Everything Under the Sky (10 page)

“You mean I'm going to suffer hardship and poverty for six years even though I have the inheritance from my parents?”

Now, that was more like it. There was the daughter and granddaughter who must have made them so proud.

Still walking away, I grimaced and replied, “It will only serve to make you a better person, Fernanda.”

I was not at all surprised to hear a dry thump as she stomped her foot on the ground. That was another well-known sound in our family.

Sitting at last in that Chinese bed, shielded from the world by those lovely silk curtains that let the lamplight through, with trembling hands I opened the envelope from the antiquarian, a shiver of fear running up my arms and legs. Yet the letter contained only a note, and a brief one at that: “Please come to the Shanghai Club as soon as possible.” It was signed by Mr. Jiang and written in an elegant, old-fashioned French script that could only be his…. Well, unless it were a forgery and the Green Gang had sent it, a possibility I considered carefully as I hurried to dress and asked Mrs. Zhong to give Fernanda her dinner. I was so terrified that, in all honesty, I was unable to judge anything clearly. The most absurd things were happening as if they were normal; the extraordinary had become part of the ordinary. Here I was on a Saturday night in China, heading for the second time that day—as if it were the most natural thing in the world—to a meeting that could put my life in real danger. This was merely the beginning, I supposed, of a mad spiral into insanity. Even if Pockmarked Huang, the imperial eunuchs, and the imperialist Japanese might be waiting for me in Tichborne's room, it was best that I go in case it really
was
the antiquarian who summoned me there. Something might have happened when the chest was being delivered, and so, at the risk of having the tendons in my knees severed, I went to the Shanghai Club.

The concierge grinned smugly as soon as he recognized me, thinking the fat Irishman and I had started some sort of intimate relationship. He maintained that arrogant attitude even when I stared coldly back at him as I got into the elevator. You can be sure he wouldn't have aired his suspicions like that if I'd been a man. Since Tichborne hadn't come down to meet me, I crossed the long carpeted hallway to his room on my own, frightened half to death. I was so nervous that when Paddy smiled as he opened the door, I thought I saw a crowd of people behind him. Luckily, the image disappeared after a quick blink. In reality, no one other than Mr. Jiang was there, dressed in his splendid black silk tunic and shiny damask vest. He was smiling, too; a sense of euphoria seemed to float in the air. This was very different indeed from what I'd expected, and it calmed my nerves almost immediately. The hundredtreasure chest with that marvelous, gold-colored dragon on the lid sat on the coffee table, next to a tea set and a bottle of scotch.

“Come in, Mme De Poulain,” the antiquarian urged as he leaned on his bamboo cane. If I hadn't seen him move as sprightly as a cat that afternoon, I'd have thought he was an old man on his last legs. “We have some monumental news to share.”

“Was there a problem with the chest?” I asked anxiously as the three of us sat in the easy chairs.

“Not at all!” Tichborne burst out happily. There was an empty glass in front of him and only an inch of whiskey left in the bottle, leaving no doubt as to the cause of his merriment. “Wonderful news, madame! We now know what the Green Gang wants. This little box is the key!”

I turned to look at the antiquarian and saw he was smiling so widely his eyes had almost disappeared in a sea of wrinkles.

“True, very true,” he confirmed, falling comfortably against the back of his chair.

“And this will save my life and my niece's life?”

“Oh, madame, please!” the fat Irishman protested. “Don't be so melodramatic!”

Before I could offer an appropriate reply to such rudeness, Mr. Jiang gestured to get my attention, the curved gold nail on his little finger dancing in front of my eyes.

“I doubt, Mme De Poulain,” he began as he bent over the table to pour a nearly transparent tea into the two Chinese cups on the table, “that you've ever heard the legend of the Prince of Gui. In this great country that we, the sons of Han, call
Zhongguo,
‘the Middle Kingdom,’ or
Tianxia,
Everything Under the Sky, children fall asleep at night listening to the story of the prince who became the last and most forgotten of the Ming emperors and who saved the secret regarding the tomb of Shih Huang-ti, the first emperor of China. It's a beautiful tale that helps revive our pride in this immense nation of four hundred million inhabitants.”

He held a cup of tea out for me, but I refused with a slight wave of my hand.

