[Title here]

by The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen (epub)

  "I was not expecting to be honored by a guest for dinner." Master Chu unearthed a broken millet cake. He handed it to Jen. "Humblest apologies. My larder has not been overflowing these days. Eat, eat," he insisted, when Jen refused what certainly was the last of the old man's store. "By no means enough for two, but perhaps enough for one."

  By this time, Jen's belly had surrendered to the assault of chills and fever. Master Chu eyed him with concern. He piled the quilts around Jen and obliged him to stretch out. "You need more than I have here," Master Chu said. "Never fear. I shall set that right."

  He took the bowl from Jen's hand. "Empty, at the moment. But the usefulness of the bowl lies in its emptiness; it must be empty before it can be filled."

  "Someone else said that." Jen stared at him. "Is that you, Master Shu? Don't you know me?" The beggar shook his head. "It is your fever speaking."

  Yet, as Jen watched, for an instant the beggar's features blurred into those of the old poet. Or was it the face of Master Fu? Master Wu? All at the same time? Jen's head fell back on the pile of rags. The faces whirled before his eyes, then he saw none.

  Master Chu was gone when Jen opened his eyes again. He groped for the bowl. It, too, was gone. He cried out in dismay. He heard someone chuckle as he tried to sit up.

  "Did you think I had stolen it? No, as a beggar I observe a rule of meticulous honesty." Master Chu bent over him and held out the bowl.

  "As I told you," the old man said, "it must be empty before it can be filled. As it is now. Thanks to leftovers from an eating house, enough for both of us. If I have done you a service, you have done one for me.

  "Unlike most of my colleagues in Chai-sang," he added, as he continued feeding Jen from the bowl, "I am not a resident beggar, but a wandering member of the profession. As for my bowl, you may well ask: Where is it? Broken, alas. Some while ago, I made a regrettable mistake in judgment. I begged alms from the one who calls himself Yellow Scarf King. As I held out my bowl to him, he struck it from my hands and smashed it under his heel. For which I was grateful, since he might have done likewise to my head. Since then, I have not been able to replace it. My takings, in consequence, have suffered-I have eaten only what my bare hands could carry. Therefore, I am glad for the use of your bowl as you, I hope, are pleased with its contents."

  "Natha," Jen murmured. "Yes, Master Chu, I know his ways. He takes from prince and beggar alike."

  His words went unnoticed as Master Chu kept filling Jen's mouth with food. Or, if the old man did reply, Jen did not hear, having drifted back into fevered sleep.

  For several days he lay half in stupor. And each day, Master Chu went out with the bowl and came back with it refilled, feeding Jen and himself from it. When Master Chu finally allowed him to sit up, Jen spoke more of Voyaging Moon and his search.

  The old man shook his head. "A needle in a haystack, I fear. Chai-sang has many merchants and many young women. A flute girl? That would narrow it down a little. Difficult, nevertheless. Let me see what I can do."

  "One thing more," Jen said. He had made his decision some days before, but now he put the bowl in the hands of Master Chu. "Keep this. For the sake of your kindness and your own need. If I find the one I seek, I'll have no use for it. If I do not find her, then it will make no difference to me."

  Master Chu's eyes brightened. The old beggar was as delighted as if Jen had given him a dozen taels of gold, his pleasure so great that Jen felt no regret at parting from this last of his offerings. On the contrary, he felt free and lightened of the burden he had carried since leaving Ch'ang-an so long ago.

  As for Master Chu, while Jen regained his strength, the old man set his plan in motion. "I have spoken with all my colleagues," Master Chu later told him. "They know more of the goings and comings here than anyone in Chai-sang. So far, they have told me nothing of a flute girl, but they will keep eyes and ears open. They will know whom to ask and where to look. If she is here, they will find her."

  Jen's hope rose. Days passed, however, with no success. Despite the efforts of the Chai-sang beggars, it was Jen himself who had word of Voyaging Moon.

  It came about by accident. In addition to help from the beggars, Jen roamed the streets every day, too restless to sit and wait in Master Chu's lean-to. He hoped he might hear the sound of the flute, or perhaps be lucky enough to glimpse her at a window or passing in a carnage.

