The abbot stopped at the crest of a low hill.
“We ran to this point,” he said. “Did I mention that the moon was very bright? We could not be mistaken in what we saw. Down below, down where the sound seemed to be coming from, we saw monks, but their robes were of clown’s motley, and they were laughing and dancing beneath the stars. Normally we would have run for our lives, but the sound was summoning us and we had no choice but to obey. We ran on, and we came close enough to clearly see the clown robes although we could not see the faces because of the cowls. Then the monks danced into heavy brush and disappeared. Shortly afterward the wonderful-terrible sound stopped, and when we got through the brush, the dancing monks had vanished. In their place was something else.”
We walked down and made our way through the brush, and we stopped in our tracks and stared. “I’ll be the Stone Monkey,” Master Li said softly.
Death had laid an icy finger across Princes’ Path. In an area approximately thirty feet wide and five times as long, not one living thing could be seen. Trees were bare and dead and without even a trace of sap, as I discovered when I broke off a branch. Flowers were withered. Bushes might as well have been sprayed with engraving acid. Not even the grass had survived, and brown clumps broke off beneath our feet. It looked like a cemetery one might see in a nightmare, and the line between life and death was so sharp it could have been cut with a knife. An inch from a dead flower was a blooming one, and lush greenery rubbed against bare brownness, and birds sang less than a foot from a place where not even an insect moved.
Master Li threw back his head and laughed, but without humor. “Incredible,” he said. “Abbot, Ox and I will have to take plant and soil samples to Ch’ang-an for analysis, and I doubt that it’s worth speculating until we get a report on what caused the damage. Don’t worry. Most of this affair seems clear enough, and quite simple, and I expect to wrap it up in one or two weeks.”
His confidence cheered the abbot, who pointed up toward a roofline high on the opposite hill.
“Prince Liu Pao has returned, and is eager to see you,” he said. “Could you possibly stop there first? The peasants….”
His voice trailed off.
“Want the prince and the visitor from the big city to search the Laughing Prince’s tomb and make sure that the bastard is still in his coffin?” Master Li said.
The abbot nodded.
“We will be honored to visit the living prince and the dead one,” Master Li said. “I assume you have a great many things to do, so if you’ll point out the way, we’ll stroll up there and then on to Ch’ang-an.”
The abbot was obviously relieved at not being asked to enter the tomb of the Laughing Prince, and he gave directions and bowed and trotted away, muttering something that sounded like “forty-two kettles of fish.” I gathered plant and soil samples, and then we set forth to visit an aristocrat whose nerves, I hoped, were made from good material. Superstition is easily dismissed in daylight, but when the owls hoot, it’s a different story. The wind sighs like ghosts whispering, and moonlight and leaves form patterns of mad monks dancing on the grass, and the house makes creaking sounds rather like the footsteps of a long-dead lunatic lord creeping up the stairs, and Prince Liu Pao’s bedchamber was sitting practically on top of the maniac’s tomb.
The estate was as large as one would expect for the ancestral seat of the former lords of the valley, but very little of it was still used. Weeds covered the formal gardens, and everywhere I looked I saw crumbling ruins. I suppose I was expecting a classic setting for a horror story, but that idea was dispelled the moment we walked through the gate to the wing of the mansion that was still kept up. The courtyard was rock and gravel and natural planting, and the spirit screen was simply a beautiful slab of red stone placed upon a sandalwood pedestal. We walked around the screen to the inner court, and instantly we were surrounded by a blaze of cheerful colors. Bright flowers were everywhere, and gaudy parrots and cockatoos greeted us raucously. A long vine-covered veranda led to the house, and a stack of broad-brimmed peasant hats had been provided for visitors who were allergic to bird droppings.