“No?”

“It's too hot out.”

Mr. Jiang smiled. “There's nothing better for the heat, madame, than a nice hot cup of tea. It'll leave you feeling refreshed in no time, you'll see,” he insisted, passing the cup to me. I took it, and he settled back in the chair with his own. “When I was a boy, we used to act out the tragedy of the Prince of Gui. The neighbors would always give my brother, my friends, and me a few coins after our street performances, even if we'd done a really bad job.” He laughed silently, remembering. “I must say, though, that in time we became quite good.”

“Get to the point, Lao Jiang!” the Irishman exclaimed. I couldn't help but wonder what two such different men had in common. Luckily, the antiquarian didn't seem bothered by the interruption and continued his story as I took a sip of my tea, surprised by the lovely, fruity flavor. I immediately started to perspire, of course, but quickly the sweat cooled, leaving me feeling fresh all over. The Chinese were quite intelligent, and they did drink some excellent herbal teas.

“Before you hear the legend of the Prince of Gui, there are a few things you need to know about a very important part of our history, Mme De Poulain. A little over two thousand years ago, the Middle Kingdom as we know it today did not exist. Our territory was divided into various kingdoms that fought bitterly; that time is thus known as the Warring States Period. According to historical records, the man who would become the first emperor of a unified China was born in the year 259 b.c. His name was Yi Zheng, and he ruled over the kingdom of Qin.
⁹
After coming to power, Prince Zheng began a series of glorious battles that led him to take over the kingdoms of Han, Zhao, Wei, Chu, Yin, and Qi in just ten years, thus founding the country of Zhongguo or the Middle Kingdom, so called because it is situated in the middle of the world. In turn, the prince adopted the title Huang Ti or ‘August Sovereign,’ which is how we address our emperors to this day. People added the modifier Shi, which means ‘First,’ so the name he was known by throughout history was Shi Huang Ti or ‘First Emperor.’ His enemies, however, called him the ‘Tiger of Qin.’ “As he said this, Mr. Jiang opened the hundred-treasure chest, took out the half a gold tiger with inscriptions along its back that Fernanda and I had been examining that morning, and set it on the table. “Since he liked the name, he adopted the tiger as his military insignia. It was not a compliment, however; in reality his adversaries called him that because of his ferociousness, his ruthless heart. As soon as Shi Huang Ti had all of China under his absolute control, he initiated a series of important economic and administrative reforms, such as standardizing weights, measures, and currency,” Mr. Jiang said as he placed the round piece of bronze with a square hole in the middle on the table, “the adoption of a single writing system— the one we still use today”—he set the minuscule Chinese book, the peach pit, and the pumpkin seeds with ideograms on them next to the coin—”a centralized system of canals and roads,” he continued, placing a small cart drawn by three bronze horses on the table, “and, most important of all, he began construction on the Great Wall.”

“Quit beating around the bush, Lao Jiang!” Paddy shouted impolitely. I looked over at him with absolute contempt. His manners were unbelievable!

“In short, Mme De Poulain, insofar as we are concerned,” Mr. Jiang went on, “Shi Huang Ti was not only the first emperor of China but also one of the richest, most important, powerful men in the world.”

“And this is where the little chest comes in,” the Irishman pointed out with a grin.

“Not yet, but we're getting there. When Prince Zheng came to the throne, he ordered that work start on his royal mausoleum. This was normal practice at the time. Once he was no longer the prince of a small kingdom but Shi Huang Ti, the great emperor, that initial project was enlarged until it attained massive proportions: Over seven hundred thousand workers were sent from all over the country to make it the biggest, most luxurious, most magnificent burial tomb ever. Millions of treasures were buried with Shi Huang Ti upon his death, as well as thousands of living people: hundreds of childless imperial concubines and the seven hundred thousand workers who'd been involved in construction. Everyone who knew where the mausoleum was located was buried alive, and the place was shrouded in secrecy and mystery for the next two thousand years. An artificial hill with trees and grass was built over the tomb, which was forgotten, and this whole story became part of the legend.”

Mr. Jiang stopped in order to softly set his empty cup on the table.

“Excuse me, Mr. Jiang,” I murmured, confused, “but what does the first emperor of China have to do with this chest?”