  Crossing the central square one morning, he found himself jostled into a band of jugglers. Overhearing their grumbling, he gathered they had received cold welcome and were leaving the city.

  "Had the flute girl been with us," one said, "it would have gone better. There was none like Voyaging Moon to fill the theater, and all our pockets."

  "The name you spoke." Jen seized the juggler's arm. The performer stared as if Jen were a maniac. "You said Voyaging Moon."

  "What if I did?" The juggler tried to step aside. Jen held him fast. As he hastily poured out his account of being separated from her, the man's face softened. "Your sweetheart, eh? You're a lucky lad, then. Yes, your girl's in Nang-pei, when last I saw her, and making a fine fortune for herself."

  Jen took hardly an instant to thank the juggler. He ran from one street to the next looking for Master Chu, eager to tell the news and bid him fond farewell. Jen cursed himself for not going to Nang-pei in the first place. He resolved not to lose another instant in Chai-sang. He saw nothing of the old beggar. He ran to the lean-to. It was empty. He started back toward the square. Before he reached it, he came upon one of Master Chu's colleagues, hobbling along with a crutch under his arm.

  "Where's Master Chu?" Jen demanded. "I must find him quickly. There's news. Have you seen him?"

  "Yes." The man's face fell. "Yes, I was there. I saw everything."

  "Saw what?" Jen burst out. "What are you telling me?"

  "In custody." The beggar grimaced. "He's been arrested. A grave offense."

  • • • • •

  Generous, kindhearted Master Chu arrested? How can this he? What crime could he possibly have committed? Jen will find this out in the next chapter.

  23

  • The Hall Of Sublime Justice •

  • The Chief Magistrate Of Chai-sang •

  • Merciful Sentence •

  "BAD ENOUGH TO COST HIM HIS HEAD," the beggar added. "Illegal possession of royal property: a valuable bowl. He stole it, they say. Who'd have thought it of old Chu?"

  Jen had heard enough. He turned and raced back to the square. He was breathless by the time he reached the Hall of Sublime Justice. Guards blocked his way at the portals. He blurted that he had important information in the matter of one Master Chu, that he must speak to the officials in charge.

  "Witness?" a guard said. "Not that one's needed. Go in, then, for whatever it is you have to testify."

  Jen flung himself past the guards and into the Chamber of Truthful Testimonies, fearing he might be too late or that Master Chu had been taken elsewhere. He cried out in relief. The hearing was still in progress. Master Chu, with two burly attendants flanking him, was on his knees before the magistrate's heavily carved desk.

  Heads turned as Jen pushed through clerks and court officers. At the sight of him, Master Chu's face wrinkled in dismay and his lips tried to shape a silent warning.

  "Never fear," Jen murmured. He halted beside the old beggar and faced the official he took to be the prosecutor, firmly declaring, "The accusation is false. I swear to that. There is injustice."

  "Hold your tongue." The official looked Jen up and down coldly. "You have just come into this honorable court. What do you know of the accusation to call it false? Justice has not been delivered. Therefore, how dare you call it unjust?"

  "An accusation of theft." Jen began.

  "A charge I myself laid against this criminal," the prosecutor snapped. "I passed him in the street not two hours ago. I observed the bowl he held out. With a trained eye for such rare objects of art, I recognized it as valuable. Too valuable to be in a beggar's h
ands. When I examined it, I saw the dragon emblem on the bottom. Only royal property bears that mark. Thus the correct conclusion is that it is stolen. What possible testimony can you add?"

  "I can add that he didn't steal it."

  "Let him speak, first, in his own defense," broke in the official. "Why does he refuse, as the record shows?" At a sign from the prosecutor, the court scribe read aloud from a page of notes:

  "Questioned as to possession of stolen object, accused states he was given it by a friend. Asked to name that individual, he stated that he refused to do so."

  The prosecutor shrugged. "The reason is obvious. He refuses to say who gave it to him because he himself stole it. A pitiful attempt to trick the court. The accusation stands. The case is clear."

  "It is, indeed. I am quite satisfied," said the magistrate. Until now, he had been bent over the bowl, studying it closely. He set it down in front of him and raised his head. "There is no possibility that a beggar has come by this honestly."

