The Old Dragon's Head

by Justin Newland

“Do you want to be a good girl for daddy?” he asked.

  Her chest still heaving with crying, she nodded pathetically.

  “Then look at his,” he said and moved the paper around dextrously. She watched with fascination as he folded it this way and that.

  “Guess what it is?” he asked, with the shape only half-formed.

  “It’s got spokes,” she said.

  “Yes, it has,” he encouraged her.

  “Oh, they’re petals, it’s a flower,” she concluded, clapping her hands with excitement.

  “Can you guess which kind of flower?” he asked.

  With nimble fingers, he finished the last twist, “There.”

  “Is it a rose?”

  He shook his head. “Come, it’s in your name, so you should know which one it is. Think.”

  “A chrysanthemum!” she cried, a broad smile lighting up her little face because Ju meant chrysanthemum.

  She grabbed it from him and was soon engrossed in smoothing out and tidying the array of petals. Gang breathed a huge sigh of relief. While the experience had been traumatic for them both, it had drawn them closer together. Whether his wife would agree was another matter. For the meantime, he sat back and watched Ju play with the flower, cupping it in her hands and smelling its pretend fragrance with mock delight.

  When they arrived home, he instructed Qiang and Sheng where to move the litter. “Take it to the alley between my chambers and the prison cells. No one ever ventures down there and it’s out of sight. You’ll find a wooden shed, so park it there. Inside you’ll see a green tarpaulin, drape it over the litter. We don’t want its contents getting wet.”

  Qiang and Sheng scuttled off and Gang relaxed. Not only had the gods of karma saved him and his daughter, they were on his side, bringing his plans and those of Altan, nearer to fruition.

  CHAPTER 36

  Dragon Dance

  Gems are few, stones many –

  That which occurs in great number is not precious.

  Dragons are rare, fish numerous –

  That which is of rare occurrence is justly deemed divine.

  THE LUNHENG (BOOK OF WEIGHINGS)

  Bolin stood shoulder to shoulder in a large crowd waiting for the performance to begin. As the excitement grew, he could feel a subtle tingle right through him to the tips of his fingers. The Duke was lining up his players on the stage erected in the shadow of the mighty Bell and Drum Tower.

  The excitement was palpable. The Duke strode across the stage, revelling in his fame.

  “Dear Shanhaiguan, we are the dragon players,” he began, arms high above his head. Eight acrobats somersaulted across the stage, finishing as one and bowing to the audience and the midday sun.

  The crowd waved in acclaim.

  The Duke continued, “Like the Laolong, our home is the Great Wall of Ten Thousand Li. It takes us ten long years to travel from one end of the wall to the other. Along the way, we are privileged to witness the huge achievements of the Chinese people and the stunning beauty of the land of the Zhongguo. From here, we cross the gaping Yanshan Mountains and then traverse the central plains. We cross the desert, where the sands stretch as far as the eye can see and conjures mirages in the mind. Tigers and bears roam the western mountains whose summits pierce the canopy of Heaven. All along the way, our brave soldiers guard us from marauding bandits and barbarian tribes.

  “Amongst the many villages and settlements along the length of the Great Wall, we have two places we relish performing the most. They are the towns at either end of the wall, the head and the tail of the Laolong. Today, we are back here after twenty years. We hear that the Laolong has not been seen at your New Year’s ceremonies since that time, so we are going to perform a special dragon dance and attempt to conjure the dragon from his lair.”

  “Wait…” a voice thundered. It was Gang, replete in his magistrate’s robes. Next to him were his assistant, Bao and his enforcers, Sheng and Big Qiang.

  “Magistrate Gang, how pleasant to meet you again, after so long,” the Duke said, with a deep bow. Gang though seemed in no mood for niceties.

  “Everyone knows the Laolong has been trapped in the Jade Chamber for the last twenty years,” Gang said, appealing to the crowd. “And only the Dragon Master, with the Dragon Pearl, can conjure him from his lair… the Dragon Master is still missing.”

  “We want our dragon back,” someone yelled, ignoring his words of caution.

