by Justin Hill
“You fight well,” she said, already twisted as he aimed a stabbing punch at the inside of her arm.
“I’ll teach you some time.”
She laughed at him.
“No man ever taught me anything!”
“No?”
She roundhouse kicked and he ducked just in time. As he did so he caught a tall black lacquer stand. He saw the sudden alarm in her eyes, and turned to see the vase on top topple past the point of balance.
Wei-fang’s fingers caught the bottom of the vase and he had a brief glimpse of it in the moonlight: a fat-bottomed pot, in dark blue and white, with a triumphant blue dragon coiling around the bottom. He felt the rough unglazed rim, the potter’s marks stamped into the bottom, and he thought for a moment that he had enough of a grip to hold it up, before it slipped from his frail grasp.
It seemed to fall slowly before him. The other fighter swung her legs around in a two-legged kick, and he cursed her before he realized she was trying to put her legs between the vase and the floor. It was a wonderfully graceful move. The silk of her trousers was tight as she pirouetted around, but too late. There was a loud crash.
Pieces of five-hundred-year-old blue and white porcelain lay around them.
Both of them sprang to their feet.
“Why did you do that?” the girl hissed.
“I didn’t do it,” he said. She still had him by the wrist. He pulled his arm one more time.
“The guards will come,” she said. All he saw were her large almond eyes and the frown in her smooth white forehead. The sound of shouting drifted through the compound.
“They’ll find us,” he said. He saw a moment’s indecision in her eyes and twisted his wrist down and around. Free at last and with no more need for silence he leaped through the lattice window and jumped for the wall, caught the lip of the eaves and swung himself up.
“No, you don’t!”
His opponent sprang after him and caught his feet.
“They’re coming!” he hissed at her as he tried to kick her free.
“They’re here!” she said as the guards banged on the wooden gate, and then the doors burst open and ten men tumbled in together.
Wei-fang gave his opponent an “I told you so” look. She tore the cloth from her face. He almost let go of the beam. She was beautiful. Not just beautiful, he thought, but beautiful. At that moment she opened her mouth.
“Thief!” she shouted. “Help!”
He kicked free. Wei-fang was almost regretful as he leaped ten feet from the ground. It was a great skill that Iron Crow had taught him, and he felt a strange sadness leaving his opponent behind. But he had the sword, and he would take it to his master.
I2
Shulien heard the shouting, and within a moment she was up on the roof of her compound. She saw a shape using the Light Body Skill to jump effortlessly from roof to roof, gaining rapidly on the dark figure that was hurrying away from her. The thief leaped twenty feet at each bound, laughing down at the palace guards who watched impotently from below.
He was fast, but Shulien was faster.
She threw herself forward, as an arrow is shot from a bow, slammed into his side and, concentration broken, he tumbled down, a thud of air driven from his lungs as he landed.
“Who are you?” Shulien asked. He swatted at her, and she knocked him back down. “How old are you?” The thief said nothing. “Look at me.”
He would not.
“Who sent you?”
“No one sent me,” he said at last.
Shulien paused. There was much about him that seemed familiar. “You remind me of a warrior I once knew . . .” she said, almost to herself.
There was no time to ponder, for at that moment the chief of Sir Te’s guards pushed forward. He was the eldest of three brothers whose name was Horse. They were known simply as Old Horse, Horse Two and Horse Three. Old Horse was fat as a steamed bun, the other two were skinny and lean as noodles. Horse Two and Three caught the thief by the shoulder and dragged him down to the courtyard.
Old Horse bent down and grabbed his hair. “This was one of the undertaker’s men. He was the one tying sashes around everyone’s waists! What are you? What is this thief’s garb you have on? Send him to the rear courtyard and bring out the big bamboo. We’ll beat the truth out of him. I’ll break every bone in his body, I shall!”
Shulien paused for a moment. Thieves wanted quick profit. There were many treasures here that would turn more easily into cash than this sword. She was about to speak when Old Horse knelt to bind Wei-fang’s arms.
“Look!” he said. He exposed the thief’s arm and held it up to the lantern light. A tattoo snaked about the thief’s arm. The mark of the Red Dragon. Shulien’s eyes opened. It was the same tattoo as the men who had attacked her in the forest.
“What does this tattoo mean, thief?”
The thief looked up. “Nothing.”
“He is lying,” Old Horse said. “This is the mark of the West Lotus Temple.”
“Who is the master there now? Hades Dai?” Shulien saw the fear in his eyes, and she knew she had guessed right. “He will not be happy when he knows you have failed him. I would not want to be you. Hades Dai delights in cruelty. He needs little excuse to turn to evil.”
Shulien squatted down. She stared at the young man as if looking for answers in the depths of his eyes. “He sent you, didn’t he?”
“No,” the thief said, but there was no conviction in his words.
“Hades Dai wants to rule the martial way. That is why he wants the Green Destiny?”
“I cannot tell you!”
“Cannot or will not?”
Wei-fang sighed. These questions made his head hurt.
“Tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because it will be better for you,” Shulien said. “I know something of the West Lotus warriors. Only I can protect you from Hades Dai.” She paused for a moment.
