The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map (42 page)

Wang wondered whether exhaustion had hi-jacked his senses. Too many strange events in one day — it caused one to doubt one’s sanity. Before he could react, Fa-ling tore after the man, chasing him toward the parking lot.

Even with the bundle in his arms, Gege was the better runner. Fa-ling was not going to catch him. She turned instead toward his accomplice, Miao. Within seconds Fa-ling had closed the gap between herself and the woman.

After her humiliation earlier that day at the hands of the Kaders, Miao was now prepared for a fight. She and Gege were both armed with deadly fish blades. As Fa-ling dragged her to the ground, Miao pulled the long knife from her pocket, using her teeth to remove its sheath.

“
I’ll kill you,” Miao said in Cantonese.

Fa-ling did not see the knife at first, though she was shocked at the intensity of the woman’s words. She continued to struggle, until she felt the cold steel edge against her arm.

Gege stood uncertainly at the edge of the parking lot, about fifty yards from the car Miao had rented. He still carried the sleeping child in his arms. He should make a break for it, but how could he leave without Miao?

“
Run!” Miao shouted.

On her command Gege ran, but then hesitated when he heard a male voice cutting through the night air.

“
Police!” Yong-qi shouted. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

Gege stopped. Still holding Baby Daniel, he faced Wang. Gege’s knife gleamed under the soft light of the tennis court.

“
Let us go, or I’ll kill the child.” Gege was shocked at the desperation in his own voice. For the first time, he realised that, under the right set of circumstances, he would be capable of murder.

Wang’s gun rested sure and steady in his hand. He fired.

“
No!” Miao cried. She pressed her knife against Fa-ling’s throat.

Miao turned, trying to drag Fa-ling along with her. She was not as strong as Fa-ling, but she did, after all, have the knife.

However, Miao turned her head too far, offering Wang a clear view of her face under the lights. Like any trained marksman, Wang did not hesitate. He took his shot.

**

It was with the greatest of joy that Cynthia pounded on the door of the Brahns’ room at 2:30 am. She did not mention the two dead kidnappers. At some point the Canadians would learn what had transpired in the darkness outside of the hotel, but Cynthia did not want to taint their reunion with Daniel.

Yvanna and Chris hurried into the elevator behind Cynthia. They followed her to the lobby where Fa-ling clutched the still-sleeping boy in her arms. When she saw Yvanna running toward her, Fa-ling passed the boy to his mother.

For the first time through the entire ordeal, Yvanna Brahn wept. Chris could not calm her, so instead he joined her. They wrapped their arms around their child, tears flowing down their faces.

This,
Fa-ling thought,
is love.
Somehow, she knew she had to capture this moment in her mind, because this was the moment when she first understood the meaning of the word, its depth, its breadth and its height.

Fa-ling buried her face in Yong-qi’s chest, hiding her own emotion. She resolved to call her family as soon as she got back to her room.

She would tell them she loved them, and she would be home —soon.

The group gathered in the hotel lobby once again. Everyone had heard the story of the two kidnappers who had been shot dead by Detective Wang. Yong-qi gave his statement to a senior Beijing officer, while a junior officer inspected his M 77 and made notes.

Fa-ling studied the group of parents. She could not help feeling there was more to the story than had come to light. Paula Kader sat on a chair holding Mei Mei on her lap, with Guy standing nearby. They looked tired, but then, all of the parents looked tired. Still, Fa-ling thought something about the Kaders had changed. For one thing, she had never seen Paula Kader actually
holding
her daughter until that moment.

Maybe Fa-ling would never know the truth about what happened. Maybe she would have to accept the fact life is full of half-truths and outright lies, and that, somehow, it all seems to fit together anyway, like the pieces of a worn out but well-tuned instrument.

The following day Cynthia cancelled the group’s scheduled tour to the Great Wall of China. Everyone was disappointed, but no one argued against the change in plans. They all wanted to finish their business at the Canadian embassy and get out of Beijing, preferably with their new babies in their arms.

While the parents took care of the final adoption paperwork, Yong-qi accompanied Fa-ling to the Wall, because, really, what was a visit to China without seeing one of the greatest wonders of all time?

As she gazed over the mountainside at the endless sea of green, interrupted here and there by peaceful red pagodas, and sliced through with a ribbon of grey stone that was the Wall itself, Fa-ling felt a strange sense of power and certainty rising within her
chi
. Suddenly she knew who she was, and who she would become.

After all, this was what she had come to China to resolve. It was fitting that on her last day the understanding should come to her, exactly when she needed it.

For, as the great Master Confucius said, in order to have lived a full and rounded life, one must commit to the mastery of five distinct ‘excellences’. Fa-ling had come to China in search of answers. She was on a quest to discover what her first ‘excellence’ should be, and the decision was finally clear.

Inspired by her affection for Wang Yong-qi, she would pursue a career in law enforcement. Maybe she could one day apply for a position with Interpol. They were always looking for people who had a special skill in languages.

So that would be her career, and her future was determined. With this decision made, she could now be at peace.

Even that, though, wasn’t the whole story…

For, standing on the mountaintop with Yong-qi at her side, staring down at the wonder of mankind that was her own history, Fa-ling finally understood what the Master Confucius had been saying.

It isn’t what you
do
with your life that matters. Achieving ‘excellence’ is not about
what
you do at all. It’s about
how
you live.

Of the ‘five excellences’ one should pursue during the course of one’s lifetime, surely the most important of these is this:
to give and to receive love with an open heart.

Lee Jong mopped his brow, the sunlight beating down on his balding head. He gave his new white hat a shake before settling it back in place.

