Thus, when Kua-chou had voluntarily declared vassalage to Hsi-hsia, the Hsi-hsia rulers were naturally excited. Hsi-hsia would probably not lose the opportunity of bringing Kua-chou under its control; troops would be sent to Sha-chou in the west, and at one stroke the Hsi-hsia would gain complete control of all the territories. These rumors circulated around Hsing-te’s unit, but the actual invasion did not take place. The majority of the Hsi-hsia main army evacuated Su-chou, though Wang-li’s unit and a few others remained. Hsing-te was able to spend comparatively peaceful days in this desert city where it never rained. Once in a while he walked across the ashlike earth to the mud-walled temple library in the center of town.
CHAPTER V
The next year, 1032, the Hsi-hsia emperor, Te-ming, died at the age of fifty-one. His son, Yüan-hao, succeeded him. Te-ming had been a moderate man who, by maintaining the delicate balance between Khitan and China, had avoided any setbacks for his newly rising country during his rule.
Yüan-hao, unlike his father, was aggressive in all ways. He had always been at odds with his father’s foreign policy. His father had entrusted him with military affairs from early youth, so Yüan-hao was experienced in actual warfare. He had never lost a single battle. His victories included those at Liang-chou, Kan-chou, and Su-chou, and at present he had supreme confidence and feared no one. Yüan-hao had always believed that the Hsi-hsia should live according to their own traditions; indeed, it was said that he once remonstrated with his father for wearing brocades presented by China.
When Yüan-hao succeeded to the throne, the Turfan leader, Chüeh-ssu-lo, moved from the walled city on the Tsung River to Ching-t’ang and readied his troops for battle with Hsi-hsia, as if to show his opposition to the new regime.
Yüan-hao no longer feared a war with China; but before initiating one, he wanted to crush its Turfan allies and to annex Sha-chou at the same time. However, both Chüehssu-lo and Yüan-hao waited for the right moment and did not move their troops.
In this tense atmosphere, on the brink of war, Wang-li and Hsing-te whiled away their time until the following spring. Hsing-te spent this whole period studying the Buddhist sutras. In the past half year he had delved into all the discourses on the sutras he could find.
In March, Wang-li’s unit suddenly received orders to occupy Kua-chou. Up to that time not a single Hsi-hsia soldier had been stationed in Kua-chou. Since Yen-hui, the Kuachou ruler, had declared vassalage to Hsi-hsia, envoys had passed between the two nations, but Hsi-hsia had not sent troops to Kua-chou since it was nominally an independent country. But now the situation had changed. Everyone felt that Yüan-hao’s aggressive attitude was ominous.
Wang-li, now the commander of five thousand Chinese troops, left Su-chou, where he had been stationed for two and a half years. Hsing-te rode with him at the head of the unit. It was the time of the year when the white grass used for camel fodder grew abundantly.
“On the road from Chi-ch’üan west to Yü-men, the thousand mountains and all the plains are covered with white grass.” Hsing-te recalled this line from an ancient poem he had read years before in his home country. Teaching it to Wang-li, he told him that, if the poem was correct, the white grass they were riding through would continue all the way to Kua-chou.
Wang-li did not reply, but asked instead with obvious emotion why Hsing-te had come to the frontier. He added that Hsing-te should have returned to China from Hsing-ch’ing.
“But since I’m here, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Hsing-te said with a laugh.
“That’s right; now you’re here, there’s nothing you can do. You came back with your mind made up to grow old and wither away in the white grass plains,” Wang-li said.
Hsing-te felt that some allusion to the Uighur girl’s death lay in Wang-li’s words. Since the night the unit had stopped at the dry river bank between Kan-chou and Su-chou, and they had talked each in his own way of the death of the Uighur princess, neither had mentioned her. It was as though they had made a firm vow on it.
