by null
“Violence comes in all weathers. It does not wait for comfort or conve nience and may give no warning. It strikes from ice or fire, in deluge or drought, in warm sunshine and gentle breeze. We must know all its faces, understand all its moods, and know all its tricks. You must remember the lesson of the brook: The stones are hard and heavy but the water moves them. If it cannot move them with its power, it wears them down with its patience. This lesson never changes. Upon this rock, you are one with the water. Your chi is rooted to the rock; your power is the ever-flowing river of its life-force.”
CHAPTER 21
Yan-jing-shi
It was Siu-Sing’s eighth birthday. Refreshed by her morning exercise upon the rock, she bathed in the Place of Clear Water. Naked beneath the waterfall, she closed her eyes, exhilarated by the shock of cold water on her head and shoulders, then slipped away from the turbulence into the quiet pond, where drifting hyacinth parted as she swam and dragonflies flitted on invisible wings.
She did not see Ah-Keung standing amid the lattice of bamboo at the edge of the clearing. He watched her leave the water, her body glistening, to sit at the jade table where the er-hu awaited her fingers. She took the bow and sent the song of the silver nightingale soaring about her, so lost in its sweetness she neither saw nor sensed his presence.
Only when she stopped was she aware of being watched. At first she thought it was a moon bear or a panda that disturbed the shadow, searching the feathery tops of bamboo for mischievous monkeys. A sudden flash of sunlight caused her to blink and shield her eyes. Ah-Keung had not moved, but was lightly clapping his hands.
“I see you have tamed the strings of the old one’s homemade fiddle—and have learned the dance of the White Crane. I have watched you on the rock. The si-fu has taught you to fly, but has he taught you to fight?”
Ah-Keung stepped into the clearing. She had lost count of the months since she had seen him. A younger boy from the reed-cutters’ camp had taken his place behind the goats—a boy who was afraid of her and hurried the goats past the hut. Ah-Keung had grown taller than she remembered. He wore clean trousers of blue cotton, a matching jacket thrown over one shoulder—smart clothes bought in the village market instead of the rags and patches he had once made for himself. A respectable black silk cap had replaced the one of tattered straw, and his calfskin boots looked soft and new.
His naked upper body was lean and muscular, his chest and back adorned with fresh tattoos: on his chest the snarling face of a tiger, on his back a hooded cobra about to strike.
“Do I startle you, Little Star?”
“I am not disturbed by any creature that may come to drink in the Place of Clear Water. It does not belong to me.”
“Yes, I have seen you charm the birds from the trees to sit on your finger, and animals feed from your hand. I have lived with them all of my life, but they do not come to me. Have you learned the spells of witchcraft from the old witch, Ah-Paw?” She had been reaching for her clothing, but stopped to look at him. He smiled without showing his crooked teeth. His smile was not as unpleasant as she remembered it, and his unruly hair had been neatly cut, yet stood straight on his head as thick as a brush. His eyes, she saw, no longer looked deep and dark and lost; instead, they seemed amused and inquisitive, livened by self-confidence.
“Do not watch me when I do not know of it. This is called spying, and I do not want to be spied upon.”
“If I watch, it is because you are the Little Star. I am no longer angry, nor do I resent your place upon the rock. I have found a si-fu outside the village as great as Master To. He teaches wiser things than patience, tolerance, and discipline—he teaches action, expectation, and revenge.”
He laughed, thrusting out his chest, raising his arms and flexing his muscles to cause the tiger to snarl. “His name is Black Oath Wu; he teaches me the Way of the Tiger, of stealth and attack with superior strength. Who is to say who is right? Only the ku-ma-tai, a fight to the death of one and victory to the other … only this will tell.”
He turned, the flared muscles of his back causing the hood of the cobra to spread wider. “And I learn the Way of Yan-Jing-Shi, the Snake—unseen, unheard, faster than the blink of an eye; so deadly in its poison, it need strike but once.” He laughed almost pleasantly. “Honorable rivals to the White Crane, I think. I hope they do not offend you… . See, I will cover them up.”
