The Old Dragon's Head Read online

  CHAPTER 6

  Audience with the Prince

  You can’t get anywhere without the trust of others.

  A cart without a linchpin in its yoke bar –

  How can you get it to go anywhere?

  THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS

  As Feng settled into the back of his father’s sedan chair, the first night watch sounded across the fortress. Had he been that long in the underworld? Back on earth, a bitter northerly wind was gusting from the mountains, coating everything in a carpet of white. Undaunted, the pinnacles and spindles on the top of the pagodas and towers forever reached upwards. It was so cold that even the beggars had sought refuge in the corners and doorways of Shanhaiguan.

  Feng pulled the flaps of his cap over his ears. Peering out of the curtains, he noticed abandoned kites and sodden lanterns protruding in ungainly fashion out of the thin layer of snow, forgotten vestiges of the New Year’s celebrations.

  He was as cold as he was disappointed. Could Renshu have done more to save Shun’s life? In the end, they would never know the truth. Either way, the murderer’s premature death could prove costly in the sordid fight against the Emperor.

  It was a short trip from the prison. The sedan chair paused at the entrance gate to the outer courtyard of his home. Qitong, the house boy, was squatting, head in hands.

  “Master,” Qitong said, wiping away the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his gown. “Father’s body is in a coffin in the annex. Dead. Murdered.” His little body was heaving with sobs and despite being an orphan, Qitong still thought of himself as a fully-fledged family member.

  “There, there,” Feng sighed. “I know. Be a good boy and fetch me some clean clothes.” The boy scampered off. Feng waited for him to return behind the lattice that gave way onto the inner rooms. He could hear his mother talking to another woman, whose voice he didn’t recognise straight away. Who had called on her so soon after his father’s death and in the middle of a snowstorm?

  His mother was saying, “His murder has been a great shock, more than I could ever have imagined.” How weary, how frail, she sounded.

  “I do understand. I also lost my husband,” the other woman replied.

  “Of course, you did. I’m sorry, how could I forget that tragic accident?” his mother replied, full of sympathy.

  Qitong returned and Feng changed his gown. He was about to enter the room, when he heard footsteps behind him.

  “What are you doing here, Master Feng? Listening in on your own mother?” It was Precious, his mother’s maid. That was ironic – often he found her crouching in the shadows behind a lattice or a slightly-ajar door.

  “I’m not eavesdropping,” he insisted as she breezed by him into the room with a tray of tea and sweet pastries.

  He followed sheepishly.

  “Luli!” The name blurted from his lips. “What a surprise!” She was the local astrologer, geomancer and seer. What was she doing speaking to his mother in her private chambers?

  “Master Feng,” Luli said, bowing with respect.

  “My son,” his mother called out. “Come, join us.” The maid lit more lanterns.

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said.

  Her voice swollen with grief and pride, his mother spoke to Luli, “My husband was the head of the Yamen, the most important figure in the civil administration of any province. His funeral must befit that importance. It must be held on a lucky day. You’ve brought the imperial calendar and your almanac. Please, be so kind to advise us.”

  Luli opened the tables and moved her dainty fingers along the rows and columns, pausing at one glyph then careering onto another. Feng was impressed. She was a woman in the midst of her art and her art was in the midst of her life, which was more than he could say about most people he encountered. Aside from his father, most people were full of thunder and blunder in equal measure. When the storm had passed, all that remained was an empty vessel. Not even rain – just a flood of chagrin and the bitter taste of almonds.

  No one spoke, only the wind howled around the alleys of the Yamen.

  Luli glanced up and said, “The pre-eminent alignment is in twelve days.”

  “Two days before the end of the Lantern Festival,” Feng replied.

  “Yes and on that day,” Luli said, turning to Lan, “your husband’s spirit will find no impediment on its way to Heaven.”

  “That’s a relief,” his mother said, visibly relaxing.

