“What magic does the script do?” she whispered.
“Calls up the ancestral spirits,” Jin said. “Let’s see who he’s summoning.”
Luli leaned over the railings and breathed in the ch’i. She could sense it flooding into the chamber like water gushing through a breach in a dam. On the far wall, the air shimmered like a mirage. A formless cloud appeared inside the wall and slowly the filaments coalesced into a robed figure wearing a monk’s habit. A spectral monk – his face was hidden in the ch’i clouds. Dong bowed and spoke to him, soul to soul, his ethereal words like wisps of sound floating upon the unseen tides of the Tao.
“Great Tao Master,” Dong intoned. “Welcome to our time. May your spirit live long and prosper.”
“Greetings, Father Dong. I am Abbot Cheng. I come in service strong,” the spectre replied.
Dong had called up Cheng’s spirit.
“I have tried for many years to contact you and only now the gods have seen fit to allow us to commune,” Dong went on, his voice resonating deep in Luli’s soul. “We wish to know what happened to you and Dragon Master Wing twenty years ago. On that day, you summoned the Laolong into the confines of the Jade Chamber. The next morning, Wing, the Dragon Master, was supposed to release the Laolong into the Great Wall, marking the dragon’s homecoming. The Dragon Master never showed. Then you disappeared. Why? What happened to you both?”
“If that is your wish, I shall tell you.” The ghost of Abbot Cheng said. “First, I must warn you that the Zhongguo is under its greatest threat. Only the Dragon Master and his pearl can save it. Find them both. Once they are re-joined, the Laolong will shine like a thousand suns and save the Zhongguo.”
“Where shall I find the Dragon Master and pearl?” Dong asked.
“In the Bagua tunnels, there are…” Cheng’s voice trailed off and his ghost wavered, then disappeared into the Great Tao, leaving only the ragged edges of silvery white crystals protruding from the cave wall.
Dong beat his gums again, but the air swallowed his words of magic. Several other attempts brought the same abortive outcome, until he rolled up the scroll and departed the chamber. Joining her on the gallery, his shoulders were slumped and his eyes blazed with frustration.
“We were so close,” he growled, holding up his forefinger and thumb, a sliver of a gap between them.
“Why did you stop?”
“I didn’t stop at all,” Dong said. “Someone broke the spell and the interference blocked Cheng’s appearance. Now he won’t yield to my summons.”
“How? Who has the skill to do that?”
“A person well-versed in the mysteries of the Tao. It must be someone nearby and with knowledge of the subtle movement of ch’i.”
“There’s been one recent arrival of note,” Luli said.
“Gang,” Dong spat the word out like a mouthful of poison.
“Exactly. I can tell you, he’s not who he appears to be.”
“Why do you say that?” Dong asked.
“He wanted me to give me a propitious date for his investiture and then told me he wanted it set for the next day. If I refused, he threatened to punish my Ru.”
“That’s despicable. What did you do?”
“I said no, of course,” she said as firm as ever.
“Under such duress, your courage shone though,” Dong replied. “Your life, the life of your family and your ancestors, would have suffered terrible karma if you’d have relented.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek, “That’s why I need your help to free Ru.”
“I will pray for his release and help you plead his case.”
“Thank you,” she said, making a reverent bow.
Dong led her back across to the main temple building. Outside, the sun was rising on a glorious early spring morning; the grass bedewed, the sound of the monks chanting the holy sutras.
Arriving in the cloisters, she turned to him, “I also wanted to tell you about an epiphany. It started with Ru showing me the flow of ch’i in a stone wall.”
“Clever boy, that Ru of yours, he’s got the gift of yin-yang eyes.”
“Sometimes, I’m not sure it’s a gift,” she said disconsolately.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“Faces… in profile.” She scrunched up her face.
Dong raised an eyebrow. “Where did you see these faces?”