From the logistics of the place I decided that the living quarters had once been the kitchen. No obsequious flunkies came to greet us, but the door was open. We walked inside to a hallway, and instead of being confronted with grand family tablets proclaiming the Hall of Glory and Beatitude, we saw one simple plaque on the wall. Master Li had been obviously pleased, and now he practically purred. He said it was a classic essay by one of the ancients, Chen Chiju, and that it was one of the four Pillars upon which civilization had been constructed. My education had not gone far enough to get to the pillars of civilization, and since it was in modern script, I read it with great interest.
The Home Garden
Inside the gate there is a footpath, and the footpath must be winding. At the turn of the footpath there is an outdoor screen, and the screen must be small. Behind the screen there is a terrace, and the terrace must be level. On the banks of the terrace there are flowers, and the flowers must be bright-colored. Beyond the terrace there is a wall, and the wall must be low. By the side of the wall is a pine tree, and the pine must be old. At the foot of the pine there are rocks, and the rocks must be quaint. Over the rocks there is a pavilion, and the pavilion must be simple. Beyond the pavilion are bamboos, and the bamboos must be sparse. At the end of the bamboos there is a house, and the house must be secluded. By the side of the house is a road, and the road must branch off. Where several branches come together is a bridge, and the bridge must be tantalizing to cross. At the end of the bridge there are trees, and the trees must be tall. In the shade of the trees there is grass, and the grass must be green. Above the grass plot is a ditch, and the ditch must be slender. At the top of the ditch is a spring, and the spring must gurgle. Above the spring there is a hill, and the hill must be undulating. Below the hill is a hall, and the hall must be square. At the corner of the hall there is a vegetable garden, and the garden must be big. In the garden is a stork, and the stork must dance. The stork announces that there is a guest, and the guest must not be vulgar. When the guest arrives he is offered wine, and the wine must not be declined. At the drink the guest must get drunk, and the drunken guest must not want to go home.
“I think I’d like to see the other three pillars,” I said. “I like this one.”
“We’ll get to them,” Master Li promised. He led the way down the hall to the living quarters, which were simply furnished with comfortable furniture, and our host came bounding from a back room to greet us.
Has anyone but me ever mistaken a prince for a feather duster? That was precisely my impression. He was small and skinny, but his thin neck lifted to a huge head, and the unkempt hair that sprouted from it in all directions could have filled a couple of mattresses. I remembered hearing that he was a renowned artist, and paint stains decorated his nose and chin. Brushes stuck out from his pockets, and his favorite cup for dipping them in hung on a cord around his neck.
“My surname is Liu and my personal name is Pao and I am honored to greet the renowned Master Li!” he cried, bowing jerkily. He moved in a series of uncoordinated jumps and bounces, and his cheerful smile jerked in my direction. “Arms like logs, legs like tree trunks, and no neck. You must be Number Ten Ox. Delighted to meet you!”
I have seldom met anyone I liked so much on first sight. I felt quite at ease with him, and after a few minutes I completely forgot he was a prince and his great-great-and-so-on-uncle had been Emperor of China. We sat outside on a terrace that offered a wonderful view of the valley and listened to chipmunks quarrel with parakeets while we sipped tea.
“They say that my revolting ancestor has been dancing in the moonlight with his mad monks,” the prince said. “Stories like that are scarcely new, but this time they tell me there really has been a murder. I also looked at the destruction on Princes’ Path. I saw it, but I don’t believe it.”
“I wouldn’t either if I weren’t conv
inced that there’s a reasonable explanation,” Master Li said. “As for murder, I can only say that the library was forcibly entered and a manuscript was stolen. Brother Squint-Eyes suffered a heart attack. He may have been frightened to death, but we’d have to prove intent and method. Have you ever seen the stolen manuscript?”
The prince shook his head negatively.
“This came from it,” Master Li said, and he handed the prince the fragment of parchment. The prince was like the toad in that it took five seconds for his eyes to pop wide as soup plates.
“Buddha,” he whispered. “Whoever did this should be deified, but why would he make the forgery so obvious?”
