The Ming Storm

by Yan LeiSheng

  “I will complete her incapacitation myself,” he said as he advanced towards Shao Jun.

  “Would it perhaps be more prudent for me to hold the precious jade while you perform the manipulation?”

  With the way the old man’s eyes remained fixed on the pendant, the Tiger imagined that the old man worried he would not be rewarded for his loyalty. Pleased by the turn events had taken, he was in such a generous mood that he was ready to make a gesture of goodwill to this deposed official who undoubtedly dreamed of leaving the frugality of his present situation to return to the comfort of the imperial palace. He handed the jade plaque back to him.

  “Uncle Chen, keep it in a safe place.”

  Ma Yongcheng was not a specialist in tantric techniques, but his high level of kung-fu had allowed him to skip enough steps in his training to reach the meditative state that esoteric Buddhism named as Samadhi – he was thus at a higher level than Chen Xijian. When he applied his palm to Shao Jun’s back to penetrate her energy points, he was surprised to note that her pulse was quite weak, despite what the old steward had said. And for good reason: under the effect of the Great Imprint, the blood could no longer circulate freely throughout the body, which prevented the victim from walking or even standing. One more blockage and the former imperial favorite would be reduced to a vegetative state for a day or two.

  He confusion was violently interrupted by an agonizing pain in his lower back. Paralyzed with agony and surprise, he looked down and saw Shao Jun’s sword planted in his side.

  The master of conspiracy and scheming could never have imagined ever falling for such an ingenious trap even in his worst nightmares. He reached out, but his hand that was once so powerful, so agile, brushed only air; the sword had already been removed, and his kung-fu would no longer be of any use. When he turned, he saw that it was Chen Xijian who had betrayed him. He glared at him with deadly hatred in his eyes, hatred that was only strengthened by his complete powerlessness. “You…” he groaned before coughing up a stream of very real blood. He knew the wound would be fatal.

  “Uncle Ma,” said the old man, “which is greater, to enjoy oneself alone or with others? I would say that one is never better than when one is alone!”

  Completely devoid of culture, Ma Yongcheng couldn’t have recognized this quote from Mengzi, but understood that his killed had no desire to share the triumph of capturing Shao Jun. He had killed enough men to know that his agony would doubtless be long and solitary, but this pain was nothing compared to that inflicted by his regret. How could he have lowered his guard before this affable old man? Chen Xijian on the other hand drew sadistic satisfaction from the Tiger’s suffering.

  “Uncle Ma,” he said warmly, “you’ll die at the same time as the imperial favorite because you rushed in without thinking. But don’t worry, I will sing your praises before the venerable captain, and we will honor your memory.”

  Ma Yongcheng’s hatred deepened: “This pathetic old husk was planning this from the start!” he thought.

  It was true. As soon as he learned that Shao Jun may come to see him, the old steward had decided to take advantage of the situation to recover the honors that had been stripped from him. And the Tiger, whom he had absolutely not trusted to reward him, was nothing more than an obstacle to be overcome. The two men had agreed a signal: if Dezi, Chen Xijian’s assistant, visited the city to buy a salted duck prepared by Master Yao, that would mean that the former imperial favorite had appeared, and that Ma Yongcheng should hurry to the pavilion at the edge of the Spirit Way. He had never suspected that the trap had instead been laid for him.

  His hatred increased as his body weakened. It was so palpable that Chen Xijian stood a few steps away to be sure that his victim, collapsed on top of Shao Jun, had finally succumbed. He would then finish off the young woman, something in which he took no pleasure, and set it up to appear as if the two dead fighters had killed one another.

  “Uncle Ma,” he whispered, “you have tasted enough of the pleasures of this world. It is time that the humble Xijian takes what he is owed.”

  But as he moved to take his dagger, the Tiger’s body stirred. The old man jumped back, as the Butcher was no ordinary man, and even his final death throes, if that is what they were, could prove fatal. Unless he was pretending to be dead?

