Everything Under the Sky (11 page)

“I do, Mr. Jiang. And I gather that possibility has become a reality due to something related to the hundred-treasure chest, correct?”

Paddy Tichborne stumbled up to get another bottle of scotch off the bar. I drank the last of my tea, tepid by then, and set the cup on the table.

“Precisely, madame.” The antiquarian nodded, smiling. “You've touched on the last and most important point I wanted to make. Now is when the plot truly thickens. According to the legend of the Prince of Gui, on the night before the king of Burma handed Yongli and his entire family over to General Wu Sangui, the last Ming emperor invited his three closest friends to dinner: Wan the scholar, Yao the physician, and Yue Ling the geomancer and fortune-teller. He said to them, ‘My friends, since I am going to be killed and the Ming lineage ends forever once I and my young son and heir are dead, I must give you a very important document. The three of you are to protect it on my behalf. The night I was enthroned as Lord of Ten Thousand Years, I swore that should a time like this come, I would destroy an important
jiance
that has been in my family's possession for many years and contains the secret of the First Emperor's tomb. I do not know how we came to possess it, but I do know that I am not going to keep the promise I made. One day a new, legitimate Chinese dynasty must regain the Dragon Throne and expel the Manchu usurpers from our country. And so I give you these.’ Taking the
jiance
and a knife,” the antiquarian continued narrating, “he cut the silk threads that held the bamboo slats together, creating three pieces, and gave one to each of his friends. Before parting company with them forever, he told the men, ‘Disguise yourselves. Assume other identities. Go north; leave General Wu Sangui's armies behind until you reach the Yangtze. Hide the pieces in different places along the length of the river so that no one can unite the three parts until a time comes when the sons of Han can retake the Dragon Throne.’ ”

“Well, he certainly made it difficult!” I exclaimed, startling Tichborne, who had remained standing with a full glass once again in his hand. “If no one else knew where the Prince of Gui's three friends hid the pieces, they could never be put back together. What madness!”

The antiquarian nodded. “That's why it was a legend. Legends are lovely stories that everyone believes are false, tales told to children, a script for the theater. No one would ever have thought to look for three sets of bamboo slats that are over two thousand years old all along the shores of a river like the Yangtze, which is some four thousand miles long from its source in the Kunlun Mountains of central Asia to the estuary here in Shanghai. But—”

“Fortunately, there's always a but,” the Irishman added before taking a noisy slurp of whiskey.

“—the story is true, madame, and the three of us know where the Prince of Gui's friends hid those pieces.”

“What? We do?”

“We do, madame. Here in this chest is an invaluable document that recounts the well-known legend of the Prince of Gui, with a few important differences from the popular version.” Reaching out his right arm, the antiquarian placed the hand with one gold nail on the miniature edition of the Chinese book and pushed it toward me, separating it from the other objects he'd taken out of the chest earlier in our conversation. “For example, it clearly mentions where the prince told his three friends to hide the slats, and the choice is certainly very logical from the Ming point of view.”

“But what if it's false?” I objected. “What if it's just another version of the legend?”

“If it were false, madame, what other object in this chest could have motivated three imperial eunuchs to come here from Peking? What else could bring two menacing Japanese dignitaries to my store accompanied by Pockmarked Huang? Remember, Japan still has a powerful emperor on the throne who is unquestioned by his people and has demonstrated more than once that he's willing to back an imperial restoration by becoming militarily involved in China. In fact, for years he's provided millions of yen to certain princes loyal to the Qing in order to maintain Manchu and Mongol armies that continue to harry the Republic. The Mikado wants to make that fool Puyi a puppet emperor under his control and thus take over all of China in a single, masterful move. You can be absolutely sure that uncovering the tomb of the First Emperor of China would be the definitive blow. All Puyi would have to do is claim it as a divine sign, say that Shi Huang Ti blesses him from heaven and recognizes him as his son or some such thing in order for hundreds of millions of poor peasants to humbly throw themselves at his feet. People here are very superstitious, madame; they still believe in mystical events like that. And you foreigners, the
Yang-kwei
, would undoubtedly be massacred and expelled from China before you could ask yourselves what was happening.”

“Yes, but, Mr. Jiang, you're forgetting one minor detail,” I protested, feeling somewhat offended that the antiquarian had used the pejorative expression
Yang-kwei,
or “foreign devils,” to refer to me as well. “You told me the chest came from the Forbidden City. Your agent in Peking acquired it after the first fire at the Palace of Established Happiness. I remember because I liked that name; it seemed so poetic. If Puyi could do everything you say with help from the Japanese if the chest were in his possession, why hasn't he done it already? Unless I was misinformed, Puyi lost power over China in 1911.”