Hsing-te seldom thought of the woman now. It was not that he made an effort to forget her, but somehow as time passed he thought of her less often. It did not mean that his love for the Uighur woman had decreased. He thought of her infrequently, but whenever he did, her image was always clear. In fact, each time it became more vivid. Hsing-te could recall the woman’s eyes, nose, and mouth. He also remembered her complex smile the last time he had seen her—joy, sorrow, and surprise all fused together. And he remembered, with vividness and clarity, that small dot tracing a fine line as it fell to the ground from the wall of Kan-chou.
Whenever he thought of the Uighur girl, he was filled with peace. This feeling was not love for a lost one, nor was it mourning; it transcended such emotions, and was more akin to admiration for something pure and perfect.
“All is karma.” Hsing-te borrowed the Buddhist words. He thought that Wang-li wouldn’t understand the meaning of a word like “karma,” but there was no other term to express his feelings.
Wang-li ignored Hsing-te’s words. “When we are stationed in Kua-chou, you should find employment under the Kuachou ruler. There should be some kind of work for you. I don’t know whether it’s karma or not, but it is a mistake for you to be in the Hsi-hsia vanguard. I’m sure of that. Kua-chou is full of Chinese like you and me. If you’re patient,” he added, “there’ll probably be many opportunities for you to return to China.”
Hsing-te felt no particular reaction at Wang-li’s words. Even if he left his unit and worked for the ruler, he didn’t think it would mean very much to him. Whether such a day would come or not was completely in the hands of fate. He probably would not refuse to go back to China, but he did not think he would actively seek to return. He was much more interested in the inner thoughts of this old mercenary who had broached the subject.
“Enough about me. What are your plans?” Hsing-te asked.
“Me? Well, I have something to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Don’t you know? Don’t you know what’s on my mind daily?” Wang-li gave a boisterous laugh, then added emphatically, “I have something I must do!” But Wang-li would not explain what that “something” was. Hsing-te had no idea what Wang-li intended, but he was sure that Wang-li would some day accomplish his plan. Whenever he set his mind on something, he always accomplished it.
The distance from Su-chou to Kua-chou was about two hundred and twenty-five miles, a ten-day journey. The desert road was almost entirely covered with ice. On the second day the men traveled on; snow-capped mountains lay to the north and south. Then for four days they continued across deserts through driving blizzards. On the sixth day they crossed several dry tributaries of the Shu-le River, and the unit finally entered a grassy plain. Here, too, the ground was frozen. They traveled through icy, windswept deserts again on the seventh and eighth days, and came out once more on grassland on the ninth day.
At noon of the tenth day, Wang-li’s troops headed through the fierce winds that swept down from a corner in the heavens and entered Kua-chou. The walled city had three gates, in the east, west, and south. Wang-li’s men entered by the East Gate, where the Kua-chou force, comprising various races, had lined up to meet them. In no time the small city was brimming over with five thousand new troops and countless horses and camels. Kua-chou was built on wasteland. Even the streets had piles of sand in them. Walking there was no different from walking in the desert.
For three days and nights after their arrival, winds raged so fiercely that the tops of the ancient walls seemed ready to give way. It was said that there were few windless days here.
Hsing-te could hardly bear the constant howling winds. Nevertheless, since his arrival he had regained the settled feeling he had lacked for years. Among the traders were many Chinese, who sold sheep’s wool or animal skins, and also among the farmers, who hawked vegetables and various grains. There had been many Chinese in Su-chou too, but their customs and manners had not been Chinese. It
was different in Kua-chou; much of their speech, customs, and dress was reminiscent of the mother country. The walls and gates were older, in disrepair, and smaller than those of other fortified cities Hsing-te had seen, but everything he looked at seemed familiar. For a while, Hsing-te walked around the windswept town every day.
On the seventh day after their arrival, Hsing-te and several friends accompanied Wang-li, who had received an invitation from the governor. Governor Yen-hui’s palace was large and impressive. Yen-hui himself was a rotund man of forty-five or forty-six, with a bland, melancholy expression. As one would expect of the distant descendant of Regional Commander Ts’ao, who had governed the entire western territory, he seemed a refined, yet indolent, individual.