  “Laolong! Laolong! Laolong!” The crowd roared, as if trying to summon the lithe beast from the depths of the earth by the elemental power of the human voice.

  “People of Shanhaiguan, listen to me,” Gang said, through gritted teeth. “What you ask for is dangerous. Before, whenever the dragon players have conjured the dragon from his lair, the Dragon Master has always been in attendance. Who knows what the Laolong will do if freed from its shackles after such a long confinement? What if he were to induce a fierce and prolonged thunderstorm and bring down a terrible flood on us all? Who could stop him tearing down the vault of Heaven upon us in some awful catastrophe? The Duke cannot control the Laolong. The Dragon Master can and to perform the dragon dance in his absence is hazardous in the extreme. I speak as your protector.”

  People murmured amongst themselves and worried looks flitted from face to face. Bolin yearned for the dragon. Everyone did. Every New Year for twenty long years, the dragon had failed to appear at the annual celebrations. He wondered if, one day, the people would forget about the dragon entirely; believe he was a myth and relegate him to some children’s fairy story or a legend in a book of odes. They would no longer expect the Laolong to appear and would be satisfied with a paper dragon, a gigantic origami equivalent. Hah! Bolin was having none of that. Before he could voice his concerns, a shrill voice shattered the morning air.

  “No, that’s wrong!”

  Someone dared to defy the magistrate. The crowd parted and the figure of Luli stepped forward.

  “The magistrate is an honourable imperial servant and his word is king on earth, but this is a Heavenly matter,” she said, her eyes blazing with the fire of truth. “The Laolong is a sentinel, not a persecutor. He would never harm us, regardless of the presence or absence of the Dragon Master. The Laolong destroys only the enemies of the Zhongguo. I say to the Duke, perform your famous dance. Conjure the Laolong for all to see.”

  The people celebrated Luli’s remarks like they were announcing the birth of an Emperor’s new son. The acrobats turned even more extravagant somersaults, this time leaping over Bao and Gang, making them reluctant participants in the festivities. The audience were afraid to laugh openly and show disrespect to the magistrate, but a chuckle or two did ripple through their massed ranks. As Gang slunk away wearing a heavy frown, Bao glared daggers at Luli.

  Events unfolded with alacrity. The blaring of trumpets and a crescendo of drums heralded the release of hundreds of balloons and streamers, charging the air with colour and sound. A troupe of stilt walkers strutted onto the stage to the accompaniment of more hand waving. Dancers cavorted and twisted, as the Duke orchestrated a series of elegant movements.

  “This is wonderful,” Bolin purred. “Are we really going to see the dragon appear?”

  “Why, yes of course,” Luli replied.

  “But how – if he’s incarcerated in the Jade Chamber?”

  “The dragon is a supernatural entity and is made up of two parts: there’s the Great Laolong that occupies the entire wall, but there are many small dragons that exist only in a particular locale. For example, there’s a Shanhaiguan dragon, there’s a Beiping dragon and so on. Even though the Great Laolong is imprisoned in the Jade Chamber, the Great Wall is still protected by the smaller, local dragons, who are themselves servants to the Great Laolong.”

  “And the servant dragons are what the Duke and his players will conjure?”

  “Yes, that
’s right and in that instance, the magistrate is correct; only the Dragon Master can summon the Great Laolong.”

  “Then there is still hope,” Bolin muttered.

  Next, a line of players each holding up a water dragon face mask, with long, white whiskers and ferocious, red eyes. The dragon players moved across the stage in a synchronised wave. Gyrating like snakes, the dance conjured and enticed the dragon from the Jade Chamber. Would it appear? Everyone looked towards the Laolongtou.

  Someone shouted, “Look!”

  They were pointing to the east at a huge cloud, as dark as a blacksmith’s anvil. A shudder of cold fear went down his spine. This was the true manifestation of the dragon. From in amongst the clouds, lightning bolts flashed across the sky, filling the Heavenly void with ferocious power.

  “The dragon. It’s free,” Bolin yelled.

  “The dragon is free.” Everyone took up the refrain.

  Except Luli – who anxiously shook her head.