“Now let me tell you the story of the Prince of Gui,” the antiquarian replied. Paddy Tichborne snorted, bored, and tossed back the last of the whiskey he had emptied into his glass. “During the fourth moon of the year 1644, Emperor Chongzen, the last emperor of the Ming dynasty, was being hounded by his enemies and hanged himself from a tree in Meishan, Coal Hill, north of the imperial palace in Peking. This brought an official end to the Ming dynasty and gave rise to the current dynasty, the Ch'ing, of Manchu origin. The country was in chaos, the public treasury in ruins, the army disorganized, and the Chinese people divided between the old and new ruling houses. However, not every Ming had been exterminated. There was one last legitimate heir to the throne: the young Prince of Gui, who had managed to flee south with what remained of a small army of followers. At the end of 1646, the Prince of Gui was proclaimed emperor in Zhaoqing, province of Canton, and given the name Yongli. The chronicles have very little to say about this last Ming emperor, but we know that from the moment he took the throne, he was constantly on the run from Ch'ing troops until finally, in 1661, he had to ask the king of Burma, Pyé Min, for exile. The king reluctantly agreed and then humiliatingly treated him like a prisoner. One year later, General Wu Sangui's troops set up along the Burmese border, ready to invade if Pyé Min didn't hand over Yongli and his entire family. The Burmese king didn't hesitate, and General Wu Sangui took Yongli to Yunnan, where he was executed along with his entire family during the third moon of the year 1662.”

“And you, madame,” Paddy Tichborne interrupted, slurring, “will be wondering how the first emperor of China and the last Ming emperor are connected.”

“Well, yes,” I admitted, “but what I'm really wondering is how all this is connected to the hundred-treasure chest.”

“You needed to know both stories,” the antiquarian indicated, “in order to comprehend the importance of our discovery. As I said, the old legend of the Prince of Gui, also known as Emperor Yongli, which is told to children from the time they're born, the same one I acted out with my friends for a few copper coins, is a part of Chinese culture. Legend has it that the Ming possessed an ancient document indicating where to find the mausoleum built by the first emperor, Shi Huang Ti, as well as how to get inside without falling into the traps set for tomb raiders. That document, a beautiful
jiance,
was secretly passed from emperor to emperor as the state's most valuable object.”

“What's a
jiance
?” I asked.

“A book, madame, a book made of bamboo slats bound with string. Until the first century a.d., here in China we wrote on shells, rocks, bones, bamboo slats, or pieces of silk. Then, around this time, we invented paper made of plant fiber, but
jiances
and silk were still used for a while longer. In any event, according to the legend of the Prince of Gui, on the night the prince was proclaimed emperor, a mysterious man arrived in Zhaoqing. An imperial messenger had come from Peking to deliver the
jiance.
The new emperor had to swear to protect it with his life or destroy it before it could fall into the hands of the new reigning dynasty, the Qing.”

“And why didn't they want it to fall into Qing hands?”

“Because they're not Chinese, madame. The Qing are Manchus, Tartars. They come from the north, on the other side of the Great Wall. As usurpers of the divine throne, possessing the secret of the First Emperor's tomb and seizing the most important treasures and objects would undoubtedly have legitimized them in the eyes of the people and the nobility, who were not so easily persuaded. In fact—and pay close attention to what I'm about to say, madame—a similar discovery even today would be so crucial, if it were to occur, that it could result in the end of Dr. Sun Yat-sen's Republic and the restoration of the imperial system. Do you see what I'm trying to say?”

I frowned in an attempt to concentrate and grasp the magnitude of what Mr. Jiang was saying, but it was difficult to do as a European ignorant of the history and mentality of the so-called Middle Kingdom. Certainly the China I barely knew, the China of Shanghai with its Western way of life, its love of money and pleasure, didn't seem likely to take up arms against the Republic in order to return to a feudal past under young Emperor Puyi's absolutist government. And yet it was reasonable to assume that Shanghai was the exception rather than the rule with regard to Chinese life, culture, ancestral customs, and traditions. Outside of this Westernized port city, there was surely a vast country, as big as a continent, still anchored to the old imperial values. After all, it was highly unlikely after two thousand years of living a certain way that things would have changed in just a decade.