He shrugged his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and buttoned it up, then bent forward, parting his bristly hair to reveal three white scars in a triangle on the crown of his head. “He also teaches how to be the master of pain. This is the mark of the triad. Three joss sticks burned their way into the bone… . I did not make a sound.” He ruffled his hair, covering the scars.
“So you see, Little Star, it is you who has changed my miserable life and led me to my true path. If you had not come, I would still be wasting my time in search of one hand clapping, seeking the mysteries of the Tao. Soon I will travel to Hong Kong, where gold is easily found. For this I will always be in your debt.”
Siu-Sing was determined not to show discomfort as she flicked the water from her skin and wrung it from her hair. The Forceful One did not look away. He held out his hand to touch her, stopped by her violet eyes. “You are still a child, Siu-Sing, but already you are ho-lieng—beautiful as a red lotus in a lake of pink blossoms.”
She ignored his compliment: To be ho-lieng was to be lovely as the breast of a bird or the eye of the tiger is beautiful, and she saw herself as neither of these. She pulled on her pants and buttoned her tunic, lacing her sandals without haste. She could feel his impatience rising when she said no more. When he spoke again, his words were harder and had the depth of a man’s.
“You show me no face with your silence. If you will not accept the hand of a friend, then I will not offer it again until you are old enough to be worthy of it. I no longer belong in the corner of the herb shed, or need the crumbs that were thrown to me. But I do not hate you, nor do I hate Old To.”
Ah-Keung bowed with a short, stiff jerk of his head. “I do not blame you for taking my place in the hut and upon the rock. I salute you as one warrior to another.”
Her reply was immediate. “I am proud to be my master’s disciple, but I am no warrior. I do not learn the Way of the White Crane to fight, but to survive.”
The Forceful One shook his head and laughed unpleasantly. “Believe me, Red Lotus, to survive is to fight; there is no other way.”
“No, to survive is to be strong and learn to think … to seek knowledge and find peace in your heart. That is a better way.”
“Well, we must disagree, but I wish you well. I came to say good-bye before I sail the big river to the world beyond the mountains. I shall not be gone for long and will tell you what I find.”
“I wish you good fortune on your journey,” Siu-Sing said, as she gathered up her papers and the er-hu. She took the goat path with an easy stride, feeling the strange new eyes of Ah-Keung, the Forceful One, following her every step.
CHAPTER 22
The Legacy of Li-Xia
Two years had passed since Ah-Keung had gone, and Siu-Sing had almost forgotten him. There was no practice on this special day, only peace at the Place of Clear Water.
Siu-Sing was reading at the jade table, the drone of cicadas as unnoticed as the chirping of a hidden cricket. A sudden streak of rainbow light caused her to look up. A hummingbird, radiant as a forest orchid, hovered over the raft of blue iris, the sound of its wings no louder than those of a bee. The brilliance of its colors enchanted her as it hung motionless, shining like a blue-green jewel. From flower to flower it flitted in sudden, dazzling spurts, its needle beak coated in pollen.
She watched it streak across the clearing and stop, shivering in midair, as though stunned by an invisible blow. The cicadas seemed to stop singing as a spider, big as her hand, bounced greedily down the silken rungs of its invisible web. To her horror, it enclosed the bright jewel with long, furry legs, tumbling it
over and over, binding the gleaming wings in sticky, fluid silver. At last the web stopped vibrating, and the spider began to feed.
“See how suddenly innocence is deceived and beauty is destroyed by treachery.” The Fish spoke from the dappled shadow of the clearing where she had been standing, a basket in her hand. “The hummingbird was happy; there was no warning of its terrible death. It is a lesson to be learned.”
Taking her place beside Siu-Sing, the old woman removed the beaded baby sling from the basket. “This is the sling I made for your mother to carry you on her back through the Ti-Yuan gardens. It brought you here safely, along with other precious things.” Reaching into the sling, the Fish withdrew a bundle wrapped in yellow silk.
“Today is your tenth birthday—the age of maturity; you are no longer a child but a young woman of responsibility. I was tempted many times to give you these things sooner, but your mother was sure of her wishes. She wanted you to be old enough to receive them as she did … not as toys or playthings, but as her greatest treasures. These small things come to you with endless love. They are rightfully yours now.”
