replied. “Before Dong took the post.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bao scoffed. “Yes, Cheng disappeared, but so did the Laolong. Neither has been seen since. Are you going to make Gang responsible for them as well as Wing?”
“Yes,” she insisted.
“I don’t think so,” Bao replied. “Neither Wing nor Cheng’s disappearance has anything to do with Gang. Tiande was a prestigious general, with an army under his command and the power to make people disappear. Anything could have happened to Cheng. Monks are always leaving their mon
asteries, lured by the itinerant life. I’ll bet he’s roaming the Yanshan Mountains, communing with the immortal Tao as we speak.”
“I don’t think so,” Luli replied, gritting her teeth. “Most of all I’m terrified my Ru won’t get a fair trial. And I don’t trust Gang to give him one.”
Bao laughed.
She wondered what he found so amusing when a man’s life was at stake. Was it the idea that Ru would receive a fair trial? In short, yes. It was a fundamental legal principle that a criminal could be pronounced guilty only when he or she had confessed to their crime. This permitted the application of legal severities such as the whip, thumb screws and other indiscriminate torture. How could Ru make any kind of confession when he could hardly say his own name? Luli puffed out her cheeks and let the air out slowly.
There was a knock at the door. The constable entered and announced, “The imperial messenger has arrived.”
“I must go and greet the new magistrate,” Bao said, as he strode out of the room.
“You two – now is the time to leave the chambers,” the constable insisted.
She and Feng followed Bao to the Bell and Drum Tower. When she was sure she would not be overheard, she whispered, “Why were you in the magistrate’s office? I was afraid they had discovered your true identity.”
“No, it was nothing like that,” Feng replied, posing a weary smile. Then he added, “They want me to make way for the new magistrate. How can I move out of our house in the Yamen when Park has just died and my mother is so poorly?”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “If I had the space, you could move in with me.”
“You are kind,” Feng replied, hanging his head. “But thank you, all the same.”
By this time, they had joined a huge crowd gathering in the square. Gang’s arrival had stirred the emotions of the citizens of Shanhaiguan. Two runners emerged through the west gate, followed by a procession of wagons, mules and men carrying yokes, piled high with luggage and other paraphernalia. Then came an imperial sedan chair supported by four runners, the silk curtains concealing its occupants from general view.
To the roll of the drum, the curtains were drawn back and a man emerged wearing the black cap and robes of a magistrate. He was short, with broad, burly shoulders, a pointed chin beard and eyes that oozed suspicion. Feng shrugged his shoulders. No, he didn’t like the look of him either.
Bao stepped up to him and said, “Welcome to Shanhaiguan, Magistrate Gang.”
CHAPTER 18
The Operation of Deception
Every operation involves deception.
Even though you are active, appear to be inactive.
Though effective, appear ineffective.
THE ART OF WAR
Gang had not slept well on his first night in Shanhaiguan. It was not because his guest room in the Temple of the Eight Immortals was sparse and uncomfortable. Nor was it due to some ailment or nocturnal anxiety. No, it was difficult to sleep when you felt like you were floating on a bed of Heavenly ch’i. He had still scarcely grasped the huge opportunity that karma had dropped in his lap – his appointment as Magistrate of Hebei Province. The message from the Prince of Yan requesting him to take up the post had arrived unexpectedly. On the same day, he had accepted it, packed a few essentials and then set off from Beiping with his wife, daughter, chattels and servants. After all these years, he had attained a position of power he could wield without reservation. He was not going to be discouraged by some early morning bell ringing and chanting.
He picked up the book by his bedside. It fell open and he read,
“Every operation involves deception. Even though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear ineffective.”
Perfect! This saying was his lighthouse in the storm. Where would he be without The Art of War? He hadn’t survived this long inside the imperial carcass without practising Sun Tzu’s elevated principles. Deception would enable him to uncover those who were for him and remove those who were against him; those who were for the nephew or for the uncle. There was no bigger rift than a civil war. As magistrate, he was going to exploit it to the full.
Zhu Yuanzhang, the Hongwu Emperor, had led the rebels in their red bandannas against the Mongol incursion. But it wasn’t the Mongols who had slaughtered Gang’s family, it was Zhu’s rebels. Was it accidental? Possibly, but Gang did not care. Zhu Yuanzhang bore responsibility for the heinous act. Now Zhu was dead, his son and grandson still lived. He, Gang, was going to rip out their beating hearts and feed them to the Baku, or die trying. Until that joyous day, he had to play the imperial magistrate to the rabble of Shanhaiguan. To keep them dancing to his tune, he had brought along his own coterie of thugs.