Yen-hui explained that Sha-chou, where his brother Hsien-shun lived, was a large city where Buddhism flourished. It was filled with traders from the west, and there were many wealthy people. In comparison, Kua-chou was a small town. Yen-hui had been assigned here by his brother, but he had no pride in anything he showed them. Only in his fervent faith in Buddhism was he second to none, and for that reason he had two or three temples collecting valuable sutras. If they wished, he would be happy to show them the sacred books.
But Hsing-te was the only member of the group who took any interest in the sutras. He turned to Yen-hui and told him he would like to make an appointment to see them. Yen-hui then spoke to all of them. “I’ve heard the Hsi-hsia have recently introduced their own writing system, and I’d like to have my sutras translated into Hsi-hsia to present to them. I’m sure that translation of the sacred scriptures is already being done in Hsing-ch’ing, but I’d also like to do some here, to show my gratitude to Buddha. I’ll pay all the necessary expenses, so can I count on your cooperation?”
Again Hsing-te alone responded. Wang-li, on the other hand, seemed to be extremely displeased with the Kua-chou ruler, who had offered neither food nor wine. He sat sullenly in his chair throughout the visit.
It had been a hasty conclusion, however, to deem Yen-hui an inflexible or dense man. As Hsing-te’s group was about to finish this boring visit, Yen-hui declared that he would give each a house and some Khotan jade. Besides this, he would also present the commander, Wang-li, with servants and concubines. Wang-li’s good humor was completely restored. He regained his dignity and spirit as commander, and told Yen-hui that he and his men would cooperate in any manner they could and that Yen-hui should not hesitate to make his needs known. Then he reintroduced Hsing-te who stood nearby, and said, “I don’t know much about Buddhism, but I think this man will be able to help you, so please discuss it with him and work things out together.”
Wang-li’s house, which formerly belonged to a Uighur trader, was in the eastern part of town, a stately mansion with a large garden and a square pond. The house was furnished luxuriously, with framed hanging scrolls over the lintels and on the pillars. Wang-li was to spend the best days of his life here.
The house given to Hsing-te was also in the eastern part of town, but it was much smaller—a fraction of the size of Wang-li’s. It was next to the site on which the Temple of King Asoka had stood in ancient times. A short distance from the house in the middle of woods were the remains of an old pagoda. As well as the Temple of King Asoka, the remains of several other temples of the same period were in the vicinity. Hsing-te was very pleased to have a house in such a historic area. He was served by two orderlies and ate meals brought him from headquarters.
After moving in, Hsing-te visited Yen-hui frequently at the palace and the two soon became fast friends. On one occasion, Yen-hui happened to see Hsing-te’s writing and was enthusiastic over its excellence, telling him that in the whole of Sha-chou and Kua-chou, no one could probably write as well. Hsing-te also incurred the admiration of this devout ruler with his extensive knowledge of Buddhist teachings and scriptures.
After Hsing-te had visited him several times, Yen-hui again brought up the subject of translating the sutras. He repeated that although such work might already have begun in Hsing-ch’ing, he would like to make this a work of religious devotion, in other words, an offering to Buddha. Hsing-te did not think that sutras were being translated in Hsing-ch’ing. Not much time had elapsed since the advent of Hsi-hsia writing; few sutras were available in Hsing-ch’ing, and besides, he said, “The newly founded nation has to accomplish an enormous number of other tasks.” Furthermore, Hsi-hsia would surely welcome Yen-hui’s proposal. But although it was a simple matter to pledge his cooperation, such a project meant a great deal of work. When Hsing-te had expressed his thoughts on the matter, Yen-hui asked, “But didn’t your superior say you would cooperate?”
Hsing-te liked Yen-hui. He was without doubt incompetent as a political leader, and was of such a faint-hearted, nervous temperament that he had declared vassalage when he had felt threatened.
