Taming Poison Dragons (42 page)

Then I am alone, apart from you, Little General. Who’d have thought it when I escorted you here from Wei, all those years ago? Who’d have thought it?’

He turned his face away from me.

‘Life is strange,’ he sighed. ‘I’m sure you think me cold and unbrotherly. Maybe I am.’

‘You are a fine brother,’ I protested. ‘What nonsense you speak!’

Cousin Hong snorted.

‘To be a fine brother you need a fine brother. Otherwise it’s like throwing gold into a well. You get nothing back.’

‘Oh, Hong, I’m certain he loved you.’

‘Did he? Well, I’ll take your word for it. All I know is that when we were ruined, you were the only one to help us out. The only one.’

I could not meet his eye.

His response had disheartened me. I was shocked he took the loss of a brother so lightly. All my life I had longed for a brother. Indeed, I found one wherever I could, especially in P’ei Ti – and Cousin Hong himself, to a certain extent – and even, in extremity, Mi Feng. We value most what we lack. Or what we imagine we lack.

‘The proper formalities of mourning must be observed,’

I said.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Hong, dismissively. ‘My wife will tell me what rites are expected. She’s good at that sort of thing. Still, I’m glad to see you back. I’ll close the shop today and we can celebrate your return, and drink to poor Zhi’s soul.’

So we did, sitting on a bench in his courtyard beneath a clear blue sky, reminiscing about Uncle Ming’s absurd wealth, until it became something comical. Cousin Hong paraded each of his children before me, boasting of his sons’ cleverness and strength, his daughters’ obedience and comeliness. A longing gripped my heart to become a father, too. Nothing else made sense in such a world of change.

All afternoon I felt an invisible presence, as though Cousin Zhi’s spirit fluttered in distress around us, longing to join the conversation, wondering why we did not mourn him. His opportunity for affection had scattered, like the shadow of a hungry bird, across eternity.

When I returned to Su Lin’s house, she was out on an engagement. In her letter to me at the frontier, she had promised to clothe me in her limbs. That night, though she returned late from a wedding, the pledge was fulfilled.

Even as I hungered for her, a stubborn corner of my spirit could not open.

The next morning P’ei Ti appeared wearing a grave face. He whispered to Su Lin and this time she made no protest about me leaving.

His carriage waited outside, the horse munching handfuls of corn fed by the coachman. I nearly insisted on riding my shaggy pony so I could gallop away at the first sign of danger, then I climbed in beside him. By now Su Lin had procured me a splendid suit of silken clothes. She watched with approval from the gatehouse as we jolted down the road, two gentlemen together.

P’ei Ti smiled and laid his hand on my arm. His touch made me uncomfortable. In a rush, I told him the tale of Cousin Zhi and my meeting with Hong.

‘I was sure Zhi’s ghost watched us and wept,’ I concluded. ‘But I do not sense him here.’

‘Of course,’ said P’ei Ti. ‘You are safe now.’

I sat in silence, watching the city pass. Each familiar sight somehow larger than itself, and unreal.

‘You are no soldier,’ said P’ei Ti. ‘And you were thrust into that life entirely unprepared. Little wonder it has affected you deeply.’

I bridled, suspecting a slur on my character.

‘Father would have been proud of me,’ I said. ‘I did my best.’

‘That is not in doubt. You are a hero, Yun Cai. We all honour you.’

But I did not honour myself. I could not say why, yet felt it.

We travelled right across the city, passing many eyes, and I succumbed to nervousness. Sensing this, P’ei Ti tried to distract me with amusing gossip.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, at last.

‘I wondered when you would come to that,’ he said.

‘We are to meet a friend of yours, though you do not know him. He is a notable lawyer, and will help you in your troubles with Lord Xiao.’

The name fell on my ears dully. Lord Xiao bore me ill-will. It seemed the determining fact of my life.

‘You must answer his questions frankly,’ said P’ei Ti.

‘This is a delicate time. That is why we are meeting in secrecy.’

We reached the Altar for the Sacrifices of the Southern Suburbs, which lay beyond the ramparts on a hill overlooking the River Che, where numerous barges and junks came and went, bringing all that was necessary to sustain the city. I climbed out of the carriage in a daze. The high pyramid of the Altar climbed towards Heaven. Plumed guardsmen stood like statues at the foot of the steps.

‘Look, P’ei Ti,’ I said. ‘The river is covered with floating gulls. There must be a storm out to sea. They remind me of floating blossom on a stream. Perhaps this is a good omen.’

