Green Phoenix

by Poon, Alice;

  The two youngsters, riding in front, were just happy to drown their senses in the vista of lyrical scenes that rolled by. Heartened and eager for conversation, she asked him in a timid voice:

  “Do you believe in animal spirits?”

  “Sure I do. I’m a Shamanist. They are here to protect us from harm.”

  “I’m a Shamanist too!” She exclaimed, unable to hide her excitement and curiosity. “Which animal spirit is your guardian?”

  “My guardian spirit is the golden eagle. Do you know which one yours is?”

  “My grandpa told me that it’s the sand fox….”

  “Oh, sand fox…. you’re one of my favorite preys then,” he chuckled teasingly.

  After a moment of reflection, she replied boldly:

  “Um, I’m not so sure. Don’t you know that in the world of animal spirits, there are no predators or preys? As far as I know, all spirits rank equal in that world.”

  She shot him a smug glance, satisfied to see he was stumped. Then she adroitly changed the subject and asked him how he got the wound above his brow.

  For the rest of the journey, oblivious of the two adults behind, they carried on their incessant light-hearted banter. Even in a stranger’s eyes, the two were clearly lost in their own halcyon maze of magic.

  The lyrics of the song that she had earlier sung reflected a long-held Mongolian core value. She had known from a tender age that she would be married to a great khan one day, not just from what she had read, but also from what her grandfather had told her when she was growing up. She must be well prepared to be the right hand of either a ruling khan or a future one. “You need not understand why I arrange marriages for the Borjigit daughters, young girl. You only need to know that whatever I do is for the welfare of the Khorchin Mongols. It is your duty to obey my wishes,” her grandfather had once told her. She had often heard Manggusi tell stories of vicious territorial wars among different Mongolian tribes. Those stories had always distressed her to the point of tears. Now a little older, she began to see why he valued peace so much.

  Bumbutai was the younger of two Princesses born to Prince Jaisang of the noble Borjigit clan. Her older sister Harjol had, against Manggusi’s wishes, secretly married a Mongol warrior named Zhuolin, and had left the homestead a few years earlier. Though she had been too young to understand the matter, she had nonetheless admired Harjol for her audacity.

  At the age of four, she had started learning archery and horseback riding from Wukeshan, apart from taking language lessons. Her mother, a half Han, had also been teaching her Chinese calligraphy and folk literature. Her grandfather was her teacher in Mongolian script and history, while Sumalagu, an adopted war orphan of mixed Jurchen and Mongolian parentage, was her tutor in Jurchen language and culture. This wide scope of learning grounded her well in all three cultures, though she was fond of telling herself: “I was born a Mongolian. I will always be a Mongolian.”

  She had always idolized both Genghis Khan and his brother Khasar, from whom her line descended. What impressed her most was Genghis’ loyal love for his wife Borte and his keen sense of fairness towards the weaker sex and the poor. “Equal sharing of power and responsibilities between the two sexes is crucial to maintaining familial and social harmony,” Genghis had once said. Those words were branded in her mind. But life would later teach her that in some cultures the notion was just wishful thinking.

  Manggusi had been keen on befriending the newly-risen Jurchen Empire in the neighboring territory under Nurhaci’s rule, for the sake of peace and safeguarding his tribe’s land and other interests. Peace had a price. Happily, he had the means to pay for it – the Borjigit clan was famous for its beautiful and desirable women. Hence, his life-time mission was to marry off his daughters and granddaughters to royal Jurchen Princes in exchange for the new Empire’s perpetual protection.

  Nurhaci, as Khan of the Jurchen Empire, was on the other hand equally able to benefit from the matrimonial bonds. These ties gave him easy access to a ready supply of Mongolian warhorses and horseback warriors. Such military reserves would come in handy someday. He saw China under the wobbling Ming Dynasty as fair game. It was just a matter of time before he made a kill. Manggusi understood the Jurchens’ needs perfectly. Hong Taiji was a dauntless warrior representing Nurhaci in these cross-border negotiations. He was now Fourth Beile sitting on the Jurchen Empire’s ruling council. Manggusi was betting on his becoming the next Khan one day.

