The Concubine's Daughter

by null

  He reached for his staff and gestured at the shaft of light falling upon the tangle of webs. “This is a breeding ground for spiders, not a playground for little ones.” He used the staff to gather webs until they streamed thickly from its tip, black spiders scuttling for cover; then he poked at the bunches of herbs above them. “There are terrible poisons here as well as wonderful medicines. Only my master and I know which will give life and which will bring death.”

  Ah-Keung shook the clump of sticky fibers from the staff and stamped upon another fat spider before it could escape. “I beg you, Ah-Paw, it was a misunderstanding. Do not speak of this to my si-fu.”

  His voice took on a different tone. “He would not be happy to know that the Little Star was allowed to enter the herb shed unprotected. He will blame us both … but it is I who killed the spider, and you who put her in danger.”

  The Fish saw that he was right; she should not have allowed Siu-Sing to wander alone. “Very well, on this occasion I will say nothing, but if you come near this child again, it is you who will be sent away.”

  Ah-Keung bowed with a wide sweep of his hat. “It shall be as you say, Ah-Paw, and you will watch over her more carefully.” He flopped the hat onto his head. “Nothing must happen to the Little Star.” The sarcasm in his words was clearly intended; he had put this bag of bones in her place. The Fish turned away, clucking her tongue and muttering strange and ugly words. From the safety of her shoulder, Siu-Sing watched Ah-Keung set off along the track behind the straggling goats. Only then did she see that his stride was vigorous and his posture straight, but one leg seemed slower than the other, and there was a strangeness in his swinging step.

  In the orchard beside the hut, Old To grew fruit and nut trees—plums and apricots, pomegranates, mandarins, walnuts, and almonds—among bushes thick with berries. Most splendid was the old pear tree that grew alone beside the hut, shading its entrance. “This pear tree,” he had told his cousin, “is as old as the mountains. All things of great importance are considered in its shade.”

  A sturdy wooden table and benches had been placed beneath the tree. It was at this table that Sing began to listen and learn, to ask and be answered, to speak and be heard. Though she did not understand everything that was said between Yeh-Yeh and Paw-Paw, the names she had learned for Old To and the Fish, she somehow knew when they talked of her. Today was such a day.

  “I have thought well and long about the future of Siu-Sing,” said Old To. “If I have your agreement, she will become my disciple, the last of my lifetime. I will teach her the Way of the White Crane.”

  “I do not possess your great knowledge of such things,” answered the Fish, engrossed in needlework, “but I have heard that the White Crane is the art of the Empty Hand created for daughters of noble families who are in danger from kidnappers and bandits. In my eyes, this child is of noble birth, so I would like to know more of it.”

  Old To nodded, choosing his words as carefully as he would pick fruit for the altar, one perfect piece after another. “Siu-Sing will grow to be a woman in a world of men, who can be cruel and treacherous. What’s more, our Little Star is of mixed blood. No matter what she achieves in her life, no matter how pure her heart, how beautiful her mind or courageous her deeds, her journey will not be an easy one.”

  He looked across the lake a little sadly. “We are no longer young, cousin. Perhaps one of us will be spared to see her safely restored to her father’s house … or perhaps she must face this journey alone. The secrets of the White Crane can make her strong in body, mind, and spirit. They can protect her against any hand that would be turned against her.”

  The Fish was torn. “Her mother, whose own life was destroyed by the greed of others, had a heart filled with courage but could not defend herself. Li would welcome such an opportunity for her daughter’s survival. But I gave Li my promise that her daughter would be taught to read and write and to understand figures. I will not be prepared to meet my gods until I have fulfilled it.”

  Old To smiled. “She will learn these things, and to master the brush.” He mimed the flourish of an invisible brush describing the liquid flow of calligraphy, then the sawing bow of a stringed instrument. “I will even teach her to play the song of the silver nightingale upon the er-hu, as it is taught to a princess. Together we will make her ready for the world beyond the mountains.”

