Everything Under the Sky (30 page)

“You're not mistaken,” Biao the know-it-all said. There was no doubt the boy was good at math.

“May I continue reading, please?” Lao Jiang pleaded grumpily.

“Carry on,” I said. If we kept interrupting him, he really never would finish.

“‘Move through the pipe for twenty
chi,
then go up into a ventilation shaft. There is one every twenty
chi.
The last shaft is at the bottom of a pit that will take you directly into the burial mound. You will come out in front of the big doors to the main hall leading into the funeral palace. You should know that the tomb has six levels, six being the sacred number of the Original Dragon's reign.’ ”

“Six levels?” I asked.

“Sacred number?” Fernanda asked simultaneously.

Lao Jiang wearily pulled his glasses off once again. “Could you ask just one question at a time?” he begged with a sigh.

“Fine. Me first,” I hurried to say, before my niece. “How is it the tomb can have six levels? The historian who wrote about the mausoleum never said anything about that.”

“True, Sima Qian doesn't mention this, but remember, Sima Qian wrote his history a hundred years after the emperor's death. He'd never been there or never even knew where it was located. All he did was copy what he found in old historical records from the Qin dynasty.”

“Why was six the First Emperor's sacred number?” interjected Fernanda, who could not have cared less about anyone's history or chronicles.

“Shi Huang Ti was influenced by master geomancers of the time and adopted the philosophy of the Five Elements. I'm not going to explain what that is right now,” he said, and I nodded in agreement. I knew what he was talking about and was certainly glad he wasn't about to explain that complex theory. I was happy enough to have it noted down in my sketchbook. “However, according to Taoism, there is a harmonious relationship between nature and human beings, a relationship that is made material in the Five Elements: Fire, Wood, Earth, Metal, and Water. According to these Five Elements, Shi Huang Ti's reign was governed by Water, because the previous kingdoms belonged to the period of Fire and he had conquered and dominated them. Since Water corresponds to the color black, the entire imperial court dressed in black, and all the buildings, banners, clothing, hats, and decorations were also black.”

“How sinister!” I blurted out.

“That's why the common people were also called ‘black-headed ones.’ Further, according to the theory of the Elements, Water is associated not only with the color black but also with the number six. This, then, is the answer to your question, Elvira: The tomb has six levels because that's what was required by the emperor. It was his geomantic number.”

“That, and who would ever expect an underground mausoleum to have six levels, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed, wearily putting his glasses back on again. “Well, as I was reading…. Here we are. ‘… the sacred number for the Original Dragon's reign. Each of the levels is a death trap designed to protect the true tomb, which is on the last level, the lowest, and safe from those who would desecrate and rob it. That is the level you must reach, Sai Shi Gu'er. I will now give you all the information I have gathered, with great difficulty, over the last few years. Those who belong to the secret …
Shaofu
’?” Lao Jiang stopped. “I don't know what that word means. I've never heard it before. ‘… to the secret
Shaofu
⁴²
in charge of security work in complete isolation, and I have built only what they ordered me to. I can, however, tell you a few things that will help. I know that on the first level hundreds of crossbows will fire when you enter the palace, but you can avoid them by studying the founder of the Xia dynasty's achievements.’ ”

“This is mad!” I couldn't help but exclaim, overwhelmed.

“‘I know even less about the second level, but do not use fire to light the way. Move forward in darkness, or you will die. I know what I have done on the third level: There are ten thousand bridges that seem to lead nowhere, but there is one route that leads to the exit. On the fourth level is the chamber with the
Bian Zhong
’ “—Lao Jiang stopped again, pensive. “I don't know what these
Bian Zhong
are. ‘… the chamber with the
Bian Zhong,
which are related to the Five Elements.’ ”

“Well, we know what those are,” I bubbled, but no one seconded my assertion.

“‘On the fifth there is a special lock that opens only by use of magic. And on the sixth, the Original Dragon's true burial place, you will have to cross a wide river of mercury to reach the treasures.’ “The antiquarian paused and ran a hand over his forehead. “‘My son, I beg you to come and do what I ask. Bowing twice, Sai Wu.’ ”

“Do you think we can do it?” I asked.

The confidence that had filled the air at the start of the reading had vanished. Like bedridden invalids, we remained silent, immobile, frozen by doubt.