  Bolin waved enthusiastically at every lightning bolt and thunder crack that rent the earth. The pyrotechnic display was awesome.

  Luli was having none of it. “It’s not the dragon – not even the local one,” she claimed.

  “They are its manifestations,” he insisted. “The Laolong is there, somewhere inside that black cloud.”

  “Come, Bolin,” she said. “You may not have accepted it yet, but you have the gift of yin-yang eyes and of magic powers, both latent and ready to use. You should know that if it truly was the Laolong, or one of his local servants, it would arise here at the Laolongtou and not many li away in the land of the Blue Wolf.”

  A chill wind blew in from the south, shunting the storm northwards until it had almost disappeared over the horizon. Not one drop of rain had fallen on the fortress.

  He had forgotten about the contents of that letter and its promise of magic powers. It was obvious that Luli still believed the letter was meant for him – and for him alone.

  He, though, was adamant. It was not him, it couldn’t be. How could he be worthy of it? What did he know of the Five Classics? He hadn’t even passed the Jinshi examinations.

  He asked, “If it’s not the Laolong, then what is it?”

  “The cleaving of the sky is a strong and violent portent of war,” she murmured in a far-away voice. “The storm arose in the east, which means we can expect an imminent attack from that direction.”

  “An attack? What are you talking about?” He screwed up his face in a knot.

  “I’m just reading the portents,” she replied.

  “Hah, I don’t believe you,” Bolin stammered and bounded off to meet Cui.

  CHAPTER 37

  The Red Kite

  Kites in flight will heavenwards go,

  Fishes leap in their pools below.

  Joyous and free our Prince could be,

  How he has raised humanity!

  THE SHI KING (BOOK OF ODES)

  When Bolin found Cui for an afternoon of kite-flying, the old soldier was already making a show of adjusting his red bandanna.

  “I see you’re ready to fly,” Bolin said.

  “This is my special kite,” Cui replied, grasping a red box kite, which was about as large as a six-year-old child. Many of the streamers hanging off the base were missing and the remaining ones were tattered. In several places, the canvas had suffered tears during its long tenure. Clumsy attempts to repair them with crude white stitches had added to the general aura of disrepair, none of which bothered Cui in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to endear him to his bamboo contraption, rather like a scraggy, but friendly, pet dog.

  In the balmy rays of the early afternoon sun, they left the fortress and climbed a low hill just off the west road, where they joined other ardent kite flyers.

  “This old fellow is held together by threads,” Bolin added.

  “A bit like me then,” Cui said, with some self-deprecation.

  “Very funny, but where did you find ‘him’?” he asked.

  “Back in the day,” Cui began in that tone which said a story was coming, “when I was young and wild, I joined the rebels fighting to free the Zhongguo from the Mongol yoke. Zhu Yuanzhang and Tiande led the guerrilla bands or red bandannas, as they were called for obvious reasons. We wreaked havoc along the Mongol supply lines, raiding along the borders, ghosting through the thick forests and living off the plunder. After one of our raids, I found this kite. Look here; scratched on the handle is a child’s drawing of a rat, which is my celestial birth animal. So, I took it as a souvenir.”

  Cui showed the kite to the wind and an updraft whipped it into the air. Higher and higher it went, as Cui whistled contentedly to himself. The wind played with the kite, a red blur against the background of the ice blue sky. Cui reeled in and then slackened the spool. The kite ducked towards them, almost kissing the ground. At the last moment, Cui tightened the thread and the splash of red swooped up into the sky and flew up like an eagle, almost as high as the cotton-white clouds.

  Bolin’s attention was diverted from the excitement of the flight to a sedan chair that was racing towards them, which was strange, because its bearers had deviated onto the hill from the west road. Alongside them were runners and a rider on a dappled grey which he recognised as the assistant magistrate, Bao. In which case, Gang was the occupant of the sedan chair. Bolin assumed he was a closet kite fanatic and was heading their way to share their delight.