“Along the Great Wall,” she replied, pointing to it, standing there like some ancient lithic boundary, defying the rays of the morning sun. “Some of the faces were close together, others far apart, some high up on the wall, some near the ground. Together, they made a huge, long tapestry.”
Dong’s face showed not a flicker of surprise. Instead, he stared her in the eye and said, “Let me tell you about the Laolong. Most bear witness to the dragon’s sacred dance through weather patterns; great turbulences of the air, flashes of lightning, peals of thunder. The more subtle traces can only be discerned by those with yin-yang eyes. Those are the patterns that you and Ru have seen on the surfaces of the Great Wall.”
“I thought as much,” she said. “But the most important thing is that the profile faces all point eastwards, from the western mountains to the sea.”
“Mmm,” Dong grunted, a frown flitting like a shadow across his face.
“Have I said something wrong?” she asked.
“Not at all; on the contrary, you are correct.”
“I knew it,” she said, feeling vindicated. “But why? The Laolongtou, the Old Dragon’s Head, is situated at the east end of the wall. If the dragon’s ch’i was flowing from head to tail, the direction of the profile faces should be from the Bohai Sea in the east to the western mountains, that is, westwards. But they’re not, they’re eastwards.”
“You’re right, though you must keep this a secret.”
“I will, if you explain it to me,” she bit her fist. This was worrying.
“Since the Sung Dynasty and beyond, the dragon’s ch’i has flowed eastwards from the Tibetan mountains to where the wall used to end, in the Yanshan Mountains. Tiande built the fortress of Shanhaiguan, connecting that old end of the wall to the Bohai Sea. Dragon Master Wing was meant to conduct a ceremony to reverse the flow of ch’i, so the Old Dragon’s Head was the real head and not the tail. But Wing never showed up and that is why the head is where the tail should be and the tail is at the Old Dragon’s head, the Laolongtou.”
“I was there that day twenty years ago,” Luli said, “with Cheng, Gang and Tiande. Waiting and waiting for the Dragon Master. Soon after, Abbot Cheng disappeared. It was an awful time of loss when it should have been a time of joy and celebration.”
“I heard about it when I arrived from Beiping. Once it was clear Cheng wasn’t going to come back, they asked me to replace him as Abbot. Ever since I arrived, I’ve scoured the temple archives and all I could find was what I have just told you about the flow of ch’i.”
“Cheng’s ghost has appeared on the crystal wall,” she pointed out. “Does that mean he’s still alive?”
“I don’t know,” Dong shrugged. “If the person is dead, the spell summons his ghost. If he’s alive, it summons his spirit. It’s impossible to tell the two apart.”
“Before the spell was interrupted, Cheng mentioned the Bagua tunnels. What do you think he was going to say?” she asked.
Dong shook his head. “I wish I knew the answer to that question. I’ve always wondered about their purpose.”
“As have I,” she said. “And I have a nagging feeling it’s been staring us in the face.”
“I’m going to consult the temple archives again,” Dong said. “I’ve looked before, but I may have missed something. There must be a sacred scroll that mentions the Bagua tunnels.”
“Let me know what you find,” she said, getting up to leave.
“I will.�
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CHAPTER 28
A Sign from Heaven
Looking up, we contemplate the signs in Heaven.
Looking down, we examine the lines of the earth.
Thus, we come to know the circumstances of the light and the dark.
THE TA CHUAN, THE GREAT TREATISE
Bolin had seen the vault beneath the Laolongtou in his dreams. But how could he find it? This thought harassed him like those pestilential gulls from the other day.
That morning, a mist rolled off the slopes of the Yanshan Mountains and hung over the fortress like a pall. Drops of moisture ran off his ears and nose, dulling his senses. While they waited for Master Wen, Cui was boasting to everyone how his brother had risked life and limb to chase the dangerous fugitive Feng all around the estuary during the night. He conveniently forgot to mention that they failed to apprehend him.
