by Jeremy Han
“State your purpose in the city of Chongqing!” Bullyboy shouted. Garlic laced his breath. His hands were on his hips and his head slightly tilted backward so that his chin jutted upward. If the Acrobat had wanted to kill him, it would have been easy. His throat was exposed and his hands were not in a position to protect his body or draw his sword quickly. The Acrobat estimated that this boy would not last five seconds against a Mongol.
“Guanye, we are street performers looking to provide our service to the people of this great city.” The Acrobat said with both hands clasped together in a gesture of respect.
“And they are?” He indicated to Li Po and the Farmer with his chin, hands never leaving his hips.
“She is my daughter and he an assistant.”
Bully-boy nodded and took a long hard leer at Li Po. He chucked his fingers under her chin and teased her. “Fair skin and nice features. How old are you little swallow?”
The Farmer could sense the Acrobat tensing up and laid a hand to restrain him. He knew his friend could have smashed the boy’s larynx with a sharp blow from where he stood. But before the tension could escalate, the soldier moved on and tapped the Farmer hard on his arm with the stick he carried, “What is that?” He pointed to the box the silent man was carrying.
The Acrobat replied, “Guanye, those are our stage props. Fu Zhen, open up and show it to guanye quickly.” He signalled and the Farmer opened the chest to reveal weapons of various sorts that street performers use. Of course, hidden among the blunt, display weapons were one very sharp one. If the soldiers were to search through them one by one...
Bully-boy seemed to be contemplating that as he stared at the weapons. The three of them looked at him pensively, for awhile the guard seemed uncertain what to do. He did not seem as stupid as before. Besides all the shouting and bullying, it seemed that he took his duties seriously after all. Then he turned to the Acrobat and said,
“With this load, you could be bandits or rebels coming in to stage trouble. How do I know you are real street performers?” Bully-boy eyed him slyly for any signs of suspicion, his slant, cunning, eyes becoming even smaller. Before any one of them could reply, Bully-boy signalled to the four men behind and said, “Look through the weapons, see if they are real or not.”
The four soldiers approached, ready to do as he commanded. Three of them lounged over casually while a fourth one had a hand on the pommel of his weapon. The Acrobat felt a sense of alertness come over him as he calculated the odds of a fight. The five men in front of him were no threat but any disturbance would bring out the guards along the wall, and their cover would be blown. His mind raced for a solution to solve this problem.
“Guanye, if you do not believe us, shall we perform for you now in front of all these people? I’m sure you will be amazed by our skill.” Li Po suddenly burst out. She sensed her father’s tension and had taken the initiative to diffuse the situation. The Farmer and her father were surprised at her daring. Her father had tried his best to ensure that his daughter would not come to the attention of the young pack of bullies.
“Oh..?” Bully-boy turned his head slowly and dramatically towards the soft, gentle voice. “And what have you to show me, girl?” His voice was laced with suggestiveness. He faced her and put his face close to hers, “What can you show me that I do not know?”
His friends behind laughed at the lewd insinuation, while Bully-boy looked at her for an answer. The Acrobat spoke up, “Guanye, forgive her, she is young and spoke out of turn. She does not know any...”
“Shut up old man! No one asked you to speak.” Bully-boy snapped. He glared at the ex-imperial bodyguard and shouted at him, “You do not make the decisions here! I do! You!”
He pointed at an apple seller and strode over to snatch an apple. He went on down the line of peasants and dragged an old lady roughly by the arm to the front where they were standing. “You all look suspicious to me, trying to enter the city with a chest full of weapons claiming to be performers. Now, I will give you the chance to prove it. If you fail this test, I will have all of you arrested on the spot.”
He placed the apple on top of the old lady’s head and took out a dagger from his belt. “Throw the dagger at ten paces and hit the apple. If you miss,’ he pointed at the old crone ‘she dies. And I will have all of you taken back to Yamen.” The Acrobat came forward but was shoved roughly,
“Not you, old man. Her.”
Bully-boy pointed at Li Po. Li Po’s father opened his mouth to protest but she laid a hand on his arm to reassure him,
“Father, I can do this.” She said quietly.
“No, no.” He shook his head and turned to Bully-boy, “She is only a child, my helper. She does not know any of the performing arts.” The Acrobat protested. Bully-boy turned his head and glared at him.
“I said shut up! You old fool. Do not question what I say, unless you want me to arrest all of you immediately for causing trouble at the city gate?”
Fu Zhen looked at his friend and nodded his head; the Acrobat took a reluctant step back and allowed Li Po to take the dagger. As she took the blade from Bully-boy, he sneered at her, clearly believing she could not do it. She ignored him and walked ten paces. Before she turned, she saw the old lady quivering; her life at the hands of a young girl, embroiled in something that was not her business. All she wanted was to enter the city to sell her home-made clothes. Li Po continued her slow walk. The Acrobat clenched his fist nervously while the Farmer remained stoic and undisturbed.