Unwrapping the yellow silk robe, so fine she could see her fingers through it, Siu-Sing found a small white satin purse, a photograph in a silver frame, two fat books tied in a scarf of embroidered silk, and a leather pouch. The books were almost the same size, one with a cover of scarlet leather closed by a gold clasp, the other much older and carefully made by clever hands. From the silver frame, a Chinese woman with a radiant smile gazed back at her, the man beside her strange beyond any Siu-Sing had seen. “It is your father and mother, Siu-Sing—Master Ben and Li-Xia.
“Your mother was as lieng as any flower but strong as the tallest tree. Your father comes from another land far away, but his mother was Chinese. He is known as Di-Fo-Lo to our people and as Devereaux to the Westerners … Captain Ben Devereaux. He is a brave and successful man who loved your mother greatly.”
From the silk purse, Siu-Sing lifted a gold coin threaded upon a fine chain. “Your mother collected a thousand pieces of gold in her lifetime. This is the first of them, the one she treasured above all others. Your father gave it to her; from this coin he built a fortune, beautiful ships and fine houses. For a while they shared the greatest of all dreams … the dream of happiness.”
Also contained in the purse was a finger jade as white as suet that, when held up to the light, was shot with red and orange streaks. “It is called an orange-peel jade, and is very rare. This belonged to your grandmother, Pai-Ling, one with lotus feet from a fine family in Shanghai. It was passed on to your mother, who held it tightly in her hand when she was lonely and afraid. She said it brought her comfort, and the spirit of her mother would always come to her.”
The Fish shook her head sadly, as though the recollection were too difficult to contemplate, then quickly found her twinkling smile. She handed Siu-Sing the scarlet book, its leather cover decorated with peony flowers. Siu-Sing’s fingertips glided across the letters stamped in gold, soft and smooth to her touch.
“It is your mother’s name as spoken by your father … he called her Lee Sheeah.” Opening the clasp, Siu-Sing was delighted to find its pages filled with the beautiful writing of two worlds, edged with delicate paintings; drawings, tiny yet perfect, some in finest brush, others even finer from the nib of a pen; among them leaves and petals pressed to last forever. “Your mother told me that these are the leaves of the mulberry tree—a special one she called the Ghost Tree. The flowers are called morning stars; she wore them in her hair when she married your father.”
The Fish was silent while Siu-Sing turned the pages as though each were a leaf of pure gold. “It is your mother’s journal. She said it contained her ‘thousand pieces of gold’ for you to share. She wrote in it every day in the last months of her life.” The Fish took a long and painful breath. “I think she knew her time was short, and wrote this for your eyes alone.”
Sing opened the second book. Its yellowed pages were equally beautiful, but in a different hand; the watercolors faded, the stitching broken and pages loose. “This is the journal of your grandmother Pai-Ling. Li-Xia treasured this book when she was your age.” The Fish shook off her somber tone. “The scarf was also of great importance to her; she called it her happiness silk, and would tie it in her hair when sadness or worry came.”
Sing studied the minute needlework of groves of trees, tiny figures bearing baskets on their backs, and squirrels and finches around its edges. She could find no words for such a moment and closed the books, wrapping them in the happiness silk. The smoothness of the finger jade felt like warm satin in her palm. She looked for a long time at the photograph in its tarnished silver frame.
“There is one more thing I am to give you,” the Fish said. “I do not know its purpose or its value, but she said you would discover this for yourself.” The object, held in a pouch of soft leather, was heavy in Sing’s hand. Inside, she found a gold dragon’s claw set with a number of steel pins.
The Fish said gently, “The day will come when we must leave the lake and travel to the Golden Hill on the other side of the mountains. It was your mother’s last wish that you be re united with your father. You are preparing long and hard for this great journey, and I have kept these precious things safe for these ten years.”
She embraced Sing, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “I will leave them with you … they are not for sharing, even with me. When you are ready, we will replace them in the chest of stone and I will teach you the puzzle of the locks. But now let us drink tea while I tell you everything there is to know about Li-Xia and Master Ben.”
