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“So you would bite my friend the Little Star, failed assassin of old hags? We shall see.” Without haste he opened his own jaws and stretched them wide, then bit down on the snake’s head with a savage grunt, twisting and wrenching it from its body and spitting it at Siu-Sing’s feet. A swath of blood streaked his chest like a winner’s sash. Ah-Keung held the writhing trunk high and stood looking down at her, his rigid arm jerking as violent spasms rippled through the cobra’s length.
“Did I not tell you that yan-jing-shi and his kind are not to be trusted? Warriors do not know when it is time to die; they cannot accept defeat. His head is gone, yet still his heart beats. I have tamed the foot well, have I not, Red Lotus?” He spat blood, drawing a forearm across his mouth. “It is faster and more deadly than the king of all snakes. It has saved the life of the disciple of the White Crane. Am I not still your friend?”
His unexpected appearance and the use of her temple name had surprised her, but she looked at him without fear. “You are the victor, Ah-Keung; the honor is yours. We will never know if I would have become the victim of yan-jing-shi; we had a score to settle, he and I. I thank you for protecting me, but I did not ask for your help. If your foot had not been fast enough, it would have been my life, not yours, that yan-jing-shi would have tried to take.”
Ah-Keung seemed not to hear her, his eyes bright with excitement. The tip of his knife ran cleanly down the length of the snake’s belly. With finger and thumb he pinched out the gall bladder, carefully emptying the dark green bile into a bean gourd taken from his pocket. “The bile of yan-jing-shi is the nectar of the gods. Let us take it to the old master. It will prepare him well for the journey to the great Gum Sarn.”
The Forceful One kicked the trembling remains of the cobra onto the garden of stones, crossing to the spring to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He splashed his chest, wiping it clean with the shirt. “We are the same, you and I; we have nothing but our skills to protect us. Let us be friends. I too am traveling to the Golden Hill. I have been there many times since I herded goats and slept with spiders. I have worked aboard the river junks to earn my passage and know the journey well. Perhaps we will travel together, the great si-fu and his disciples. Let us see.”
Ah-Keung bowed deeply three times, a mark of great respect by a returned disciple to his master. “Master To, as a boy I disappointed you and was not worthy of your teachings. I was a dog with a broken foot who knew nothing of honor. Because of you, I am now a man who walks tall and straight with his head held high.” He held out the gourd in both hands. “I beg your forgiveness. The foot you healed so well has killed yan-jing-shi and saved the Little Star. I offer you the essence of its life.”
Master To returned the Forceful One’s bow. “Is this true?” he asked Siu-Sing.
“Yes, si-fu. The forest cobra awaited me at the tomb of my paw-paw. Ah-Keung was fearless; he destroyed it with courage and great skill.”
Master To accepted the gourd, draining the bitter draught in a single swallow. “You have my gratitude, Ah-Keung. I am honored by your respect.”
The Forceful One bowed. “I ask only to accompany you to the world beyond the mountains. I have recently come from there, and I beg to be your servant and arrange your passage.” He grinned. “The boatmen know Ah-Keung well and will not cheat me.”
“Perhaps …” Master To turned to enter the hut. “Let us sleep and see what morning brings.”
Siu-Sing slept soundly and later than any morning she could remember. Always Master To was first to rise, lighting the lamp and raking the coals beneath the cooking stove and fetching water from the jar in a comforting start to the day. On this morning the hut remained in darkness, but the first light creeping through the window was slanted higher and brighter than usual. She listened for the sounds of Master To sluicing at the water jar, but nothing disturbed the shrilling of cicadas in the bamboo.
“Si-fu, are you awake?” She spoke quietly, her words an empty intrusion that brought no reply. The oil lamp had not been lit, nor the fire beneath the congee pot. There was no sign of movement from his dark corner as she listened for his even breath. “It is time to rise, si-fu,” she whispered. “Si-fu, are you there?”