  “Thank you,” the Fish said quietly. “I shall be at her side to help guide her as long as I can. When will this begin?”

  “Today,” her cousin answered, “on New Year’s Eve. This is her third birthday—the most important day of her life, when her soul has entered her body and she is accepted into the house of her ancestors as a human being. It is the perfect time to begin. Her limbs are as flexible as the stems of flowers and her step as light as a bird’s.”

  He chuckled at the prettiness of his own words, then turned to Siu-Sing to cup her face in his warm hands. She felt the affection in his touch, the heat of its power reaching her heart. “It is her spirit that I find most precious, open to all things fresh and new, forever seeking hidden wonders. This is the gift of a true disciple.”

  “For how many years will she learn; how often and how hard must she practice?” the Fish asked anxiously.

  “She will learn to fly as a fledgling bird discovers its wings. First, I will take her to the Rock of Great Strength at the break of each day. With the rising of the sun she will begin to learn the Way of the White Crane … and again before the daylight fades.

  “For two years the rock will be her playground. She will not heed its hardness or fear its height. It will be the place that she will learn to trust, a center in the pattern of her life. When she reaches the age of five, she will become my disciple and I will no longer be her yeh-yeh but her teacher and her master … her si-fu. This will be so for eight more years.”

  The Fish knew there was one important matter left to discuss. “Forgive me, Cousin To, but what of the herd boy who calls you si-fu? Has he been told of this decision?”

  “I have given much thought to this,” Old To assured her. “He is in the hills, but I will talk with him when he returns. We will reach an understanding.”

  Two days later, Ah-Keung returned to the herb shed with the long woven basket strapped to his back, filled with wild ginseng. He had set up the scales when Master To spoke from the doorway.

  “How long have we trained together, Ah-Keung?”

  The herd boy replied instantly. “When winter comes and fishermen must break the ice to cast a net, it will be thirty-two seasons, si-fu.”

  “You have learned well in these eight years. I am proud of you, but now it is time for me to teach another.”

  Ah-Keung fell to his knees, his forehead pressed to the earth at his master’s feet.

  “Si-fu, you are all things to me … you are my master, my teacher, and my father. Without you I am nothing.”

  To’s voice showed no sign of pity. “Stand up, Ah-Keung. You need no longer kneel to any man.”

  Slowly, Ah-Keung rose to his feet, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. “Si-fu, what shall I do? My life is on the rock; I know no other.”

  “I have shown you where to find the healing plants of the hedgerow and magic roots of the forest, and taught you their value. Your foot is strong as the iron of your will. The time has come for you to stand alone.”

  “Will you teach the Little Star … is she to become your disciple?”

  “Do not question my decisions. I have given you a name and with it your dignity; do not ask for more. There is a demon in you that only you can challenge. Destroy it while you can, or it will surely destroy you.”

  Master To extended the salute of sun and moon, then turned to walk away. “I have said and done all that I can for you. Travel as gently as life will allow, Ah-Keung. When you have found your way, return to share your adventures with me and we will again drink ginseng tea together.”

  The herd boy stayed for moments longer, gath
ering the thoughts that whirled around him like wasps about to sting. His pulse did not quicken, but his chi ran hot and his heart turned to iron in his chest. The voices, never far away, jeered at the dog boy with the twisted foot. Never had he felt so alone, yet never so strong. And never had he known the flame of hatred to burn so brightly within him.

  Siu-Sing was kneeling in the warm soil of the garden patch helping Paw-Paw collect sweet yams, when death unfurled in pretty patterns from the vegetable basket beside her. Many times had she seen yan-jing-shi, the forest cobra, with Great-Uncle To. They always stopped and waited for it to cross their path, Yeh-Yeh speaking softly as it rustled away across the forest floor. “Yan-jing-shi cannot be trusted, so we do not play with him. We must be still and make no noise to let him pass.”

  “If he will not go away, what do we do?”

