The Old Dragon's Head

by Justin Newland

  Abandoning work for the day, Fuling guided the vessel safely back to harbour.

  “The gods are against us,” he complained. “I’ve never had such a bad catch.”

  “I’m growing accustomed to a grumbling stomach,” a crew member said.

  “You may be but my children aren’t,” another moaned.

  They unloaded their miserable catch and disembarked.

  Alone on the boat, Feng lifted the tarpaulin enough to let the rays of the pale winter sun dance on the scroll. The first document wasn’t a letter – it was a map entitled: ‘Shanhaiguan: Plan of the Fortress.’

  Feng examined it. In the north were the Yanshan Mountains, in the south, the Bohai Sea, with the Great Wall joining them and running east-west. Between the two, the formidable Shanhaiguan fortifications sat in a square. At the centre of the fortress was the imposing Bell and Drum Tower, from which radiated a network of roads connecting its many buildings, towers, battlements and defences. The waters of a moat ran around the north, south and eastern sections of the fortress. The Laolongtou was at the southern section, guarded by the Stone Tablet. To one side of the scroll, Feng noticed a vertical cut-away profile of the Laolongtou showing a doorway leading to a vault.

  “There it is,” he said with glee, as he prodded the scroll. There was the very structure he’d glimpsed from the water. What was in it? The scroll was as intricately detailed as an almanac and he’d have to study it in depth. One part caught his eye: a section marked ‘tunnels’.

  From the map, he saw that the tunnel he had used to escape from Luli’s was part of a much larger network. They were shaped in a square and the same size as the main fortress above ground, but off-set to it at forty-five degrees, so when looked at it from above, the two structures – the square ground-level fortress overlaid on the square underground tunnels – combined to make an eight-pointed star. They were marked ‘Bagua tunnels’, the Bagua being a special Taoist eight-pointed star. Why were they built? What purpose did they serve?

  The next document was a hand-written letter. The calligraphy was small, compact and precise – his father’s writing. His emotions welled up in his chest, as he read:

  “Dear son, for that is what you are to me. My courtesy name is Tiande. I am General Xu Da, head of the Xu family. You are Xu Yingxu, courtesy name Feng. That is your true identity.

  “When your mother was carrying you, the Hongwu Emperor was conducting a terrible purge of officials and ministers. It was a matter of time before he pursued me and my family. For your own safety, I hid your birth from the imperial court. I left you with Park and Lan, old friends who I know will have loved you no less than I and your mother would have done.

  “Alas, if you are reading this missive, it means your honourable adoptive father and mother have passed through the Gates of Heaven. You must move as swiftly as an arrow. Find your brothers and sisters. Take this letter to them. They will weep and welcome you into the Xu family. Go forth my son. You are a dragon amongst men. May Heaven speed your quest. Your father, Tiande.”

  This was the proof he craved. The transformation was complete. He had inherited a new family. He was now Xu Yingxu. It felt odd to call himself thus, but that was his real name.

  Hearing a sound, he peered behind him. Nothing, only his imagination. Even so, from now on, he had to walk silently and breathe quietly. If the Emperor’s spies discovered his new identity, they’d have him trussed up like a chicken and beheaded in no time – or use him to obtain a hefty ransom.

  He peered out of his hiding place. He was shivering from the cold. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky. Gone were the halcyon days of writing romantic poems to imagined love-ones, playing the zither, drinking warm wine, sleeping with the maids and studying The Odes, The Histories and The Annals for the Jinshi exams.

  The world had acquired a predatory air. And he was the prey.

  CHAPTER 30

  The Case against Ru

  When Tao is lost, there is benevolence,

  and when benevolence is lost, there is righteousness.

  When righteousness is lost, there is justice, and when justice is lost, there is ritual.

  Now ritual is the beginning of confusion.

  THE TAO TE CHING

  Luli sat fidgeting in the magistrate’s courtroom. With the bitter cold, her hands were like blocks of ice. How was Ru? She was worried sick about him. She had not seen him since the day before, when he looked as white as a snow goose. If the runner had not informed her, she would never have known that Gang had ignored her advice and proceeded with his investiture. She needed all the support she could get, as did Ru, and she had sent a runner to ask Dong to join her. So, until the Abbot arrived, she sat alone in the gallery.

