The Mandate of Heaven (42 page)

As soon as he entered the packed theatre – its murmuring, speculation, hundreds of darting eyes – Teng feared a grave error of judgement. Too late now. An usher cleared a path to seats reserved specially. ‘Make way! Make way!’ Four people followed the bustling man: Teng supporting Deng Nan-shi’s arm; behind them, Abbess Yun Shu in the regal attire of a Serene One and, huffing in the rear, Eunuch Bo-Bai with a basket of cushions, flasks and refreshments.

‘You will be pleased by our seats, Father,’ murmured Teng.

The old scholar glanced at his son. As ever, a look midway between approval, query and unspoken criticism.

The arrival of their party did not go unnoticed. People rose to get a better view of the last surviving Dengs. Some bowed low. Others muttered amongst themselves. Just as visible was Abbess Yun Shu. Everyone noticed her public association with disloyal scholars. Hence Teng’s fear of a grave error. Unscrupulous Buddhists might use the Deng clan’s dubious reputation in their campaign to gain possession of Cloud Abode Monastery.

He glanced at Yun Shu to see if she had noticed. A flush of animation coloured her plump cheeks: the flutter of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. She was as excited as a child to be in the theatre. As ever, her naivety filled him with conflicting emotions. Alarm on her behalf, of course. More strongly, a protective warmth he could not explain. A desire to understand her better.

‘Lady Yun Shu,’ he said, ‘please sit on Father’s right side. It offers a better view of the stage, I think.’

The stage, jutting out into the tiers of seats, was bare apart from a backdrop depicting mountains and a gentleman’s mansion that climbed a hillside in three distinct stages.

Once she was settled, he said, ‘Notice the backdrop. I painted it myself. You might recognise the house from your famous ancestor’s poems, perhaps?’ To address her Teng was forced to lean a little over his father, who sat between them. The old scholar’s glance passed from one animated face to the other. Whatever he thought did not reach his tongue.

‘Can that be,’ she began. ‘Yes, it must be! Three-Step-House in Wei Valley! Yun Cai’s poems mention it often.’

Teng laughed with self-satisfaction. ‘Did I not promise my new drama would interest you greatly?’

Perhaps too greatly. For Yun Shu had ignored Lady Lu Si’s counsel not to attend the first performance of
I weep for Su Lin
. Principally because Teng had used the life of her ancestor, Yun Cai, as a loose model for his play.

It was a popular story. And a subtly provocative one. Despite telling how Yun Cai proved himself a hero by his loyalty to the Emperor, everyone in the audience knew that Emperor had belonged to the previous dynasty. In addition, Yun Cai’s father had saved the life of the barbarian-baiting rebel, Yueh Fei, nearly two hundred years earlier. As two hundred years is but a wing beat of time, the implications were obvious. Accordingly, the theatre was packed.

‘My play is not
exactly
based on Yun Cai’s career,’ Teng admitted to Yun Shu. ‘I have made certain improvements.’

Her enthusiasm faltered a little. ‘How can one improve on a life already lived?’ she asked. ‘One may question another person’s decisions but not alter them.’

A slight smile crossed Deng Nan-shi’s impassive face. Teng knew his father was thinking
she’s got you there
. He decided to accept defeat gracefully. ‘A wise thought,’ he conceded, ‘yes, very wise.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Teng spotted another party hurrying to their seats before the play began. The orchestra of pi-pa and lute, drum, clappers, flute and ch’in commenced the overture. Teng stiffened.

The latecomers were as notorious in Hou-ming as the Dengs. They wore glittering silks and hairpieces, shuffling on tiny lotus feet. A dozen male courtesans from Prince Arslan’s palace, quite as well regarded as females of the same profession. In their midst, older than his companions, Golden Lotus, the concubine-spouse of Salt Minister Gui – the very man who had purchased Teng’s forgeries for an exorbitant price.

Perhaps lingering guilt caused Teng’s discomfort. Or a memory of placing the seal of Yueh Fei on one of the paintings. Mostly he feared Golden Lotus’s presence would distress Yun Shu. When he glanced at her, it was obvious she had not noticed the newcomers. Delight at the orchestra made her beam. She revelled in every sensation of her release from the repetitive chanting and endless prayers in Cloud Abode Monastery. Relieved, Teng settled back as the play began.

‘I am Yun Cai,’ declared the male lead, a broad-chested singer with plenty of swagger. ‘In my youth I was exiled to my estate of Three-Step-House in far off Wei Valley …’

The play unfolded for two tense hours. Yun Shu leaned forward in her seat, dabbing her eyes when the poet’s great love, Su Lin, betrayed him to satisfy the ambitions of the father who had been suborned by a corrupt minister called Lord Xiao afraid Yun Cai would expose his misdeeds. The plot was made yet more complex by the intrigues of the poet’s faithful friend, P’ei Ti.

Ying-ge played the part of Su Lin. Her voice as she half-sobbed and sang was wonderfully pure:

The wine in my bowl

Is watered with tears,

Let me assure you,

The dregs of my heart!

Handkerchiefs wiping away tears fluttered like butterfly wings.

When Su Lin took poison, rushing back and forth upon the stage like a trapped moth, before subsiding gracefully into an artful heap of silks, make-up, jewellery and silver hairpieces, many in the audience rose to protest. So extreme was their anguish on her behalf. Prominent among them was the Salt Minister’s aging concubine, Golden Lotus.

Teng’s own eyes filled with tears. How talented and beautiful was Ying-ge! How exquisite and graceful! No woman could compare with her for that. Yet in the midst of his admiration he recalled her pettiness and spite when crossed; her devotion to fashion and gossip. Ying-ge’s sole topic of conversation was Ying-ge – a topic of which she never tired.