Newly returned to Shanhaiguan, he was wary of everyone, most of all those he had encountered on his previous visit. Twenty years ago, he had ridden the dragon of fortune and there was no guarantee from either the powers of Heaven or of earth that he would be able to do so again. People were fickle and suspicious. He was the same, only more so.
A knock at the door broke his reverie.
“Come in,” he ordered.
“Bao, assistant magistrate. At your service, sir,” the man introduced himself with an obsequious bow. Gang liked the man’s ingratiating manner. It was like his. They were two bricks in a wall.
“Well, Bao, you can start by placing me and my family in proper accommodation. I dislike monks. They’re manipulative at the best of times and seditious at the worst.”
Bao nodded and raised his eyebrows. Gang took that as agreement.
“Apologies, Master Gang,” Bao said. “The family of the previous magistrate has yet to vacate the official residence.”
“I’m well aware of that, Bao,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If they had vacated, I would not be here, would I?” Oh, was this one a fool as well?
“The ex-magistrate’s wife is dying of grief,” Bao chimed.
“So? In this temple, I’m constantly distracted by gong striking, monotonous chanting and the stench of incense. I can’t work while embroiled in monkish ways.”
“I understand, master. I’ll see to it as soon as possible.”
“Yes, you will,” he said, standing up and pacing the floor. “In the meantime, I want to know what legal cases are pending. Start your brief now.”
“On the prince’s instructions, I’ve prepared a report on Cheng and Wing, the men missing from twenty years ago,” Bao said, passing him a scroll of paper.
The report was as short as it was cursory. “This brings back memories,” he smirked. “Tell me, did you find either of them?”
Bao shook his head and said, “After so long, the trails of the investigation are cold. Now you are here, perhaps you can revive them?”
“Of course,” he said. “I also want you to show me the layout of the fortress and the rest of the Yamen administrative buildings. It’ll refresh my memory.”
“Yes, master,” Bao said, with another long bow.
Gathering up his long sleeves, he adjusted the ribbon that held his magistrate’s identity tablet in place. He wanted it to rest exactly in the middle of his chest.
He sat down in the comfort of the magistrate’s plush sedan chair and peeked out of the curtains. Bao had come on horseback and led him out of the temple, over the moat and into the fortress via the north gate.
They passed off-duty soldiers squatting around make-shift tables playing games of chess, dice or backgammon, laughing and jesting in the lead up to the Lantern Festival six days hence. On every street corner were vendors selling fruit pastries, sweet meats, fish cakes and dumplings. Along the way, lowly administrators of the eighth or ninth grade sat with brush-pen, ink slab, ink stone and paper, commissioned by illiterate soldiers to write love letters to send back to their wives.
They were soon by the outer court of the Yamen, which bustled with serva
nts hurrying after their masters, porters carrying mandarins on litters, horses, mules and camels snorting at each other and runners transporting messages to and from the ends of the Empire. The corridors of power were crowded with officials performing the prince’s business and administering the law of the land. Or so it appeared.
Gang scrutinised them. He wanted to remain unseen yet see everything around him. They passed the deserted law courts. As soon as he had officially taken up office, they would be busy, exceedingly busy, of that he was sure.
He hardly had time to sit down behind his substantial desk, when a constable entered.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Your Honour, there’s a Master Guanting outside.”
“Who? What does he want?”
Before the constable could answer, the doors burst open. “I’ll tell you what I want,” Guanting thumped his fist on the desk. He was a portly man dressed in a long, flowing silken robe and bob hat. “I want my knapsack back. Bao here told me it was needed for evidence. Without it, I can’t conduct my business. I came to Shanhaiguan to buy and sell my carpets and mulberry silk and I was robbed of twenty taels of silver by a little runt.”
“I see. That’s a lot of cash. What is the boy called?” Gang said, feigning sympathy. He was good at that.
“Ru. His name’s Ru,” Guanting said, full of bluster. “He’s as dumb as a donkey. He either can’t or won’t speak, I don’t know which. But I do know he’s a thief. As soon as the case is heard, I want my silver taels released back to me. And there’s another delay, well, there would be, wouldn’t there? It seems we’re waiting for the new magistrate.”
“I am the new magistrate,” Gang replied, sticking his nose in the air for good measure.
“You are?” Guanting said, waving his arms around, his sleeve rolling back to his elbow. Gang spotted a small but distinctive tattoo on the merchant’s forearm. He didn’t need a second look: it was a wolf – a Blue Wolf, fangs and claws bared. So… Merchant Guanting was a Mongol sympathiser. He decided to assist the man’s case.
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