The Mandate of Heaven (47 page)

The four men in the cave went still, assessing each other. Hsiung kept hold of the hat in one hand and gripped the short bamboo spear in the other, ready for thrusting. Its former owner produced a large, curved axe from his belt.

Hsiung’s glance flickered casually over the swordsman. That was the weapon he wanted, the weapon he loved best. He had never liked spears. Hsiung felt the first dance of dark lights and laughed oddly. The noise echoed round the wide cavern. Of course, the chickens and cocks on the altar had not been enough to satisfy the thirsty earth! Always there must be sacrifices. He thought of Teng, screaming in agony, trapped in the burning buildings of Deng Mansions, the innocent world of boyhood melting like human flesh and fat in the flames … Oh, there must be a sacrifice to renew the seeds.

So strange was his laughter the assassins paused to glance round. A costly temerity. In that moment Hsiung leaped forward and thrust the spear into the swordsman’s stomach, twisting it furiously as he raised the hat to fend off an impulsive blow from a short sword. Then he ducked round the toppling swordsman and seized his weapon, shoving the skewered man so he received an axe blow intended for Hsiung’s head. It struck dead flesh, splitting open the skull. A useless blow, and one never repeated, for Hsiung felt a black joy grip his soul as the dark lights danced and skipped …

When he became aware of himself the axe man lay face down, his head attached to its neck by a fold of skin, a dark pool spreading over the sand-strewn floor. Hsiung’s arm bore a gash that was dripping red.

Panting, he located his third opponent. The assassin was backing away, clutching a wound on his chest, appalled by the sudden calamity that had befallen his comrades. Hsiung followed, frowning to himself. He knew it was vital to keep this one alive. How else would he find out who had sent them to kill him? But he could feel his breath quicken, his frown becoming an angry glare. How confident they had been! How contemptuous! Three armed men against one with just bare hands for a weapon!

The assassin’s nerve failed and he fled down the passage. Hsiung leaped after him with a bellow of triumph. His long sword slashed repeatedly at the man’s legs so that he tumbled head over heels onto the carved stone frieze of Hell, tendons torn open. In the semi-darkness Hsiung kicked away the short swords. The assassin was cowering, shielding his head with an arm. Was he saying something? Hsiung could not tell, did not hear. As the dark lights directed, he hauled up the fallen man by his hair and began to rub his face against the rough surface of the frieze. ‘Who sent you? How did you know I would be here? Who betrayed me? Who? Who?’ His shouts echoed down the corridor and through caverns lit by countless candles. Hsiung ground the face back and forth, back and forth, grating it against the nose and brow of a stone sinner in Hell until his hands grew wet and slippery and snapping noises woke him from his black dream.

Hsiung shrank back in horror. A faint gleam from the cavern revealed the assassin’s maimed, desecrated face, the holy frieze shiny with his blood. What had he done? And in the Buddha’s shrine! What
karma
must fall upon him for such gross profanity? For a long while Hsiung stared at the carved sinner’s tormented expression. Images of men he had killed on Hornets’ Nest’s behalf – women and children, too – assumed the carved sinner’s features, before vanishing, only to be replaced by another. And another. Finally by a vision of his own screaming, contorted face.

* * *

When Liu Shui found him kneeling before the statue of the Buddha, Hsiung turned to his chancellor with a feverish expression.

‘They have damned my soul! They attacked me here! I have nothing left to lose. Yet I had to defend myself, Liu Shui! I had no choice. I tell you, we shall seize the Salt Pans and make them suffer, too!’

Liu Shui bowed fearfully, afraid to look at the maimed corpses of the assassins, lest the taint infect his own rebirth.

Hou-ming City, Central China.
Spring, 1322

‘Abbess Yun Shu! If there is no danger to Cloud Abode Monastery, why is the Worthy Master asking this of us?’

Lady Lu Si’s question was far from serene. The other senior nuns murmured excitedly – all except for Earth Peace, who had nodded off in her special chair.

The rest knelt on the flagstones of a large, octagonal star observatory where generations of
sanren
had gathered each year to discuss the monastery’s preparations for the
qingming
spring festival. From this high platform beside the cliffs of Monkey Hat Hill one could see far across the lake, as well as benefit from favourable breezes.

Yun Shu certainly needed a strong wind to guide her reply to Lady Lu Si’s question. Worthy Master Jian had instructed her what to say if challenged by the other nuns. Those arguments, persuasive when uttered in his deep, confident voice, jumbled in Yun Shu’s mind. Teng had warned her that the Worthy Master was not to be trusted. Right now, neither were thoughts of Teng. They almost always provoked tears.

‘I can only repeat his assurances,’ she mumbled, thinking of Teng despite her intention to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Jade Perfected frowned. ‘This makes no sense, Abbess! Master Jian says we need fear nothing. Very well, I am reassured. Then he requires us to pack up everything of value in our dear, blessed monastery. Pack it up and have it carried to Golden Bright Temple so he can protect it.’

‘Furthermore,’ broke in Lady Lu Si, ‘removing our valuables creates an impression the Daoist Council is preparing to surrender Cloud Abode Monastery to the Buddhists.’

‘A most unfortunate impression!’ echoed Gold Immortal in her high, fluty voice.

‘An impression that we are weak,’ added Lady Lu Si, ‘that our resolve lacks a centre.’

‘Yet is not weakness the ultimate strength?’ ventured Jade Perfected.

Yun Shu recollected the final argument Worthy Master Jian had instructed her to use: ‘That is why the Daoist Council is asking this of us,’ she replied.

