The Old Dragon's Head

by Justin Newland

  She was not satisfied with that. “I will not see you sacrifice your life on the altar of Gang’s ambition. You will live. Bolin, Jin, there’s a sedan chair outside. Help move Cui into it.”

  “We must be quick,” Dong said. As they hustled Cui into the sedan chair, the flames were leaping up around them from the gatehouse, spreading across the roof tops and onto the main building. The tremendous heat scorched the wooden rafters. The sounds of terror echoed around the burning cloisters.

  Jin and Bolin hurried down the corridor and out the back gate, carrying Cui. The temple was a giant incendiary, lighting up the canopy of Heaven. The pagoda was one huge burning candle. The temple sent shards of flame into the scorched air. Dong’s face was screwed into a coil of wrath. The stifling heat chased them across the open meadow towards the back of the temple.

  “Where can we go?” Luli asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

  “Through there,” Dong pointed to a fissure in the rock. Bobbing up and down with the weight of the sedan chair, they negotiated the twists and turns of the path, climbing into the rocks above the temple.

  Dong led them into a cave halfway up the hillside. It was a Taoist grotto – dedicated to the Eight Immortals. A place of sanctuary and healing, it was a perfect place for Cui to recover. From the entrance, Luli peered down with a mix of disgust and awe at the scene of indiscriminate destruction unfolding in the pass. A huge conflagration engulfed the temple: elegant pagodas, cloisters, chambers, smaller temples and the infirmary, rare statues, prayer wheels and spirit tablets, even the beautiful orchard, ornate gardens and the small meadow; all were ablaze.

  Dong was livid. “Centuries of toil, decades of prayer and years of good deeds. All gone up in smoke.”

  “I don’t understand. Why?” Luli asked, breathless from the hasty retreat. “With the garrison under threat, who has done this?”

  “You don’t know?” Dong snapped, lines of fury etched across his face.

  It sounded like she should.

  “It’s Gang’s orders,” Dong said.

  “Yes and I know why,” Luli interrupted, “Gang is a very clever and evil man. He wants one thing – revenge. On China.”

  “I agree,” Dong said, his voice as firm as the mountain. “That’s why we need this…” he added, reaching into the folds of his gown and pulling out a scroll. “This is what Gang fears the most. It’s not the temple he wanted to destroy; it’s this. Can you decipher Taoist Magic Script?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I’ll translate it for you.” Dong said. Then with an air of unabashed glee, he read out its title, ‘Laolongtou, Consecration Ceremony.’”

  “There’s another line underneath. What does it say?” Luli asked.

  “Only to be read by the Dragon Master, in the presence of the Dragon Pearl.”

  CHAPTER 45

  By the Flute

  As the bamboo flute responds to the earthen whistle,

  As two half-maces form a whole one,

  The enlightenment of the people is very easy.

  Therefore, do not present them with perversity.

  THE SHI KING (BOOK OF ODES)

  Gang emerged onto the roof of the Yamen, Bao in tow. His assistant was turning into a tame puppy and he didn’t even require a lead.

  The shards and embers of the temple fire were like shooting stars in the night sky, illuminating his path to glory. “You have excelled yourself,” he murmured in admiration.

  “Thank you. It’s a rich sight,” Bao replied with a scowl. “I’ve never liked those monks. When I served under Magistrate Park, Dong always undermined the civil proclamations and then hid behind his ‘follow the true path of the Tao’ nonsense. The citizens are so gullible; they believe every word he says. Good citizens serve their fief lord, not the priesthood. I pleaded with Magistrate Park to arrest him, but he claimed Dong never quite breached that outright subversion the law needed to detain him.”

  Well, here was another unexpected boon, Gang mused to himself. He could exploit a man with Bao’s toxic enmity and local knowledge. Gang said with a satisfied grunt, “Park was soft as soapstone. I’m a granite mountain. In me, Dong has met his nemesis. If anyone asks, you weren’t anywhere near the temple when the fire started.”