He peered at the Che.

‘Use that in a poem,’ he advised. ‘Indeed, you must.’

He looked as though he wished to say something different, but asked patiently: ‘What could you make the gulls represent?’

‘Souls,’ I said. ‘See how they ride the tidal river, restless to take flight, to return to their natural elements, sky and wave.’

‘Quite so. Now let us sacrifice at the Altar. I have brought flowers and wine.’

‘Yes, old friend,’ I said. ‘Let us petition for peace.’

We poured our libation in the prescribed manner. I presented my wish to Heaven with all the fervour of my young heart. I felt obscure hurts begin to heal, as when tears force themselves out. Hard, glittering gifts, harbin-gers of reconciliation. If earnestness might catch the Jade Emperor’s attention then I’m sure he looked down from his audience chamber, startled by my desire. I did not pray alone. The wishes of ten thousand families mourned alongside me. Never should the loss of a son be in vain.

Afterwards, I took P’ei Ti’s hand. I could not believe our prayers were not heard, at least in part. He nodded sombrely, though I spoke no words.

‘I’m glad you feel reassurance,’ he said. ‘But that is not why I brought you here.’

I followed him down the slope to a street where caves had been dug in the hillside. He walked moodily along until we reached a doorway. The cave houses were home to hermits and wise men. Wealthy eunuchs and gentlemen of the court often went there to seek divinations.

‘P’ei Ti,’ I said. ‘I am confused. You mentioned a lawyer.’

‘This way,’ he said, gruffly.

We passed beneath a rough hemp curtain and found ourselves in a long cave-room. Niches in the walls contained skulls and bones. On a low stool, beside a table covered with neatly arranged writing materials, sat a man in sky blue silks. A lamp flickered, illuminating his lower face, otherwise the cave was dark.

The man barely blinked as he regarded us. Everything about him seemed orderly, oddly so. The way he sat still and straight, his fine clothes without a single crease.

Although no more than ten years older than us, his hair was iron-grey and scrupulously combed. His saturnine face a mask of seriousness. It would have been a surprise to hear him laugh, except at someone’s expense. The only animation lay in his brooding eyes, behind which one might glimpse deep calculation. In short, I didn’t take to the man. P’ei Ti seemed uneasy, too.

‘Yun Cai,’ he said. ‘I have the honour of introducing you to the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou.’

Our host bowed stiffly, but did not rise. As there were no seats in the cave, we were forced to stand like underlings before him.

‘I must apologise for this rude setting,’ he said. ‘Yet I am sure you understand the need for secrecy.’

‘Sir,’ I said. ‘I understand nothing of this.’

P’ei Ti coughed beside me, then addressed Yuan Chu-Sou.

‘I thought it best not to explain until we could talk properly.’

Yuan Chu-Sou nodded like a crane slowly dipping its head.

‘A wise precaution,’ he said. ‘Then it behoves me to explain everything. Please listen carefully, for I have much to tell you.’

I scratched my chin. The air in the cave was dusty. I had acquired an aversion to the reek of earth. It reminded me of Wen Po’s tunnel into Pinang.

‘Then, sir,’ I replied. ‘I must sit down. As you may discern from my sling, I have suffered a wound.’

The corners of Yuan Chu-Sou’s mouth twitched.

Whether in annoyance or amusement, I could not say.

Nevertheless, he retired to the back of the cave and found two stools like his own.

‘To business,’ he said, once we were seated. ‘First I require your undertaking that not a single word of what I say will be revealed to a third party without my express permission.’

‘That is a large undertaking,’ I said. ‘But if honour and the law are not compromised, I may make it.’

‘Good. Then first be informed who I represent.’

On hearing the name, I started, jolting my injured shoulder.

‘Why, I am. . . flattered by his notice.’

His August Excellency Lu Sha was a great man indeed.

He oversaw several ministries and met the Son of Heaven daily to discuss the great affairs of our Empire. If Lord Xiao had gained so formidable an enemy he would do well to look around him. Yet I was disappointed. His August Excellency had a reputation for ruthless ambition – little better than Lord Xiao. Impossible such a man would interest himself in a nobody like me, unless he sensed personal profit.

‘I am at a loss,’ I said, cautiously. ‘How can I be of use to one so powerful and illustrious.’

Yuan Chu-Sou examined me.