  “If he will not leave us willingly, we must move slowly away from his place, because we have entered the world in which he is king. If he follows, we do not run; he must not know we are afraid of him. We must never turn our backs and must show respect for his place in the world.”

  “But if he will not let us pass?”

  “Then we must try to kill him before he kills us.”

  All these warnings raced through Siu-Sing’s head, but now yan-jing-shi was very close. It slid from the upturned basket in what seemed to her an unending length, its scales whispering over the rough weave. Siu-Sing made no sound as she rose slowly to her feet, her curiosity much greater than her fear. She marveled at its fluid movement, the perfect patterns along its back.

  Yan-jing-shi rose with her, so close that she could see into its lidless eyes, pretty as golden beads, looking straight into hers. The belly was white as fresh bean curd, the neck spread wide as a rice bowl, the flickering tongue poised like a spear. It growled like a civet cat, exposing fangs like the claws of bird—and then it was gone in a whirl of black.

  The Fish had thrown herself upon the snake. Beneath the folds of patched cotton, the cobra thrashed wildly under her weight, winding from her skirts to flow swiftly away between the furrows of earth. Only then did Siu-Sing cry out. Great-Uncle To was at her side in an instant, but the Fish had risen to her feet, miraculously unharmed.

  “We must be more careful, Siu-Sing,” she said, brushing the soil from her black skirts. “The next time we gather yams, we must poke the basket with a stick to see if yan-jing-shi is hiding inside.” She picked Siu-Sing up and held her close.

  “Once, when I was no bigger than you, I reached for a yam to peel and found a grasshopper sitting upon it as harmless as a fly. At least it looked like a grasshopper, or perhaps a locust, or even a cricket ready to sing me a song. But it was a scorpion, ready to strike. Things are not always what they seem to be.”

  Old To looked thoughtful. “I have stopped counting the years that I have lived upon these slopes, and never have I known yan-jing-shi to leave the forest for the grasslands. We must be watchful for such things.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Red Lotus

  Master To sat with Siu-Sing at the table beneath the pear tree. The Fish had made sweet buns and peeled a plate of lychees, dragon’s eyes, and star fruit. Once they had enjoyed this simple feast, Old To lifted Siu-Sing from the bench and held her high, so she could reach the laden branches.

  “Today you are five years old. You may choose a lucky pear straight from the tree.”

  She found one that was perfect to her eye, large and pale yellow with a slightest blush of pink. It was as sweet and juicy as it looked, and while she bit into it, he spoke to her in a way that told her the time for play was over and the time for learning must begin.

  “On this day,” he said, “we will visit the place where you will learn to become a warrior and the place where you will learn to become a scholar. I have some wonderful things to show you—my gifts for you on your fifth birthday.”

  Motioning her to follow, he stepped inside the hut and took something contained in a long sleeve of green velvet, tied at the neck with golden tassels, from the shelf high above his bed.

  He held her hand, and together they climbed the goat track leading upward to a clearing in the tall bamboo. It was immediately cool. Sunlight flashed through the gently swaying branches, scattering chips of light across a carpet of papery leaves.

  From an outcrop of moss-covered rock, a bubbling spring sent cascades of crystal water into a pond edged with blue iris and a patch of lotus. In the center of this hidden glade, a rustic bamboo arbor had been skillfully built, its archway hung with tree orchids in tiers of brilliant color. Beneath it was a table, almost round, with a shining surface of mottled greens and yellows like the tidal fringes of the lake. Around it were three stools carved and shaped from driftwood.

  “This is the Place of Clear Water. It is where I come to think and to read and write, and it will be your classroom.” He placed his hand upon the table, inviting her to do the same. It was cool and smooth to her touch, its flowing patterns strangely beautiful. “This is the jade table; it is for your studies alone. I carried it here with my two hands years ago. It is polished by time and by wisdom. Here you will learn many things and discover understanding.”

  From the sleeve of green velvet, he uncovered a musical instrument as reverently as he would reveal the most beautiful of gems.