  While the bearers placed the sedan chair down in front of them, Cui taught the kite more of his tricks. The curtain on the sedan chair parted and, sure enough, out stepped Gang. The magistrate planted his hands on his hips and stared alternately at Cui, then at the kite. It was as if the kite had resuscitated a painful memory, because his face was pale as cured, bone white porcelain. Bao dismounted and stood next to his enforcer Sheng and his compatriot, Big Qiang.

  Bolin sensed a hidden menace in the air. Cui obviously thought otherwise, because he offered Gang the spool, saying, “Here, the wind is perfect. Want to try?”

  Gang grabbed the kite from Cui and stared at the handle. Whatever he saw, galvanised him. An air of intimidation circled the magistrate like a kettle of vultures. What possessed the man? In a terrible frenzy, he turned back and snatched Bao’s horsewhip. Cui seemed blithely unaware of this because he took back the pulley and steered the red kite up and away into the pale blue yonder.

  With the look of Yama in his eye, Gang smashed the horsewhip across the old soldier’s face. More in surprise than pain, Cui fell on his knees clutching his face.

  It happened so fast. The horsewhip cracked a second time. Gang hit Cui again, this time on his back. Cui winced and plunged headfirst into the icy ground. The kite spool slid along the ground, pulled by the force of the wind. Bolin grabbed it and tried to intervene. Bao thrust a hand in front of him and with a voice like thunder, yelled, “Lay a hand on an imperial official at your peril.”

  Terrified and angry at the same time, Bolin was helpless as he watched Gang whip Cui without mercy. Cui was curled into a foetal position. The blows rained down on him like frozen lightning bolts. Bolin prayed for the attack to abate. It didn’t. It grew in fury. Lash after lash, Gang was possessed, manic.

  Frothing at the mouth, Gang was yelling.

  “For mother!”

  Then he’d scream, “For father!” and “For brother!” and “For sister!”

  Was this a revenge attack? For Gang’s family? What had Cui ever done to harm them?

  The other kite flyers had gathered around and stood like statues, frozen by the terrifying and seemingly unprovoked assault.

  Bolin felt pathetic, doing nothing, watching his friend bleed red blood. When he could stand it no longer, he lurched at Gang, but Sheng and Big Qiang blocked his path, grabbed him by the arms and forced him to watch.

  Gang horsewhipped Cui’s back, legs an
d arms as the old soldier cradled his head from the brutal lashes. After every lash, Gang now cried, “The rat! The rat! The rat!”

  The magistrate’s rage abated, more from exhaustion than anything else. Where once Cui wore a solitary splash of red bandanna, now a steady trickle of crimson oozed out of his every pore. He was like a sack of rice. Gang’s face wore Cui’s blood spots like trophies of revenge but he seemed as stunned by what he had done as everyone else. The horsewhip hung limply from his bloody hand. He was babbling. Bao escorted him back to the sedan chair as an adult leads a child.

  Sheng and Qiang let Bolin go and he rushed to his friend’s side. Tenderly, he removed the blood-soaked bandanna and wiped Cui’s face. The old soldier was clinging to his life by a slender thread.

  Bolin cradled him in his arms and rocked him, crying tears of sadness and grief, the red kite fluttering on the ground, its broken spine stuck in the mud. On the side of the handle was the celestial animal symbol of a rat. What did Gang mean by shouting ‘rat’?

  Come to think of it, hadn’t Luli told him Gang was a ‘rat’?

  Oh, no.

  CHAPTER 38

  Army on the Horizon

  It is better to preserve a nation than to demolish it,

  Better to preserve an army than to demolish it,

  And better to preserve a unit than to demolish it.

  THE ART OF WAR

  Later that day, Bolin was sweeping the road on the section of wall above the Zhendong Gate. He pushed the broom absent-mindedly, sick to the stomach at witnessing Cui’s awful beating. How could Gang do such a thing? Did Cui really massacre Gang’s family? It didn’t make sense.

  Bolin gripped the broom handle as if it was his one remaining hold on sanity. He was beginning to think Luli was right – at least about Gang. The man was mad, irascible and must have committed a heinous crime in his previous life, because to beat a man to the edge of death was unforgivable.