Taming Poison Dragons (45 page)

Unexpectedly, he tapped the table three times. Everyone turned to him. P’ei Ti was young then; the noble positions he later attained as yet unwon. But he possessed a strength, flowing from his essential virtue, an authority lesser men were forced to acknowledge. When he glared at the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou and Secretary Wen they both glanced away.

‘Prosecuting corruption is all very well,’ he said. ‘And as an official of the Censor’s Office, I share your desire that Lord Xiao should be punished for his crimes. But if one of Yun Cai’s former clerks is to be falsely imprisoned as a consequence, I cannot tolerate it. Justice will never be served by injustice.’

Yuan Chu-Sou frowned.

‘Young man. . .’ he began, menacingly.

‘No!’ interrupted P’ei Ti. ‘I insist that clerk is released!

Have him posted to a distant province, by all means, if you want him far away. Only make sure his new position is not dangerous or ignoble. If this does not happen, I shall use my influence as Censor to ensure the innocent do not suffer unduly.’

It was a pleasure to see the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou lick his lips, calculating the limits of P’ei Ti’s power.

‘Very well,’ he said.

‘Naturally, I require written confirmation of the man’s release and transfer,’ said P’ei Ti.

I could have embraced him. He risked much by his stand on behalf of a nobody.

‘There is another matter we have not touched upon,’ said P’ei Ti, agreeably. ‘The Honourable Yun Cai is currently without a position. When is it His August Excellency’s desire that a suitable posting shall be found?’

Now the Lawyer Yuan Chu-Sou was on safer ground.

He tutted.

‘That depends on the successful prosecution of Lord Xiao,’ he said.

‘Not before?’ asked P’ei Ti.

‘Under no circumstances.’

His reasoning was obvious. They wished to dangle me like a puppet, my limbs twitched by their strings, my voice used to speak words they had chosen. Only through renouncing ambition could I deny their power over me.

As we paddled away, dawn mists thickened over the canal and P’ei Ti hugged his cloak for warmth.

‘A most unsatisfactory meeting,’ he said, at last.

I raised an eyebrow.

*

‘His August Excellency and Lord Xiao seem much the same.’

‘One foot cannot stand on two ships,’ he countered.

‘Water can both sustain and sink a ship,’ I replied.

He burrowed himself deeper in his cloak. Was that the splash of oars behind us, hidden by the fog? A dark foreboding that Lord Xiao was following our progress made me grip the side of the boat.

Then I remembered brandishing my sword in the warehouse and felt uneasy. I had been quite prepared to kill Secretary Wen. Dark promptings had entered my soul and, worse, they excited me. Secretary Wen was right, I had changed. I could not imagine it was for the better.

A day or so later, I found myself on the Imperial Way. It ran the whole length of the city, sixty yards wide, paved in stone and brick, except for a central road covered with fine white sand reserved for the Emperor’s use. A good place to be alone, for tens of thousands thronged there and dense crowds make one inconspicuous. Merchants’ arcades, temples and mansions lined the Imperial Way.

Every
li
or so there were tea-houses where a single scented cup cost a labouring man’s wages for the week. It was to just such an establishment I headed.

Needless to say I had no prospect of settling the bill. Su Lin had invited me to drink tea with her, perhaps expecting me to be pleased by a little luxury. This thought rankled as I trudged along. My clothes glinted and rustled.

Bright new silks sent to me that morning with a note from Su Lin claiming they suited my complexion.

I feared being dressed up like a doll. You would expect the owner of such silks to travel by litter or carriage, not walk under the blazing noon sun without even an umbrella for shade. My clothes were a fraud: I was not the worthy man they declared but someone obliged to his mistress for a little tea.

The Imperial Way seemed full of staring eyes, the sense that behind each floating face lurked scorn, animosity. I could not explain such feelings. Discomfort in every pore, a sweat of fear, as though the city was an endless maze. I hurried onwards through the crowd and had never felt so friendless.

Above all, I was obsessed with meeting Lord Xiao.

Once reminded of my existence, he would hatch a thousand cruel troubles. The sides of the Imperial Way were green with fruit trees, plum, peach, pear and apricot, some still showing a blush of blossom. But I did not notice. My thoughts were a swirl of imagined enemies and failures. I was entirely turned inwards – and that is blindness, unless one seeks acceptance of the Way.