‘How so?’ asked Jade Perfected.

‘Because,’ said Yun Shu, ‘removing our valuables shows Prince Arslan we will obey whatever he decrees.’

A lengthy silence followed. Yun Shu looked round the
sanren
. All were considering her words. She doubted any were satisfied, least of all herself. Doddery old Earth Peace began to snore.

‘Will it not indicate to Prince Arslan that we anticipate he will transfer our beloved monastery to the foreign Buddhists?’ asked Jade Perfected. ‘That we are amenable to such a thing?’

‘Worthy Master Jian believes it demonstrates our loyalty,’ said Yun Shu. ‘There is much I do not understand about his reasoning. But I am certain of one thing: he will never allow Cloud Abode Monastery to pass from the Nuns of Serene Perfection. It would be unthinkable.’

Faith must be their final assurance. Even to her it sounded feeble. The other nuns exchanged dubious glances. Three Simplicities cleared her throat.

‘Abbess Yun Shu,’ she said, ‘no wonder you have such confidence in the Worthy Master. You participate so intimately in his rites. Only you know how deep he goes when conducting his ceremonies with you. I imagine it is all very satisfying. If only one could watch!’

Yun Shu’s blush deepened. She rose angrily. ‘This decision was not made by me but the entire Provincial Council!’ She could not imagine an alternative to obedience. Since Teng’s hideous death in the inferno of Deng Mansions she lacked the will to fight. At the thought of him her anger subsided. ‘I have no choice,’ she muttered. ‘I must instruct Bo-Bai and the other servants to co-operate in this matter.’

The other
sanren
remained kneeling. But Lady Lu Si’s expression was hard. ‘Let us hope the Worthy Master uses our valuables worthily. The Nuns of Serene Perfection have dwelt in this holy place for over four hundred years. It is not for him to end that sacred bond.’

Earth Peace’s snore developed into a whinny. All rose and bowed to the Abbess as she left the octagonal star observatory. Yun Shu was glad they had the decency to wait for her to leave before beginning their denunciations.

Over the next week, porters led by a nameless priest known only as ‘Void’ came and went between Monkey Hat Hill and the Worthy Master’s treasury in Golden Bright Temple. Ancient bronzes, robes, gongs, statues, illuminated volumes of Daoist and Buddhist holy texts, all were gathered. Centuries of gifts to the Nuns of Serene Perfection were carried away. Yun Shu insisted a strict inventory must be taken by Lady Lu Si and Jade Perfected – to Void’s evident displeasure – but it was impossible to keep track.

Her thoughts were haunted by other lost treasures. Alone at night or when she visited the ruined watchtower for a little solitude, Teng crept back to her, a ghost of many ages. Sometimes a pedantic boy, her earnest
xia
. Then a young man, still half boy, teasing her as they stumbled through the limestone hills near Lingling. Or a handsome rake, his profligacy driven by disappointment and sorrow, risking everything to protect his father.
Dear Teng
, she thought,
how would you advise me to save Cloud Abode Monastery
?

Yun Shu watched the last line of porters descend the Hundred Stairs with a terrible sense of desolation. It seemed to her they were stealing her memories of Teng, one by one.

Yun Shu’s duties as Abbess of Cloud Abode Monastery left little time for her own affairs, particularly during the
qingming
spring festival. Then the image of the City God, Chenghuang, was paraded through important avenues and streets in Hou-ming, the God grinning this way and that. Thousands followed, beating drums and lighting firecrackers, at times linking arms, petitioning Chenghuang to shower prosperity upon a people who had suffered so grievously through war and famine.

Yun Shu walked beside the statue, chanting favourable sutras, her splendid robes a hundred years old, glittering with semi-precious stones and embroidered magical symbols. Many admired the young Abbess who had defeated a wicked dragon on Holy Mount Chang. Just as many wondered if the Buddhists from Tibet would carry Chenghuang’s image during the parade next year. For Prince Arslan’s decision on the Nuns’ future loomed.

At midnight Yun Shu was granted a respite from ritual. Lady Lu Si led the chanting in the shrine room to honour Chenghuang, so the God would feel welcome after His journey through the city.

Yun Shu returned to her sparsely furnished chamber. The night was warm and she removed all her heavy silk clothes, stretching this way and that, naked apart from a thin cotton shift.

She fanned herself with a blank sheet of paper. It was the day when letters must be sent to relatives alive and dead. First to her mother’s
shen
, her spirit, and to Teng’s. Then to one still living yet dead to her in every meaningful way.

The letter to Mother was soon composed. Yun Shu reported that her service to the Dao since last spring had brought honour to the Yuns. She concluded by hoping Honoured Mother’s Ghost suffered no inconvenience and her daughter’s monthly offerings were received favourably.

Yun Shu chanted her mother’s name a hundred times to summon her ghost, then burned the letter so it would journey straight to the spirit world.

For a long while Yun Shu tried to picture Mother’s face. Teng had once said that he, too, sometimes attempted the same voyage of recollection, always unsatisfactorily. And now Teng’s own face could only be reclaimed through memory.

She repeated the ritual, except for a different ghost:
Teng
,
Teng
, she whispered a hundred times. The letter that she burned to ash, tears stinging her cheeks, consisted of nothing more than a poem. She knew Teng would comprehend all her heart through its words:

Autumn wind rises,
    
Plump clouds burn,
Pine, bamboo, plum tree wither,
    
Geese fly south and north.

Inspired by duty rather than affection, Yun Shu turned to her last letter. She wrote hurriedly without any expectation of a reply: