“There is more, Li Fong. This enchantment can be used only once, so it should be reserved for uttermost need, and that can be a hard choice. Worse yet, that half-immortality you have won through the Way of Fire will be forfeited. The Great Law accepts no gifts, and it gives no bounties.”
Darkness closed in on Li Fong. Darkness and oppression extinguished all the glow which had built up within him. And when Mei Ling saw the inner blackness come to the surface, she said, a hand on his arm, “Li Fong, it is so simple to avoid all risk. Let me ride the wind, and give this treasure to your father. I will speak your message, and return surely. In this I cannot fail.”
“Teach me mantram and mudra,” Li Fong said. “I must do my own duty. No Dragon can do this for me.”
CHAPTER VI
Li Fong followed the Silk Road eastward. Better, he reasoned, to tramp the Red Earth than ride the wind. In the end, Mei Ling had agreed with him. If he came home with the Dragon Shadow hovering over him, he would be a stranger, not entirely real.
Along the way, he sold his sword, to buy food and shoes. Ragged and dirty, he would not interest bandits. He had only to evade recruiting parties.
As he neared his native village, he learned that the harvest had been poor: and the further he went, the more he realized that his homecoming with gold would be a blessing.
Finally, one evening, he came to the old familiar settlement. He caught the savor of dumplings frying over coals, and the aroma of meat spiced, skewered, and broiling. He followed the appetizing odors to their source, a portable grille, sitting in the alleyway between two shops.
Li Fong ate, and he drank some tea. Finally, after a good suspense build-up, he broke his surly-faced silence.
“Know where Old Man Kim lives?”
The peddler pointed in the general direction. “Know him?”
“Met his son in the army.”
“Which army?”
“Fighting in Hotien.”
“So Old Man Kim’s boy didn’t get killed and robbed.”
“Aiiieeeyah! Might as well have been, so far from home.”
“Wounded or sick?”
“Not too badly, but moving slow. So I said I’d give news he was on the way.”
“Cousin Shiu Shen won’t be happy.”
“How come?”
“Old Man Kim adopted him. Now you tell me, Li Fong is coming home, so Shiu Shen won’t be Number One heir. Li Fong will be sore, with a Number Two heir. Old Man Kim will give you a happiness present, but nobody else will be glad.”
“I forgot people gave happiness presents,” Li Fong grumbled, and took a few cash from his string. “Well, here’s some for you, in case I don’t see you again.”
The advance dividend brightened the peddler. “Maybe the bond-servant, the new one, will be glad.”
“Servant?”
“Could be a slave, don’t know. I hear the old man took her as part payment on a debt. Anyway, she doesn’t like Shiu Shen at all.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing. Nice fellow. She’s just a fussy bitch and don’t want to sleep with him, and the old man thinks that’s funny, and sort of takes her part.”
That was just like the old man…
“What she like?” Li Fong resumed.
“Might be nice, with decent clothes.” He eyed the stranger. “Bandits making much trouble?”
“Not the way I came. I was busy dodging army recruiting. Been having much trouble with them?”
“Anyone your age better get out of sight by sunrise.”
Li Fong decided against waiting for the peddler to alert tomorrow’s market crowd, so that one of the servants would go home with a rumor about Li Fong’s survival. After all, when you’ve reached a certain age, there are no real shocks or surprises. You have had it.
So this was the Red Earth. Quicker he fulfilled his obligation and got back to Mei Ling, the happier he’d be, and riding the wind would not be fast enough…depressing mess…
There was a group not far ahead of him, coolies squatting on the ground, gabbling with another peddler: he featured sausages, judging by the pungent smell. When a yard or so from the palaver, Li Fong paused, and knelt, making a pretext of easing his shoulder by getting out from under the carrying pole from which his two packs of clothing and travel gear were balanced. And, he fumbled with the fastenings of his sandals.