  The second night watch sounded and Luli said, “It’s late, I must leave.”

  “It’s freezing outside. As a token of our thanks,” Feng persuaded her, “let my porters take you home in the warmth and comfort of the magistrate’s sedan chair.”

  “Are you sure it’s appropriate?” Luli asked. “Have you now been assigned the post of county magistrate?”

  “Not yet, but I will be,” Feng snapped. It went without saying that he was going to occupy his father’s shoes. “In the meantime, please, accept my hospitality.”

  Feng saw her to the front gate, where he found Qitong asleep amidst a tranche of blankets.

  “Wake up!” he thundered. “Look, the laundry wagon is here. See to it.”

  Qitong rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scampered off to help the men load the dirty linen.

  Feng saw Luli off in the magistrate’s sedan chair and then made his way to the shrine of the house to pay his respects at his father’s coffin. His mother had laid out fruit, pastries and other offerings to his father’s spirit. He prayed with fervour and burned incense to help cleanse his father’s way to Heaven.

  At the fourth night watch, he was heading for bed when a thunderous knock sounded at the outer door, waking the whole house. Moments later, Qitong came running to him, crying, “Master, master. A messenger… at the gate.”

  “What does he want at this late hour?” Feng asked.

  “He says he must pass his message to you and to you alone.”

  “Mmm,” Feng said, guessing that it came from the prince. “Bring him to the study.”

  The man lurched into the room, his breath reeking of stale rice wine. “The prince is s-sorry to interrupt your mourning,” he slurred. “He requests your presence at the Hall of Ancestors.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, s-sir,” the messenger said, swaying from side to side. “The p-prince is leaving with the army at the dawn watch.”

  “I shall attend,” Feng said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  His porters had already returned from Luli’s with the magistrate’s sedan chair, so he travelled in comfort and style. Along the way, the streets were lined with yawning soldiers stomping their feet on the snow-laden ground, cavalry with their horses chomping at the bit and supply wagons, their donkeys munching on their early morning feed. Hundreds of lanterns lit their dawn preparations. The magistrate’s chair was given priority. On arrival, one of the prince’s eunuchs ushered him into an antechamber. Bao was already there.

  “What are you doing here?” Feng asked, with deliberate contempt.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” Bao replied, with that ingratiating leer of his.

  “It’s obvious the prince will confirm my appointment,” Feng said, surrendering to the desire to boast. “I am a fitting replacement for my father.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Bao said. Feng had heard his bluffs before.

  The eunuch called them in to see the prince, who was discussing tactics with his generals and Commandant Tung. When Feng entered the room, he broke off and said to him, “I am shocked at the tragic loss of a great servant of the Empire. I held your father in the highest esteem.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” he replied. That was all he could think to say. He was more accustomed to talking to convicts than addressing royalty.

  The prince turned to the commandant. With his mouth turning down a
t the edges into a practiced snarl, he said, “Decapitate that dog’s head Shun and impale his head on the railings of the Yamen. I want to strike fear into the hearts of the enemies of the Prince of Yan. Then find his co-conspirators. Turn the fortress upside down. Look in every wagon. Look in Beggar’s Alley. Look in the prostitutes’ quarter. Whatever you do, find them. I want justice for Magistrate Park.”

  “Yes, My Prince.” The commandant bowed and left.

  “You two,” the prince said to him and Bao with a heavy sigh. “I have summoned you to let you know my decision regarding the appointment of county magistrate to Hebei Province.”

  Feng felt awkward, like he had stepped onto a stage and no one had told him his lines.

  “I’ll start with you, Master Feng,” the prince said. “I once considered you a prodigious legal talent. At twenty years old, you have already passed the Jinshi, the imperial exams. Your knowledge of the Five Classics is unrivalled in Hebei Province and your fine calligraphy shows a constancy and depth of character. That’s not surprising, since your father schooled you for this position for many years. If anyone deserves it, you do.”

