“Now, what is there to report?” Tung growled.
“There are some dark shapes just beyond the moat – look, there,” the guard pointed at a cluster on the ground.
“What on earth are they?” Gang asked, peering into the shadows.
“We think they’re wounded animals,” the guard replied.
“Why wounded?” Tung wanted to know.
“There are the moans and groans, like they’re in pain.”
“Ah, yes. I can hear that too,” Gang remarked.
“I smell a trap. Bring an additional unit of swordsmen to the gate and post a unit of archers up here on the wall road,” Tung ordered. “Major, see to it.”
As he passed him, the major winked at Gang, a wink of quiet collaboration and hidden purpose. The major was no doubt as pleased as Gang was to see yet another Chinese disaster unfolding before their eyes. While the troops assembled, a sedan chair raced up the ramp and out stepped Bao.
“What news?” Gang asked.
“Luli wasn’t at home.” Bao’s reply was curt. “But we wrecked her Po Office. She won’t be receiving any more letters from soul donors. We also blocked the entrance to the Bagua tunnels.”
“Good, I’ve had enough of her interfering ways,” he said. “But we still need to find her.”
“I’m sure she’s gone to the temple,” Bao replied.
“So am I,” he agreed. “Go there. Arrest her. And that dog’s head Dong as well. They’re two of a kind.”
“I’m going,” Bao said.
“Wait,” Gang called him back and whispered, “I have an idea, let’s finish this once and for all.”
“I’m listening.”
“The monks will all be tucked up in their precious little beds. Take Sheng, Big Qiang and one or two others you can trust along with you. Go and torch the temple. Keep it to yourselves. I wouldn’t want to alarm our citizens’ religious sensibilities.”
“I shall enjoy the fireworks,” Bao whispered and slithered off into the night.
Tung appeared not to have heard them and was discussing the incident outside the gate with the guards, when the additional units arrived at the double.
Tung bellowed out his orders. “Major, take a patrol outside to investigate.”
The drawbridge was lowered. As Gang peered down from the battlements, the one thing missing from this delicious moment was someone to share it with. Guanting or Altan would relish the opportunity to mock the pathetic Chinese. At least the major was there, he’d be grinning inside.
Leading a large patrol, rapiers at the ready, the major crept across the drawbridge. Soldiers held lanterns on long poles, sending shards of light that flickered on the moat waters. Everyone held their breath, as the major edged ever closer. He prodded his sword at the collection of dark, amorphous shapes.
“Argh,” the shape winced.
The major stopped. His men stopped. Even the water seemed to stop flowing for a moment. During the pause, Gang could barely contain himself. It was comic.
“There are bodies down here – humans,” the major called up.
“Who are they?” Tung shouted back.
“It’s Wuzhou… and the scouting party.”
Returned with thanks, Gang mused to himself.
“Bring them inside and lower the drawbridge,” Tung yelled.
Gang and Tung descended down the ramp, followed by an air of torpid inevitability. The patrol was hauling in four large sacks.
“Bring them into the duty room and here, untie them,” Tung commanded.
Each sack contained a man… or the remains of what once were men. They were a tangle of mutilated limbs, clothed in blood-soaked rags. Three of them had had their necks severed like wild animals. Their heads lolled over their shoulders, there was so little bone and tissue holding the two together. Blood dripped through the bags onto the ground. The stench of death made him want to retch. Even Gang, toughened by a life of unremitting cruelty, felt a twinge of revulsion. Just a twinge.
From the fourth sack came a whimpering sound.
Tung spoke quickly, “This one’s still alive. Send for the military physician – and some carts and porters.”
“It’s Wuzhou, Cui’s brother,” the major announced. Wuzhou’s face was as pale as the white foam of the Bohai Sea. The man was in a pitiful state.
“What’s that in his mouth?” Tung asked.
“A slab of meat,” Gang murmured. “Mutton, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Mutton, what’s that for?” A guard asked.