  Gang sat behind a long table covered in a red cloth at the far end of the courtroom. On it sat the paraphernalia of writing – brush pen, ink slab, ink stone and paper. Gavel in hand, he directed the constables in that sneering, disdainful way of his. To his right was an oblong piece of hardwood a foot long, and markers for the number of lashes to be applied to the guilty. Luli shuddered at the sight of it. At right angles to the table, two lines of guards, wardens, constables and scribes stood facing each other.

  Bao strutted into the court like a peacock. How she would love to ruffle his feathers. Behind him, a big man waddled in and knelt down between the ends of the two lines of guards. It was Guanting. Behind him was his associate, Big Qiang. The court room was packed with citizens, interested officials and a smattering of off-duty soldiers.

  Then Sheng, a real rough-neck if ever she saw one, hauled her Ru into the court. He held him under the arm pits and dragged him, Ru’s feet scraping on the tiled floor. Ru, what have they done to you? The jailors held him up on his knees next to Guanting. Accused and plaintiff faced the full force of the law, or rather Magistrate Gang.

  To stop it trembling, Luli bit her lower lip. She felt alone, afraid and scared, which was nothing compared to Ru’s predicament. Grime and muck smeared his robe. His hair was dishevelled. A purple bruise marred his face. She had to stay strong for him.

  “Ru, I’m here with you… right now,” Luli said. “Look at your mother, please.”

  Ru appeared not to hear her, his head hung low. He was neither aware of his surroundings, nor of what was happening to him. How could he make a satisfactory answer to the charges? Where in this charade was even a thread of justice?

  “Merchant Guanting accuses Master Ru of stealing this bag of silver taels.” Bao held up the knapsack and rattled it for effect. “And here is the man’s signed confession,” he added, showing a scroll with Ru’s thumbprint on the side. “This is the case we present to the court today.”

  “No, it’s not. I have something to say.” As she stood up, Dong hurried into court and sat next to her. At last, some support. The court hushed. “The confession is worthless. He can’t speak, let alone read. How can his thumbprint mean anything?”

  “I am certain it’s him,” Guanting said with a sneer.

  “When the theft occurred, the market was crowded,” Luli replied, her knees shaking with apprehension. “The real thief was wearing a yellow bandanna, as was Ru. Master Guanting mistook Ru for the culprit.”

  “A convenient explanation,” Bao said.

  “Ru’s innocent. He’s a good boy and performs his filial duties.” She was insistent.

  “Hah!” Bao scoffed. “Then where is the other mysterious person wearing a yellow bandanna?”

  “I don’t know,” Luli sniffed. “I haven’t been able to find him. But you must believe me, I’m a mother pleading for mercy. Look at him.”

  Ru, still kneeling, whistled to himself, but it was out of tune, like he was with the rest of the world. A trickle of saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Everyone in Shanhai village knows he’s not responsible for his acts,” she said.

 
“The new magistrate doesn’t know that,” Bao said, adding another slimy argument.

  “Well, he does now. And I can back up my claim,” she added, as an unwelcome air of desperation crept into her voice.

  “Why bother?” Bao’s words were lathered in innuendo. “There are so many other cases to hear today.”

  Luli took a deep breath. Gang’s silent presence loomed large over the proceedings. He sat on his magistrate’s chair with a smirk as wide as the Bohai Sea. Luli feared the worst. Her last resort was her stalwart, the Abbot.

  “I can vouch for the boy,” Dong said. “He would never pluck a flower from a meadow, let alone money from a merchant. When he was five years old, the Tao turned against him and we know about the tragic death of his father. Have some compassion and let his mother care for him. Ru has already paid for some gross misfortune committed in a past life and this new accusation is as unwelcome as it is unjust.”