  Jen stifled a gasp. He found himself looking into a heavy-jowled, toadlike face. Suddenly the memory flashed into his mind-the official who had ordered him beaten, who had arrogantly declared his rank and destination: Official of the First Rank, Chief Magistrate of Chai-sang, Honorable Fat-choy.

  For his part, Fat-choy gave no sign of recognition. He yawned, tapped his fan, and gestured impatiently. "What further testimony? You come as witness? To this thieves good character? One villain to praise another?"

  Fat-choy glanced around. The court officials giggled dutifully at his show of wit. He nodded and went on. "The law requires me to hear you. It does not require me to hear you in perpetuity. Speak up quickly. Waste no more of the court's precious time, or mine."

  "This man told the truth," Jen replied. "He did not steal the bowl. I gave it to him."

  "Ah? Did you?" Fat-choy raised his eyebrows. "I compliment you on such magnificent generosity, one of the Eleven Principal Virtues. Logic now compels me to inquire where, in turn, you obtained it. Perhaps from some other mysterious, unnameable friend?"

  Master Chu wrung his hands. "Fool, fool," he whispered. "I tried to warn you to keep silent. Do you mean to dig your own grave? I am so close to mine it hardly matters. Oh, you should have let well enough alone."

  "It will be easily settled." Jen gave him a reassuring smile. He looked squarely at Fat-choy. "The bowl is, in fact, royal property from King T'ai's Hall of Priceless Treasures. It was put in my charge. You shall prove the truth of this by sending word to the Celestial Palace in Ch'angan.

  "Until you receive a message confirming what I have told you," Jen continued, "I accept being kept in custody here, wherever you choose to confine me.

  "One thing more." For the first time in many months, Jen spoke aloud and clearly his rank and name. "I am the Young Lord Prince. I am Jen Shao-yeh."

  The prosecutor's jaw dropped. "But-but this is hardly credible. You? As you claim-yes, that can be proved. Be certain that an inquiry will be dispatched immediately to the Celestial Palace. Until then."

  "No need," broke in Fat-choy. From the moment that Jen named himself, the official's eyes lit up in sudden recollection.

  "I know this man," Fat-choy declared. "Prince? Yes. Prince of Robbers. He and his band assaulted me on my way here. They stole horses, carts, provisions. Even then, to confuse me and distract my attention, he pretended to be the Young Lord. Now he offers new trickery. Put himself in custody? Live at public expense to further some devious plan of his own?"

  Jen's eyes flashed. "Have a care, Official of the First Rank Fat-choy. You deal with a royal personage. Your conduct will be noted."

  "Silence!" shouted Fat-choy. "Impudent liar! You dare to speak of my conduct? Insolence on top of insolence! Do you think you can employ some clever ruse and brazen your way out of punishment?" Fat-choy struck his fist on the desk. "Another word, villain, and you shall be bound and gagged." He turned to Master Chu, who was staring openmouthed at Jen.

  "As for you," Fat-choy declared, "there is no longer a case against you. This wretch has confessed to possessing and transmitting stolen property. Knowing him as I do, I. willingly believe he gave you the bowl, no doubt to rid himself of incriminating evidence. Since you are innocent, I shall only have you flogged out of Chaisang. Set foot here again and you will pay with your head."

  Fat-choy motioned to the attendants, who dragged the bewildered and protesting Master Chu from the Hall of Sublime Justice. Two guards came forward to lay hands on Jen.

  "Your case is more difficult," said Fat-choy, fixing a bulging eye on Jen, "but you shall have justice nonetheless, impartial, guided by the law, which is more than you deserve.

  "First," he continued, "in the matter of your robbery and attack on an official, I would gladly punish you to the full extent. However, your vicious assault took place beyond my present jurisdiction. It cannot figure here and, regretfully, I must set it aside.

  "In the matter of the bowl, you have condemned yourself out of your own mouth. This is a capital crime. The punishment is beheading.

  "And yet," Fat-choy went on, as Jen stared horrified, "much as you merit the extreme penalty, the law forbids it. Because you have made voluntary confession, I am required by statute to mitigate your sentence and to show you clemency. Which I now do. Your life is mercifully spared."