It was not fear that closed in on Siu-Sing as she reached his side—surely fear could not exist in the master’s presence—but why was there no sound or movement from one so readily alert? She reached into the shadows to awaken him and found his hand. It was faintly warm, yet he did not stir at her touch. Even as she spoke his name, her hand grasping his more strongly, he did not move. Her fingertips felt for the silent pulses of his wrists as he had taught her. They beat as faintly as a bird’s, and when she pressed her ear to his heart, the steady thump faltered like a weary footstep.
She pulled aside the flannel shirt that was his sleeping garment, feeling for the flow of blood in the hollow of his throat. It too was as faint as a drifting snowC ake.
“What is the matter, Little Star; the flatboat is already loading. Is the master unwell?” Ah-Keung was suddenly beside her. He stood looking down, his presence huge against the open door.
“Something is wrong—I can’t wake him. We must help him; there is an herb he keeps for such an emergency—”
She hurried to the shelf where such things were kept.
“I think it is too late; our si-fu has left us.” Ah-Keung had lit the bedside lamp. She saw that her master’s eyes were open wide, their brilliance dulled and still, the lines of laughter still creased like crumpled silk.
The lamp threw Ah-Keung’s shadow against the mat walls until it seemed to fill the hut. He dropped to his knees beside her, quick to seek the old man’s pulse as she had done. His words faltered. “He is gone, Little Star. The jade amulet, it is also gone.”
“No!” she protested. “No, he lives; his pulse, his heart still beats. He is still with us.” Siu-Sing did not recognize her own voice as it whispered such desperate words.
“It is the ginseng, Little Star… . the root of heaven.” The Forceful One spoke quietly, eager to explain the mystery of this terrible thing. “He drank the ginseng tea every day of his life … the finest only he could find. It sustained him to a great longevity. I believe he had lived more than ninety years, perhaps more than one hundred, yet was ever young. It is said the mandrake root contains great magic and can sustain the life-force after the spirit has flown … sometimes for many moments, even more than an hour.”
“Is there breath? Can you feel or hear his breathing?”
Siu-Sing placed the back of her hand under the master’s nose, holding it there for countless moments. There was nothing but stillness and the sobs that shook her soul. Ah-Keung straightened up and waited, allowing the first moments of shock to pass. “The reed-cutters have no respect for such as our si-fu; they see only the sorcerer and the alchemist. They were afraid of him, but still they sent their snot-nosed brats to steal herbs from the shed.”
Ah-Keung reached out to gently close the si-fu’s eyes, covering his face with the bearskin. “There is no way of knowing if they, or some passing trapper, had a hand in this … or if his time had come join his ancestors.” He shrugged his shoulders sadly. “Perhaps he was not meant to leave this place he loved so much. It is something we will never know.”
CHAPTER 24
The World Beyond the Mountains
Dressed in the clothes of a Tanka boat boy, with her hair hidden under a bell-shaped wicker hat, Siu-Sing found herself on the cluttered deck of a junk sailing from Tung-Ting Lake to the mouth of the Yangtze and the port of Macao. She could scarcely believe that so much could change so quickly.
After the death of Master To, Ah-Keung had toiled ceaselessly beside her to build a tomb worthy of so great a man, next to his cousin’s grave in the Place of Clear Water. He had wept and fallen to his knees at the tomb, his prayers for forgiveness loud and long. Siu-Sing could find no such tears, only a strange and painful hardening of her senses. A part of her heart closed around his vital memory, seal
ing all that she had known of him and all that she had learned from him completely and forever. Watching the Forceful One, she did not see the warrior, but the crippled boy who had crossed the lake in search of his salvation. For a few moments they had shared each other’s pain.
Siu-Sing did not know what to do. She had dreamed that she and her si-fu would find the man in the faded photograph, that they would enter his house together and remain there in peace and happiness. To stay alone in the hut by the lake would end her quest before it had begun; yet to face a world unknown to her without her master by her side was more than she could imagine.
