“Well, they have now.” Of that, Bolin was certain.
CHAPTER 20
In the Tao, We Trust
Birth is not a beginning; death is not an end.
There is birth, there is death, there is issuing forth, there is entering in.
That through which one passes in and out without seeing its form,
That is the Great Tao.
TAOIST SCRIPTURE
Luli stared blankly at the place where Bolin had squatted during their conversation. How could he refuse his soul donor’s envelope? It was unbelievable. Everything happens for a reason, so why? What was going on? If her customers were going to deny their true identities, their true paths in the Tao, what was the point of it all?
She felt like packing her goods and going to stay with her sister in Beiping but that would be like running away. Her son had been unjustly accused and, deep down, she was still enthralled by her role as Po Mistress and all that it entailed. There had to be another explanation to this mystery. And why hadn’t the person signed the envelope? She couldn’t for the life of her remember who it was, she had so many bequests. Ru would know if he were here.
Bolin’s response had made her doubt herself and her role. To counter that, she recalled the many satisfied customers she had introduced to their soul donors. One day, a man had arrived at her door, eyes wide in terror. In terrible nightmares, he imagined himself stumbling around without a head. Luli sat the man down and found an envelope from his soul donor. He discovered that he shared the soul of a man decapitated after being charged with the heinous crime of plotting treason and sedition against the Emperor.
Bolin was stubborn. But she was more so. She would not be beaten. She believed with a passion in the transmigration of souls. Therefore, Bolin would inherit great powers, as the message predicted. Heaven had chosen him for a reason and it was her task to fulfil its supreme will.
She picked up the broom, her palms cold against the smoothness of the bamboo handle. She swept the floor, careful to avoid the rows of boxes of envelopes and gifts. Luli found an intrinsic value in cleaning that transcended the simple act itself. It created space, however small, and that allowed the Tao to appear anew. Feeling better, she dusted all of her objects. That was strange, she thought as she picked up a porcelain water dragon, this one had moved. She’d placed it to protect the window. That wasn’t the only object that had mysteriously moved on its own accord, which left one explanation. Ru. The little monkey was making mischief. How many times had she told him not to play with the objects? Like the Po letters, each one had its place.
She sighed. It wasn’t fair to berate him while he was in prison. She had to get him released and clear his name. In the few days he had been incarcerated, she had seen his spirits deteriorate. He was innocent and vulnerable. So was she, but this was no time to complain. She wiped away a tear.
She startled as a shadow crept over her.
“Bao,” she said. “You frightened me. What do you want? Is Ru all right?”
“The new magistrate wants to see you,” he murmured.
His lascivious eyes wandered over her body. She could feel them. It made her feel dirty, unclean. Instinctively, she tucked in the lapels of her gown at the neck. She knew his tawdry reputation. All the local women did.
“What about?” she asked with a thin smile.
“Bring your almanacs. He wants advice,” he barked.
She was accustomed to receiving such requests from mandarins and commissioners, so this was no surprise. Gathering her tables and almanacs, she put on a headscarf and with reluctance seated herself in Bao’s sedan chair. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about with Ru’s incarceration, now she had to sit near this loathsome creature.
By good fortune, they encountered no delays and they were soon stood outside the magistrate’s oval doors, waiting to gain entry to his chambers. From inside, Luli could hear raised voices. Gang was arguing with someone.
“No,” Gang yelled. “That is my order. It must be carried out from tonight.”
“Why? Explain to me. What’s the urgency?”
“Listen, commandant. You’ve arrested half of Shanhaiguan, yet failed to find any of Shun’s conspirators. None of the confessions you’ve extracted have yielded a single useful lead,” Gang was saying. “While you procrastinate, Park’s murderers must be found and punished. A man had the audacity to make an attempt on the prince’s life. He wasn’t acting alone, so the fortress must be swarming with the Emperor’s spies. They are vermin, infecting our lives. So, if you please, execute my order and cleanse our city.”
“If you insist,” the commandant conceded. “Starting tonight?”
“Exactly,” Gang repeated.
Luli heard footsteps on the marble floor. Tung burst through the doors and brushed against her shoulder, almost knocking her over.
“How rude,” she muttered under her breath, as the commandant stomped off down the labyrinth of corridors.
Bao ushered her into the chambers, saying, “Magistrate, this is Luli, the astrologer.”
As she entered, Gang was gazing at a bronze mirror that was perched on the ledge of the window opening. She’d seen it on the many occasions Magistrate Park had called on her divinatory skills.
Gang still seemed flustered by his dispute with Commandant Tung. He stared at her. It looked like he was trying to recall a distant memory.
“Have we met before?” he asked.
She was demure. “We may have met when you were here in the service of General Tiande. We had a mutual friend, namely Dragon Master Wing. Other than that… no, I don’t think so.” For the most part, that was true. Though everything she knew about him was because Wing had confided in her.
“Whatever,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I have just inspected the prison cells; you’ll have to excuse me if there’s any lingering smell of fear and loathing,” he added, wiping his forearms and his face with his hands, as if to remove the malodour from his person.