That left Bolin alone, presenting him with an opportunity too good to miss. He snooped around the floor of the Laolongtou, searching for anything that looked remotely like an entrance to the mysterious vault below. The paving was a yellow-fired brick, except for one section next to the Stone Tablet, which had an incongruous square slab of granite. Speckled in black and white, the slab was large enough for a man to squeeze through. The seal around it appeared as old as the rest of the paving, but he couldn’t see how to pry it open.
Cui noticed his antics and asked, “What you looking for?”
“I heard there was a vault beneath the Laolongtou. I thought a man of your knowledge of the fortress might know a thing or two about it.” To Cui, flattery was like whale blubber on the hinges of a creaky door.
“Well, you’ve come to the right man,” Cui said, puffing out his chest. “I heard that there are several concealed entrances and hidden chambers in the Laolongtou. So, yes, it’s possible.”
“What do you make of this?” he asked. Bolin was about to show him the granite slab, when Cui replied, “Quick now, Master Wen’s coming.”
The apprentices gathered for their morning briefing. By now, the rising sun had burnt off the mist.
“Listen to me!” Master Wen said. “Everything must be auspicious, otherwise Heaven will turn against us and our prince will lose the war. Every detail is important and this morning, this is what matters,” he said, pointing to the Stone Tablet.
Once again, the mists had deposited blue lichen on it.
“I want this tablet so clean I can see my face in it. Cui, Bolin, you did a good job last time, so off you go. The others follow me.”
He and Cui grabbed a bucket, water, brush and cloth and set about scrubbing both sides. Bolin took one glance at the tablet and took a step back, saying. “This is uncanny.”
“What is it now?” Cui said with a tired sigh.
“No, this is something. See for yourself.”
“Oh, my goodness, you’re right,” Cui said, scrunching up his face. “It looks like the profile of… a dog.”
“No, it’s not a dog,” he scoffed. “Can’t you see what it is? It’s unmistakeable.” With his index finger, Bolin traced the profile of the animal, its long snout, bushy tail and lithe body, perfectly represented in blue lichen. “It’s a wolf, a Blue Wolf.”
“So it is. Master Wen has to see this.”
Wen arrived, followed by a knot of guards and an animated crowd of apprentices, who stared at the blue lichen profile with mix of fear and awe. The Master Builder inspected the tablet, rubbed his chin beard and then frowned. Evidently, he did not like what he saw.
“I want three runners,” Wen said. “You, call the commandant. You, go to the magistrate. And you, bring Luli. Run like the wind.”
While they waited, the crowd was swelled by guards from the wall and soldiers streaming out of the nearby Ninghai Fortress.
Bolin piped up, “I was working on the tablet the other day, when I saw an imprint of a four-legged animal. At the time, I thought that it was strange. This profile is quite clear and there’s no mistaking the Blue Wolf.”
“It’s a sign from Heaven, a terrible sign,” someone shouted from the crowd.
“There are malign vapours in the air,” said another, coughing into his hand.
“If so, how did they get there?” Master Wen replied.
“I can answer that,” a woman’s voice said. The crowd parted as Luli strode into their midst. After she’d examined the stone tablet, she said, “Listen to me, everyone, there’s only one way the lichen deposit could have formed itself into this shape.”
“How is that?” Master Wen asked. Bolin already knew the answer.
“The air itself is volatile with the Blue Wolf.” Luli said.
“Volatile’? What does that mean, exactly?” Master Wen scrunched up his face.
“I have to tell you the truth,” Luli replied, as the crowd hushed to hear her words. “It’s bad tidings. It means that the Mongol is not only close by, he’s seeded the very air we breathe.”
“The Blue Wolf is chasing the Yellow Dragon,” Bolin said, the words gushing out of him before he’d time to censor them. His remark heralded a wave of whispers and alarm, turning an atmosphere of natural curiosity into one of fearful apprehension.
“That’s absurd,” Cui snapped, ever the pragmatist. “How can that be true? Mongols are people, flesh and bone, not intelligent flecks of blue lichen.”