The night had passed without sleep. Siu-Sing visited the Rock of Great Strength alone for the first time. Under a waning moon, she traveled with her si-fu on the last great flight of his journey, to see him united with his cousin; then rose to meet the sun. For an hour she performed the ritual dance of the Crane and the Tiger with his bright spirit by her side, while Paw-Paw dozed in the Place of Clear Water. She completed every step, leap, and kick, every sweep, block, and strike with the precision and power of perfection only a decade of training under the greatest of all masters could make possible. This would be the memory she would take with her to the other side of the mountains.
As she concluded with a salute to the sun, the sound of slow clapping made her whirl to meet the intruder. Ah-Keung stepped from the cover of the mimosa bush. “Forgive me if I invade your privacy. I see my master found a true disciple when the goat boy failed him.” He bowed, but in the way of challenge, not respect, then changed his tone. “I came to tell you the reed boat will soon be ready to cross the lake, but I could not disturb such an adept.”
The humble boy whose tears had been shed so convincingly in the Place of Clear Water had quickly flown. It was Ah-Keung, the Forceful One, who stood before her. “You cannot remain here alone now that they are gone. I can help to fulfill their promise: I have found you a berth aboard the junk that will take us to the port of Macao.”
He had tossed a bundle of boy’s clothing at her feet. “You must wear these. To be seen as a cherry girl on such a journey is unwise.” He laughed unpleasantly. “You should thank me, Little Star; it is not easy to find passage on a junk already crowded. My place has been booked for many days, but the junk master has agreed to take you as a favor to me.
“Macao is only an hour by boat from the Golden Hill. I am known there and have friends who will give us food and shelter. Trust me, together we will find your father’s house.” He had turned to go back to the hut. “We must take only those things we need; the river has more thieves than fishes.”
She followed him across the slope, unable to ignore the strange swing of his step, as though one foot was a little heavier than the other, creating a slight imbalance. For that fraction of time, she realized, she was looking at him with the eye of a warrior seeking a weakness in an opponent.
Inside the hut, Ah-Keung had tapped the chest of stone beneath the master’s bed with the toe of his boot. “You have been shown the puzzle of the locks. We must open it and take what silver we can find.” When she hesitated, he grinned at her foolishness. “Did you think this journey was a gift, that you did not have to pay the junk master for a week on the river to Shanghai and almost two on the open sea to Macao? You have been cared for for too long, my Little Star; the world beyond the mountains takes everything and gives nothing. You must be prepared.”
“There is no silver in the chest, only books and papers of no value to a junk master.”
Ah-Keung had shown no anger, but gestured helplessly. “Then I must leave without you and work for my passage. The plank boat waits to cross the lake, and the junk will sail at noon.” He had turned to leave.
“Stay here alone and let the reed-cutters take the chest, along with the herbs and everything else they may find. They think this place evil and you a demon. Now that he’s gone, they will burn this hut with you inside it.”
Having no doubt that he was right, Siu-Sing had pulled the chest from beneath the bed, twisting the metal pins until the lock was released, then lifting the lid and removing the beaded sling. “You see … there are some small worthless things belonging to the old one, and the master’s words and images.”
“And in the pretty bag, what is hidden there?”
She showed him the two books tied in silk. “Small things left to me by my mother, of value only to me.”
He rummaged in the bag, finding the bamboo canister and shaking it against his ear. “What is this?”
“Just a case for my brushes and ink blocks.”
Ah-Keung had tossed it back into the bag, lifting out the photograph. “And the picture frame? Is it not made of silver?” She had removed the photograph from its silver frame without complaint; if it could help to begin her journey and take his mind from the scrolls, then this was a good thing. If he could read, he might have guessed their true value.
When he had gone, she lifted the canister, wrapped it well, and hidden it carefully in the bottom of the bag.
Unaccustomed to the closeness of crowds, the unclean habits of too many people in too small a space for too long a time, Siu-Sing sought a place on the deck where curious eyes could not surround her. Among tethered livestock and crates of poultry at the very front of the bow, she made a space large enough to curl up in a coil of mooring rope, and there she stayed, pulling a canvas cover over her head as night closed around her.