“We may never know the answer to that,” Master Li said pensively. “The rest seems fairly simple. Brother Squint-Eyes came across a fake Ssu-ma Ch’ien in the ancient library scrolls. It probably doesn’t matter whether or not he recognized it as a forgery. If real it would be worth a small fortune to historians, and if fake it would be worth the same to collectors of frauds.”
Master Li shook his head sadly.
“Brother Squint-Eyes succumbed to temptation, but he was woefully ill equipped for crime. He tried to forge the forgery by tracing, and then he took a sample page of the original to Ch’ang-an and made a deal with a collector. In order to divert suspicion from the librarian, the collector agreed to fake a burglary. The foolish monk received a small down payment with which he purchased an elegant meal, and then he returned to put his own little scheme in action. My guess is that he wanted it both ways. He would salve his conscience by keeping the original for the library, and pass off his tracing to the collector. He tried to swindle the wrong man.”
Master Li turned to me. “Ox, those iron bars had to be bent by large levers, which would make quite a bit of noise. All Brother Squint-Eyes had to do was draw the bolt and run out to the hall for help, but he stayed right where he was. That means he was an accomplice.”
He turned back to the prince. “I can well imagine the collector producing a knife and saying that since the good monk imagined he was Ssu-ma Ch’ien, the resemblance should be completed by castration. At any rate, Brother Squint-Eyes screamed and quite literally died of fright. The collector had forced him to produce the original. He snatched it from the dead man’s hand and ran, and then he and his accomplices went into their act. Anybody who wants to steal something from the Valley of Sorrows is advised to dress as a mad monk in motley. Witnesses will probably keep running until they land in the Yellow Sea.”
The prince poured more tea. Master Li added a splash of wine to his.
“Prince, your ancestor tunneled all over the valley for iron, and Buddha knows what else. He also doused the place with acids and mysterious substances of his own invention. Suppose one of the tunnels collapsed. It isn’t impossible that underground echoes could have produced a strange compelling sound, and that a pocket of ancient acids—or whatever—could have been released into that particular area of Princes’ Path. I don’t know of any substance that retains its potency for seven centuries, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one, and we’ll find out at the academy in Ch’ang-an. We’ll also find the person responsible for the burglary,” Master Li said confidently. “The problem will be proving murder. The abbot is willing to settle for a new roof. Do you have any objections?”
The prince pointed to his chest. “Me? My family hasn’t had a claim to this valley since the ghastly days of feudalism, so beloved by Neo-Confucians. All we do is go bankrupt maintaining Princes’ Path, and a few other things. I have no say in it.”
Master Li looked at him quizzically. “I wonder if the peasants look at it that way,” he said. “Your family served as lords of the valley for almost five centuries, and I rather suspect that when it comes to the welfare of the valley, they won’t turn to the emperor. They’ll turn to you, and they won’t ask for help. They’ll demand it. Rather unfair, since you don’t collect a penny of rent or a share of the crops, but there it is.”
Prince Liu Pao looked at him thoughtfully. Then he turned and examined my callused hands and large coarse body and homely face with peasant printed all over it. “Number Ten Ox?”
I flushed with embarrassment. “Your Highness, Master Li is right,” I said. “Nothing will convince them that the welfare of the Valley of Sorrows isn’t the responsibility of the Liu family, and as for fairness, it’s like Princes’ Path. Peasants can’t afford it.”
The prince laughed and stood up.
“It seems I have no choice but to go through the motions,” he said. “I assume I’m supposed to make sure that my abominable ancestor is safely tucked in, with the famous Master Li as witness?”
“That’s all for now,” Master Li said.
The prince took a key from a cabinet and led the way outside and through a gate and down a winding path toward the face of a cliff. As we came closer I saw an iron door set in the rock, almost covered by tall weeds and thistles. The door was old but the lock was new, and the prince’s fingers were trembling as he inserted the key.