  ‘I’m here,’ Feng almost said and remembered that Confucius lauded the virtue of modesty. Despite the small slip in his mask, he felt confident and glowered at Bao.

  “But,” the prince thumped the table, “I have insurmountable reservations about your claim.”

  Surely the prince wasn’t addressing him? What was going on?

  “Reservations, Your Highness? What kind of… reservations?” he stammered.

  “Bao tells me that last night you refused to execute my order to pardon the prisoners. This is a grave offence not only against your prince, but also against the Heavenly deities who were meant to have been placated by my act of clemency.”

  “I-I, don’t know. I gave the list to Bao,” he replied, casting a grave look at Bao. Why was the assistant magistrate looking so smug?

  The prince gritted his teeth, “Second, that dog’s head Shun should not have been allowed to die before yielding vital information. It was not your business to interfere in the underworld and disturb Liu’s delicate work. I hold you in part responsible for that calamity.”

  Feng bit his lip. Bao must have whispered in the prince’s ear. In this game of political chess, Feng had been in checkmate ever since he walked into the room but was only just realising it. Feng could not utter a word. It was rude to contradict a superior.

  “Third,” the prince went on, “you have failed to show the modesty required of a magistrate.”

  “Modesty? How? When?” He was squirming.

  “You have abused your position. Bao tells me he saw you using the magistrate’s sedan chair last night,” the prince said with a snarl. “How can I trust you with the trappings of high office?”

  Feng was distraught. Once again, propriety prevented him from offering any defence. His hopes and dreams dissipated by one act of kindness to Luli. It wasn’t fair.

  “And finally,” the prince continued, “in the event of a parent’s death, the Great Ming Code exhorts us to show filial respect and sacrifice to them at the appointed times. I did that with my father. You must also do that and so you must forego your imperial ambitions until the period of mourning has passed. Because your father was a loyal servant, the code allows me to waive any charges that otherwise would have been brought against you for your suspicious and compromising behaviour.”

  Seething inwardly, Feng bowed to his liege lord.

  The prince’s final words stung his ears, “I have sent runners to the capital to summon the new magistrate here. Until he arrives, Master Bao, you will act as such.”

  What? Bao? Acting county magistrate? Feng couldn’t believe his ears. This couldn’t be true. It turned out it was.

  The prince addressed Bao, “While you’re waiting for the new magistrate to arrive, you are to delve into the archives of the Yamen.”

  “What am I looking for?” Bao asked.

  “I want you to investigate the mysterious disappearances of Wing, the Dragon Master, and Abbot Cheng.”

  “That was some twenty years ago, My Prince,” Bao said, a bewildered look on his face.

  “Yes, that’s right,” the prince said, wagging his finger. “Now as far as we know, the Laolong is trapped inside the Jade Chamber. He must be freed and brought into my service. Only the Dragon Master can do that. Find Wing and Abbot Cheng and we find the way to release the Laolong. Their fates must be intertwined.”

  “I see,” Bao murmured.

  “With the Laolong in my service,” the prince confirmed, “I can command the yin and the yang of Heaven and earth. I can command the light and the dark, the firm and the yielding. This will bring good harvests, the devotion of my people and harmony between Heaven and earth. The Laolong will authenticate my claim to the Mandate of Heaven.”

  “I will do as you request.” Bao knew how to make a grovelling reply.

  Before the prince could leave, Feng plucked up courage and asked him, “What shall I do?”

  The prince played with his Asian Tojo moustache and said, “Let me ask you a question: if the linchpin is missing from the yoke bar of a cart, can you expect the cart to move?”

  “No, My Prince,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “Of course not.”

  “Then by the same token, if a man’s word is untrustworthy, he is no good to me or to Heaven, let alone himself.”

  And with that, the prince marched out of the chamber. His equerry helped him onto his waiting horse. The dawn watch broke over the ice-laden roofs of the barracks and kissed the crimson snow clouds. Congealed with inner turmoil, Feng watched the prince lead the cavalry out of the west gate, accompanied by raucous cheers.