If he’s been to the cells, he must have seen Ru. Perhaps he doesn’t know that I’m his mother.
“I understand,” she said, trying to keep a calm demeanour. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to begin my tenure here with the right auspices. Please, I want you to recommend a favourable date for my investiture. With all the arrests in the city, it’s imperative I start work as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” she replied. Was he asking her to manipulate the signs to his advantage? Surely not. That would be against the will of Heaven.
“You can use the annex to peruse your almanacs,” he said, gesturing to the room at the side of the main chambers. “I’ve had it prepared, there’s a silk table cloth and you can smell the incense from here.”
Glad of the privacy, she laid out her trusted almanac, a series of scrolls and other tables, full of Taoist sigils, astrological symbols, trigrams from the I Ching and Chinese script aligned to the Ming Dynasty calendar. The characters danced provocatively before her eyes. She blinked. They danced some more. So did the thoughts in her mind. Round and round. Making her dizzy.
Her mind was in turmoil. How to make sense of her situation? Until Gang was invested as magistrate, he was officially unable to hear any legal cases, yielding her the perfect opportunity to delay Ru’s case. That would give her valuable time to discover the real culprit.
There was a less attractive side to her predicament. Ru would have to remain even longer in the jail’s squalid conditions. He was mute, so couldn’t speak or properly defend himself. The other prisoners taunted him. The guards mocked him. His morale was low. If she couldn’t unearth any evidence to prove his innocence, or find the real culprit, Gang would pronounce him guilty. That terrified her. Ru would never survive the ordeal of having his hand cut off, or the humiliation of wearing a cangue in public. The trauma would quell his spirit.
He’d wither like a flower deprived of light.
She returned her gaze to the almanac. The sigils jumped off the page, delighting in her quandary.
If she manipulated the investiture date, she could ease Ru’s plight. Yes, that would work. Then again, that had its own peril. She’d built an enduring trust with the Tao, which in turn had granted her yin-yang eyes, enhanced by the noble gifts of prophecy and clairvoyance. When she was an apprentice, she had learnt of the dangers of betraying that trust.
She remembered hearing about a seer who had received a prophecy, but who had then lied about it. The next day the woman had woken up as blind as a mole. That was karma, the righting of a wrong, the punishment for an abuse of position. Should something like that happen to Luli, what would become of Ru? There were so many imponderables. It was a harrowing choice between her son’s possible salvation and her connection to the Tao.
To reason this through, she went back to her foundations, the very things that underpinned her life’s creed. She believed the will of Heaven was paramount – in all things. Tempted though she was, she would not manipulate the reading, not for Ru, not for her and certainly not for Gang’s benefit.
As soon as she had made that momentous decision, the script started to behave on the page and her hands stopped shaking. To arrive at a propitious date, she had to take account of all possible fortunes and misfortunes. The deliberations were intricate. She checked the tables in the almanac against the prevailing weather. Eight days previously, it had snowed heavily, a definite sign of the yin influence. Since then, it had remained cold and in the freezing weather, the thaw had been sluggish. As long as there remained patches of snow on the ground, an investiture for a magistrate, who was a prominent yang personage, would not be auspicious at all. The pages of the almanac confirmed her theory: the investiture should wait until the sun, the great symbol of yang influence, had melted the snow.
A number leapt off the page. That was it; it was far, yet near. Is that the date she should give? Still undecided, she wrapped the almanac in a silk scroll and re-entered the chambers. Gang eyed her with an air of suspicion. What did that matter? He was suspicious of everyone.
He stood up and invited her over to the window. “Before you tell me your advice, come over here. I want to show you something.”
He was playing games now, but she joined him. He moved the bronze mirror out of the way so he could open the shutters. Almost as if he’d arranged it, there was a harrowing scream of pain from the other side of the narrow alley.
She gasped. “What was that?”
“Oh, that’s the prison cells,” he said, pointing to the basement of the building opposite. Another long, tortuous scream seemed to emanate from the bowels of the earth.
“And do you know what?” Gang asked. He was toying with her, like a cat with an injured bird. “That may well have been your Ru.”
It wasn’t, but all along Gang had known that Ru was Luli’s son. If only she could wipe that smirk off his face. What had he done to her Ru? Her mind was in shreds.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Wh-what are you asking of me?” she stammered, squeezing the almanac in her hand.
“Give me what I want and I will go easy on him.”
“And what do you want?” She was choking on her tears, hardly able to breathe, let alone think.
“To be invested at dawn tomorrow.”
So soon? She couldn’t believe it. In a whirlwind of emotion, she said, “Tomorrow is an ill-fated day.” She coughed into her ’kerchief, a stolen moment within which to compose her shattered emotions. “There is still snow on the ground. Wait five days and it will have thawed. That brings us to the day before the moon is round, which is a day of good fortune.”
“Hah!” he shouted. “Do you think I care about your yin and yang, your sun and moon, your Heaven and earth? That’s for fools. I’m a man of reason, of action, who waits not on the detailed inspection of the yarrow stalks or the tortoise shell,” he scoffed. “I will have my investiture tomorrow. Sign the decree and I’ll keep my promise.”