At last the Jade Emperor sent a Heavenly Official down to the Middle Kingdom. This Immortal’s face was painted a shiny white. He rode a hobbyhorse in the form of a gigantic goose onto the stage, to the great delight of the audience. His speech in praise of loyalty and duty was almost as prolonged as the crowd’s applause.

Teng turned to Yun Shu. She wept freely while Deng Nan-shi murmured soothing words. Teng’s heart filled with pleasure. How natural they seemed together! Like father and daughter-in-law!

‘Oh, Teng!’ she cried, ‘what a wonderful play! How it honoured Yun Cai! I enjoyed it very much! So very much!’

Then Teng understood. All along he had written
I weep for Su Lin
to please Yun Shu. She had watched from a shadowy corner of his mind through the long hours of composition, just as he sometimes imagined his dead mother’s presence. Except Yun Shu was real, her breath warm. Her unique fragrance touched his nostrils: a combination of incense and sandalwood, the willow-scent aromas of hair and body.

As he led his party to the exit, acknowledging acquaintances and friends, Teng took a circuitous route to avoid Golden Lotus. Fortunately, deep in conversation with Deng Nan-shi, Yun Shu had not spotted him.

With a final backward glance into the theatre before following Bo-Bai and the others outside, Teng noticed Ying-ge addressing the Salt Minister’s concubine, bowing and whispering. What about, Teng could not imagine. Then both looked straight at him. Their expressions were cold. A horrible suspicion took root in his gut.

Yun Shu rattled and bumped in a heavily curtained wooden box. It was dark in the carriage. Only echoes of the world reached her: rain drumming on the roof; the coachman abusing someone who blocked their way; snatches of drunken laughter. Yun Shu closed her eyes and attempted the mantra Worthy Master Jian had taught her:
om mani padme
…
om mani padme
… wishing she understood the words. But then, she wasn’t meant to.

Yun Shu recognised the toll of a bell. It belonged to Golden Bright Temple. She squeezed her amulets to suppress fear. What use would she be if less than serene? As ever, Yun Shu doubted her fitness for the test to come. Every seventh day of the month she participated in Worthy Master Jian’s magical rites. The seventh day was when the divine and human worlds touched – briefly, tantalisingly. Worthy Master had explained it all. Yet for all the pain and inner sickness she suffered, his handsome, dignified face showed no sign of regeneration. If anything, his silver hair had whitened, not darkened.

The carriage came to a sudden halt and the curtain was flung open. Her face veiled, Yun Shu stepped out into humid air, glimpsing a temple courtyard wet with rain. A thick, round pagoda rose into the night sky. Its topmost storey bulged and red lights glowed behind shrouded windows.

A nameless priest escorted her to the closed door of the pagoda. He rapped out a secret pattern and was rewarded with a tinkling bell. Having received this sign, he waved her inside.

It took a moment for Yun Shu’s eyes to adjust after the darkness of the carriage. The walls and roof were painted black and decorated with constellations and deities. The lacquered floor shone with images of rivers, mountains, lakes, cities. A single piece of furniture stood in the centre: a reading stand carved to represent Mount Kunlun, home of the Immortals, on which an ancient book of bamboo strips rested. A pale lantern cast a silvery light.

In this crucible of inner preparation and meditation Worthy Master Jian sat cross-legged and perfectly still. Yet she sensed his frustration.

‘Yun Shu! Sit beside me. We shall clarify our intentions.’

She timidly took up the lotus position. They both stared forward into the Infinite. For a long while neither moved and Yun Shu’s heart beat slowed: she was accustomed to silence, stillness, the creation of spirit-rooms. It startled her when he spoke again: ‘Yun Shu, are you receptive tonight?’

His voice was kindly, patient. Again fear flickered. ‘I have prepared myself, Worthy Master.’

‘Good.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Yun Shu, it is now six months since we began this Great Work. A noble, lofty work, do you not agree?’ She bowed submissively. ‘Yet our progress is slow. We have still not progressed from the Stage of
Ch’i
.’

‘Yes,’ she said, guiltily.

Why did her voice tremble? She should be proud, exalted.

‘Yun Shu,’ he said, ‘you are aware that I am from an impeccable family?’

Again she nodded.

‘My family was second in this province only to the Dengs and they have almost passed away. Old Deng Nan-shi is sick and his son a foolish wastrel. All my life I have been accustomed to obedience, power. The Dao sends me whatever I desire. And now I approach my fiftieth year, despite all my piety, all my mastery of the Dao’s secrets!’

She ducked her head at the imbalance in his voice. He was rumoured to drink elixirs of mercury to prevent aging.

‘Yun Shu, if anyone is destined to join the Immortals it is me. But can I rely on you?’

Was there pleading in his voice? The stone of fear in her heart softened a little. ‘Worthy Master,’ she said, ‘if you … I am ready. Let us ascend now if you wish.’

She sensed his breath quicken. He rose, bowed to the effigy of Mount Kunlun, and led her towards the stairs.

For the next few hours he used her in the Seven Places of the Seven Primes. All as specified in the bamboo strips. At first there was pleasure for her but that soon passed as the rite progressed. Soreness and pain forced her to gasp. Gasps she stifled lest he grow angry. He had struck her once for ruining the rite. All the while he held back his
jing
, his precious seed, as he had for twenty years.

For long hours he harvested her life force, projecting it up his spine to swell the pearl of light that would one day make him Immortal. At intervals he forced her to drink a bitter, foul elixir that sent her head spinning, before gulping deeply himself.

Worthy Master Jian rose and re-tied his gown. Bowing to the Five Directions, he departed quietly, leaving Yun Shu alone on the bed, her body and breasts shining with perspiration in the lantern light, her inner places bruised. The worst ache of all swelled in her spirit like an ugly toadstool releasing venomous spores.