At dawn, still hidden as far forward in the bow as she could get, she watched the green and yellow eddies of the passing river with a clean wind upon her face. Orange and cherry orchards reached the water’s edge, the neat green tiers of rice terraces sliding by with the steady roll of the junk. From a precarious towpath hacked from the cliff face, strings of trackers shouldered the heavy towrope with echoing chants, hauling loaded sampans through the gorges.
There was little for the crew to do while the junk was under tow. They found entertainments of their own on deck—playing cards, rolling dice, drinking cheap wine, and smoking green tobacco. Ah-Keung had made his place among them; she was glad he seldom bothered her but also glad to be under his protection. She was not afraid of the crew, but saw no sense in wasting her chi on those who could not clean themselves and behaved like monkeys in a breadfruit tree.
The second evening, Ah-Keung was heading a group of men who found him to be lively company. There was the hollow rattle of dice and much beseeching of the gods of fortune, much drinking of wine and many whoops and curses. Siu-Sing could hear the Forceful One commanding those about him with reckless confidence.
She lifted the canvas enough to see the group, squatting in a circle around a pressure lamp, its stark glare lighting the ring of faces. A large wine jar was passed around; tobacco smoke drifted about them. The raised voices were coarse and the language crude, the voice of an older man rising among them like the snarl of a wolf.
“You are lucky for a lame dog, good only to lick the feet of monks and follow goats.” For a moment, there was no response, but the voice persisted, becoming more belligerent as others fell quiet. “Are you not the dog boy, whose cur of a mother dropped him among unwanted whelps who sniffed the gutters for food?”
When Ah-Keung finally spoke, it was as though he addressed a passing shadow, cocking a hand to his ear.
“I think I hear a voice … or was it the fart of a donkey that so befouls the air? Let him stand, that we can see if his balls are as big as his mouth.”
“If I stand, dog boy, it will be to teach a yapping pup to know its place. My name is Xiang the tracker; a name you will not forget if you cause me to find my feet.” The drunken voice continued. “I hear you also slept outside the hut of Old To with the chickens and the goats, because he found you unworthy to be his disciple.” The tracker was goaded further by a ripple of laughter that spread across the lamp-lit deck. “He found more promise in an infant child … a jarp-jung girl taken from its cradle. It was she and the Tanka hag who shared your place in his house and enjoyed the p
rotection of his ghostly powers.”
The ripple broke in a crescendo of raucous laughter. The tracker stood up, a short man with the thick neck and short arms of brute strength, beaming with the victory of clumsy wit. “But Old To is sent to hell like the witch who went before him. Did the hungry dog have a hand in this—did it bite the hand of its master? Is it money from the chest of silver beneath the hermit’s bed that brings such good fortune to the hand of a worthless cripple?”
“Old To had passed the time of his power, more than ninety years. He drank too much ginseng tea … it stopped his heart.” Ah-Keung’s reply was calm, its underlying menace lost in the rowdy crowd. Xiang the tracker was not satisfied.
“And the old witch who drowned in the marsh? They say she had no mark upon her, that she was a Tanka elder with the heart of a tiger defending its young. Women of the boat people do not die easily. What do you know of that, dog boy?
Again, Ah-Keung answered without a sign of concern. “She was his cousin, perhaps as old as he. She fished the reed beds every day and prayed to all gods with every breath. Perhaps it was her time to meet them. There are worse ways to die than chasing shrimp in shallow water.”
It was still not enough for the tracker, who stepped into the circle. “And the demon jarp-jung—” He paused to hawk loudly, spitting at Ah-Keung’s feet. “The one with the eyes of death that you have brought aboard the junk hiding under a Tanka’s hat …” He folded his corded forearms across the breadth of his chest. “Did you think we did not know?”
Xiang hitched up his belt in a drunken gesture of bravado, aware of his audience. “I will find the bitch and fuck her before I throw her over the side. We will not have the company of demons aboard this boat.”
The deck crew cheered him on. No one saw the foot of the dog boy strike the tracker’s chest with a side kick that split his sternum with a meaty click; the big man was lifted from the deck to fly over the wooden taffrail, his legs buckling as he disappeared into darkness.
