“They’re hungry Ru, did you bring the carrots?” Luli was saying. “Good, now see these crates on the cart. Take off the tarpaulin and then we’re going to put them all back in the shed. We want to keep them nice and dry, now don’t we?”
“Yes, mother,” Ru said. “What’s in them?”
“Fireworks, Ru, a lot of fireworks for the Lantern Festival,” Luli replied.
Gang heard a lot of huffing puffing and he imagined they were moving the crates into the shed. After a while, he heard Luli say, “Good, that’s all done. They’ll be ready for the Lantern Festival. Bring Rosemary and Thyme and let’s be on our way home.”
“All right, mother,” Ru said. “I’ve got the umbrella here.”
He heard them shuffle off with the empty cart and the two mules.
Well, that was lucky. Now Gang knew where the explosives were hidden. “Thank you Luli,” he muttered. He would need them – when he was released.
He was counting on the prince’s mercy. From prior experience, he knew that princes hated nothing more than being wrong; an affliction that infected everyone. The prince would suffer enduring shame if he was seen to have appointed a traitor to the prestigious post of Country Magistrate. Every nation had their primal fear – for the Chinese it was fear of loss of face.
Gang would emphasise that he had been falsely accused and that instead the blame should be equally distributed on the lecherous Bao, the greedy major, that fool Big Qiang, his enforcer, Sheng and the fat merchant Guanting. The prince would find such a convincing excuse hard to refuse.
Once he was free again, Gang would take up arms against the Chinese. He had unfinished business. Perhaps Altan was still alive. The exhilaration of revenge would be sweeter still – the second time around.
As he moved away from the window opening, he saw Liu manhandling a prisoner to a cell. The prisoner’s face was spattered with blood and mud and his cheek bone protruded out of his face. From the light trousers, shirt and bandanna, he was Mongol. The man frowned at Gang as he passed.
Altan!
Hah! They had caught the Mongol ghost rider. Shame. Or was it? Perhaps the arch shaman could weave his magic and spirit them both away from this place of pain and misery.
Bolin was drunk and needed a pee. Legs crossed, he stumbled in near darkness towards the Yamen. There was a latrine at the far end of the alley by the prison cells. By the time Bolin got there, he had almost wet himself. He sighed as he unleashed a full and vigorous flow. A man came and stood next to him. When Bolin finished, he glanced over to see who it was.
“Liu,” he murmured. “How are you?”
Liu let out a soft whistle as he did his business.
“Who’s guarding the prisoners?” Bolin said, with a mouthful of slur.
“Me,” Liu said, garrulous as ever.
The snow storm was strong but short. The black clouds moved away over the long, slow waves of the Bohai Sea. The top layer of the snow froze and the sun appeared in a clearing sky. It bathed the fortress in a late afternoon luminescence. It lit up the Yanshan Mountains in the north, the detritus on the battlefield outside the Zhendong Gate in the east, the high waves of the Bohai Sea in the south and the approaching Prince of Yan’s reinforcements in the west.
A gust of wind blew some papers off the magistrate’s desk and out of the window. The sun seemed brighter than ever. Its yang-ridden rays bounced off the newly-frozen snow. The whole light of that afternoon sun seemed to concentrate in one place – in the bronze mirror near the window in the magistrate’s chambers.
The beam reflected off the mirror and lighted on a piece of paper, with a name written on the bottom. Feng would have recognised that of his father – Magistrate Park. Mote by mote, the rays danced through the air, enriching the darkness with light and warmth, pushing back the void. A thin wisp of smoke snaked up. The paper began to blacken and a tiny flame enriched the paper, bringing light to the darkness, yang to the yin. The paper was soon engulfed and the flame spread across to the next sheet, heading inexorably towards a wooden shed in a little alley that ran alongside the prison cells.
An almighty explosion rocked the fortress to its foundations. It crashed through the prison cell window with the force of a volcanic eruption. A tongue of orange-red flame licked the clouds and then belched forth a cloud of black sulphurous smoke. The report was deafening. The five towers on the Great Wall quaked.