“In 1911, madame, Puyi was six years old. He's now eighteen and recently married, which means he has come of age. If the revolution hadn't occurred, this would have meant the end of his father's regency, that ignorant Prince Chun, and Puyi's rise to power as Son of Heaven. It would have been absurd to think about the restoration before now. Indeed, there have been attempts in the intervening years, all of which amounted to ridiculous failures, as ridiculous as the very fact that four million Manchus want to continue governing four hundred million sons of Han. The Qing court lives in the past, maintaining the old customs and ancient rituals behind the high walls of the Forbidden City, and doesn't realize there's no longer any place for True Dragons or Sons of Heaven in this country. Puyi dreams of a kingdom full of Qing queues,
¹⁰
a time that will fortunately never return. Unless, of course, a miracle should occur, such as the divine discovery of the lost tomb of Shi Huang Ti, the first great emperor of China. The common man is fed up with power struggles, military governors who become warlords with private armies, and internal disputes throughout the Republic, not to mention that there is a strong pro-monarchist party, spurred on by the Japanese, the Dwarf Invaders, that sympathizes with the military because it disagrees with the current political system. If, madame, you combine Puyi's recent age of majority and his open desire to regain the throne with the discovery of Shi Huang Ti's sacred mausoleum, you'll see that conditions are ripe for a monarchical restoration.”

I was moved by Mr. Jiang's words and, above all, by the zeal with which he spoke. Without realizing it, I may have looked at him more intently than decorum allowed. If my first impression of him had been that of an authentic mandarin, an aristocrat, I was now discovering a man passionately devoted to his thousand-year-old race, heartbroken by the decline of his people and his culture, and full of disdain for the Manchus who had governed his country for nearly three hundred years.

Tichborne had remained very quiet, busy filling his glass only to quickly empty it again. So unsteady on his feet that he'd been leaning against the living-room wall for the last few minutes, he let out a thunderous guffaw.

“Puyi must have got quite the fright when he discovered he'd lost the chest that could have given him back the throne—all because he ordered an inventory of his treasures!”

“Now I'm more certain than ever,” Mr. Jiang interjected, “that the Old Roosters who came to my store hired the Green Gang and sought assistance from the Japanese consulate when they discovered that it wasn't so easy to recover the document containing the true story of the Prince of Gui.”

“So what are we going to do?” I inquired anxiously.

The Irishman pushed himself off the wall, smiling all the while, as the antiquarian narrowed his eyes to study me closely.

“What would you do, madame, if in your current financial situation there was a way for you to get a few million francs?” he asked. “Note I said millions, not thousands.”

“Not only would I be enormously rich,” Paddy jabbered, “I'd get the feature story of my life. What am I saying? I'd get the book of my life! And our friend Lao Jiang would become the most renowned antiquarian in the world. What do you think, Mme De Poulain?”

“More important, madame, we would prevent the Manchu dynasty from returning to power, averting what would be a historical and political catastrophe for my country.”

Millions of francs, my tired mind repeated. Millions of francs. I could settle Rémy's debts, keep my house in Paris, and provide for my niece, do nothing but paint for the rest of my life and not have to worry about teaching for seventy-five paltry francs a month. What must it feel like to be rich? I had counted my pennies for so long, worked wonders to afford food, canvas, paints, and kerosene, that I couldn't imagine what it would mean to have millions of francs in my pocket. It was crazy.

“How would we evade the eunuchs from the Forbidden City? Actually, how would we evade the truly dangerous ones, the Green Gang assassins?”

“Well, we haven't done too badly so far, don't you think, madame?” Mr. Jiang smiled. “Go home and wait for my instructions. Be ready to leave at any moment.”

“Leave? Leave for where?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

The antiquarian and the journalist exchanged a complicit glance, but it was Paddy, his tongue loosened by alcohol, who told me what was on both of their minds.

“The three pieces of the
jiance
are hidden in three places that were very important during the Ming dynasty. Two of them are many hundreds of miles up the Yangtze. We'll have to travel to the interior of China to get there.”

By boat? Stuck inside another boat for days and days, heading up a Chinese river that was thousands of miles long, this time being pursued by eunuchs, the Japanese, and gangsters? This was insane!

