The Concubine's Daughter (45 page)

The
er-hu
was beautiful in its simplicity—a long, straight shaft of cherrywood curved eloquently at the top and carved into the sleek head and breast of a nightingale, the tuning pegs spread like wings in flight. At the bottom of the shaft, the sound box was no bigger than a rice bowl, covered with the stretched skin of a python.

Siu-Sing watched in silent wonder as he seated himself, nestling the drum of the instrument upon his knee, holding the head of the nightingale close to his ear and drawing the bow across the single string. The sweetest, most mysterious music soared and ebbed through the Place of Clear Water, through its flickering ceiling, and into the open sky.

When the last pure note faded, he smiled with pleasure at her enchantment.

“Music is food for the heart. The silver nightingale belongs to you. I will teach you to make it sing so that your heart may never be empty.”

Placing the
er-hu
back in its velvet sleeve, he tied the tassels and slung it over his shoulder.

“Now we shall visit the Rock of Great Strength. You have known it as a playground, but now it is where you will learn to become one with all that surrounds you, so that you will never be lost. You will learn to be strong and straight as the bamboo, to sway with the wind so that you will never fall, and to fly like the great white crane so that you will never be caught.”

They walked through a maze of mimosa bush that opened onto a shelf of rock, long and wide, exposed like an altar beneath the endless sky.

He bent to look closely into her eyes, taking both of her hands in his. There was something in his words that she had never heard before. It was no longer the voice of her yeh-yeh but the voice of her master.

“This rock is as old and as strong as the earth itself. It has been here since the beginning of time and cannot be moved by storm or tempest.” He sat down in the center of the rock shelf, where it was worn smooth as a temple floor.

“This is no longer a place for a child to play but for a disciple to train. Here, you will discover things that others cannot imagine. On the Rock of Great Strength, you will put down roots that cannot be moved by any force but your own … and when you leave this place its chi will go with you.

“From this moment I am your master; you will call me
si-fu
. You are no longer my Little Star, but Red Lotus—disciple of the White Crane. This is your temple name, and you will have no other upon the rock. It is the place where all things are left behind except the will to learn.”

So began the training of Red Lotus upon the Rock of Great Strength. Each day she would meet her master in its center an hour before sunrise to begin discovering the art of stillness beneath a waning moon—learning how to drink the air at its cleanest and freshest, like water from a crystal spring, and how to turn it into power through the mastery of breath.

With the first full flare of sunrise came her physical training. There
were many different movements in the
chen-tow
—the dance of the crane. With the patient search for perfection, Master To guided her limbs as a painter applies one color to the next or a calligrapher transforms an infinitely fine stroke into a bold one.

When she was tired or stumbled, Master To would say calmly, “There is no gentle way of self-protection. The rock is hard, but so is injustice and cruelty, and these are the things you must be ready for. To be peaceful, we must be strong—each hand a sword and every finger a dagger. The arm is a spear and the elbow a hammer, the foot an ax and the knee a battering ram.”

When his disciple looked puzzled, he told her the story of the white crane who wished no harm to anyone. “The crane was content to live quietly in the marsh, to build its nest in the rushes and to dry its wings on the sandbar. But the tiger came seeking the crane in the reed bed and tried to destroy her. She was ready, and defeated her attacker through the power of her wings and the steel of her feet and the blade of her beak. It will always be like this. The crane must be constantly vigilant.”

When she fell and drew blood, he would teach her to stand as quickly as she fell. “If you do not like the hardness of the rock, you must learn not to fall. If you must fall, you must learn how to find your feet in the blink of an eye. You must always be faster than the foot or the fist of your opponent. If you do not like the sight and the taste of blood, you must try not to spill any. If you do not like pain, you must learn to overcome it.

“Violence comes in all weathers. It does not wait for comfort or conve nience and may give no warning. It strikes from ice or fire, in deluge or drought, in warm sunshine and gentle breeze. We must know all its faces, understand all its moods, and know all its tricks. You must remember the lesson of the brook: The stones are hard and heavy but the water moves them. If it cannot move them with its power, it wears them down with its patience. This lesson never changes. Upon this rock, you are one with the water. Your chi is rooted to the rock; your power is the ever-flowing river of its life-force.”

I
t was Siu-Sing’s eighth
birthday. Refreshed by her morning exercise upon the rock, she bathed in the Place of Clear Water. Naked beneath the waterfall, she closed her eyes, exhilarated by the shock of cold water on her head and shoulders, then slipped away from the turbulence into the quiet pond, where drifting hyacinth parted as she swam and dragonflies flitted on invisible wings.

She did not see Ah-Keung standing amid the lattice of bamboo at the edge of the clearing. He watched her leave the water, her body glistening, to sit at the jade table where the
er-hu
awaited her fingers. She took the bow and sent the song of the silver nightingale soaring about her, so lost in its sweetness she neither saw nor sensed his presence.

Only when she stopped was she aware of being watched. At first she thought it was a moon bear or a panda that disturbed the shadow, searching the feathery tops of bamboo for mischievous monkeys. A sudden flash of sunlight caused her to blink and shield her eyes. Ah-Keung had not moved, but was lightly clapping his hands.

“I see you have tamed the strings of the old one’s homemade fiddle—and have learned the dance of the White Crane. I have watched you on the rock. The
si-fu
has taught you to fly, but has he taught you to fight?”

Ah-Keung stepped into the clearing. She had lost count of the months since she had seen him. A younger boy from the reed-cutters’ camp had taken his place behind the goats—a boy who was afraid of her and hurried the goats past the hut. Ah-Keung had grown taller than she remembered.
He wore clean trousers of blue cotton, a matching jacket thrown over one shoulder—smart clothes bought in the village market instead of the rags and patches he had once made for himself. A respectable black silk cap had replaced the one of tattered straw, and his calfskin boots looked soft and new.