  “Unjust?” Gang said, intervening. “That’s rich, even more so when monks protect those who rebel against our prince. That’s more than unjust, that’s treasonable.”

  “I’m not the one on trial here,” Dong insisted, in his quietly spoken way.

  “That may be,” Gang quipped. “But we are watching you. If you are harbouring fugitives, we’ll lock you up and close you and your pagodas down in the beat of a drum. Just because your temple is outside the fortress walls, it doesn’t mean that the curfew doesn’t apply there.”

  “I would never refuse the decrees of Heaven,” Dong said.

  “Enough of your impudence,” Gang thundered. “You may have the ear of Heaven, but I rule on earth.”

  How could he say that? That was hubris, which everyone knew the gods abhorred. The courtroom was stunned into an uneasy silence. In this hiatus, Luli spoke quietly but firmly.

  “The new magistrate must show more respect for Heavenly matters. I want everyone to know that he asked me to advise him on the most propitious day for his investiture, which I told him was not today. It’s obvious that he ignored my advice. This is troubling, because here we have a man who believes he knows better than Heaven.”

  The audience broke into whispers. How could Gang not follow the auspices? No one had the hubris to countermand them. But Gang had. It was unprecedented.

  Then Gang accused her, “Your geomancy was flawed. I obtained a second opinion. The prison cells are over-flowing with dangerous criminals and I have many cases to adjudicate today. That’s why this one is now over and done with.”

  “How can it be finished?” she protested.

  “Because I say so,” Gang sneered. “I sentence the prisoner to the punishment for serious theft as decreed in the Great Ming Code; to have his right hand severed at the wrist. This will be carried out in two days.”

  “Nooo!” she wailed and buried her head in her hands. Dong comforted her as Ru was dragged screaming out of the court, his arms reaching out in helpless fashion towards her. Summoning every last morsel of defiance, she cried, “Ru, stay strong. I will save you. Heaven will save you, wait and see.”

  “Hah! What nonsense.” Guanting mocked. “Can I have my money back now?”

  Bao exaggerated the act of handing the knapsack to Guanting, who shoved the silver taels into his bag, adjusted his black tile hat and departed wearing a broad smirk.

  Dong was undaunted and whispered, “Don’t be downhearted. This is not finished yet. There’s always a way. The case can be reviewed. Heaven will hear of this injustice.”

  This verdict was the hardest thing she had ever had to swallow.

  “Two days, Abbot. That’s all we have to save him.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The Bagua Charm

  Therefore, the eight trigrams (the Bagua) succeed one another by turns,

  As the firm and the yielding displace each other.

  THE TA CHUAN, THE GREAT TREATISE

  Bolin wiped the sweat from his brow. It was mid-afternoon and he had been working on the wall road since dawn. The broom handle rubbed against his reddened palms, but at least his work had pleased Master Wen. The wall road was shining like a mirror. Imagine, one day, twenty years ago, this section of the wall only existed as a plan in the General’s head. And out of nothing, there was something. Was the wall always there, in Heaven so to speak, and Tiande and his workers filled it in a brick at a time? The idea came first, then the realisation caught up. Was that the way of the Tao? Now there was a huge wall and fortress, with wagons rolling in and out of the gates, mule trains carrying supplies, great columns of troops marching across the steppes, all with the promise of spring in the air.

  He glanced up the wall road, towards the mountains where the upper reaches of the Yanshan were covered in a faint misty haze. There was somebody on the road. Was it a guard? He looked again. No, it was a group of people and they were not wearing military uniform. Instead, they wore variegated colours, like a sumptuous garden in full bloom. They weren’t monks, they were…

  “Trespassers!” Bolin shouted, pointing them out to Cui. “Intruders on the wall. Call for reinforcements.”

  Cui took a quick look and replied, as casual as you like, “No need for that.”

  “What do you mean?” he stammered. Then the wave of noise arrived. No, it was music, vibrant music. The exquisite strains of the zither, pipe and drum, echoed around the foothills, followed by the sound of singing. Descending like gods from Heaven was a troupe of men and women, playing and singing the most sublime arias.