“That may be,” Luli said, with an air of authority. “But the Mongols have their shamans just like we do. There’s one nearby even as we speak – or at least someone who is working with them.”
“Who is that?” Wen demanded to know. “He must be arrested without delay.”
Before Luli could reply, the runner sent to call Gang returned.
“Where’s the magistrate?” Master Wen asked.
“He’s in session,” the runner replied. “He’s had his investiture and is hearing cases.”
Luli hissed, “The scoundrel,” and then asked, “Did you see when Ru’s case is to be heard?”
“Yes I did, you better get over there, it’s scheduled for midday,” the runner said.
As Luli ran off to the Yamen, the crowd parted to make way for the commandant.
“Mmm, is this what the fuss is about? A bit of blue fluff,” Tung said, in a derogatory tone. “Remove it. This instant.”
Cui and Bolin scrubbed it raw and it was gone in a matter of moments. As the Blue Wolf lichen bled into the bucket of water, the spell cast over the crowd was lifted. Tung turned to everyone and with a wagging finger, added, “Listen, we’ve seen this lichen before. The mists are always rolling down off the mountains. It’s natural, not supernatural. Now, get back to your posts.”
Tung’s pragmatic argument seemed to settle the conscripts, who hurried back to their tasks. Bolin though, did not agree: he believed Luli. He thought they were under attack from an invisible foe. Heaven was turning against them and the Yellow Dragon of China was under threat from the Blue Wolf of the Mongols.
CHAPTER 29
Watch Towers and Guard Moats
To defend the Zhongguo, we establish important posts.
Along the borders, we build watch towers and guard moats,
Connecting the barbarians and the Chinese.
We must construct passes to oppose these violent enemies.
THE GREAT MING CODE
The Bagua tunnels were spacious, but damp and dark. The ambient moisture had frozen into ice on the base of the tunnel, making every step hazardous. Feng managed to stay upright and to protect his father’s letters from spoilage. Following Luli’s instructions, he emerged out of the tunnels into the grassy, unguarded area between the main Shanhaiguan Fortress and the Ninghai Fortress. He was free and no one had seen him.
Along the shore line, his friends were the long coastal grasses and the undulating dunes which shielded him from prying eyes on the wall. Before the sun rose too h
igh, he re-acquainted himself with the freezing waters of the Bohai Sea, splashing his face, arms and hands. That… was invigorating. With the militia searching for him, he still needed a good place to hide.
His feet dragged through the debris left by the recent storms: pieces of drift wood, fish bones, shells and piles of seaweed lined up along the sea shore. From the other side of the cove, he heard the sound of the buntings flapping in the morning breeze. The harbour was nearby. Then he saw a row of fishing vessels, their nets hung out to dry on the dock. One of the boats would make an excellent hideaway.
When no one was around, he climbed onto the nearest vessel and snuck into a rowing boat and under a tarpaulin, where he covered himself in a blanket and fell asleep like a baby at the breast. The next thing he knew, the boat was pitching and yawing on a heavy swell. The strong smell of the salt in the air rejuvenated him. The men on deck were shouting as they hauled in the nets. He wanted to read his father’s letters, but it was too dark under the tarpaulin and he dare not reveal himself.
He heard one of the crew shout, “Where are the fish?”
“Not in our nets, that’s for sure,” there came the sardonic reply. He recognised the man’s hoarse, grainy voice: it was Fuling, Bolin’s father. So Fuling was poor and starving, that wasn’t news. Fuling had fished these waters his whole life and even Feng knew that the Bohai Sea was as cold and unforgiving as the Emperor was to a disloyal subject.
Feng was in the same boat as Fuling, he thought ruefully; he was poor, starving and soaked to the skin. He had better adapt to his new circumstances and quick, otherwise he would be pulled under by the tides and undercurrents of life and living, where they would swallow him whole and spit him back out.
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