  “Uncle Chen, you torture me!”

  It was Shao Jun! The young woman stood with unreal slowness, pushing off the heavy body that lay on top of her. Struck with terror, Chen Xijian retreated without even realizing.

  “Ma Yongcheng wanted to drag me down with him!” he growled as he understood what had happened.

  In the last seconds of his life, the Tiger had freed the former imperial favorite from her chains of ki so he could have his revenge, albeit indirectly. The very fact that she had been saved by the assassin who had killed dozens of members of the Society of the Mind, a man who disgusted her more than any other, filled her with rage. And she knew where to direct that anger: toward the old eunuch who had tricked her so but whose greed had finally led him to defeat.

  She had to retrieve the jade pendant, the irrefutable proof of Master Yangming’s involvement in the murder of the Tigers. The task wouldn’t prove easy, because the Butcher hadn’t been able to remove all the energy blocks – both her arms were free but her legs were still numb – but she had to give it her all. Nothing else mattered.

  Chen Xijian thought he had a chance of beating her if he took advantage of her partial weakness. His age was against him, but he had managed to trick both her and Ma Yongcheng after all, which gave him confidence in his strategic capabilities. Raising his vajra to her heart as he moved forward, he attempted a tone of assured indifference as he spoke.

  “If Miss Favorite would do me this honor…”

  According to Buddhist canons, the vajra – which could have one, three, or even nine spokes – was used to destroy ignorance, and those who wield it seek enlightenment. But Chen Xijian used it only for combat, seeking a victory that had nothing to do with the spiritual. His opponent was weakened; all he needed to overcome her was a single, effective strike that her clumsy legs would be unable to help her avoid. He prepared to use Garuda’s Flame and was already savoring his victory… when he felt a breath of wind across his left shoulder, followed by violent pain.

  He let out a tragic cry and quickly pivoted to the right to avoid having his arm severed. Nevertheless, blood sprayed from his wound, testifying to the severity of the injury. His eyes had been on her feet the whole time, ensuring that her handicap was not feigned… How had the favorite avoided his attack with her legs so weakened? There! A flash of moonlight gave him the answer. He saw his adversary throw her rope dart at a tree branch. So that was how she had overcome the partial blockage of her legs! But this discovery was of no use to him: he’d lost his advantage now he was injured, and his kung-fu was too weak for him to win this fight.

  “Hide your strengths as well as your weaknesses,” the master had said. It was exactly what the former concubine had done, using her rope dart to make the old man believe she was still able to move at full speed – she had no idea her subterfuge had been discovered. But it was only a stopgap, because every time she wanted to move, she had to reel in her dart and throw it around another branch. Now correctly positioned above Chen Xijian, she launched her attack, but he dodged and instead of trying to retaliate, he fled down the path.

  The old man’s injury had already smeared blood all over the top of his clothing. He felt the situation getting out of his control, but his legs still worked so perhaps not all was yet lost. Shao Jun grew angry as she saw him run. Rebuilding the Brotherhood would be irredeemably compromised if he escaped with the jade pendant. Driven by anger and determination, she sheathed her sword, threw her rope and pulled upwards with all her strength. Her powerful muscles, forged through intensive martial arts practice, allowed her to fly through the air past Chen Xijian and
land just in front of him, near a statue of a horse. She gripped her weapon. It was time to end this.

  But the old eunuch leapt over her using the statue before she could strike, high enough to be out of reach of her blade, and continued to run. He knew that the young woman would soon be entirely free of the effects of the Great Imprint, and she would make short work of him as soon as her blood was circulating normally. He had to lose her, and fast!

  But how? Heart pumping, he prayed for an open space without branches his pursuer could latch onto with her rope, but he well knew that the entire area was densely wooded due to the prohibition on logging within the vicinity of the mausoleum. They passed before the Square Tower, then Golden Waters Bridge, and soon arrived before the horse-dismounting arch. Past this point, the great avenue left the mountain and the landscape was more open. Knowing that this was probably her last opportunity, Shao Jun threw her rope once more and propelled herself forwards.