The explosion dislodged decades of accumulated dust in the jail, filling Gang’s cell with a cloud of hot, acrid air. Heaven was defiant in refusing him help, because he knew what had caused it. Gang and Altan had incarcerated a huge serpentine supernatural being in a small chamber for twenty years – with only iron horseshoes and a rotting corpse for company.
It was karma – the Laolong’s revenge.
The cell, below ground, had a small opening in its upper reaches. Flaming wood and debris flooded his cell in a wave of scorching fire. The same thing was happening to his conspirators; they were frying in their own skin.
The ball of fire rolled towards him.
His skin was bubbling. He belched, as his lungs tried in vain to keep out the blistering heat. His clothes caught fire and his ears popped. Gang barely had time to reflect on his life and its meaning before the fireball melted him; driven by toxic vengeance, he had succeeded in making a dent in the huge imperial façade, so small that it wouldn’t even be recorded in the imperial annals.
CHAPTER 56
The Balance of the Tao
Everything returns to the source of its arising.
This is called ‘peace’.
Peace means to go back to one’s original nature.
THE TAO TE CHING
The waves of the Bohai Sea lapped against the rim of the outer vault, as Luli carried the incense through the chrysanthemum door. She loaded it into the censers, which Jin and the other monks proceeded to waft around the Jade Chamber, smoking out any residual evil lurking in the corners. As soon as they had finished, Abbot Dong called Jin over to him. “Hold on to these,” he said, handing him a bunch of eight iron horseshoes.
“What for?” Jin scratched his head. “Iron curtails the ways of Heaven. Let me give them to the ironmonger to melt down.”
“Jin,” Dong said with a sigh. “The ways of Heaven are high and mighty, the ways of earth low and solid. Sometimes, it’s not possible to find a middle way.”
“Master, I don’t understand,” Jin said with a frown.
“I mean that I have a special use for them, so please look after them for me,” Dong insisted.
As Jin stored the horseshoes away, Luli thought it was an odd thing for Dong to ask him to do but dismissed it from her mind. Wing’s funeral preparations were more important.
She followed the monks up the spiral steps to the Stone Guardian. Perched on top of it was a solitary magpie, waiting to guide Wing’s spirit to Heaven. With much solemnity, the procession set off to the shrine the monks had prepared for Wing’s corpse. The magpie led the way, cavorting in the joy of its flight.
Waiting for them at the shrine was the Prince of Yan, recently arrived with reinforcements. A large crowd of mourners had gathered, including Master Wen, the Duke and Kong the Jinyiwei. Commandant Tung and Cui stood rigidly to attention, both wearing head bandages that looked more like white turbans. The magpie perched on the shrine, which was constructed of the same rock and stone as the Great Wall. Luli was sure that Wing would have been honoured to be laid to rest in such prestigious circumstances.
Nearby, Captain Feng stood to attention next to the shrines of his adoptive parents. Luli felt glad that he was there to pay his last respects to the couple who had loved him as their own. By his side was the boy Qitong, proudly dressed in the livery of a Captain’s manservant.
In a voice rich with emotion, Dong said, “This ceremony is for Wing. After his spirit has endured many years of distress, we
give thanks to God and consign his body to rest.”
Luli pressed her hand into Ru’s. It was warm and no longer reptilian. She smiled – she had her son back.
“We are born alone and die alone,” Dong went on. “This simple fact was poignant for Wing. Trussed up in a Mongol carpet, he died a slow, suffocating death. Today we place him in an open sepulchre, so his wayward spirit can breathe the gentle vapours of the broad air, mingle with Heaven’s servants and with the magpie’s help, find his way back to his ancestors and to the Great Tao. This is a time of peace when everything returns to the source of its arising.”
Everyone lowered their head. Luli pulled her lapels close in. It was cold and a light drizzle fell on her cheeks, rain drops mingling with her tears of grief.