  “It will smoke them out,” Bao said with confidence. “I left Sheng and Big Qiang to tie up loose ends. We’ll soon have him and luscious Luli in custody.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll take care of her son,” Gang said with relish. “Prepare the punishment yard. I want everybody to witness his long, slow dance with a cangue.”

  As Bao turned to leave, Gang called him back.

  “Your mention of Park reminds me,” Gang said, “I want to interrogate his son again. Bring Feng to my chambers, right away.”

  “Yes, Your Honour,” Bao said, making a reverence.

  “Oh and bring Liu; I might have use of his persuasive arts.”

  Alone at last, he sighed and sat down cross-legged beneath the flag pole. It was flying the red and black flag that denoted a curfew. The sound of the fourth night watch blessed the fortress and everyone in her.

  To Gang, life felt good.

  Up above, the stars flickered, like shards of Heaven in the night. Back on earth, the greedy flames consumed the temple. Behind the red-yellow conflagration, the mountains reared up like huge demons, bathed in the eerie light of the fire. His fingers moved without effort across the holes of his bamboo flute. The melody was elegant, simple, with a haunting crescendo. As the flames of the temple rose into the air, he played the tune again.

  The higher the pitch on the flute, the higher the embers rose into the night sky. When he lowered the pitch, the flames spread along the ground, like a thousand lithe serpents, then across the temple gardens until they licked the base of the magnificent pagoda.

  He could control the fire – he was the fire-bringer.

  This was uncanny. Soon he would possess power over all the elements, even the Laolong.

  As his playing built to a rousing crescendo, the flames responded in kind, licking the trees like a lover’s tongue in the throes of passion.

  He grinned. Heaven was shining on his quest for revenge. This was his zenith. He felt ecstatic. The flames snaking up the side of the great pagoda brought back memories of his house and his family, how they’d been consumed by devastating fires. How he had survived those first few days, a child alone in a huge world, he had no idea. He had lived on the road, in the woods, gathering and selling firewood, cleaning the roadside latrines, stealing clothes from the washing line, drinking from puddles and eating berries.

  In the end, Heaven rewarded his perseverance. A kind family took him in and gave him an education. A voracious learner, he passed the Jinshi, the imperial examinations. Through his family’s influence, he served in the Jinyiwei, the Emperor’s secret service. That was how, twenty years ago, he had arrived as a raw recruit in Shanhaiguan to spy on General Tiande. Now he was no longer Jinyiwei. He was the county magistrate.

  After a while, he paused and watched the flames lick the sky and bow to the stars. The fire crowned the pagoda; this, a crowning moment in his life.

  A little later, he was sitting in his chambers, gazing into the bronze mirror on the window opening and contemplating the interview with Feng. He was desperate to know how much Feng had discovered about the Jade Chamber. Before the memories came flooding back from twenty years ago, four runners hustled Feng in through the oval doors.

  Bao said, “Now, cur, kneel before the magistrate!”

  Feng’s robe was mud-stained and he smelled like he’d washed in a latrine for the last five days; which he probably had. Behind Feng loomed the menacing presence of Thousand Cuts Liu.

  “You can have your father’s papers back now,” Gang said to Feng, waving at a wad of papers by the window.

  Feng screwed up his face
. He appeared to appreciate neither Gang’s generous offer nor his sense of humour. “I don’t need them anymore, thank you,” Feng spluttered.

  “How disappointing. I kept them just for you.” He could not resist a chuckle.

  “Did you?” Feng reacted. “Is that all you want to talk about, a few insignificant papers?”

  Ominously for Feng, Liu rested his huge hands on the prisoner’s shoulders.

  “Your father’s plan of the fortress is a very important document. Imagine if it fell into the wrong hands,” Gang said, opening it out in front of him.

  “What are you implying?” Feng said, eyes blazing.

  “That you planned to hand it over to the Mongols, to assist their attack.”

  “Are you serious?” Feng asked.

  Gang thumped the table, “I didn’t bring you here to listen to your inane prattle. You’re a part of the Mongol conspiracy and I want to know what their plans are. Either you tell me, or I’ll ask our friend Liu here for a little help.” It was always a good ruse to bring Liu into the conversation. Once that happened, most people sang like a song bird.