Swirling amidst these intimidations were other currents of intrigue. It was clear Gang wanted his investiture brought forward for a reason that had nothing to do with Ru. But why? His threats made up her mind.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Sign it,” he prodded his finger at the investiture decree.
“No, I won’t,” she said with defiance.
“What? What do you mean you won’t?” Gang thumped the table so the brush and ink tablet leapt into the air. She had seen bullies before and she was not going to be intimidated. From her previous acquaintance with him, she knew that in the Chinese zodiac he was a rat – and no doubt one by nature, too. She was a tigress, stalking her prey, fiercely protecting her young. He didn’t stand a chance.
“I’ve told you the most fortunate date for your investiture,” she insisted.
“Are you as stupid as your son?” he asked, with lashings of sarcasm.
She took a deep breath and growled, “No, not at all. He’s cleverer than I. One day, you’ll see for yourself.”
“Hah! There’s no chance of that ever happening. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll find an astrologer who will give me the date I want and you’ll never see your son again. Then we’ll see who’s clever,” he gloated.
To walk away from that ogre was the easiest and hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She had faith she could find a way to keep her integrity and save her son from insanity. Gang might have earthly power, but she had Heavenly power. In the Tao, she trusted.
CHAPTER 21
True Provenance
Conduct the funeral rites of your parents with meticulous care.
Follow the ceremonies of sacrifice even after they are long gone.
Then the virtue of the common people will resume its proper excellence.
THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS
Feng circled his father’s coffin, wafting incense from the burner. As the clouds of aromatic smoke dispersed, it revealed the deftly-carved images of the cypress tree on the coffin. His voice was hoarse from intoning prayers and swallowing clouds of incense. He wanted to feel like a proper son ought – a gatekeeper between the world of his ancestors and the world of the living, the world of his father and the world of his father’s family. He had placed paper offerings around the coffin. Despite his concerted efforts, he couldn’t shake a residual feeling of being an imposter. It was simple. Park was not his father. Nor was Lan his mother; not his biological mother, anyway. He felt like a stranger in his own house. Once-familiar objects felt garish and out of place. Yesterday, he had broken by accident his mother’s favourite porcelain vase.
After this morning’s awkward confrontation in Gang’s chambers, Feng had stubbed his toe on the steps of the Yamen. Then he had plucked up the courage to tell Lan that they had to vacate their home. While he had done it as gently as he could, it had still broken her heart. What was left of it. This was yet another departure. How many more would there be? His life was unravelling like a ball of twine.
He stayed with her. While she dozed in the afternoon, she kept murmuring Park’s name. He held her hand, cajoling her, encouraging her to live, to love, to stay until evening, the night, the next morning, until… they moved to their new house, where they could start again. This house held too many memories. Everywhere, ghosts of old stalked the shadows. Gang was right. It was time to leave.
He left her side for a moment, to cleanse the space around Park’s coffin. He wafted the incense burner and enunciated the prayers, but they rose up to Heaven as if on broken wings.
There was a scream from the inner chamber. Precious! What! When it turned into a howl, he knew. He just knew. Lan had drowned in a sea of grief.
Park was poisoned nine days previously, so he’d been expecting it, dreading it. Even so, it still hit him like a thunderclap. Ri
ght in the belly. Winding him. Hard. He staggered out of the presence of one corpse, in the gut-wrenching fear that he was about to encounter another. On the way, Precious brushed past him in a flurry of tears and lurched out of the main door. His page, Qitong, was alongside her carrying a lantern. Dusk would fall soon.
“Where’s she going?” he asked Strange.
“To fetch the doctor,” his manservant replied, his face contorted with angst.
Feng had wanted to say goodbye to his mother before she departed. He took one look at her face and knew it was too late. Her serene features reminded him of a sunset he had once seen in the Gobi Desert. In the stillness, the great red orb sunk into the stark yellow horizon. It was the most humbling experience of his life. Until now. Lan’s face wore that look of sublime quiescence. Gone the life etchings of worry and pain. Wiped clean, her skin was smooth, blanched and radiant. He envied her that peace. One day, it would come to him.
Her hand was still warm. He stroked it, trying to keep that last vestige of life, hoping beyond hope that it might defy the Tao and call her back. Then he could say the things he’d always wanted to say but never had the time or inclination, like “Thank you for safeguarding my youth,” and “I’m grateful you helped me grow and develop,” and “I’d never want for any other mother but you.” He’d wipe away a tear and say those three little words, “I love you.”
Woven thick in this cocoon of reflection, he barely noticed Precious open the door and let the chill of dusk into the house. Luli followed. He realised his mother’s hand had cooled and dropped it so it thudded against the bedside. He flushed with guilt – and at the very moment that he’d let her go, forever.
Luli was at her side. Sitting next to death. Every act was suffused with poignancy: Luli taking his mother’s three pulses at the wrist, lifting her lifeless limbs and then closing her eyes. Each act wore a cloak of incontrovertible finality. She could no longer see him, nor he her. She was gone.
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