  Jen heaved a sigh of relief. Then his blood froze as the official continued. "Instead of a death sentence, by the benevolence and compassion of the law, you shall wear the Collar of Punishment."

  Fat-choy motioned to the guards. "Take him to the public square immediately. Set the cangue around his neck."

  "Chief Magistrate." Jen looked straight at Fat-choy. Whatever else, he would give the chief magistrate no further satisfaction. With the princely bearing he had learned from Master Hu, he said, "Your judgment is incorrect. It is also incomplete. You have not specified the length of sentence."

  Fat-choy smiled. "It is not given to mortals, or to this court, to know precisely how many years one may live. For you, what that number may be, such will be the duration."

  • • • • •

  Gross injustice! Will Jen escape the dreadful punishment of the cangue? Before that is answered, we leave him being dragged to the public square and turn our attention to Fat-choy in the next chapter.

  24

  • The Tale Of The Bronze Bowl •

  HONORABLE CHIEF MAGISTRATE, Official of the First Rank Fat-choy admired himself as a personage of refined taste and delicate sensibilities. He wore robes of exquisite materials richly embroidered. If he judged his meals to be less than perfect, he flung the dishes to the floor and ordered his cook beaten to perfection. His chambers were filled with superb antiques, pieces of jade, porcelain, gold, and silver, and he sought always to add rare items to his collection.

  When a bronze bowl was presented as evidence in a case of theft, Honorable Fat-choy's eyes popped and his fingers itched. To one of less perception, it would have seemed a common object. Honorable Fat-choy, however, saw its subtle decorations, graceful proportions, and excellent craftsmanship. He was more than a little vexed that Honorable Prosecutor Ch'iang-to had seen it first. The conceited fellow thought himself also a connoisseur. Fat-choy thought him a fool.

  "Had it been me," Fat-choy muttered, "I'd have simply taken it away from the beggar who was holding it-the wretch wouldn't have dared to complain or given him a few coins and said no more. But no, this idiot makes a court case of the matter. Now the thing turns out to be royal property. By law, it must be sent back to the Celestial Palace."

  Fat-choy pondered the situation and soon found an answer.

  "True, the law requires me to return the bowl. On the other hand, it does not specify how quickly this must be done. That leaves it to the discretion, honesty, and efficiency of the chief magistrate, who, fortunately, is myself. A heavy responsibility, but I am capable of bearing it."

  Fat-choy, therefore, ordered the bowl placed in his chambers along with his other prize
d possessions.

  Honorable Prosecutor Ch'iang-to ventured to raise a question. "Most worthy and excellent Chief Magistrate, since the bowl figured as evidence in a criminal trial, until it can be sent back to its rightful owner, in my considered opinion it should remain in custody of the Department of Legal Technicalities."

  "Of which you, most admirably diligent Honorable Prosecutor, are the head," replied Fat-choy. "However, since the case has been judged and closed, the bowl comes under the purview of the Department of Vigilant Administration."

  "Of which you, Honorable Fat-choy, are the head," answered the prosecutor.

  "Correct," replied Fat-choy, "and, may I point out, your superior in rank. In my considered opinion, the times are too unsettled to return the bowl immediately. Harm might come to it in transport over bandit infested roads. What safer place, for the moment, than my private chambers, where I may constantly keep an eye on it?"

  Honorable Ch'iang-to could only bow agreement. Fat-choy waddled off to his quarters. He had, that day, ordered an old beggar whipped out of town, condemned a thieving impostor to the Collar of Punishment, imprisoned half a dozen rogues to prevent them from committing offenses they might have contemplated in the future, and decided in favor of litigants who had impressed him with the righteousness of their purses and their generosity in sharing the contents with him, and he was altogether fatigued by dispensing so much justice.

  He enjoyed a delicious dinner, allowed a servant to anoint him with fragrant essence of rose petals, and spent the rest of the evening fondling his collection of treasures.

  He set the bowl in a place of honor on a teakwood stand. The more he studied his new acquisition, the more he admired it, and the more he congratulated himself on his dealing with Honorable Ch'iang-to.

  "What a distasteful example of greed," Fat-choy said. "He had the notion of dishonestly keeping it for himself. Well, here it is, here it stays. Sooner or later, one of these years, I shall return it. If I remember to do so."