  Woven from natural silk and deer sinew, the rope dart given to her by the former Emperor had more than once been her closest ally in sticky situations. Its elasticity and durability allowed her to sail through the air at a height that risked breaking her bones on landing. But hesitation was a luxury she could no longer afford: she must bar Chen Xijian’s way. She would have caught him within a few strides if she hadn’t been so incapacitated…

  Fortunately, she had her cloak. She deployed it at the height of her leap, allowing her to glide through the air like an eagle for a moment, a sight which drew a scream of terror from her prey. Arriving at the bottom of the mountain, there was a wide moat formed by a tributary of the River Qinhuai which then ran into Black Tortoise Lake. He tried to speed up, though it was never going to be enough to escape Shao Jun. Consumed by panic as she landed in front of him, he rushed forwards and threw himself into the water.

  Shao Jun was only just recovering from her miraculous landing. Her momentum obliged her to take a dozen steps to soften the force of the impact as she landed, without which her legs would have undoubtedly broken. The shock had been beneficial for her circulation as her numbed legs, while painful, could now feel again, as if the energy block had finally lifted. When she came to a halt, she heard a splash as Chen Xijian jumped into the moat a short distance away.

  She couldn’t fail, not so close to her goal! Though her body hadn’t yet fully recovered, she followed him into the black waters of the moat. But barely had she entered the water when she felt a sharp pain pierce through her: Chen Xijian had stabbed his vajra into her right shoulder.

  Instead of trying to escape, he had kept still in the water waiting to strike. It was a dangerous gamble, because his strength was reduced by the resistance of the water, and the young woman’s cloak could have stopped the blow from landing, but luck was on his side this time.

  Despite the intense pain, Shao Jun grabbed the vajra in her left hand, opening her palm over its blades. She ignored the pain as she pulled it out of her wound before planting it in Chen Xijian’s chest. She didn’t reach his heart, which contrary to his claims was on the left, but the weapon pierced through the old man like the tenderest meat. Blood bubbled out, and the steward knew he was in a situation he would be unable to get out of on his own. Even injured and drained by the energy blocks she had suffered, the former imperial favorite still had more than enough reserves to end him. But a cold breeze swept across the surface of the river, carrying the lines of a song:

  Thick coat flying in the wind, showers of petals raised by the horse’s hooves, the air is cold in the early morning…

  They were taken from Tale of the Pipa, a theatrical opera that was popular south of the Yangxi and with fishermen on the River Qinhuai. “I’m saved!” Chen Xijian thought to himself, beginning to swim in the direction of the voice with such vigor that Shao Jun could do nothing to prevent him putting dozens of meters between them. Despair had only increased his strength.

  The young woman was in agony. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she heard the song as the singer began the last verse:

  Country of rivers and mountains, I must go. Turn my back on my beloved parents and leave. Wounded love, the cuckoo sings and the collar of my jacket is wet with tears.

  It was a young and charming voice, certainly that of a young noble who had come to sing in the silence of the night to escape the din of the city.

  Chen Xijian saw the gleam of the lanterns illuminating the barge, and as he turned his head, saw that his pursuer had redoubled her efforts to cover the distance between them. Filled with panic, he called for help at the top of his lungs.

  At first the five or six occupants of the boat were frightened by the shout coming out of the darkness, but they stood to hold their lights as they searched the night. It was a small group of young lords dressed in brocade, accompanied by a beautiful young woman – the singer – who held a pipa12 against her. Chen Xijian soon appeared in the lamplight and tried to grab the front of the boat like a demon surging out of the water. With his bloody wounds and soaked clothes clinging to his body, he was a terrifying sight.

  12 A lute-type instrument.

  “I am the steward of the Xiaoling mausoleum, and someone is trying to kill me!” he cried.