As far as gossip went, or rumors of recruiting parties, this was a waste of time. However, Li Fong did get an unexpected dividend and it jarred him. What he heard was a casual reference to the year-name. Now, and for the first time, he realized that more than six years had elapsed since his mishap in the wine shop. This was hard to believe. It would have been wholly incredible, had he not recalled how amazingly long had been the interval between his first entering Mei Ling’s world, and his return to the monastery.
In a nearby shop, he verified the date. He bought paper, borrowed a brush, and ground some ink. He brushed three columns, rinsed the brush, and laid out some cash. The shop keeper declined the money.
“The moment you dipped that brush, I knew you were a scholar. I cannot let you pay for a trifle. Omitofu! Devils rule these times.”
Li Fong folded his writing, and went his way.
There was a new gate keeper at the old home. This helped a lot.
“Where’s old man Wu?”
“Died couple years ago. Who are you?”
“Got a message for the Master,” Li Fong said, and spread out the sheet of calligraphy.
The gate keeper plucked a brand from the gatehouse hearth, took a look, recognized the fine, formal characters, and reached for the paper. Li Fong drew it back. He dug up a tael of silver and said, “This is more than the master would give you—especially if the news is bad.”
“How bad?”
“Read it and see.”
“Do you think I can?”
“Neither can I,” said Li Fong. “But I think it’s about the son who disappeared several years ago. Look here, it’s late and they tell me it’s a good idea to keep out of sight. Spread me a mat in a corner of the court, and you get another tael.”
“Where’s the ounce?”
“Here it is. And you might hustle up a bowl of rice.”
“A few cash for one of the maids, and maybe I can.”
In a few minutes, Li Fong had a mat spread in the court where he had capered about as a child. Presently, a woman with a candle-lantern stepped from an inner doorway. She balanced a tray on her head. Seeing him in his corner, she set down the light and came forward with tea, a bowl of rice, and some vegetables. Without a word, she went back to her lantern, stood there until he picked up the chopsticks. Seeing that nothing else was required, she quit the court.
Li Fong had no chance to deliver his message. At the first alarm, early that morning, he bolted for cover. The splintering of wood, the yell of the gatekeeper, the screeching of servants, and the chattering of villagers gave him all he needed to know.
Bandits, making a sweep of the village, were closing in on the house of its most important citizen.
Addition after addition, expansion after expansion, had left many an obscure corner, many a hidden catch-all space, often very nearly like a room within a room. Li Fong had to get out of sight. He would be mistaken for the advance agent of the bandits, and killed by an unusually courageous servant. To declare himself, on the other hand, would be a disaster. He’d be seized, either as a hostage, or for ransom. Worst of all, the Dragon treasure was in jeopardy.
Invaders poured into the main court, and faster than servants and farm hands could escape through exits.
From concealment, Li Fong saw his father come out to confront the raiders. The old man wore a gray silk robe, and a black skull-cap. Li Fong could now believe that he had been away six years or more. However firm of purpose,
his father was thin, frail, and shaky.
The bandit chief and two henchmen stepped forward from among their men. They went through all the forms of politeness. The old man parleyed: there was the usual bartering, proposal, rejection, and offer in compromise. He beckoned finally to an elderly servant, and gave an order.
The confidential servant quickly returned with heavy bags of silver.
“Where’s the rest?” the chief demanded.
“Two bad seasons in a row. You know that. And the tax collector got here ahead of you.”
“Sometimes he does and sometimes we intercept him.” The bandit ruefully added, “This one had too many soldiers to guard him. Now, there must be more than this to divide among my men—you see how many I have—these are hard times!—soon I’d have no band.” He grinned, rubbed his neck. “Nor even a head.”
“But this is all.”
The chief beckoned. A squad of burly fellows with bamboo sticks and lengths of cord came forward. No command was spoken. This was a well-organized party, with all details ordered in advance.