“Does anyone have something they wish to say?” Dong asked.
The Prince stepped forward and spoke, as soft as the light rain. “I am grateful to you all and particularly to Commandant Tung for saving the day. To acknowledge his bravery and courage, I appoint him the Duke of Shanhaiguan. As this is a time of reconciliation, I want to extend the hand of kinship to my new brother-in-law. Welcome to my family.”
Captain Feng bowed with all reverence before the prince.
“And I restore him to his rightful position as county magistrate of Hebei Province!”
Everyone waved in appreciation at the prince’s magnanimous gesture.
“Thank you, Prince,” Feng said, with a sombre smile. “I am honoured. I wish my adopted parents could see me now!”
“They both look down on you from above,” Luli insisted.
Bolin stepped forward and said, “I am privileged to know Wing in a unique way; sharing his soul’s deepest connections. I have received from him an abundance of gifts, skills and abilities. With them, I shall seek to be the best Dragon Master that I can be.”
Bolin held up the Dragon Pearl. Even in the drizzly, overcast morning, the pearl was dazzling in its milky brightness.
“The pearl acknowledges you as the one and only true Dragon Master of the Laolong,” Dong said. “It has been too long in finding its rightful owner. And as all things come full circle, may we aid Wing’s long-delayed journey to re-join his ancestors.”
For a moment, a tranquil peace reigned amongst them.
With the ceremony complete, the magpie squawked, opened its wings and flew up and away into the morning air.
Bolin smiled.
The balance of the Tao was restored.
CHAPTER 57
Pacing the Dragon
If you constantly tread on emptiness (i.e. the stars),
Then after three years you will avoid death,
And after four years you will become a terrestrial immortal.
TAOIST SCRIPTURE
Ru was adjusting to normal life. After Wing’s last rites, Luli held his hand as they approached the shadow of the wall. Revived by the milk of human kindness, he had accompanied her to help Dong in the final act of the day. The Abbot, Jin and the few surviving monks in their tattered robes passed the Stone Guardian and entered the Laolongtou.
Some parts of the Laolong had eased out of the Jade Chamber and occupied the Shanhaiguan section of the wall. Now it was time to invite the remainder of the Laolong to occupy the whole of the rest of the Great Wall. As Dragon Master, Bolin was to conduct the consecration ceremony, the homecoming.
Dong laid out fourteen pebbles in a specific pattern. “As the Great Wall is a mirror of the Heavens,” he explained, “these pebbles are arranged in the shape of the fourteen stars of the constellation of the Yellow Dragon – the head is here, the serpent’s body here and the tail here.”
“What I do with them?” Bolin asked nervously.
“Each pebble is laid out one step away from the next. I’m going to show you how to pace them out.”
Jin approached with a black lacquer box, which was covered with an intricate dragon and phoenix engraving. Dong opened it and took out the cloud shoes, which were made of the bound silk, with jade green and opalescent motifs of the arrangement of the constellation.
“You can rekindle the ch’i energies that Wing created twenty years ago,” he said. “Each step evokes the power of the star in that position in the dragon constellation. The great conclave of dragons will hear your petition. The invisible gate will open, allowing the yellow dragon, the Laolong, the faithful servant of Zhongguo, to return to its rightful home in the Great Wall of Ten Thousand Li.”
“I am ready,” Bolin said.
Jin was in charge of the musicians. “What shall we play, Abbot?”
“Play as you are moved,” Dong explained. “We are dragon children. When you hear the music of the dragon in your hearts, play it.”
“May I take an instrument?” Luli asked, indicating a flute.
“Of course,” Dong said. “We begin.”
Luli watched in fascination as Bolin paced out the dragon. In the cloud shoes, he seemed lighter than air, stepping serenely between the pebbles. Each movement was fluid and intricate, simple yet soulful.