“Let me take him to the magistrate’s yamen,” Old Horse said.
Shulien shook her head. “No. Send him to the east wing. Do it now. Chain him up, but do not beat him. Understand?”
Old Horse started to argue but Shulien was firm. All knew that she had the favor of the late duke and his son. Her word was as good as theirs. She did not need to bluster or shout. Silence was her strength. “Your late master, Duke Te, trusted me. If you do not trust me, then trust in his judgment.”
Old Horse paused, looking for an argument, but not finding one that seemed likely to work, he nodded. “Yes, mistress.”
As the thief was led away Shulien walked over to the young woman who had disturbed the thief. She was young and pretty, with large dark eyes. The same girl she had noticed the day before at the funeral. The one who stood out from the rest of the pretty noble ladies. “Who are you?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard a disturbance,” the girl said. “I came here and saw him escaping with that sword.”
Shulien gave her an odd look. “It was lucky you were here,” she said.
“Luck comes to us all at strange times.”
“Indeed. But warriors do not trust to luck. It is too unreliable. Tell me who you are.”
The young girl bowed. “I am just a humble servant of the house.”
“I did not know Duke Te kept such fearsome warriors in his household.”
Snow Vase bowed. She had come here to find Shulien, and now they were standing face to face. She was tempted to spill all her history, but then remembered what her mother had told her of Jade Fox and Jiaolong’s role in the death of Mubai, and she held off from telling the truth. “I am not of this household. I am just a poor relative. A member of the Te clan. My name is Snow Vase.” She inclined her head in a respectful manner. “I am at your service.” The girl had picked Green Destiny up from the floor.
She passed it, two-handed, to Shulien.
Shulien looked at the sword for a moment. The sword, she thought. The sword. Always bringing discontent into the world. “The guards have gone. You can speak truthfully to me. Lies make a poor start to a friendship.”
At the word “friendship,” the girl’s eyes seemed to open wide for a moment.
“There is a saying, beware crouching tigers,” Shulien said.
“I know. Under the calm water’s surface a dragon might hide.”
Shulien was calm. “You are not really of the House of Te, are you?”
The girl shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. She looked down and blinked them away. She did not look much older than the boy. It seemed a strange chance that two young warriors should both be involved in the destiny of the sword.
“Who are you?”
She looked up and the tears had gone. “I am a young warrior. I came here to find you,” the girl said. “I am one like you, who takes the Iron Way.”
“Then why come in disguise—like a thief?”
The girl looked up with her large black eyes. She was painfully earnest. No—innocent, Shulien thought, and she felt herself warming to this girl.
“I came to find you,” the girl said again.
Shulien laughed. “Am I so hard to find?”
“Yes,” the girl said earnestly. “I came here because I knew when Duke Te died you would come here to help bury him, if you still lived. There is no greater warrior alive than Yu Shulien. Please teach me. I want to learn the fighting techniques of Li Mubai. I will be your student.”
Shulien was almost repelled hearing the name of Li Mubai from another woman’s lips. She put her hand to her chest and shook her head. For a moment she was lost for words.
It took a long time for her to answer.
“No,” she said at last.
“Please let me serve you.”
Shulien backed into the wall. The girl knelt before her. She was young and earnest and Shulien hated that she could not fulfill this girl’s wish. She shook her head and looked for the right words. “No,” she said. “I cannot. I do not need servant or student. All I want is to return to the mountains to end my days in solitude. I have made vows I cannot break.”
“Please,” the girl said. The word hung in the air.
Shulien paused for a moment and looked at the girl, and was reminded of herself when she had begged her mother and father not to bind her feet, but let her learn wushu. The memory came back with all the intensity of youth. She thought of all the sadness the Iron Way had brought. Not for the first time part of her wished that her parents had bound her feet and married her off. A simple life might have made her happier.
“You do not want to follow the Iron Way,” she said. “It does not make a girl happy.”
“I do not want to be happy. I want to be a warrior! If it was not for me, the Green Destiny would have been stolen. Please!”
Shulien drew in a deep breath and turned and walked away.
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away. She would not cry. She would become Shulien’s student, and she would learn.
“My name is Snow Vase!” she shouted after the retreating figure, but Shulien disappeared from sight.
Snow Vase pushed herself to her feet. She let out a sigh. It had all been going so well, she thought, and looked up to the moon. Disappointment came in many guises.
I3
Sir Te did not know whether to sit down or stand up, so Shulien put her arm in his and led him to his father’s study and shut the doors behind them. The room was full of the traditional items that decorated a scholar’s quarters: a carved bamboo brush holder, jostling with different sized brushes; the dragon stone slab, where ink was ground; the glossy stick of ink; a bronze peach, which Shulien knew Duke Te had used to hold the water with which he ground his ink stick.
Sir Te seemed a little overwhelmed.
“Let us drink some tea,” she said. She had dressed in a loose gown of cream silk, buttoned at the side, and folded the loose sleeves back over her forearms as she spoke.
Sir Te looked somber next to her in a gown of colored wool. Shulien noticed that his hands were still trembling. He nodded. “Yes, tea,” he said, and hung the lantern over the tea-drinking table: a wild hunk of trunk and root, cleaned and polished to a deep gold.