His naked upper body was lean and muscular, his chest and back adorned with fresh tattoos: on his chest the snarling face of a tiger, on his back a hooded cobra about to strike.

“Do I startle you, Little Star?”

“I am not disturbed by any creature that may come to drink in the Place of Clear Water. It does not belong to me.”

“Yes, I have seen you charm the birds from the trees to sit on your finger, and animals feed from your hand. I have lived with them all of my life, but they do not come to me. Have you learned the spells of witchcraft from the old witch, Ah-Paw?” She had been reaching for her clothing, but stopped to look at him. He smiled without showing his crooked teeth. His smile was not as unpleasant as she remembered it, and his unruly hair had been neatly cut, yet stood straight on his head as thick as a brush. His eyes, she saw, no longer looked deep and dark and lost; instead, they seemed amused and inquisitive, livened by self-confidence.

“Do not watch me when I do not know of it. This is called spying, and I do not want to be spied upon.”

“If I watch, it is because you are the Little Star. I am no longer angry, nor do I resent your place upon the rock. I have found a
si-fu
outside the village as great as Master To. He teaches wiser things than patience, tolerance, and discipline—he teaches action, expectation, and revenge.”

He laughed, thrusting out his chest, raising his arms and flexing his muscles to cause the tiger to snarl. “His name is Black Oath Wu; he teaches me the Way of the Tiger, of stealth and attack with superior strength. Who is to say who is right? Only the
ku-ma-tai
, a fight to the death of one and victory to the other … only this will tell.”

He turned, the flared muscles of his back causing the hood of the cobra to spread wider. “And I learn the Way of
Yan-Jing-Shi
, the Snake—unseen, unheard, faster than the blink of an eye; so deadly in its poison, it need
strike but once.” He laughed almost pleasantly. “Honorable rivals to the White Crane, I think. I hope they do not offend you… . See, I will cover them up.”

He shrugged his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and buttoned it up, then bent forward, parting his bristly hair to reveal three white scars in a triangle on the crown of his head. “He also teaches how to be the master of pain. This is the mark of the triad. Three joss sticks burned their way into the bone… . I did not make a sound.” He ruffled his hair, covering the scars.

“So you see, Little Star, it is you who has changed my miserable life and led me to my true path. If you had not come, I would still be wasting my time in search of one hand clapping, seeking the mysteries of the Tao. Soon I will travel to Hong Kong, where gold is easily found. For this I will always be in your debt.”

Siu-Sing was determined not to show discomfort as she flicked the water from her skin and wrung it from her hair. The Forceful One did not look away. He held out his hand to touch her, stopped by her violet eyes. “You are still a child, Siu-Sing, but already you are
ho-lieng
—beautiful as a red lotus in a lake of pink blossoms.”

She ignored his compliment: To be
ho-lieng
was to be lovely as the breast of a bird or the eye of the tiger is beautiful, and she saw herself as neither of these. She pulled on her pants and buttoned her tunic, lacing her sandals without haste. She could feel his impatience rising when she said no more. When he spoke again, his words were harder and had the depth of a man’s.

“You show me no face with your silence. If you will not accept the hand of a friend, then I will not offer it again until you are old enough to be worthy of it. I no longer belong in the corner of the herb shed, or need the crumbs that were thrown to me. But I do not hate you, nor do I hate Old To.”

Ah-Keung bowed with a short, stiff jerk of his head. “I do not blame you for taking my place in the hut and upon the rock. I salute you as one warrior to another.”

Her reply was immediate. “I am proud to be my master’s disciple, but
I am no warrior. I do not learn the Way of the White Crane to fight, but to survive.”

The Forceful One shook his head and laughed unpleasantly. “Believe me, Red Lotus, to survive is to fight; there is no other way.”

“No, to survive is to be strong and learn to think … to seek knowledge and find peace in your heart. That is a better way.”

“Well, we must disagree, but I wish you well. I came to say good-bye before I sail the big river to the world beyond the mountains. I shall not be gone for long and will tell you what I find.”

“I wish you good fortune on your journey,” Siu-Sing said, as she gathered up her papers and the
er-hu
. She took the goat path with an easy stride, feeling the strange new eyes of Ah-Keung, the Forceful One, following her every step.

T
wo years had passed
since Ah-Keung had gone, and Siu-Sing had almost forgotten him. There was no practice on this special day, only peace at the Place of Clear Water.

Siu-Sing was reading at the jade table, the drone of cicadas as unnoticed as the chirping of a hidden cricket. A sudden streak of rainbow light caused her to look up. A hummingbird, radiant as a forest orchid, hovered over the raft of blue iris, the sound of its wings no louder than those of a bee. The brilliance of its colors enchanted her as it hung motionless, shining like a blue-green jewel. From flower to flower it flitted in sudden, dazzling spurts, its needle beak coated in pollen.

She watched it streak across the clearing and stop, shivering in midair, as though stunned by an invisible blow. The cicadas seemed to stop singing as a spider, big as her hand, bounced greedily down the silken rungs of its invisible web. To her horror, it enclosed the bright jewel with long, furry legs, tumbling it over and over, binding the gleaming wings in sticky, fluid silver. At last the web stopped vibrating, and the spider began to feed.

“See how suddenly innocence is deceived and beauty is destroyed by treachery.” The Fish spoke from the dappled shadow of the clearing where she had been standing, a basket in her hand. “The hummingbird was happy; there was no warning of its terrible death. It is a lesson to be learned.”