Jin played the violin, a gentle rhythmic harmony, coming from afar and augmenting slowly. The other instruments chimed in. Luli started to play. It was as if an invisible power was moving her fingers along the flute holes on their own accord. The music built, as did the power in Bolin’s subtle movements. When he stepped around the dragon’s head and turned around, he paced out the dragon again until he reached the tail and then paced it out again.
Luli was as lost in the cadences of the music. As the Heavenly ch’i descended on them, so did a light drizzle of rain. She thought no more of it and went back to watching her hands move along the flute without any interruption from her. Why couldn’t life be this effortless all the time, lost in the harmonies of the Great Tao?
As the music and dance built, the white fluffy clouds gathered before a blue-grey sky. The rain became heavier, until it was bouncing up off the packed earth of the road.
In torrential rain, Bolin reached the head of the dragon – and stopped. His eyes were distant and drawn into another-worldly gaze, as if he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. A single clap of thunder rent the darkening sky. Then a flash of lightning spiralled down the dragon paths and lit up the top of the Old Dragon’s Head in a sheet of awesome azure power.
Ju and Luli stopped playing. The storm passed overhead almost as quickly as it has arrived. There was the sound of the heavy pitter-patter of the rain, hitting the wall road. It softened, yielded to a light drizzle, until eventually that, too, ceased.
Silence reigned, as the wind abated and the elements retreated.
Luli didn’t know how, but the wall felt different beneath her feet. The rains had yielded a heavy mist and as she peered back up the wall towards the Yanshan Mountains, her mouth fell open.
At regular intervals along the wall – perhaps every thousand steps – was a golden arch, rising above the wall, then diving into it, disappearing for a section, then rising out of it again, bow after bow, arch after arch.
And it flowed westwards, from east to west.
As she looked to see if the flow in the wall had changed too, Ru called to her. “Mother, come and see.”
“What is it?” She still delighted in hearing him speak. It was like having a cherished friend come home after many years travelling away, another homecoming no less.
Ru was pointing at the Great Wall. He was exultant. “The dragon’s come back! Look!”
She hardly believed it. She could see the Great Wall twisting and turning around the natural features in the land. She was ecstatic.
“The faces, mother.”
“I see them, Ru, I see them.” She was emotional. This had been a long journey; for the dragon, for her, for Ru. For the Zhongguo.
“They are pointing the other way. Away from the sea – inland towards the mountains.”
<
br /> “Yes, Ru.”
“The faces are different than before,” Ru added, with an air of mystery.
“How’s that?”
“They’re mostly men’s faces. And I can see…” He paused. As if taking in the enormity of what he was about to admit.
“What…?”
“There,” he pointed to a profile in the wall, “It’s father. It’s Heng.”
“Truly,” Luli stammered, “The dragon’s come home.”
CHAPTER 58
The Emperor’s Mace
The eyes of the people are as the eyes of God.
The ears of the people are as the ears of God.
THE BOOK OF MENCIUS
Today was the Lantern Festival, fifteen days since the prince’s banquet. Today was a day of looking forward, of welcoming the New Year and of bringing forward the bright yang light of tomorrow and casting out the dim yin shadows of the past. It was a day when the return of the light was celebrated in every home. It was a day to banish the darkness of the previous year and rekindle fresh hopes and aspirations for the new one. More than that – today was a day when the very future of the Zhongguo was held in the balance.
Luli and Ru were standing on the wall road above the Zhendong Gate, waiting to say goodbye to Bolin, who was about to depart with the Duke’s Mummers.
“We’ve a long way to go,” the Duke jibed.
“Good luck and may you forever walk alongside the Tao,” Luli said.
“With Lord Wing laid to rest,” Bolin said, “I can leave Shanhaiguan and follow the path of the Dragon Master. Wing conferred on me the gift of yin-yang eyes and many other skills and abilities, most of which I have no idea what they are or what they do. I intend to learn how to use them in service of the Zhongguo, so the Han people can be of continuing interest to the gods.”
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