The carriage of a high official approached through the crowd. Was it Lord Xiao? At once I sought a place to hide, hurrying into a girdle merchant’s arcade. I did not listen as the fellow jabbered at me, holding out costly belts, and soon he fell silent, eyeing me curiously. I was finding it hard to breathe. My heart raced painfully.

At last I judged the danger past and emerged in time to see the carriage turning into the gateway of the Jade Disk Tea-House. My fears instantly doubled. I felt certain it contained Lord Xiao and his mocking cronies.

For a moment I considered turning back. But Su Lin was waiting in there. What would she think if I failed to arrive? And the carriage might be carrying anyone.

However hard or far I fled, I would never outrun fear.

Light-headed, I walked over to the gatehouse.

The Jade Disk Tea-House was like all such places. No doubt it exists still. Around a central courtyard were dozens of sumptuous rooms, red and green stairways, painted blinds to ensure privacy when conducting a liaison or shady business deal. These curtains were seldom lowered, as the main reason for visiting the Jade Disk Tea-House was merely to be seen there. Miniature pines and vases of flowers stood in tasteful locations. Waiters flowed round elegant chairs with trays of rarest tea, or aniseed cakes, or health-giving cordials. An atmosphere of constant chatter, punctuated by the melodies of singing girls. I stood awkwardly by the entrance until a waiter rushed over. My forehead and hair were damp with sweat.

He examined me, assessing my potential for tips.

‘I am here to meet a lady,’ I said, as haughtily as I could.

‘Miss Su Lin.’

At once his eyes brightened. He led me to a long private room on the first floor. Here sat Su Lin, fanning herself and chattering gaily to a man in the uniform of a viscount.

She had dressed exquisitely for the occasion. Her silks shimmered, as did her coiled hair. The official smiled politely as I arrived.

‘Well, well,’ said the fellow. ‘It seems an honoured guest has displaced me.’

I said nothing. Perhaps strain showed on my face.

Perhaps I was a trifle grim. Certainly I felt that way. He excused himself and I nodded curtly as he left.

‘You could have shown a little more courtesy to Viscount Shao,’ she said, pouting humorously though I could tell she was troubled. ‘A man like that is not without influence.’

I sat beside her, taken aback by such a greeting.

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Of course.’

Then she explained his offices and friends in a gay, playful tone as though it was all a wonderful game. I barely listened.

‘You are the reason I am here,’ I replied. ‘No one else, whatever strings they can pull.’

She bit her plump, carmine lip. A waiter brought me a cup of tea and hovered expectantly. I waved him away. Su Lin nodded to one of her serving women who promptly tipped him. It was all very smooth and designed in advance not to embarrass me.

‘You seem uncomfortable,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Are you unwell?’

For once her disappointment did not affect me. In fact I found it curious.

‘Perhaps I am,’ I said. ‘This is a strange place to meet.’

‘Why? I come here often.’

‘But I do not. And that is why it is a strange place to meet.’

She sighed, and sipped a cup of jasmine tea. One of the leaves stuck to her upper lip. She brushed it away delicately. Then she asked her maids to wait outside. No doubt they listened by the door.

‘You have not visited me for a whole week,’ she whispered. ‘I do not know what to think.’

‘I have been composing poems. Besides, how am I to know when you are free or engaged?’

Su Lin had developed a particular way of expressing frustration. It was confined to the angle of her eyebrows.

When we first met her emotions had been more obvious and natural. Still the changes of her face fascinated me.

‘I have heard such delightful news,’ she announced.

‘Can you guess what it is?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Then I shall tell you. A certain person – I mean the one who has promised to help you – has hinted that he will use his influence to have me play at the Feast of Lanterns.

Before the Son of Heaven himself!’

Now I understood her brittle gaiety. Such a prospect was worth a year’s anxiety.

‘I am pleased for you,’ I said.

She pouted again. Her eyes reached for my own but I glanced away.

‘Oh, Yun Cai,’ she whispered. ‘What is wrong? I thought we would have such a gay celebration! And surely there is much to celebrate.’