On the other hand, there was something genuine and single-minded about him. Hsing-te liked Yen-hui’s smile. His loose skin would crease slowly, and gradually the joy in his heart would reach his eyes and mouth. It reminded Hsing-te of the smile of an innocent child.
Hsing-te’s liking for Yen-hui had led him to agree to Yen-hui’s plan so that the joy would be evident on his face again.
Hsing-te returned to headquarters and spoke to Wang-li about the matter, and Wang-li quickly replied. “You should do it. I don’t understand anything about the project, but if it’s nothing harmful, go ahead and help him.”
“But even if we try, I couldn’t do it alone. I would need several people with quite a bit of education to help out.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you get some people and have them work with you?”
“I think such people are only found in Hsing-ch ing,” Hsing-te said.
“Then go to Hsing-ch’ing and get them.” Wang-li spoke as if this were a simple matter.
It was not easy to get to Hsing-ch’ing, but Hsing-te knew several people there who were capable of translating Chinese sutras into Hsi-hsia. He could think of several such men even now. They were all Chinese who had worked with him on the Hsi-hsia dictionary.
At the beginning of May, Hsing-te prepared to leave for Hsing-ch’ing. He also wrote several documents to present in the names of Yen-hui and Wang-li. However, a definite departure date had not yet been set. Hsing-te had to wait until troops began to travel east from Kua-chou.
One day in the middle of May, Hsing-te was summoned by Yen-hui. When he arrived at the palace, Yen-hui told him, “There is a Sha-chou trader named Wei-ch’ih Kuang. He says he’s going to Hsing-ch’ing, so why not go with him?”
Hsing-te didn’t know what type of person Wei-ch’ih Kuang was, but he thought it rash for a man to take a caravan from Kua-chou to Hsing-ch’ing when the Hsi-hsia and the Turfans were at war. Nevertheless, Hsing-te decided he would at least meet the man. Yen-hui knew little about him.
Next day, Hsing-te went to visit Kuang in the hostel area by the South Gate. He was out when Hsing-te arrived at his inn, but learning that he would soon return, Hsing-te stood on the corner of a narrow, dirty alley and waited for him.
Kuang, who eventually appeared, was a tall, lanky, dark-complexioned young man with keen eyes. He seemed about thirty years of age. At first he had no idea why Hsing-te had come to see him, and he spoke guardedly. “You’re one of the occupation troops, aren’t you? What do you want with me?”
“I heard about you from the governor,” Hsing-te replied.
“I’m not afraid of the governor. I have a perfectly valid traveler’s permit. If you have some business with me, get it over with. I’m so busy, I haven’t time to think!”
It was an acrimonious greeting. Hsing-te realized that this was an impatient man, and so he quickly told him that he wanted to travel with his caravan to Hsing-ch’ing.
“Is this on Hsi-hsia army orders or the governor’s orders?” the young man asked.
“From both,” Hsing-te replied.
“It’s my policy not to have anyone travel with me.
If your orders were from just one of them, either the Hsi-hsia army or the governor, I wouldn’t dream of taking you, but since they are from both, I suppose I can’t refuse. It’s a lot of trouble, but I’ll have to take you along. We’re leaving at dawn the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow night, get ready, and come here around the time the moon rises.”
Then Kuang added roughly that if Hsing-te traveled with his caravan he would have to accept all his orders. And he’d better be prepared to comply.
The next day Hsing-te went to Wang-li’s mansion to take leave of him. As soon as Wang-li saw him, he told Hsing-te that because of him he had had to give up enough weapons for twenty people. At first Hsing-te had no idea what he meant, but it slowly dawned on him that Kuang had come to Wang-li and demanded weapons for twenty men in return for taking Hsing-te with him.
“I liked that reckless young fellow. That’s why I agreed. You will be treated respectfully by them,” Wang-li said.
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