Training with her beloved si-fu continued through blizzard cold, blinding rain, and savage heat. In the Place of Clear Water, Siu-Sing studied at the jade table, often with the Fish at her side. The old lady never interfered, but was always happy to speak when words were needed; always ready with a basket of food—sticky rice wrapped in spinach leaves, steamed bread and green tea in a wicker warming pot—close by.
The Fish seemed seasoned but undiminished by each passing year. On this peaceful afternoon, her grip upon the yulow, the long sculling oar that almost seemed part of her, was as firm and strong as ever, as she propelled the flat boat through the marsh to empty the crab pots for the evening meal.
The flat blade of the oar stirred lazy swirls of water; the reed beds whispered with their passing; and sometimes a spoonbill rose suddenly to beat the air with sturdy wings. The first pot yielded two crabs, which soon lay flapping wildly on the bottom boards, their pincers tied with reed. But the Fish found the second pot empty, hauled up and abandoned, its trap wide open.
“The reed-cutters are thieves and liars; they steal from our pots and swear before all gods that they do not.” The Fish uttered a string of Tanka curses that could raise the dead, before resetting the wicker pot with fresh bait. “Your si-fu gives them herbs they cannot pay for and tends their ills, yet they steal the food from his table. Two crabs and three small fish are not enough.” Angrily, she drove the yulow deep into the mud and tethered the sampan, sliding her bare feet into the shallows, sending up ochre plumes of silt. From the bottom of the boat, she took two wide-mouthed nets fixed to slender bamboo poles, tossing one to Siu-Sing.
“Let’s see if we can catch some shrimp or maybe a flatfish. I will take the deeper shoal; you can try close to the shore.” She waded into uncut reeds that closed upon her like a screen. Her words drifted back: “We’ll meet back here in no more than half an hour to see what we have caught.”
The water was pleasantly cold around Sing’s knees, the yellow clouds of silt stirring with every stealthy step. Sunlight had penetrated the marsh on its downward track when she decided it was time to return to the sampan. She was accustomed to measuring the time by the passage of the sun and was seldom mistaken. Her net sagged and wriggled with a lively eel—a favorite when stewed with black beans and peppercorns.
She followed the mud trail to the sampan easily, emptying her catch
alive and cleaning the net of weed. Any moment she would hear the Fish’s voice returning, grumbling about the reed-cutters frightening the fish and cursing the boatmen for dredging the marsh. Hearing nothing but a distant chorus of herons settling on the sandbars, she called aloud, “Paw-Paw, the tide is turning. It is time to go. Paw-Pawww.”
She followed her call with the cry of a marsh hen, a signal they used to locate each other in the reed beds. Once, twice, and a third time more loudly. Never had she known the lake more silent, and never had she not immediately heard the answering call.
At first Siu-Sing was not alarmed. Perhaps Paw-Paw had lost her way, or chased a crab or an eel large enough to lead her into deeper waters. The trail of bent reeds was as easy to follow as a goat track, the mud still settling as Siu-Sing waded strongly into the thicket, her calls louder with every swishing step. Gradually, the water deepened, until it was halfway up her thighs. It was no longer clear and astir with teeming life, but darker and colder where the sun did not reach.
Self-control did not allow for great alarm, but the voice of Master To came to Siu-Sing, first as a whisper, then growing louder as the water deepened: 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… .
Her calls remained unanswered. When the sun told her it had been more than an hour since they had left the sampan to go their separate ways, a chill of fear took hold of her heart. Suddenly she saw Paw-Paw’s woven hat, sodden so completely it would no longer float, lying still beneath the surface. She lifted it clear of the water, her throat so tight and her mouth suddenly so dry that she could not find the voice to cry out.
She did not need to wade much farther before spotting the wide-legged pants and sleeves of Paw-Paw’s loose-fitting sam-foo, billowing with so much water that they made her widespread limbs seem no bigger than a child’s. The Fish was afloat facedown, blending with the muddy waters, the empty fishnet at her side.