  The men hurried to help him onto their boat, and were surprised to see Shao Jun, who looked equally terrifying, climbing onto the boat and drawing her sword, ready to stab the old man through the heart and ensure that the jade pendant would never fall into Zhang Yong’s hands.

  Sensing that his last minutes drew near, the old man let out a scream of fear as the blade rushed towards him, only to be parried with a clang by a wooden stick. A baby-faced young lord, whose fighting skills were doubtful if based on appearance alone, had stepped in to save his life.

  He wielded his ash club like a fighting stick, with speed and precision. After repelling Shao Jun’s sword, he lifted his makeshift weapon over his head and hit the shoulder of the injured young woman, who was too exhausted and weighed down by her wet clothes to react in time. Pah! She felt the full impact of the blow, pain shooting through her like a knife.

  “Master, please forgive me…” was her final thought as she blacked out.

  Chapter 9

  Shao Jun woke to the sound of singing. She didn’t know how much time had passed.

  The flower twirls in circles in the wind; my wandering life has led me to the bars of a prison…

  She couldn’t hear all the words clearly, but the voice was charming.

  In her dazed state, the young woman believed she was once more in the Leopard Quarter, where Emperor Zhengde often held his operas. He had been so passionate about them that he never missed a single one, and when Shao Jun became his favorite, he had even disguised her and taken her to a performance at the Great Gate of the Forbidden City. It was there she had first heard the melody that woke her now, though she had never paid much attention to the words at the time. The melody she was currently listening to had several incorrect notes, but comparing it with the country’s greatest singers seemed unfair. Confused, she slowly opened her eyes only to quickly close them again, dazzled by the bright light of the room she found herself in.

  Lying down, she began to return to her full senses. The singer had to be very young, and during the line “The beauty was surprised and frightened by her dream so sweet, fearing to blush as if the east wind would sweep away her emotion. Three or four steps below…”, her voice broke on “three or four steps below” and if she had tripped on a step herself. She repeated the verse over and over to perfect it, but to no avail.

  When she opened her eyes properly, Shao Jun saw that she was on a bed, covered by a thick comforter, in a finely decorated office. The light which had blinded her before came from candles as thick as her arm, standing on thick red candleholders that sat on a nightstand next to her. The room also had a table, and a bench on which sat the young singer, who looked to be at most twelve or thirteen years old. Her
hair was divided into two buns either side of her ears, and she swung her feet back and forth as she continued to fumble the lines of the song.

  Although she was relieved not to be in a cell, Shao Jun wanted to know more about her situation. She rested a hand on the edge of the bed to sit up, but even that simple movement triggered a wave of pain through the muscles and nerves of her battered body. Hearing her groan, the young girl stopped singing and rushed to the bedside, sliding cushions behind her back to help her sit up.

  “Oh no, miss, it looks like the sedatives have worn off. Don’t move, I’ll get you a cup of ginseng tea.”

  Here memories began to return: the day before, on board a boat, a young noble had struck her hard with a wooden stick… Everything after that was a blank. When she touched her shoulder, she found it numb and covered in thick bandages. So, they had treated her wound. Leaning against the cushions, she looked at the young girl stand on tiptoe to reach a large cup on the table and carefully bring it to the bedside.

  “Here,” she said, “it’ll do you good.”

  As a concubine she had often drunk the Emperor’s tea to ensure it wasn’t poisoned, and over time she had developed a good knowledge of this beverage. She could tell from the smell alone that it was the best quality Himalayan ginseng, and each sip restored a little more energy as she drank. Still unable to shake her disquiet, she looked around and asked, “Little sister, where am I?”

  “Oh, you can call me Yanfei, miss! ‘Little sister’ is too great an honor!”

  It was surprising that she bore this name, which meant “snow mist”, when most slaves were usually named after flowers and the seasons, such as “Orchid of Spring” or “Fall Chrysanthemum”. Seeing Shao Jun’s surprise, the young girl gestured at the wall and quickly explained.