“Of all nights!” Sir Te said as he dusted at his seat. At last he sat down, stooping over his little round belly. “You think they might wait until my father was buried. My poor mother, she is as nervous as a mouse. She cannot sleep. I sent her opium. A little smoke will help her rest. I might take a little opium myself. I have never taken opium before. My father did not approve.”
He let out a sigh and looked around the room. He seemed to forget Shulien was there for a moment, then forced a smile. “I dropped my hammer,” he said.
Shulien’s face was sympathetic. “It is not easy to bury a parent.”
Sir Te nodded. The word “bury” seemed to go through him like a sword. He took a deep breath. “Tea,” he said. “Let me get a pot.”
Duke Te had been quite a connoisseur of tea and tea-drinking implements. He had silver tea caddies, porcelain cups, cups of swirling gray Dali marble, and even a Mongolian skull bowl, rimmed with silver.
“Which one would you like?” He stood by the rows of miniature teapots. Some were black, some pale gray, most were a deep terracotta red. Some were molded into the shapes of bamboo, one a dragon, and others inscribed with lines of ancient poetry.
“Your father and I always used that one,” Shulien said.
She pointed and Sir Te followed her gaze. “Ah yes. This was my father’s favorite.”
The pot was small and made of the finest red clay. He cupped it in his hand for a moment, and held it out toward Shulien.
“I could never tell why my father liked this one,” he said. “Look. See how the handle thickens toward the top. How fat the body and how small the lid! And this little fat spout! Reminds me of Yang Guifei. I always thought this the ugliest little thing. Perhaps that is part of its charm. I don’t know. I could never see the appeal.”
He put the teapot down on the table.
She looked at the wooden chests that were piled high against the far wall.
“What are those?”
“What? Ah, those. They are my father’s scrolls. Pictures, calligraphy. We hang them at New Year. I’m sorry. I’m all a-jitter.” Shulien looked at him. He caught her gaze for a moment and saw almost disappointment in her eyes. “You know I am not my father. I have not chosen the same path as he. I was not made for the martial life. I have quieter pleasures . . .” He sighed. “The sword. What can I say? I do not want this thing here, if this is what will happen. You saw the tattoo?”
Shulien nodded.
“So what my guards tell me is correct.”
Shulien nodded again. Sir Te shuddered. “Hades Dai. Why, even the name makes me shiver, and I have heard only whispers. I did not know he was still alive.”
There was quiet as the black cast iron kettle began to rumble to a boil. Before it did he took it aside and carefully washed the cups and teapot both inside and out. He did not touch the cups or implements with his hands but used a pair of cedar-wood tweezers.
Before him on the table he had a folded red towel, which he used to dry the bottoms of each cup and the pot. The sight of tea seemed to cheer him up a little.
“What would you like? I have oolong or pu’er tea. I had some maojian as well, but it is a little late in the year now. It has lost its freshness . . .”
He seemed consumed by the variety of teas he had to offer.
She put out a hand. “Your father always made jasmine with this pot,” she said. “And jasmine is good for the soul. It has a cleansing and fresh quality, I find. And it will not keep us up too long.”
/> “Jasmine,” Sir Te said, and fretted back and forth as he opened caddies and found the wrong tea, or found last year’s jasmine. He sniffed it. “Jasmine Pearl Balls,” he said. “It is not as fresh as it ought to be. I know I had some white jasmine somewhere, but I think the steward steals it. I have caught him twice before drinking my father’s oldest pu’er. What to do?”
“Make tea,” Shulien said.
“Ah yes. Tea.”
He refilled the kettle and set it to boil again. “This is from the spring at the back . . .” He stopped. “Oh, you must know this already. I’m sorry. I’m tired. The last thing I need is thieves breaking into the house. What am I to do with this thing? Why did Mubai bring it here?”
Shulien swallowed. “He did not,” she said. “I did.”
Sir Te’s mouth fell open. “Sorry,” he said.
She put up a hand. “I am sorry,” she said. “I should have destroyed it. It has brought me more sadness than I can tell. Jade Fox killed Mubai for that sword. And now Hades Dai is seeking it. I should have destroyed it, but it seemed so beautiful. What can I say? Mubai and I both loved to see such beauty, such craftsmanship. It was like a child to us. We took it out and marveled at it. How little we knew. It was no child. We had no children. We never were anything but friends.” She looked up and smiled as he put three scoops of jasmine pearls into the pot, filled it to the brim, and then poured the infusion away.
Shulien loved the smell of jasmine. The first brew washed the leaves and released the aroma. The second was the finest to drink.
She tapped the table with one finger to thank him as he filled her cup, took it in two hands and smelled it.
“A cup of wine takes your cares away,” she said. “Tea is like wine, I have found. Jasmine is the queen of all teas.”
They sipped the cups and then he refilled them. In this manner they drank three or four cups of tea.
“Will he escape?” Sir Te said.
“The thief? From that cage? I do not think so.”
“My father used to keep his dogs there. It is a sad thing to see thieves locked up. What are we come to, I wonder? My guards tell me that he has threatened them. Is he mad?”