“Nightmares of childhood,” he said wryly. “You see, the Laughing Prince’s successor decided to keep the famous grotto precisely as he found it, and place the family tablets inside. Every succeeding prince has been forced to pray and sacrifice inside a monument to the abuse of power. Makes it rather difficult for us to pull wings off butterflies, if our instincts run to that kind of thing.”
I expected blackness, but there were fissures in the stone that let in a greenish-yellow light. The famous Medical Research Center should, I think, be part of the early education of emperors. It is hard to forget.
A long row of iron racks against one wall held the essential instruments for scientific research, such as thumbscrews and iron whips and testicle crushers and pinchers and various things for slicing and gouging. Ancient operating tables still stood in the center of the floor, and gutters beneath them ran to stone troughs for the blood. Grim-looking machines whose purpose I didn’t understand lined another wall, and a third wall was lined with something I did understand: iron cages where peasants were held. They allowed the peasants a good view of what was happening to members of their families. The worst thing was the back wall.
It was naturally smooth stone, almost like a huge board of slate, and it was covered with annotated experiments, drawn with painstaking accuracy. Mysterious mathematical formulas and ancient script alternated as annotations, and Master Li was quite puzzled as he translated the script for my benefit.
“True path of the stone…. False path of the stone…. Stone strongest here…. Total failure of stone…. Stone branches three ways…. No reaction from stone….”
It made no sense at all, nor did the jumble of arrows pointing to various gruesome aspects of the experiments.
“What on earth did he mean by all these references to a stone?” Master Li asked.
“Nobody knows, but his obsession appears to have been overpowering,” the prince said.
He took a torch from a bracket and lit it, and led the way toward a shadowed corner. There I saw the family tablets, and I shuddered to think of small boys being led in here to pray, with grim lectures about the curse the family carried. The tablets were lined up in front of an ancient sacristy, which was empty. On the wall above it an inscription had been chiseled, and again Master Li translated for my benefit.
In darkness languishes the precious stone.
When will its excellence enchant the world?
When seeming is taken for being, being becomes seeming.
When nothing is taken for something, something becomes nothing.
The stone dispels seeming and nothing,
And climbs to the Gates of the Great Void.
The prince smiled at my bewilderment. “I agree,” he said. “It has the same quality of apparently leading somewhere and then disappearing that distinguishes the very finest Taoist mumbo jumbo.”
Master Li scratched his head. “Lao Tzu?” he wondered. “His third step toward Heaven was
to hear the sound of stone growing in a cliff, but he didn’t climb to the Gates of the Great Void on the screams of his victims.” He winked at me. “He rode an ox,” he said.
In the shadows of the alcove was a darker shadow that resolved itself into a narrow tunnel as the prince again led the way with the torch. At the end of it was another iron door, but this one had neither a lock nor a handle. On the wall was a large bronze plaque engraved with a map of the Valley of Sorrows, and beside it hung an iron hammer on an iron chain. The prince grimaced.
“Sense of humor,” he said sourly.
He raised the hammer and smashed the plaque, and the iron door slid silently open. We stepped inside to a circular room that was astonishingly bare. Nowhere was the sickening display of wealth that usually distinguishes the tomb of a tyrant. There was nothing but two stone coffins, two offering bowls, and a small altar with incense burners. Master Li was as astonished as I was, and the prince shrugged and spread his hands in an I-give-up gesture.
“My ancestor was a mystery from beginning to end,” he said. “He amassed an enormous fortune, but didn’t spend a catty of silver on his own final resting place. What did he do with it? He certainly didn’t pass his wealth on to his personal family, and there is no evidence that it was seized by his imperial brother. For several centuries after his death the family had to spend half its time chasing away people who dug holes all over the valley, and crooks still do a thriving business in fake treasure maps. The sarcophagus on the left is that of his principal wife, Tou Wan, who predeceased him, and my ancestor sleeps on the right.”
The Chronicles of Master Li and Number Ten Ox Page 31