  Liu was a meticulous man and placed his special wares on the table opposite. He opened the folds on a leather holder full of knives, neatly secured in pockets of different sizes. Every knife, spike and thumbscrew gleamed in the lantern light.

  “Torture,” Liu declared, “is a key to Heaven, since it unlocks the truth. The truth greases the wheels of justice. Without torture, the imperial edifice would fail to move. That is why I am its worthy and eager servant.”

  Gang knew this already, but it was always a pleasure to hear it from the lips of a master practitioner.

  Liu plucked a knife from its sheath and thrust it in the air. Then he lovingly ran his index finger along the blade, sighing like a paramour in the midst of foreplay.

  “All right,” Feng admitted, “I do know…”

  “…What do you know?”

  There was a long pause. Feng watched Liu running the flat of its blade against his cheek and swooning with pleasure.

  “I… I know about the… deal,” Feng stammered.

  Gang sat back in his chair, fingering the arm rests. “What deal is that?” he asked.

  Thousand Cuts was running a long hunter’s blade over his forearm, a thread of crimson testament to its incisive sharpness. The malicious smile on Liu’s face was quite sufficient to terrify Feng.

  “The explosives deal,” Feng blurted out. “Don’t let him near me,” he pleaded. “Please, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “What explosives deal?” Gang said, hiding his annoyance. How did Feng know about it? This was serious.

  “A merchant was arranging to purchase them from another man. I overheard their conversation, translated it for Kong from the Mongol tongue. Kong said he was going to claim the reward.”

  “Kong, you say…” Gang was caught out. Kong hadn’t told him – the viper. He would deal with him later. He pressed on with Feng, “The Mongols, eh? Well, they’re camped in the shadow of the wall, they’ve spies in every wine shop and their army is blotting out the rays of the sun. They’ve butchered our scouts like animals. And you say there’s a traitor in Shanhaiguan selling explosives to that vermin. Tell me the names and quick. Otherwise Liu will demonstrate his considerable range of skills on you.”

  “If I do, will you mitigate my sentence?” Feng pleaded.

  Gang nodded at Liu, who smashed Feng over the head with a truncheon, knocking him to the floor. Groaning, Feng got up, rubbing his head, blood streaming from the wound.

  “I’m waiting,” Gang sneered. Although of course he already knew the answer to his own question.

  “The merchant Guanting,” Feng said.

  “So in this deal, was he the buyer?”

  “I think so,” Feng said, still dazed.

  “And the other man…?”

  “…Was a soldier.”

  “His name?”

  “Honestly, I would tell you if I knew,” Feng said, wincing under an anticipated blow that mercifully didn’t come.

  “Shame,” Gang said. He recalled the details of the plot: Guanting had purchased the explosives from the disaffected Major Renshu. Altan arranged that, on a signal to be determined, Guanting was going to blow open the Zhendong Gate, allowing the Mongol army to overrun the Shanhaiguan Fortress and deal a fatal blow to the Prince of Yan’s military campaign.

  However, Guanting had run off and left Gang to prosecute the plan. The explosives were safely stored away until they were needed. In the end, he needed to know one thing – was Feng telling the truth, or did he really know the soldier’s identity?

  Gang nodded at Liu again, who whipped out a blade so quickly that Feng didn’t see it coming. In a moment, there was a long gash down his cheek, from eye to jowl. Crimson blood oozed from the wound, as it opened its lips to kiss the air. Feng cried out loud and clasped the wound with his hand.

  “I. Don’t. Know.” Feng cursed. “You have to believe me.”

  There was a long silence. Liu was growing impatient and licked the edge of his blade, scoring his own tongue. He kept glancing at Gang, wanting permission to torture Feng. Gang was thinking. The great elemental powers stirred inside his soul and he heard them whisper, ‘He’s telling the truth.’

  “Fine,” Gang said. “I believe you. Woe betide you if I find you have been lying to me. I will set Liu on you and you would wish you’d never been born. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Honour,” Feng said, clearly a relieved man.