  On an open and spacious clearing which backed onto a thick copse by the river, a row of south-facing gers were neatly ranged. These portable dome-shaped tents were made of durable felt mounted over a birch wood framework of poles. In the middle stood the largest one, the inside of which was lit by a bright oil lamp hanging from the domed ceiling. Wukesan lifted the heavy door flap of this tent to let Hong Taiji and Dorgon through. Seeing the guests enter, Manggusi and his son Jaisang rose to their feet to bid them welcome.

  “My dear son, it’s been a long time.” The Khorchin Clan Chief hugged his son-in-law warmly, then turned to Dorgon and gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder: “Young lad, make yourself at home.”

  Jaisang’s wife already had a pan of mare’s milk on the stove and was pouring it into five porcelain serving bowls. In a crouching position, she offered the bowls to each of the guests first, then to the three male hosts. At the head of the low table sat Manggusi, whose rugged but kind face wore an amiable grin. Flanking him were Hong Taiji on one side and Dorgon on the other. Jaisang and Wukesan were seated at the opposite end near the entrance. The older men began talking about the recent battles fought between the Jurchens and the Chakhar Mongols.

  When the third round of mare’s milk was served, on a hint from Manggusi, Wukeshan invited Dorgon to go outside for a tour of the compound. A short while later, the wife also rose and made for the door, leaving the three men to their confidential talk.

  She went back to her own tent where Bumbutai was helping with the cooking of the meat stew. Aunt Jere had just come in looking for her sister-in-law and could scarcely hide her excitement when she saw Jaisang’s wife enter.

  “My dear sister, I’m so happy for you. There’s great news for your daughter,” she gushed in heartfelt joy. “Bumbutai is going to have a husband and I can count on her company in Mukden soon, all thanks to Pa’s arrangement. There’s going to be a grand wedding. Unfortunately, the new Palace will not yet be ready by then. That’s the only imperfection. But I can assure you that everything else will be just splendid!” Then, turning to her niece, she added earnestly, “Oh, sweet Bumbutai, you’re going to be a bride soon! I can’t wait for you to come and join me.”

  Bumbutai, whose mind had been somewhere else all evening, at first didn’t get what her aunt was saying. Then the words hit home, and her heart raced, guessing that a betrothal match was being made for her and Dorgon. This thought made her blush into a deep purple in the glowing firelight. Her heart was almost leaping to her mouth. She wanted to shout out her bliss to Eternal Blue Sky.

  “Oh Ma, can I go and look for my dancing garment, because I want to rehearse for a dance that I’m going to perform for our guests tomorrow night,” she begged. Her mother teased her for being coquettish and shooed her away.

  Once inside her own tent, she searched frantically for her favorite dancing costume ensemble, which consisted of a green silk pleated long skirt and an embroidered black velvet vest. She found the skirt but not the vest and was on the verge of bursting into tears. Then she saw Sumalagu come in holding the vest and remembered that her maid had taken it away to sew two loosened buttons back on. She jumped up to kiss her on the cheeks. Sumalagu responded with a puzzled frown. The two girls had grown up together and there was no secret they wouldn’t share with each other.

  “I believe Grandpa is going to betroth me to a Jurchen Prince,” she exclaimed, revealing her thoughts in a blushing glow to her best friend, “He’s t
he brother-in-law of Aunt Jere’s. I met him and my uncle this afternoon on the marshland near the lake. I, er,… I think he’ll be nice to me…. I’m going to perform the Mongolian waltz tomorrow night for our guests. Oh, Suma, I’m so happy that I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight!”

  “So that’s what it is! Look at you, you can’t wait to become somebody’s bride. Shame, shame!” The maid couldn’t resist teasing her mistress, but almost immediately added sadly: “You’ll be so far away from home. Oh, I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me. … But first let me scout around for more tidings for you.”

  Sumalagu was always the one with witty ideas and was always looking out for her mistress.