  Feng felt like one of those icebergs that on occasion floated down the coast on the currents of the Bohai Sea – frozen, meandering and forlorn. His career was in tatters and only one person kept him in Shanhaiguan: his mother. She needed his care. He was about to sneak out of the door, when Bao grabbed his elbow and snarled, “I’ve got you where I want you.”

  “And where is that, exactly?” Feng pulled his hand away.

  “Under my foot,” Bao said, grating his heel into the floor for effect.

  Not for the first time in his life, Feng felt like giving Bao a bloody nose. He hissed to himself. That wouldn’t solve anything. He had to bide his time, so he growled back, “You are no better than a mutton-eating Mongol.”

  “Hah! I’m not the enemy here,” Bao said, dismissing him. “But at least I have a roof over me.”

  “What are you talking about?” He frowned. He wasn’t going to scare that easily.

  “You and the remnants of your family are occupying the magistrate’s official residence. Vacate it before the new magistrate arrives, otherwise I’ll have you thrown out.”

  That, he knew, was no idle threat. And rotten timing.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ghosts of the Past

  Past events leave their shadows behind them.

  CHINESE PROVERB

  Luli sat up in bed and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She’d returned late from visiting Feng and his mother. Outside, she heard a horse whinny. Hooves thudded against the frozen earth. A man shouted a rasping command.

  She glanced across at Ru’s bed. Empty. Her heart was racing. “Ru! Where are you?”

  She found him staring through the slats in the lattice making soft, cooing noises. He did that when he was excited.

  “There you are,” she said.

  The soldiers and cavalry filed by the window, wrapped in rudimentary winter uniforms. Reinforcements were always coming and going from the fortress, but this was a huge army and it was led by the prince himself. No wonder Ru appeared in awe of the sheer scale of the marching column. Luli grasped his hand. It was cold. It was always cold. Sometimes she wondered if he had reptilian blood.r />
  That was how it was that chilly morning: the soldiers’ yells, the horses’ neighing, the creak of wagon wheels, the shouted commands of the officers and the constant chatter of hundreds of infantry, going to make war on their fellow Han Chinese. After a while, Ru looked up at her with a face like a dried prune. After twenty years, she knew the meaning of every single one of his looks. This was one of the first she had learnt.

  “I know,” she sighed. “I’m hungry too. But the soldiers have eaten the town out of food and burnt all the firewood. We’ll have to go to the market.”

  A short while later, Luli led him through the west gate. He stared at the soldiers’ frosty breath, the steam rising from the horses and mules. The army was leaving safety behind and moving towards danger, and Luli had that same sense about her own life. She pulled at Ru’s hand. The soldiers’ feet had scrunched up the snow and earth into a mud bath and Luli was tracing her steps with care around the dryer edges of the road.

  As they passed the Bell and Drum Tower, Ru stared up at the roof of the huge edifice. She imagined he was trying to catch a glimpse of the drummers pounding those huge gongs, sending out the coded message that the prince was leaving. Nearby was the gate to the Yamen, around which a large but hostile crowd had gathered. They were hurling obscenities and pointing up at the railings. She went closer to see what the interest was. When she realised, she covered Ru’s eyes.

  “Don’t look,” she whispered. Ever since his tragic accident, Ru abhorred the sight of blood and gore. The crowd didn’t know that. They were throwing stones at a bloody, severed head.

  Someone quipped, “Who’s lost his head?”

  “That’s Shun, or rather what’s left of him,” came the acerbic reply. “He’s the dog who poisoned our magistrate.”

  She squeezed through the crowd as quickly as she could. In the market, they found little produce. Stragglers yet to join the prince’s column bartered with peddlers for the dumplings, melon seeds and the remaining few sweet pastries. Others sought extra clothing to endure the last of the winter snows.