  “Bao,” Gang said, snapping his fingers. “Find this military man. Whoever he is, he must have access to munitions and he speaks Mongol. Find those explosives. Search the garrison from top to bottom. And find that merchant,” Gang said with a practiced scowl. Of course, he already knew what Bao was about to say next. But he let him say it anyway.

  “He was reported leaving the city, yesterday at dawn,” Bao said.

  Gang feigned surprise and annoyance. He was the magistrate, so he assumed that no one would suspect him of conniving with Guanting. Instead, he thumped the table and shouted at Bao, “Dog’s head! You’ve let him slip through your fingers. Bring him back. Now.”

  Although Gang reckoned that Guanting must be way out of Bao’s reach by now.

  He was asserting control over this torrid affair and reeled off a series of commands. “Find that beggar king. He’s got questions to answer. Next, send a detachment of troops to the Laolongtou. The dragon is still in the Jade Chamber and needs protecting. Last, but not least, take him back where he belongs,” he said, pointing at Feng and holding his nose, “I can’t stand the stench of treachery any longer.”

  CHAPTER 46

  The Mark of Shame

  When a fish is placed in a pond,

  Little there doth it find to please;

  Deep down it may dive and lie,

  Yet is seen with the greatest ease.

  THE SHI KING (BOOK OF ODES)

  Today, the chill wind, biting at his ears and fingertips, was a relief. For a while, back at the temple, Bolin feared he would be burnt to a cinder. Once Cui was rescued, he had left Dong, Jin and Luli and headed off on his own. He had to reach the Laolongtou. As he trudged by his village and across the mud flats towards the sea, he felt the thrill of life course through his tired body. It was a new dawn and he never felt closer to finding Wing. He didn’t know how, but he was going to set the Dragon Master free. That was what Wing wanted, that was what the prince wanted and that was what everyone wanted.

  The ‘Ju’ chrysanthemum dream and Luli’s subsequent challenge had hit him hard. Albeit begrudgingly, he had accepted the significance of what else had happened on the day of his birth, twenty years ago. He had to weigh it all in the balance and decide for himself. What did he want? Who was he? What was he? Could he really be…? The potent thought
nagged at the edge of his consciousness, seeking permission to enter.

  The land approach to the Laolongtou was not viable, so he had to risk the sea route. He preferred the power of sail. He could still hear Master Wen’s threats buzzing in his ear about trespassing on the Laolongtou. That meant Bolin’s father would never agree to row him there, so he would have to do it himself. Like most things in life.

  He found a rowing boat in the harbour. Over the years, his father had schooled him in the ebb and flow of the tides, the rise and fall of the winds and how to read the yin and yang of the weather. The strong current dragged him out to sea. He glanced back at the cloud of black and white smoke billowing out of the temple. He would have liked to have helped put the fires out, but what he was doing was more important than the temple.

  He pulled on the oars, invigorated by the salt spray. Out to sea he was free, at least temporarily, from the stifling pall of conformity that gripped him and his contemporaries. He felt like one of those eunuchs the Emperor employed to guard his concubines. A eunuch was half a man. What good was half of anything to Heaven? Bolin wanted to be a whole man. Then it clicked. Don’t settle for less than the full quotient. Be brave and demand your full heritage. That was the message Luli was desperate for him to acknowledge. Now he understood. Find Wing. When he did, he would unravel the tangled mysteries of the past and clear the path for the future, both his and everyone else’s.

  He tacked against a breeze and edged closer to the Laolongtou. The dawn bled into the new day, as it danced to the eternal song of creation. The pale morning light enabled a cautious approach, one that drew no unwarranted attention from the guards, who appeared intent on looking landward. Besides, the guards were accustomed to seeing fishing vessels and rowing boats cutting back and forth.

  He tethered the boat to the snout of the Laolongtou and scrambled across the seaweed encrusted rocks, slipping and getting soaked by the cold waves. Exhausted and shivering, he hauled himself over the lip and into the outer vault. He tried to stand, but his muscles were in spasm and he fell back onto the hard rock. He rolled over into a puddle and waited until the gift of movement was restored.