He was still a strong man, despite a growing stoop in his shoulders that revealed the long-term effects of hard physical labour. He was good-looking at fifty, not a rough dirt farmer steeped in alcohol like his father had been, and not a harsh-tongued boor like his mother still was. If it weren’t for a permanent sadness in his eyes, one might say he possessed a certain grace. He moved and spoke with timeless dignity.

Though he was fit it had already been a long day, with the flight and arranging the accommodations and getting signed up for this tour. Jong didn’t understand how his friend Sun could keep up such an energetic pace. After all, Sun spent his days behind a government desk, and his pampered wife Wen spent hers shopping for clothes. Still, the pair of them practically devoured the exertion of travelling with the boundless joy of children.

Of course Good Mother had put up an argument, saying Jong was needed on the farm, not gallivanting all over the country on a sightseeing mission. However, the planting was finished and the harvest was not due for several months. The rain should be plentiful this time of year. Also, his new position as a local agricultural official did not require his undivided attention. Jong knew there would be no real harm in his taking a two-week vacation with his friends.

In the end, Jong did what he always did — he kept his own council, letting his mother’s jagged demands bounce off his back. He knew this was a rare opportunity for him, the chance to see the great city of Beijing, the jewel of China, at its best. Soon the place would be crawling with tourists, the locals vying for American dollars at every corner. A Southern nobody like him would not even be able to book a hotel room, much less be free to wander around the magnificent Summer Palace under the glowing sun.

His old schoolmate Sun was in Beijing on official business. Sun was expected to write a report on the progress that was being made in preparation for the 2008 Olympics. As usual, his budget for the task was lucrative. Sun and his generous wife Wen insisted Jong should join them for the trip, covering his travel expenses by claiming Jong would act as his administrative assistant.

“
Let’s climb the scenic hill,” Wen said. “There are flower gardens all along the path.”

“
You two go ahead,” Jong said. “I’m going to sit for a moment. I’ll meet you both here when you finish.”

“
When we get back we’ll follow the Long Corridor to the lake,” Sun said. “We’re going to take the dragon boat to the island to see the Seventeen Arch Bridge. You will want to get pictures of the Stone Boat.”

“
Don’t worry, I won’t miss it. I only need to rest a moment.”

Jong was tired. He had been shocked earlier in the day by the rudeness he had encountered in Beijing, the pushing and the loud voices of the locals. He had always believed the natives of the Capital City would be more refined than his own class of Southern farmers. He hoped the government campaign to teach manners to the residents would have an impact in time for the world’s visit. It was important China present itself well in 2008.

Sun and Wen climbed the hill that wound its way above where he stood. They would pass this spot again on their descent. He was not worried about being left behind.

Jong looked for a space to sit. There was one spot open in the shade, but it was uncomfortably close to a young woman on his left. He did not want to crowd her. He sat instead a few feet away from her, where the sun still fell mercilessly on the bench.

No matter. At least he was off his feet for a moment. He gazed around at the happy tourists and local people. He was overwhelmed at the number of Westerners, ‘foreigners’, which was the Chinese term for non-Asians, and Asian or mixed couples who were travelling with newly adopted Chinese daughters. Not for the first time, he experienced a familiar ache in his heart.

Eighteen years had passed, but in his memory it was like yesterday. Not a day went by when he didn’t think about Min-xi and the girls. The oldest, his own beautiful Ling who looked so much like her mother it made him weep, would be more than twenty now. A young woman.

Did he dare to hope she had found her way?

He smiled at a white woman standing nearby who bent over her new Chinese daughter to adjust the child’s bonnet against the relentless sun. Jong spoke no language other than his own, so he could not ask the woman what he wanted to ask: Where was she taking this child, this flower of his country? Where would the girl grow up, go to school, marry and become a mother? What language would she speak?

Most importantly, would she ever think of her natural parents? Or would that thought be too filled with pain to be granted a place in her mind?

Jong had been a fool. Good Mother’s words had pierced his soul like so many swords, crippling his spirit all those years ago. He should have known from the start the choice was necessary. He could not bend to his mother’s will and keep his beautiful wife at the same time. The two options were mutually exclusive.

More, he had been a fool to think he could murder his own children. He could never have done it, no matter what the consequences. He had already decided, that day in the bedroom as he held the infant in his arms, the time had come for him to be a man. He would tell Min-xi it was settled. As soon as she had rested, the very next morning, he would pack their bags and they would leave for Nanning. He would try his hand at factory work. They would survive.

In fact, away from Good Mother’s influence they would probably thrive.

If only he had woken Min-xi that night and told her of his plans! Like a coward he had feared her coldness — the rejection in her eyes he had suffered for the month prior to the childbirth. After all, he too was weary. He would rest first, and discuss everything with her in the morning. She would forgive him. She had a loving heart.

In the morning, though, it was too late.

Good Mother kept up the pretence throughout the long years, insisting Min-xi had run off with the children and left him for another man. Jong knew his loyal wife had done no such thing. A woman’s body was found in the Li River, not far from Guilin. Through discrete inquiries Jong learned the dead woman had recently given birth. There was no doubt in his mind it was Min-xi. The knowledge of her courage fuelled his undying shame.

The years passed for Jong as they do for everyone, slowly and yet with shocking speed. He grew more like his father in one way — he became less and less communicative, until he was silent for most of the time he spent in his mother’s company. Good Mother prattled on, hardly seeming to notice whether or not her son was listening. Most of the time he was not.

Unlike his father, though, he did not lose himself in alcohol. Instead of hiding from Good Mother in the bottom of a bottle, he worked hard in the fields, building the farm’s prosperity, and gave his free time over to political involvement within his community.