  “Who are they then?” Bolin asked.

  “The Great Wall Mummers,” Cui said, his face widening in a broad smile.

  “So, they are the players.” Bolin had never set eyes on them. They were a famous troupe of artistes who entertained the villages and garrisons along the length of the wall. Be it music to bring tears to the eyes, masked plays that touched on the very pulse and fabric of life, or the mumming of the great mysteries of the Tao, their performances were legendary.

  The acrobats and martial artists wore skimpy suits, while the singers and artists sported regal robes and elaborate caps. At their head was a man famous along the wall, the renowned player, their leader – the Duke. As befitted his nickname, he wore a silken purple robe, with his hair tied in a traditional black bun and a paper-thin Asian Tojo moustache. Bouncing along at the head of this dazzling array of human kind, he reminded Bolin of a naughty sprite, a weaver of mischief and bringer of dreams.

  News of their arrival spread like wildfire. The townsfolk gathered at the base of the Zhendong Gate and waved with rampant enthusiasm at the mummers as the latter made their way along the wall road. The players blew kisses to their admirers and dropped flower petals on the crowd, then broke into a spontaneous display. Acrobats turned somersaults, wizards conjured ch’i tigers and shadow boxers performed their silky arts, while martial artists fought each other with lightning speed. A group of origami craftsmen made small intricate paper butterflies, which they released into the breeze; the butterflies fluttered down like so many snowflakes, to the delight of the excited children waiting on the ground to catch them. While striding on stilts, artists juggled balls in the air.

  The Duke bustled to the edge of the parapet and spoke to the crowd.

  “Although we are always on the move, of all the places on the wall, Shanhai is the one village that actually feels like home,” he said, blowing kisses to his legion of female admirers. “The smell of the sea salt is as refreshing as the warmth of your welcome,” he added to wild shouts of agreement. “If you’ll have us, we’ll stay here a while and give our feet a well-earned rest. We’ll refresh our connections to the Tao and see what we can draw from its huge repository of arts and skills. We could even perform some dragon mumming. Would you like that?”

  The roar of agreement almost shook the Great Wall. “Yes to that,” they cried.

  Master Wen arrived and said, “Duke. Welcome back.”
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  “Master Wen. Since we were last here twenty years ago, Shanhai has changed but you haven’t; the same old grumpy builder, the same meticulous attention to detail.” The Duke broke into a huge guffaw.

  “If you say so,” Wen grunted. “Meet young Bolin, he was born around that time.”

  “Is that so?” the Duke asked.

  “I’m honoured to meet you, sir,” he said, making a reverence.

  “Mmm, I remember those times, vivid as you like,” the Duke admitted, with a sorrowful countenance. “Since then, my players have traversed the Great Wall as far as its most western end and here we are back again. Under normal circumstances, the Dragon Master would accompany us and we’ve missed his abiding presence. Terrible story that. Did Wing ever turn up?”

  Wen shook his head. “We’re still searching for him.”

  “That’s awful; his spirit is still roaming the nether world. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help find him,” the Duke replied.

  “We will,” Wen said.

  “Talking of twenty years ago,” the Duke said, pulling Master Wen to one side, “I’ve important news to tell you.”

  “You found a bride?” Wen quipped.

  “Not that,” the Duke said with a sour face. “No, this is no joking matter. Here, look at this,” he added, holding up a weathered bronze medallion about the size of his palm. The Bagua, or eight trigrams of the Book of Changes, or I Ching, were on one side and arranged as an eight-pointed star. On the other side was a single ornate, Chinese character.

  “That’s a Bagua charm all right, but I’ve never seen a character like that before,” Wen said, rubbing the medallion between his fingers.

  “I believe it’s called Taoist Magic Script,” the Duke replied. “I found it up there, on a body in the foothills of the Yanshan Mountains. The half-exposed corpse was within sight of the wall road. We guessed that someone had hurriedly tried to cover it, after which the wild animals had opened the shallow grave. Of course, we re-buried the cadaver in a deeper grave, erected a makeshift altar and incensed the area.”