“All four of them have it stuffed in their mouths.” Tung was furious. The more he spoke, the redder he got. “They’re brave men, not sheep. The Mongols brutalised our men when they lived. Now they’re dead, they’re trying to humiliate them. Mutton. Hah! The Mongols are mutton. They’re the shepherds. They’re the barbarians. My men are brave. I will not allow them to be disgraced. Wash their mouths out. And throw the meat to the rats.”
Gang was impressed. Altan had style and his sense of revenge was poignant. He smiled to himself, because it reminded him of Wuzhou’s jibe about the Mongols’ lifestyle. What was it, ‘mutton-eaters’? Who was eating mutton now?
The doctor burst into the room and examined Wuzhou. He pulled the robes from his body, ruby red with blood and took his three pulses. “It’s a miracle he’s still breathing,” he announced.
Wuzhou sat bolt upright, his eyes bulging in their sockets. He opened his mouth and for a moment, Gang thought he was going to utter some profound sentiment, the last words of the leader of a disastrous patrol. That should be interesting. Instead, he surprised everyone and vomited over the doctor, a viscous fluid distinguished by the strange and undeniable fact that it was blue. Blue? Yes, the blue vomit slid effortlessly down the doctor’s perfectly clean robes and congealed in an amorphous pool on the floor. The stench was appalling.
The doctor tried wiping it off his robe and admitted, “I’ve never seen blue vomit.”
Gang frowned, but he secretly admired Altan’s ingenuity. How did the man do it? This was pure genius.
Tung thought otherwise, “That’s disgusting,” he murmured, tuning up his nose.
Wuzhou slumped back on the table and then let out a long, slow sigh. The doctor took the three pulses again and said, “He’s gone to join his ancestors.”
One of the guards screamed, “I can’t take it anymore!” and dashed out of the gatehouse.
“Get him,” Tung snapped. “And bring him back here.”
The other guards hauled the deserter back, kicking and screaming and threw him down in front of Tung like a piece of offal. The man’s pale face was white with terror, his chin twitching, his wide eyes scanning left and right for an attack by a pack of invisible blue wolves.
The deserter grovelled at the commandant’s feet and claimed, “The blue wolves are in the air and in the sky. They’re everywhere.”
Well, Gang thought, I couldn’t have put the Chinese predicament more aptly. To his further delight, Tung turned a deaf ear to the man’s excuses.
“You’re a coward,” Tung scowled. “My men don’t run away from blue vomit. Question is, what shall we do with you?”
“Send him out to the Mongols. They can finish him off for us,” the major suggested.
“Not that,” the deserter pleaded.
“No, I agree, not that,” Tung confirmed. “If we let him outside, we’d have to listen to his pathetic moaning all night. “
“Can I make a suggestion?” Gang had a good idea. He was full of them tonight.
“Yes, of course,” Tung said.
“There’s a punishment spoken of in the Great Ming Code. Tear the skin from his body, then stuff it with straw and make a kind of live mannequin, a facsimile of the man. Now that’s a fitting epitaph.”
“Excellent,” Tung replied.
&
nbsp; “Then put the mannequin on the ramparts above the Zhendong Gate, where the guards can see what fate befell this man,” Gang chuckled to himself. This was hilarious. The Chinese were doing an excellent job of destroying themselves. He was merely lending them a helping hand. They were so fortunate to have his assistance.
The guards dragged the hysterical deserter from the room. Gang, the major and the commandant were about to follow when the doctor said, “Wait, there’s something odd about these men.”
“Other than the fact that they’ve been tortured to death, you mean?” Gang jibed.
“No, not that,” the doctor said, a tinge of fear creeping into this voice. Gang realised the doctor was serious. “It was in their eyes,” the doctor said.
“What about them?” Gang wanted to know.
“Come and see you yourself. They’re blue-eyed,” the doctor said.
“Blue… but we’re Han Chinese, we’re brown-eyed. How…?” Tung pulled on his beard.