“And do I have to go?” I worried. Perhaps it wasn't necessary. “Remember, I'm responsible for my niece and can't abandon her. Besides, what use will I be?”

Tichborne burst out with another unpleasant guffaw. “Well, stay if you trust us! But I personally can't guarantee I'll be willing to share my cut once we're back. In fact, I don't even want you to be part of this expedition! I already told Lao Jiang there was no reason for you to find out any of this, but he insisted.”

“Listen, madame,” the antiquarian hastened to say, leaning forward, “don't pay any attention to Paddy. He's had too much to drink. The man is a wealth of knowledge when he's sober. I myself often consult him. Unfortunately, his hangovers tend to last several days,” he said as Tichborne laughed again. Mr. Jiang gripped the handle of his cane as if trying to keep it from whacking the Irishman of its own accord. “It's your lives, Madame, yours and your niece's, that are in danger, not Paddy's or mine. And we mustn't forget that the chest belonged to Rémy. You therefore have the same right as we do to a share in whatever we find in the mausoleum, but that means you must come with us. No one will be able to guarantee your safety if you stay in Shanghai. As soon as the Green Gang discovers that Paddy and I have disappeared, they'll come after us. They're not stupid. You and your niece will then be their victims, and you know what they're capable of. This chest is very valuable. Do you think they'll chase after us and leave you alone? I wouldn't count on it, madame. The sensible thing is for the three of us to go, to escape Shanghai together and try not to get caught until we find the mausoleum. Once our discovery is made public, Puyi and the Dwarf Invaders won't be able to do a thing. They'll have to seek restoration some other way. Please listen to me, madame. Paddy and I will take care of the details. Prepare your sister's young daughter as well. She can't stay behind in Shanghai. She'll have to come, too.”

“It's going to be awfully dangerous,” I murmured. It's a good thing I was already sitting down, because I'm not sure I'd have been able to remain standing.

“Yes, madame, it will, but with a little luck and intelligence we'll succeed. Your financial difficulties will be over forever. In fact, of the three of us, I think you have the most reason to embark on this adventure and thus be able to return to Paris safe and sound. The Green Gang is connected to other secret Chinese societies, such as White Lotus and the Triad—both of which have spread beyond our country's borders, especially to Meiguo
¹¹
and Faguo.”
¹²

“The United States and France,” Tichborne clarified for me.

“What I'm trying to say is that you can't even escape to France in peace. Unless you resolve this matter in China, they'll find a way to kill you there. You have no idea how powerful the secret societies are.”

“All right! All right! We'll go!” I exclaimed.

Fear choked me. How could I involve my niece in such a perilous situation? I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her. Mr. Jiang was right: She would be in danger in Shanghai or in Faguo, too. Fernanda had fallen into a death trap because of me, and the very thought made me feel just awful.

“And now, to cheer you up a bit, listen to this, madame,” the antiquarian jovially proposed. Picking the miniature book up off the table, he took a second pair of glasses out of his vest pocket and used them like a magnifying glass in order to see the tiny little characters in the minute paper accordion. “Where was it … ? Ah, yes! Here, this is it. Listen closely. We're in Burma, at the Prince of Gui's dinner with his friends the night before he's handed over to the Qing general. Let's see, then…. The prince says to his friends, ‘Put on disguises and assume another's identity in order to cross Wu Sangui's army lines without endangering your lives. Go north, toward the central plains of China, until you reach the Yangtze. Once there, you, Scholar Wan, go east until you reach the river delta. Find Tung-ka-tow, in the county of Songjiang, and look for the beautiful Ming gardens that are exact replicas of the imperial gardens in Peking. Hide your piece of the
jiance
there. The best place is undoubtedly beneath the famous zigzag bridge. You, Physician Yao, go to Nanking,
¹³
the Southern Capital, where the tombs of my forefathers who governed China from that city are located. In Jubao Gate, find the mark of the artisan Wei from the region of Xin'an, province of Chekiang,
¹⁴
and leave your fragment there. And you, Master Geomancer Yue Ling, do not allow them to find you until you reach the small fishing port of Hankow. There you will set out on the long, difficult walk west that will lead you to the Qin Ling Mountains and, once there, to the honorable monastery of Wudang. Ask the abbot to keep your piece of the book. After safeguarding the
jiance,
escape to save your lives. The Qing will not be satisfied with killing nine generations of my family; they will execute all of our friends as well.’ ”