“This text is very old,” Lao Jiang muttered after giving my question some thought. “What was advanced science then isn't now. We also no longer believe in magic and certainly have enough copies of manuscripts that were accessible only to court scholars and emperors in those days. I don't think we need to worry,” he concluded. “Yes, I'm sure we can do it.”

No one said anything for a few minutes as we all became lost in thought. As Lao Jiang said, the real danger might not be that combination of old traps, which perhaps didn't even work. No, the real danger was that we'd be descending deep into the earth inside a ridiculously ancient structure. The entire mausoleum could come crashing down, and we'd be caught inside, like rats in a burrow. We could wind up buried under layers and layers of rubble; the very idea literally took my breath away. We had to consider the children: How could we put them in such peril? It would undoubtedly be best to leave them in Wudang. I had no choice because of the enormous debt Rémy had left me, but there was no need for Fernanda to die at just seventeen years of age, and Biao didn't have to come to such a sad end either.

“The children will stay in Wudang,” I announced.

My niece turned to look at me with furious incredulity.

“It was your idea, Fernanda,” I warned, before she could even begin to protest. “This very morning you were quite annoyed at having to leave the monastery. I'm going to allow you to stay and continue with your exercises.”

“But now I want to go!” she fumed.

“Well, I don't care what you want now,” I calmly replied. “You and Biao will stay in Wudang until we come back for you.”

“I agree,” Lao Jiang murmured. “Fernanda and Biao will stay in Wudang under the monks’ care.”

Biao's face had lit up like a blaze. Two vermilion circles appeared on his coppery cheeks, and his ears were about to burst into flames as he held back the angry protests boiling inside. Like Fernanda, he'd have given anything to go with us to the First Emperor's tomb.

My niece left the study, stalking out proud and offended. She was followed not far behind by lanky Biao, who, fearing the rod, hid his anger as best he could. I was sure my ears would soon begin burning.

Once alone, Lao Jiang and I looked at one another.

“We're really going to miss Paddy,” the antiquarian commented.

“True. This is quite an undertaking for just the two of us.”

“What can we do? Ask our soldiers for help? Involve them to that extent?”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” I said.

“Neither do I, but we're going to need them. Think about it.”

“I don't need to think about it. They'll do more harm than good.”

“I know, I know….” he admitted sadly. “But what else can we do?” I desperately tried to think of a solution and suddenly had an idea.

“What if we ask the abbot for help? He said to be sure and ask if we needed anything.”

“And what ‘thing’ would we ask him for?” Lao Jiang asked sarcastically.

“A monk,” I proposed. “Or two.”

“Monks?”

“Look around! We're surrounded by Taoist experts in the martial arts, ancient history, fortune-telling, astrology, magic, geomantics, philosophy….” I said excitedly.

Lao Jiang looked at me with a furrowed brow. “But then we'd have to share the treasure with the monastery.”

“Don't be so greedy!” I cried out indignantly. I knew that his share was really going to the Kuomintang, but what did I care? “Wouldn't it be magnificent for the First Emperor's riches to be distributed among a drunken journalist, a poor widow, the Nationalists, the Communists, and a Taoist monastery? Would you rather they fell into the hands of Puyi and his kind or, worse still, the Japanese?”

My questions gave him pause.

“You're right,” he admitted, visibly annoyed. “I'll send a letter to the abbot explaining what we need. I'll also tell him the children will be staying here, and I'll offer a portion of the wealth from the mausoleum. We'll see what he says.”

After a lunch at which Fernanda and Biao were conspicuously absent, two strange characters came to our door with a letter from the abbot in answer to Lao Jiang's. They were monks, and it was odd how much they looked alike: same height, same body, same face. While the antiquarian was engrossed in his reading, I studied the twins who waited stock-still on the portico. Both were slender, and their hair was still black, if thinning. They had bushy eyebrows, eyes spaced wide apart, and each had such a prominent chin it was almost disfiguring. After a careful examination (which was easy, because neither one looked anywhere but at Lao Jiang), I was astonished to find just one small difference between them, and that was a faint dark spot on the left one's cheek.