“What does it mean?” Gang asked. The simple questions were always the best.
“I don’t know. It’s like the damned Blue Wolf is roaming around inside these men,” Tung whispered, as if he feared the guards would overhear him.
Again, Gang appreciated Altan’s work. And the shaman wasn’t in the room, let alone the fortress. What he, Gang, could achieve with supernatural powers like that!
Gang suppressed a twinge of envy. During the long, dark nights, he had learnt how to thrive in the shadows. He preferred the penumbra, the yin of life and its sinister underbelly. Therein lay his power, deep within the hidden. His desire for revenge had grown, dark moon by dark moon, until it had flowered into an oleander plant, every part as toxic as the rest.
The cold feeling in his heart spread around the rest of his body into a sublime sensation of ecstasy. At that moment, he knew the Mongol forces were going to defeat the Chinese. Yes, revenge would be his.
How he ached to play his bamboo flute.
CHAPTER 44
The Consecration Ceremony
When God created mankind, it was his design that those with knowledge
Should awaken those who were still ignorant.
I am one of God’s people who has awakened first.
It is for me to awaken others – for who will do so if I do not?
THE BOOK OF MENCIUS
Luli woke up. Where was she? At home? No, she didn’t have one anymore. Bao and his henchmen had seen to that. The room was dark, other than the one cast on the wall by a solitary lantern. The cold air made her breath steamy. The night was thick with sounds, like the hoot of an owl passing overhead. She had felt like a crepuscular thing, creeping around the Bagua tunnels. Oh, yes, that was how she had ended up with dirty feet and a mud-stained sarong – running away from that Bao the ogre.
A man groaned in pain in the corner of the room. That was Cui. She was meant to be caring for the poor man. It was a miracle he’d survived Gang’s thrashing.
Now she knew where she was – in the temple infirmary. She was squatting, knees by her chest, back pressed against the wall. Her bones ached. At least she wasn’t outside where the water froze and the rats chased anything that moved looking for food.
She tucked in the old soldier. If she wasn’t mistaken, the man was engaged in an inner struggle to keep the hounds of death from devouring his soul. Then there was his brother, Wuzhou. Everyone awaited news of his return – to learn the identity of the forces gathered on the ridge. Rumours had spread like the sand that blew in from the Gobi. Mongols – they had to be Mongols. With her yin-yang eyes, Luli already knew who they were and some of what they were about.
Cui might be near to death but Luli felt not far behind him. Her son was unjustly incarcerated, and now her Po Office was no more, leaving her cast adrift on the currents of life’s great ocean. She craved Heavenly purpose. That was her goal. Instead, she felt utterly ashamed of herself – how had she allowed all those bequests to go up in smoke? Perhaps Dong would pity her and take her in.
Lost in these dark forbidding thoughts, another man started snoring. Oh, yes, that was Bolin. He was the shadow in the other corner.
“Ju,” Bolin mumbled.
Bolin was talking in his sleep. At least the Baku, the nightmare eaters, hadn’t consumed all of his dreams. Despite that, they had devoured all of hers, good and bad, except the one that concerned her precious son. She prayed that the dark clouds enshrouding Ru’s life should part, that the healing rays of the sun should allow him to recover from his long illness, so that he may feast at the table of life, however tardily. How she clung to that dream!
“Ju.” Bolin murmured again.
Were the Baku invading his sleep? No, she wasn’t having that. She shook his shoulder.
“What is it?” Bolin murmured, rubbing his eyes. “Is… is he all right?”
“Cui is fine,” she said, although in matters of life and death, like in any marriage, it was a protracted negotiation between his will and the will of Heaven.
“Then why…?” He sat up.
“…You were talking in your sleep.”
He rubbed his face with his hands and muttered, “I was dreaming of Wing.”
“Wing? That’s odd.” Actually, it was interesting. Maybe she could broach the unresolved matter of the letter she showed him.
He stifled a yawn. “What was I saying?”
“You were talking about ‘Ju’.”