  Throughout the night, Bumbutai’s mind kept turning over and over the marshland scene and Aunt Jere’s words. Dorgon’s florid face was circling in her head all night. She was sure that Hong Taiji was the one who had made the boorish gesture that afternoon. Pursing her lips at the thought, she muttered: “What a brute of a husband that Aunt Jere is married to!” She almost felt guilty about her imminent good fortune.

  Three

  The next morning Dorgon came to Bumbutai’s ger to take her for a walk, as he had promised the night before. She told him of her favorite haunt by the river, and led him by the hand through the copse, a cluster of lush pine trees which breathed out an exhilarating perfume, and a small patch of gaunt rosemary.

  “My favorite flower is the lavender mountain lily,” she said gaily, picking up a sprig of the fragrant herb. “But it only grows in the summer. And my favorite bird is the swallow.” When she received no answer, she looked up into his ebony eyes and saw that they reflected pools of warm light. Then she added softly: “Did you know the mountain lily is a sign of dedication when given to a good friend?”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” he answered, “And why do you love swallows?”

  “Because I’ve often read about them in Chinese poems. They are a symbol of home and happiness.”

  It was a calm and beautiful night. The gusts that had blown fiercely the previous day had died down and the bluish-black celestial canopy was alive with a riot of twinkling stars crowding around a shapely new moon. The night air was invigoratingly crisp and fresh. As if drawn to an imminent revelry, the stars hung so low that they appeared ready to tumble down any time to join the fun. The camp ground in front of Manggusi’s ger was abuzz with excitement as maids went about setting up makeshift tables and benches in preparation for the Princess’s horseback dance and poetry recital performance. Flaming torches were placed in between spectator benches that circled the dancing area. Mare’s milk, roasted pumpkin seeds and sweet biscuits were laid out on wooden tables behind the benches.

  Wukeshan was Bumbutai’s dancing partner. This had a somewhat calming effect on her, although her heart was still thumping wildly. They had done this Mongolian waltz many times before in front of guests and had always won big applause from the audiences. Mounted on their separate horses now, they started circling each other in a three-step cadence, timed to a traditional song played by a band of musicians strumming on their morin khuur, the horsehead fiddles. The steps would pick up speed with the progress of music.

  With her silky hair woven into two loose plaits and each tied at the end with a purple ribbon, and dressed in her flowing green skirt and black velvet vest over a purple felt tunic, she looked deliciously attractive. Her elegant poise on horseback had an air that dripped dewy freshness. Her every movement, be it the choreographed swinging of her slender arms, or rhythmic clapping of her hands, was exquisitely graceful and in sync with Jirgal’s steps, which matched those of Wukeshan’s stallion. It gripped the audience’s attention as the horses’ steps gathered pace. The sweet blossoming smile never left her face during the entire dance. Aware of where Dorgon was seated, she uncontrollably threw him glances whenever her posture allowed it. As the dance progressed, she saw Dorgon craning his neck to follow her, but something kept distracting her. Hong Taiji’s craving eyes seemed bent on having her pinioned.

  When the dance came to an end, the bewitched audience broke out in thunderous applause. Having agilely dismounted, Bumbutai held her brother’s hand and went before the two guests to take a gracious bow. She looked up and met Dorgon’s eyes. They were singing a silent tune of adoration. She blushed and her shiny dark eyes responded with a flowering smile. Dorgon rose and stepped up to her, handing her an ink drawing of a pair of swallows hovering over a bunch of mountain lilies. Looking intently at the drawing, she was amazed at how very nicely it was done. The birds and flowers almost jumped off the paper. Too overwhelmed for words, she could only manage an awestruck look with slightly parted lips.

  All this time, Hong Taiji looked on and remained silent with a deadpan face. On Jaisang’s signal, Wukeshan went up to him and sat down to distract him with conversation. Meanwhile, Bumbutai retreated to a corner to prepare for her Chinese poetry recital.

  She had chosen a popular lyric poem by the Song Dynasty poet Su Shi, entitled Reminiscing Red Cliffs. The poem was about the life and romance of Zhou Yu, a heroic and chivalrous general from the Three Kingdoms era. In a clear voice she performed the recital in impeccable Chinese, all the while holding the drawing that Dorgon had just given her:

  The Great Yangtze scurries forever east,

  Many an ancient hero buried in its sweep.