“The abbot has sent us these brothers, Daiyu and Hongyu,” the antiquarian said as he looked up from the paper. Both monks bowed as soon as they heard their names. “One is Master Daiyu, or ‘Black Jade,’ an expert in martial arts.” The one with the nearly imperceptible spot on his face bowed politely again. “The other is his brother, Master Hongyu, or ‘Red Jade,’ one of the most learned monks in Wudang.” He bowed as well. “Both are from Hankow and speak French, so we'll have no trouble communicating. Masters Black Jade and Red Jade, Mme De Poulain and I, Jiang Longyan, are honored to have your assistance on this journey. We are very appreciative that the abbot has placed two such illustrious advisers at our disposal.”

We all bowed several times, but I grew rather annoyed because the two Jades were ignoring me just as Lao Jiang had previously ignored my niece. I thought a comment might be in order.

“Perhaps Masters Black Jade and Red Jade should receive my permission to look at me and address me in all confidence.”

They both raised their eyebrows, and the antiquarian launched into a speech in Chinese, attempting to avert a diplomatic conflict. I couldn't understand what he said, but it seemed to work. As soon as he'd finished, the twins turned and, after glancing at me uncertainly, began another series of bows. That was better.

“We'll leave tomorrow at dawn,” Lao Jiang announced. “I'll send word to have our soldiers in Junzhou head north, where we'll meet them in Shiyan. There's no sense in backtracking just to get them.”

“Tomorrow is an auspicious day to leave,” Master Red Jade remarked. “The journey will be a good one.”

“I hope so,” I murmured skeptically.

It was a very sad dinner that night. Fernanda was still angry and refused to speak. She picked at her tofu, mushrooms, and vegetables, then went to bed with tears in her eyes. She was lying with her face to the wall when I went into our room.

“Are you awake?” I whispered, sitting on the edge of her
k'ang.
She didn't reply. “We won't be gone long, Fernanda. Study hard, take advantage of your time in Wudang. I'm going to leave a letter for the Spanish consul in Shanghai, Don Julio Palencia. If anything happens to me … If anything were to happen to me, make your way to Shanghai with Biao and give the letter to the consul. He'll see that you get back to Spain.”

A heavy sigh was her only reply. Perhaps she really was asleep. I stood and went up to the study to write that letter.

Before dawn on that Tuesday, October 30, while it was still pitch black outside and the children lay sleeping, Lao Jiang, the twin monks, and I set out from the monastery at a swift pace, our bundles slung over our shoulders. It was horribly cold, but thankfully it wasn't raining; the last thing we wanted was to descend the Mysterious Mountain in the pouring rain. As the sun rose higher in a cloudless sky, Master Red Jade's prophecy of an auspicious day seemed to come true.

Walking in silence, we left behind the beautiful peaks of Wudang, the temples, the palaces, the long staircases, the statues of tigers and cranes, the oceans of clouds, and the thick, impenetrable forest hued such beautiful greens and ochers. We'd been there for only five days, but I felt it was a sort of home I'd always like to return to. Once I was back in Paris, surrounded by car noises, streetlights, people's voices, and the daily hustle and bustle of a big Western city, I'd remember Wudang as a secret paradise where life was unfolding in a different way, at a different pace. Even the monkeys seemed to be screeching good-bye. All I could think about was coming back soon for Fernanda—not because I was afraid of what awaited us, though I was, but because I actually missed her and wanted the whole matter to be behind us.

Close to nightfall we passed through another of those exotic gates that lead to the Mysterious Mountain. This one was a little different, smaller than the one we came through near Junzhou, less ornate, but just as ancient and impressive. We spent the night in a
lü kuan
for pilgrims, and I had a room to myself for the first time in ages. I wondered how my niece was doing, how she and Biao had spent the day. Unfortunately, Lao Jiang and Masters Red and Black—I'd begun to call them that after Stendhal's famous novel
The Red and the Black
—weren't very good company. I slept poorly but still managed to get up in time to join the three of them doing tai chi in the patio.

We walked all day, stopping for just a moment to eat. We didn't speak much then either, simply ate and got moving once again. The weather improved as we got farther from the mountains; the blackest clouds, the rain clouds, seemed stuck on the peaks of Wudang, unable to move in any direction. Once again on those Chinese trails, with ink slanting the shape of my eyes, I had the most overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It only intensified by midafternoon, once we'd crossed a small river and could finally see the town of Shiyan, where the five Kuomintang soldiers and the seven members of the Communist revolutionary army were waiting for us on the outskirts, gathered around a fire in an apparent atmosphere of camaraderie, our horses and mules grazing peacefully nearby.