“Ju, the flower? The golden chrysanthemum?”
“You tell me.”
“Ah, now I remember. Wing was leading me towards a door with a golden chrysanthemum emblazoned on it.”
“What does that flower mean to you?” she asked.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he blurted out.
“Well it should,” she said, biting on her anger, “and I’ll tell you why, birthday boy.”
“What do you mean?” he said, surprised by her abrupt change of tone.
“It’s another anniversary, isn’t it? And you know which one. But you are in denial.”
“I… I don’t know what you are talking about,” he shrugged.
“Yes, you do,” she snapped.
“No… I don’t. What do you mean?”
“It can’t have escaped your notice that today – your birthday – also happens to be the anniversary of the death of the Dragon Master.”
“No, I realised that, but it’s just a coincidence,” Bolin said with a wistful air. Then he added, “Wait, his body was never found. How do you know for certain that he’s dead?”
“Don’t forget that I have yin-yang eyes too,” she vented her feelings. “You’ve already come to see me and denied who and what you are. Not content with playing the fool once, you’re doing it for a second time. You’re like a man who’s found the keys to Heaven, but prefers to keep them in his pocket, just to make sure he never loses them. Please, accept who you are.”
“And who am I?”
The third night watch rang out across the fortress and intruded into their conversation.
Luli heard a clamour, like the sounds of a distant thunderstorm. Men’s voices, shouting. The temple bell rang out. Alarm.
“What’s happening?” she asked, distracted.
“Let’s find out,” Bolin said and flung open the door. She and Bolin peered down the corridor. There were raised voices in the outer courtyard.
Someone shouted, “Fire!”
Doors slammed. Donkeys brayed in fear. Owls screeched overhead. There was a roar of fire and yellow flames reached high over the temple roof, licking the blue-white stars. The alarm bell started thudding. There were sounds of men running fast towards them. The footsteps got closer. Around the corner came Dong and a group of monks.
Palms resting on knees, he gasped for breath. “Fire! Run! Save yourselves!”
“How? What�
�s happened?” Luli yelled, frantic.
“The abbey’s on fire. I have a very good idea who started it!” Dong said.
From outside the infirmary came the sounds of shouting. Luli peered towards the temple gatehouse. Orange flames hungrily consumed the wooden gates. Monks’ cries filled the air.
“Cui,” Luli said, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Leave me be,” Cui mumbled. “I deserve to die. This is my time.”
“No!” Luli said, “Gang is a monster. I won’t leave you for him to finish off like a dog.”
“It’s karma,” Cui said.
“Why? Whose?” she objected.
Cui was adamant. “I’m ashamed to tell you.” He seemed to be struggling with himself, wanting to confess and at the same time, reluctant to do so.
“I know,” Bolin said, “it’s to do with the farmstead you said you torched back in the day.”
“Mmm,” he murmured. “I told you I kept that red kite – with a rat emblem on the handle – after a raid.” He was eloquent, as if the fire of truth blazed in him and given him his tongue. “The barbarians were hiding out in local farmsteads. We were ordered to attack one. At the time, we’d no idea we’d received the wrong information. We followed orders and slaughtered the family living there. The rape of the women… that was nothing to do with me. I tried to stop them… somehow, Gang must have witnessed the atrocity and survived. I am so ashamed.” Cui buried his head in his hands.
“I wasn’t your fault.” She pitied the old man. His past had just collided with the present.
Dong was standing at the door, insisting, “We have to leave. The fire’s spreading fast, come on!”
“One moment,” Luli said, holding out her hand.
Cui spoke with a lump in his throat. “That’s why I didn’t try to stop him. It was karma. It had caught up with me.”
“No!” she said, insistent. “You were following orders. You did not deliberately murder an innocent family. I refuse to leave you behind to the flames.”
“You’ll have to,” Cui said with a weary sigh. “I’m done. I can’t move, even I wanted to.”
The Old Dragon's Head Page 24