They lashed the old man’s wrists, neatly trussed him to the spirit screen, and set to work beating him. If they overdid things and beat him to death, there was the confidential servant, who knew all that the master knew. And he would not be blamed for his ready capitulation. He’d reveal every treasure cache in the villa.
Simple.
Efficient…
Li Fong came from hiding. “This is not necessary,” he said to the chief. “This man is my father.”
“You are dressed like his heir.”
The beating ceased. This was interesting.
“I am an army deserter. Like many of you.” He dipped into his grimy jacket and brought out the purse. “I bring ransom from Hotien, from the dog-fornicating Turks.” He poured gold and rubies and sapphires on the paving. “You and I, civilized persons, can agree on this.”
The chief watched one of his men collect the gleaming loot.
“The army didn’t capture Hotien, but wherever you got all this, you did very well.”
“You accept my present?”
“Aaiieeyah! This is generous.” He spoke to the strong-arm squad. They released the old man. He gestured to the others, and they filed from the court. He paused long enough to bow, and to say, “Next year, I promise you, I will not loot your house.”
CHAPTER VII
Li Fong knelt before his father, and three times touched his forehead to the tiles. The old man extended his hand, and Li Fong arose.
“Those jewels—that gold—man, where did you get the stuff?”
Li Fong smiled. “Cousin Shiu Shen, that is as surprising as this business of a maid not wanting to sleep with a fellow as good looking as you are. Now, the food and wine—” Before that was well started, there came wails of misery from outside, the voice of crushing dismay. House servants were coming back. Villagers followed. Some pointed at Li Fong, and cried, “He can help us. He dealt with the bandits—great bags of gold—”
Li Fong caught his cousin’s arm. “What’s all this?” And he got it: the bandits were going to loot the granaries, and, worst of all, take the seed grain, too. Those who could not migrate to a province which had a good crop would stay and starve.
“Those turtle-fornicators,” Li Fong said, bitterly. “I talked to them, as one deserter to another!”
“Son, this is all beyond believing. One of the servants told me a strange story last night. I did not believe her.”
“What I have to tell you is also beyond belief.”
“No, don’t tell me a thing until you’ve eaten, until you’ve bathed, until you’ve rested. You look starved. Yes, and let your cousin get you something to wear. Drink a few bowls of wine.”
“Father—”
“Do as I tell you.”
The old man stalked out of the courtyard. He looked younger already. He was steadier on his feet.
Li Fong eyed his cousin Shiu Shen. Greetings were fraternal, but less than ebullient.
“No doubt Father adopted you. Relax. I am not here to push you out. I’m very likely to go back to where I came from.” He darted to the gate house.
Cousin Shiu Shen caught his arm. “Don’t be a fool! They might have taken your gold and still beaten Father to death.”
“Better flog him to death than starve him!” He shook off Shiu Shen’s grasp. “I am telling those sons of female devils a thing or two, and they’ll never forget it.”
He shouldered his way through the milling pack of farmers, servants, villagers, “Quit your screaming! Where is all this going on?” They pointed to granaries built after Li Fong left town.
They followed him, but at a distance. This relieved some of his apprehension.
The bandits were well organized. They had a wagon train. They had a caravan of pack animals. By putting enough grain in storage, they could sell it, later, at famine prices: it would be as approach. The sun dimmed, as though beclouded. The three bandits noted these phenomena. They ceased their talk about the strange actions of the demented villager, and looked up.
Li Fong approached the chief and his two assistants. They regarded him with interest.
“Honorable Sir,” he began, “Distinguished Lords—possibly I could induce you to desist. Many will starve.”
“They should keep and eat their buffalos,” the chief said.
“Some do not have Your Excellency’s foresight,” Li Fong patiently pointed out. “I respectfully suggest that you take no more than half.”
“Please elaborate?”
“Leave all the seed grain. If you take all that’s in the granary, the starving will eat the seed grain now. Then comes total famine.”
“Accurate observation,” the chief conceded. He hefted a familiar brocaded purse, jingled it. “What inducement do you offer?”