And then she turned.
With a snap action twisting from the waist, Li Po executed an over-shoulder throw. She had practiced this a thousand times since she was a child with darts, stones, anything to hit all manner of targets. She had seen her father do it and had secretly copied him and practiced whenever she could. The Acrobat had restricted her role to a helper whenever he performed; collecting money, carrying things, beating the gong to attract the crowds. At best, he taught her acrobatics. As much as her father tried to shield her from learning martial arts, she had wanted to do what her father could do. She observed with a keen eye and practiced whenever she could, whatever she could.
The blade flew in a straight line, whizzing past Bully-boy so quickly that even before he could react, he heard the thwack as the blade sliced the apple cleanly before burying itself in the bark of a tree with no leaves. Not only did it slice the apple, it struck a gecko in mid-climb, pinning the hapless reptile to the tree as it struggled its life away. The old lady sank to the ground, shivering from the tension release and Li Po ran over to help her. The Acrobat stood there with his mouth open, amazed at his daughter’s secret skill. The crowd broke into applause. Partly entertained, partly identifying with the girl’s victory over the bossy guards that harried them daily as they tried to make a living, they cheered and laughed. Bully-boy’s dare and Li Po’s victory clearly broke the monotony of lining up to be searched. Bully-boy’s mouth hung open; a mere girl had embarrassed him. After she helped the elderly woman to her feet, she pulled out the dagger from the tree and returned it to Bully-boy. She bowed respectfully to him and withdrew behind her father. “Guanye,” The Acrobat asked, “Can we enter the city?” Bully-boy waved his approval without looking at him. The Acrobat bowed and thanked the civilian official sitting at the table as the man handed him a piece of paper stamped with the city’s official seal. The ex-soldier carefully folded the paper in his pocket, bowed again and crossed the threshold, entering the arched gate below the tower gate with Li Po and the Farmer.
At the balcony of the tower overlooking the city gate, two men witnessed the incident as they stood like barons overlooking their humble subjects. One of them wore the uniform of the city governor, while the other was dressed in an expensive silk tunic covered with precious mink fur. Surrounding them were rough-looking, armed men. Both their cheeks were pink from the wine and the cold. The governor pursed his lips in disapproval at what happened but could do nothing since it was his guard that issued the chall
enge and lost.
“What do you think?” The wealthy man asked.
“What is there to say? My man chose the wrong target. Anyway, the point was to prove that they are true performers.” The official shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands, palms up. The civilian chuckled as he stroked his goatee. He had a sly look across his face. In contrast, the men around him looked stern and expressionless. His countenance seemed to glow with excitement at some thought known only to him. And it did not look good.
“Houye ‘Marquis’, what do you have in mind? May I ask?” The governor asked knowingly. “And what can I do to help?” It seemed that the governor could read the mind of the Marquis. Their association must have been closer than merely just the official.
“Bring me that girl.” The lascivious grin filled his face again.
“Yes Marquis.”
THIRTY ONE
Ji Gang stood with his hands at his back. His men lined the courtyard perimeter, surrounding the gathered Buddhist monks. They huddled together like sheep hemmed in by wolves. The monks were in their traditional grey garb and they waited for the big man who was clearly in charge to tell them what he wanted; and why their tranquil lives were suddenly disrupted. Despite the cold, the monks stood stoically in disciplined lines. Some of the younger monks looked worried while the older ones, those who had seen and experienced greater enlightenment, remained serene. That morning, the junior monks assigned to sweep the entrance to the temple ran into the inner chambers screaming for the abbot to come. Armed men had violated the peace of the temple. Gathering his senior monks, the abbot met the intruder, who had stormed into the inner courtyard without waiting for the abbot’s permission or invitation to enter; it was gross violation of protocol for a religious institution.
As Ji and his party approached the temple, he observed that the place was old and desolate. The winding path they took up the hill brought them through the forest that hid the temple from people. He saw the old, faded wooden signboard with the engraved words Baiyun Si, ‘Temple of the White Clouds’. Bare trees lined the path leading to the wooden gate of the temple. What would I find here? He thought? Would his mission end? Could he forget about this unpleasant assignment of shedding royal blood to end a family feud? He hoped so, as they stormed the monastery. He hoped that the former emperor was somewhere here. His fist tightened in anticipation.
The abbot tried to be polite and enquired what brought the strangers in such a vengeful manner into their humble temple, but he was pushed forcefully aside by a young man whose other hand carried a double headed spear. They did not look like bandits; they were too well-dressed and their bearing too stern. Disciplined and vicious; they were clearly given permission from an authority higher than the Buddha to violate the sanctuary. Another man, slightly older, stood next to the big, bald one, ordered the abbot to assemble his monks, every single one of them. Before the abbot could ask why, the bald one came forward and thrust into his face a gold ling to show his imperial authority. The man turned his back without a single word, leaving the abbot to carry out his orders.