I held out my hands helplessly. Any reply resembling the truth would suggest self-pity. How I longed for her to respect me.

‘I know what it is,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You feel restless because you do not have a position worthy of your talent. No wonder you feel strange when you cannot be yourself. And having to live in the backroom of a wine shop by the Pig Market! The whole situation is absurd.’

I shook my head.

‘Please do not condemn Cousin Hong for poverty. He is very good to me. Besides, I am poor myself.’

‘That is the problem,’ she said, eagerly. ‘How glad I am that you mention it! I have been thinking. Will you listen if I tell you some of my thoughts?’

‘I always love to hear you talk,’ I said.

This seemed to relieve her.

‘I have had the most wonderful idea. In a few months the Imperial examinations are to be held. You are so clever. And I thought, why should not my Yun Cai enter when he is far more worthy than all the others. If you passed, which I am sure you will, you’d be granted a fine posting. And anyway, the gentleman of whom we spoke has promised to support your candidature.’

I looked at her in surprise. She had been canvassing my interests in a way which surely proved love. The Imperial examinations were the highest test, overseen by the Son of Heaven himself. Those who succeeded were guaranteed prosperity – assuming they did not displease His Highness. Even P’ei Ti had not yet gained such honour, though he planned to sit the examination that autumn.

‘Do you really think I could pass through the Vermilion Doors?’ I asked. ‘In my current situation? And His August Excellency will really act as my sponsor?’

‘Of course! You must believe in yourself and stop dreaming your life away. Then you will be free and depend on no one. I beg you to at least consider it.’

I sipped my tea while she watched. Suddenly it tasted less watery.

‘If I studied hard, who knows?’ I said, thinking aloud. ‘The worst is that I should fail. Better men than I have failed.’

‘So you will enter?’ she asked, eagerly.

I met her deep, almond eyes. Could she not love me as I was? I let the question float, like wisps of steam.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll try, at least.’

Su Lin took my hand.

‘Now you are yourself,’ she murmured.

‘Oh, I’m always myself,’ I said.

We were interrupted by a young woman entering the room, bowing as she came. It was one of the tea-house’s singing girls. Her lowered eyes evaded Su Lin, evidently paying dutiful homage to a superior. Then I understood how high Su Lin had risen in her profession. A compulsion to prove myself her equal – no, her superior – made me affect a yawn. I remembered the proverb:
Why should
not sparrows possess the dreams of swans?

Su Lin flushed with pleasure. When the singing girl had gone I squeezed her hand.

‘A proud moment for you,’ I said, mastering envy.

She fanned herself, cooling hot cheeks. The glow beneath her make-up reminded me of other times, when that warmth had been for my sake alone. I longed for her to desire me.

‘Are you engaged this evening?’ I asked.

‘Well, yes. But no, if you want. It is not someone important. I could always be ill.’

‘Then be ill with me,’ I said. ‘I could make you better.

And in the morning I’ll begin my studies.’

She met my glance in her old, frank way.

‘Must my success come between us?’ she asked. ‘It would make me so unhappy.’

Her honesty, vulnerable and well-meant, brought tears to us both.

‘I was jealous for a moment,’ I said. ‘That is a trifle. It changes nothing between us. Sometimes clouds cover the sun, but they always blow away for us. Then our day is bright.’

Our tension dissipated into nervous laughter, eye-dabbing and smiles.

*

‘What a fool I am, always hanging on your clever talk,’ she said, in her thickest Chunming accent.

We left without bothering to finish our tea. That evening I begged her to lie on the bed naked, white jade softened by lamp light, while I lay beside her in my clothes, delighting in the warm, fragranced places of her body. Fully provoked by touch and taste, she pulled off my silk robes and we loved each other. I cradled her head on my chest as she slept, thinking of the texts I must learn by heart, thinking until sick of thought. Hope and depression, light and shadow. Was that our last night of untainted joy? There must have been others. How long ago it seems and far away, like a ship of many lanterns dwindling.

It was a time for love, if marriage may be called love. On a bright, summer morning, before the first hints of autumn, a sedan chair carried by two sweating porters arrived outside Cousin Hong’s wine shop. People leant from windows to watch as a plain-faced girl in second-hand silks climbed out, carrying a baby wrapped in hemp.