  West of the old forts, they say,

  Was fought Zhou Yu’s Battle of Red Cliffs.

  Rampant cliffs that pierced clouds,

  Angry waves that ripped shores, churning up snowy foam.

  Such a picturesque country,

  So full of gallant men in times of old.

  Thinking of Zhou in that distant past,

  He must have looked valiant, with Xiaoqiao his new bride;

  Feather fan in hand, hair tied in silk,

  His enemies crushed to dust as he joked.

  Such was my dreamy tour; mock me as maudlin,

  But I’m just a young white-haired bloke.

  Life is but a dream; let me offer wine to the river moon.

  When she finished reciting the poem, Hong Taiji stood up and clapped his hands passionately, and this started a round of applause from the amazed audience. Bumbutai was taken aback by his enthused reaction as she had never imagined that a Jurchen Beile would understand Chinese poetry. Secretly she sneered, thinking he was probably imagining himself as the charming Zhou Yu. She then looked at Dorgon and was amused by his puzzled look. The next thing she saw was Hong Taiji whispering something into her grandfather’s ear which made him break into a hearty guffaw. Determined not to let the audience’s response bother her, she took her bow with cool poise.

  As she walked back to her tent, she wondered how many in the audience understood that the poem was about a pivotal Chinese historical event in the Three Kingdoms era. In the decisive naval battle, Cao Cao, the arrogant warlord of the State of Wei, lost his entire fleet of warships and was forced to acknowledge the States of Wu (under Sun Quan with Zhou Yu as his chief adviser) and Shu (under Liu Bei) as the equals of Wei. Zhou Yu had always been her literary hero.

  Sumalagu, who had been standing in an obscure corner watching the whole scene, hastily followed her Princess. Once inside Bumbutai’s tent, she sat down glumly on a stool. She was thinking hard how to break the news to her elated mistress.

  Still reeling from the earlier titillating eye contact with Dorgon, Bumbutai was blind to her maid’s presence. She started humming a folk song while poring intently over his drawing. Then with eyes closed, she flopped dreamily onto her soft bed covered in beaver fur. Her mind was hankering after the image of his half-manly, half-boyish face. When she next opened her eyes, she saw Sumalagu staring down at her with a pitiful expression. She sensed something was very wrong and instantly sat up straight.

  The maid took her mistress’s hands into her own and said in a low voice:

&
nbsp; “My precious girl, I have bad news.”

  “What is it? What kind of bad news, Suma? Tell me right away, please.”

  “Please promise to be calm…. Your grandfather…. has betrothed you to Hong Taiji as his concubine. The date of your wedding has been fixed for next spring.”

  Those startling words hammered her so hard that it choked her breathing. For the next short while, she remained gagged. Her face changed from a vivid pink into a livid white. Sumalagu put her arms around her and rocked her from side to side like an infant. Abruptly Bumbutai broke loose from her maid’s embrace and bounced off her bed, crying in a strained voice:

  “No, I can’t accept this. I don’t even like Hong Taiji. He is twenty years older than I and he already has Aunt Jere. It’s not fair. I will fight like Harjol and be the master of my fate. She got her way in the end, didn’t she?”

  She began pacing the tent agitatedly.

  “Please calm yourself, Bumbutai. Don’t you remember that Harjol’s elopement almost killed your grandfather? You know very well that even to this day he still refuses to see her when she visits with her husband. He has put all his hope and expectations on you. Do you really have the heart to thrust a knife into him? He barely survived the last wound. He is already seventy years old. This time, he may not be so lucky.”

  “But what about my life and my happiness?” Bumbutai said defiantly. “I only want to marry someone I like. Is it too much to ask? At least Harjol is happy.” She was not about to back down. A rivulet of tears ran down her face.

  “And what about the safety and well-being of the whole tribe and the Borjigit clan? Have you forgotten everything that your grandfather has taught you? Do you want your tribesmen go to war year after year? Do you want them to go to premature deaths and their wives and children to become war slaves?”