‘That is a pertinent point. I will explain. His August Excellency is concerned that Lord Xiao’s depredations and incompetence are a danger to public safety. As you will know, there are great debates at court. Should we maintain peace with the Kin Emperor through the payment of tribute, or should we wage war? Hence His August Excellency finds himself in opposition to Lord Xiao.’

‘I still do not see how I matter.’

‘Of course, you do not matter,’ said Yaun Chu-Sou, frankly. ‘Except that the circumstances of your posting to Pinang brought a surprising discredit to Lord Xiao, solely due to the popularity of your poetry. He has lost face. But, as you imply, that is hardly fatal to Lord Xiao’s influence in the court. Nevertheless, His August Excellency believes a minor case could be made against Lord Xiao for abusing his position. Now is not the time to make that case, yet it might be a useful addition to more serious charges.’

‘What exactly are these charges?’ I asked.

So I was to be like the cabbage leaves one finds shred-ded on a rich dish of meat. They hoped to poison Lord Xiao and I was to be the garnish.

‘I am hardly likely to tell you that,’ he replied.

I met P’ei Ti’s eye. He had remained uncharacteristically silent.

‘My only worry is for the Honourable Yun Cai’s welfare,’ broke in P’ei Ti.

He turned to me.

‘That’s the main thing, Yun Cai. We believe you should resign your official post at once, citing ill-health. That way you would no longer be directly employed by Lord Xiao’s ministry, and his immediate power over you would cease. Yuan Chu-Sou has offered to take care of this, if you agree. But you must agree soon because Lord Xiao may already have heard about your return to the city.’

I laughed.

‘I would agree with great pleasure,’ I said. ‘But how am I to live without a salary?’

‘That is simple,’ broke in Yuan Chu-Sou. ‘At an appropriate time, His August Excellency will find you another position. Alas, it would be impolitic for him to do so straight away. The hour has not arrived for openness. In any case, if you are too unwell for your current position, how might you instantly take another?’

I was sure a means might be found. Yet I said, reluctantly: ‘I see.’

So on top of everything, I was to be ruined. But I could hardly return to Lord Xiao’s ministry. The thought of an interview with him unnerved me.

‘Then I shall return to my family in Wei Valley,’ I declared.

‘That is not advisable,’ said Yuan Chu-Sou, sharply. ‘If you did, your career would be at a definitive end.’

The threat formed unpleasant associations. I could not bear to face Father in disgrace, let alone meet the expenses of so long a journey. I was a prisoner – for now at least.

Then I recalled the three scrolls my predecessor at the Bureau of Fallen Heroes had concealed in his robes.

‘There may be something,’ I said, tentatively.

Yuan Chu-Sou leaned forward as I explained.

‘Very interesting,’ he said, barely able to suppress his eagerness. ‘Written in a cipher or code. . . very interesting.

You see, the circumstances of your unfortunate colleague’s sudden departure to Pinang are well-known to us. I would very much like to see these documents.’

*

So I arranged they should be collected from Su Lin’s house that same day.

We left soon afterwards, jolting along in P’ei Ti’s carriage. I closed my eyes, affected by a crippling weariness of soul, not unlike grief. After struggling all my life to join the Golden List, I found myself struck off, no longer an official, a mere penniless poet, my future as uncertain as next month’s rain.

‘P’ei Ti,’ I said. ‘I have become nothing.’

He patted my hand, his unhappiness plain to see.

‘Be patient,’ he said.

And I wondered what for.

I recalled, as if through a mist, that the Buddha urges us to become Nothing. This, he advises, is preferable to being Something, however grand, because then one lives closer to the Eternal Emptiness. After all, Nothing lies at the heart of Everything. It is odd that when one needs philosophy most, it seems feeble and distant. Distress drowns it out like a clattering gong.

After months in a bare hut bobbing on the fitful sea of the frontier, Su Lin’s house floated like a lily, alive with colour and animation, soft voices and languid moods. Yet I was ill at ease. I felt that I might be tipped off the lily at any time and drown.

Although small, her house possessed many luxuries. In its grounds, a pavilion and octagonal summerhouse, perfect for moon-watching. Flower gardens and rockeries and fishponds, all over-looked by a fine belvedere.

Inside, brocade carpets covered the floors of the principle rooms. When it came to ornaments – silver vases and figurines, as well as an exquisite jade tablet decorated with hunting scenes. A dozen valuable paintings hung on the walls. I was touched to find some of the poems I had written for Su Lin among them, in pride of place. Had I really written so finely? It was many months since I had composed the simplest couplet.