  “I call this precious thing the silver nightingale. It is an er-hu, played in the palace gardens of great emperors for a thousand years. This too I fashioned with my own hands, so many years ago they have flown like the swallows in autumn.”

  The er-hu was beautiful in its simplicity—a long, straight shaft of cherrywood curved eloquently at the top and carved into the sleek head and breast of a nightingale, the tuning pegs spread like wings in flight. At the bottom of the shaft, the sound box was no bigger than a rice bowl, covered with the stretched skin of a python.

  Siu-Sing watched in silent wonder as he seated himself, nestling the drum of the instrument upon his knee, holding the head of the nightingale close to his ear and drawing the bow across the single string. The sweetest, most mysterious music soared and ebbed through the Place of Clear Water, through its flickering ceiling, and into the open sky.

  When the last pure note faded, he smiled with pleasure at her enchantment.

  “Music is food for the heart. The silver nightingale belongs to you. I will teach you to make it sing so that your heart may never be empty.”

  Placing the er-hu back in its velvet sleeve, he tied the tassels and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Now we shall visit the Rock of Great Strength. You have known it as a playground, but now it is where you will learn to become one with all that surrounds you, so that you will never be lost. You will learn to be strong and straight as the bamboo, to sway with the wind so that you will never fall, and to fly like the great white crane so that you will never be caught.”

  They walked through a maze of mimosa bush that opened onto a shelf of rock, long and wide, exposed like an altar beneath the endless sky.

  He bent to look closely into her eyes, taking both of her hands in his. There was something in his words that she had never heard before. It was no longer the voice of her yeh-yeh but the voice of her master.

  “This rock is as old and as strong as the earth itself. It has been here since the beginning of time and cannot be moved by storm or tempest.” He sat down in the center of the rock shelf, where it was worn smooth as a temple floor.

  “This is no longer a place for a child to play but for a disciple to train. Here, you will discover things that others cannot imagine. On the Rock of Great Strength, you will put down roots that cannot be moved by any force but your own … and when you leave this place its chi will go with you.

  “From this moment I am your master; you will call me si-fu. You are no longer my Little Star, but Red Lotus—disciple of the White Crane. This is your temple name, and you will have no other upon the rock. It is the place where all things are left behind except the will to learn.”


  So began the training of Red Lotus upon the Rock of Great Strength. Each day she would meet her master in its center an hour before sunrise to begin discovering the art of stillness beneath a waning moon—learning how to drink the air at its cleanest and freshest, like water from a crystal spring, and how to turn it into power through the mastery of breath.

  With the first full flare of sunrise came her physical training. There were many different movements in the chen-tow—the dance of the crane. With the patient search for perfection, Master To guided her limbs as a painter applies one color to the next or a calligrapher transforms an infinitely fine stroke into a bold one.

  When she was tired or stumbled, Master To would say calmly, “There is no gentle way of self-protection. The rock is hard, but so is injustice and cruelty, and these are the things you must be ready for. To be peaceful, we must be strong—each hand a sword and every finger a dagger. The arm is a spear and the elbow a hammer, the foot an ax and the knee a battering ram.”

  When his disciple looked puzzled, he told her the story of the white crane who wished no harm to anyone. “The crane was content to live quietly in the marsh, to build its nest in the rushes and to dry its wings on the sandbar. But the tiger came seeking the crane in the reed bed and tried to destroy her. She was ready, and defeated her attacker through the power of her wings and the steel of her feet and the blade of her beak. It will always be like this. The crane must be constantly vigilant.”

  When she fell and drew blood, he would teach her to stand as quickly as she fell. “If you do not like the hardness of the rock, you must learn not to fall. If you must fall, you must learn how to find your feet in the blink of an eye. You must always be faster than the foot or the fist of your opponent. If you do not like the sight and the taste of blood, you must try not to spill any. If you do not like pain, you must learn to overcome it.