Unable to defy an imperial agent, the senior cleric obeyed and urged his assistants to quickly gather all the monks, from the most senior to the youngest acolyte. Monks going through their routine duties or prayers were disrupted and brought to the courtyard where they were now standing in the cold. There were some murmurings at first before they were silenced. Now all that could be heard was the soft whisper of the wind as it caressed the trees and the naked branches. The bare branches swayed serenely, uncaring of the tension building up among the monks. Snow started to fall and small patches of white settled on the gray frocks of the monks. It all looked very serene, except for the sense of violence that seemed ready to erupt anytime like an awakened volcano.
The man in charge waited in silence, glaring at the gathered monks with hooded eyes. He knew that the longer he waited, the easier it would be to get his answers as nerves would eventually fray and break. His men stood like stone warriors like those often seen around temple and palace grounds, totally impervious to the cold. Their faces were expressionless even as they endured the biting cold. They were highly disciplined and skilled in breathing techniques that allowed them to regulate their blood flow and keep a higher body temperature. But for their breathing and vapour clouds, it would be easy to mistake them as being made of stone instead of flesh. At the front porch overlooking the courtyard, a chair had been brought for the commander and he sat there like a malevolent idol before his fearful worshippers with one hand supporting his chin as he stared silently at them.
Hours passed. The sun started to set, casting a yellow glow over the old buildings. The temperature dropped further and some of the monks started to rub themselves to keep warm against the chill. Others started to shiver as night came. By now, the monks had been without food and water for the entire afternoon. Some had started to chant silently while others continued to look apprehensively at the huge, brooding figure seated at the front and the motionless line of warriors guarding them. Finally, a creak signalled that the commander was ready to speak. He rose from the wooden chair and his voice boomed across the courtyard.
“Eighteen years ago, a fugitive came to your monastery to seek refuge, to become a monk. By hiding within your Order, he would have found salvation. This man is a wanted man, an enemy of the state. I know you are here. Step forward now.”
He spoke with his hands on his hips as though commanding a troop of soldiers. There was silence. The monks look at each other incredulously.
“If you do not step forward, it will be the monks here who will pay the price. Spare them by returning to the capital to answer for your crimes.”
“Lord,” the abbot spoke, “We do not know of such a person.”
“Just as I expected. You would deny it. Holy man or not, you do tell lies when you have to. I do not know why you insist on protecting this man wanted by the emperor, but surely you know that to harbour an enemy of the state is a death penalty not just for yourself but for all those related to yourself.”
“Lord, it is the truth. No one came to us eighteen years ago, except for some young orphans we adopted.”
“How young?”
The abbot called a few names and a few young men just out of their adolescence came forward.
“These are the ones who joined us.”
Ji Gang scrutinised them closely. They were all too young. “Separate those who were here eighteen years ago from those who were not.”
His men sprang into action. Those who looked too young were pushed to a side while those who were looked old enough to be here eighteen years ago were put on another side. Among these, the old monks were again separated from the rest. And the search began. After thoroughly looking at each face, Ji knew that the emperor Jian Wen was not among the gathered monks. He decided to try another tactic. “Bring the young monks to the front.”
As the group of young men came forward, the youngest being a boy not older than fifteen, Ji ordered them stripped naked in the freezing cold. The abbot protested and Ji slapped him hard across the face. The thwack resounded across the cold, silent courtyard, the humiliation loud and obvious. Then he spoke again.
“I will now tell you your crimes. Eighteen years ago, your monastery was part of a conspiracy to hide and give refuge to the enemies of the emperor. The emperor Jian Wen escaped his justly deserved defeat at the hands of the then Prince of Yan, Zhu Di, his uncle, and he ran like a dog to hide. He sought refuge here! HERE! Your temple is complicit in a crime against the emperor by offering comfort and protection to his enemy.”
He pointed his forefinger at the temple to drive home his point. Puffs of white vapour appeared and drifted into the air as Ji paused. At the revelation of treason, there was a collective gasp and monks began to chatter with one another with no regard to the discipline imposed upon them. Ji saw the effect of his words and continued,
“We received information that he is supposed to be here. Now, where is he
?” Ji shouted. “Withhold what I want to know and I will allow these young boys, too young to be involved in the plot to freeze to death.”
The night cold had taken effect. The naked young men groaned as the cold wind sliced through their skin and into their inner being. They tried to cover themselves with their arms and shivered. They bunched together to no avail. Their faces started to turn blue. Ji watched the crowd as the monks protested their innocence. His sharp eyes took in the details and noticed that the abbot was silent. He decided to let the young ones continue to suffer. He knew from his military experience fighting in the north that the cold would eat into their system and before long, these young men would be beyond saving as the balance between the cold and hot qi would never be restored, leading to death. But he felt nothing wrong about it if it could deliver him the answer he wanted. Someone would break soon and speak. These were traitors anyway.