Li Fong kowtowed. “The purse in Your Honor’s hand is all that I had. I beg of you, let these people live. Come back two seasons hence. There will be more for you to take. This is the way of civilized folk.”
“You arc persuasive. But my men and I are doing dangerous work. We are not inclined to consider the future. Tomorrow, each may be secured to a stout frame, and sliced a slow thousand cuts. Or, one of us may be sitting on the Dragon Throne.
“You are amiable, appealing, quick-witted, a man of character. Sir, I respectfully suggest that you join us. I promise we will spare your village.”
Li Fong got up from his knees. He brushed dust and chaff from his forehead. “I have been away six years. My father would not be pleased if I left to become a bandit.”
He retreated three paces, and bowed.
He retreated another three paces, and bowed again.
He retreated a third time, a like distance, and said, “Sir, I beg leave to depart. Thank you for hearing me.”
The courteous chieftain bowed.
Li Fong, glancing about as he withdrew somewhat further, noted those who had followed him. He gestured, and hoped that they would retreat. He hoped that Mei Ling had not exaggerated…
There was one who, instead of joining in the retreat, was approaching him. She wore the dress of a peasant, and her complexion was that of a farm woman—but there was no way to disguise Mei Ling.
“Dragon Lady, you came to help me?”
“That is forbidden. I am here to wish you well. And to see you do what must be done. Without fear, without anger, without pity.”
Li Fong raised his arms. Never before had he combined the sound, the cadence, and the gestures. The First staging had to be perfect: mantramic words which had no meaning; the tone, which no untrained throat could shape; and the mudras, which only practiced hands could make.
The chief and his two henchmen were well away from those working at the granary. Curiously, and with a measure of interest, they regarded Li Fong, and his odd doin
gs.
Apart from his own voice, Li Fong perceived other sounds: a curious whirring, a whispering as of a desert sandstorm’s. A misty shape swooped down, circling the trio. The mist became a cloud. As the spirals tightened, the cloud became more dense. The three thus enclosed were startled. They eyed each other, perplexedly.
Li Fong’s voice rose. His gestures became ever more stately. The bandits, now hemmed in, sought to rejoin their men. This they could not do. They began to strike and claw and lunge, but it was as though they hurled themselves against barriers of stone.
The spirals were dragon coils. Scales gleamed. Teeth glistened. Claws twinkled. The monstrous form began to glow. There was a tremendous roaring as a column of Fire reached from earth to mid-heaven. The bandits busy at the granaries quit their wains and ran for the nearest horizon.
The fire subsided. The dragon coils faded, leaving ash, and molten gold. The rubies and sapphires had endured the heat.
Li Fong said, “Dragon Lady, if I’d known, I don’t think I could have done this thing. My first, and my final magic. And that half-immortality you helped me win, I’ve lost that.”
“But no bandit or tax collector will ever loot this village again,” Mei Ling told him. “And, all you’ve lost was your fraction of immortality. We can ride the wind back to my home.”
The people were recovering from their awe. Li Fong’s father was hobbling along, the elderly servant following.
Li Fong sighed. “Dragon Lady, these are my own people, as they never were before. In your land of here and now, there’d be a few sleepings together and studyings together, and I’d come to the end of my mortal lifetime, before it fairly started.”
“I didn’t foresee this,” Mei Ling said. “I saw only that there was a risk. And from this which has happened to us, you know that Dragon Folk also have their sadness.” She pointed as the people came nearer. “See that one over there? In the dress of a servant? That one is your Hwa Lan.”
Recognition grew. No cosmetics. No gleaming silks. No jewels. No lute. But, beyond any doubt, Hwa Lan, the sing-song girl. “But—how—what—this is—”
“She is really as honest as you told me. I learned this, last night. In a little more than five years, she bought her contract. She told your father what had happened, and offered herself as a bond-maid to prove her good faith. He was free to keep her as a slave, or sell her to recoup some of his loss.”
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