China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  The headman seemed to hesitate. Why was that?

  “I suppose so, Lord. Sometimes he or his brother goes to the local town. But even then, he’d normally be back by nightfall.”

  Why did Shi-Rong have a feeling this wasn’t quite true? Perhaps the woman was without a husband for some reason, and the headman was trying to protect her from a magistrate and soldiers who, for all he knew, might try to take advantage of her.

  But after he’d finished eating, he went outside and began to stroll along the lane. There was a full moon. He did his best to remember the woman. Had she really been so beautiful? The vision in his mind was incomplete, imperfect, like an old silken garment that has become frayed. He wanted to know.

  At the entrance to the village, by a little shrine, he noticed a path on his left that led through woodland. Was that the way to the woman’s house? He turned into it.

  There was enough moonlight through the trees to pick his way along the uneven path, though he stumbled on tree roots once or twice. After a while, as the path wound through a bamboo grove and then back into the woods again, he decided he must have made the wrong choice. And he was just about to turn back when he thought he saw a glimmer of water ahead on the left. So he pressed on until he reached a place where, looking between two trees, he found himself staring across a moonlit pond.

  The farmhouse lay on the far side of the pond. Below the farmhouse, a narrow wooden bridge stretched across the water, and obviously led to the very path on which he was standing. He saw a horse tethered to the end of the bridge. And close to the middle of the bridge, two people were standing in the moonlight. Everything was still. There was not a sound. It was like a dream.

  The two figures clearly had no idea he was there. Even if they’d looked his way, they probably wouldn’t have seen him in the shadow of the trees. Their faces were turned down, towards the pond below them. Of course, he realized, they were looking at the moon’s reflection in the water.

  Who were they? Was it the beautiful woman? If so, was the man her husband, just arrived back from the town? He was slightly behind the woman, so it was hard to make him out. The horse was too good for a peasant to own.

  Now the woman turned to look up at the sky, and her face was caught in the moonlight. He saw the face so clearly it almost took his breath away. It was the woman he’d seen before. No question. But she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  She must be about the same age as his own wife, he supposed. But whereas his wife, who came from a gentry family, with her bound feet and rich dresses, looked highborn but commonplace, this simple peasant woman was like a princess from ancient legend, a celestial being of some kind. It must be the moonlight, he told himself, that produced the strange spirit of grace that emanated from her—ageless, timeless.

  A soft sound, between a whisper and a murmur, came across the water. She must have spoken to the man, who pulled slightly away from her, straightened, and looked boldly up at the moon.

  Shi-Rong stared. He could see every detail now—the long hair of the Taiping, the face etched with lines of authority, the scar down his cheek. He knew that face. It was older, of course, but he was almost sure. It was Nio. Without meaning to, he let out a gasp of surprise.

  Nio heard it. His senses must be sharp as a wild animal’s. His eyes searched the trees by the water’s edge. Could Nio spy him in the shadows?

  Shi-Rong saw Nio glance past the end of the bridge. That must be where the path came out. Then Nio spoke. “Whoever you are, come out onto the bridge where I can see you.” His voice was very calm, his tone that of a commander who is used to being obeyed. He drew out a long knife. “If you do not, I shall come into the woods. I shall find you easily, and I will kill you.”

  Shi-Rong hadn’t brought his sword with him when he set out on his walk. He suspected that even if he had, he wouldn’t have been a match for the former bandit. He had no wish to die ignominiously on some obscure path in the woods. He’d rather meet Nio face-to-face.

  “Wait,” he said, with what he hoped was equal authority. It took him only a few moments to follow the path to where it led onto the bridge. He stepped onto it, keeping his head down. When he was about a dozen paces from Nio, he stopped and looked up.

  “Good evening, Nio,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

  The look of astonishment on Nio’s face was very satisfying. “Mr. Jiang!”

  “Last time we met you were running away from me in a dragon boat. My question is, what in the world are you doing here? I see you’re a Taiping bandit now, but I didn’t think they were operating in these parts.”

  “They’re not. I went home to see my family. I’m on my way back.”

  “And I’m the magistrate. We’re looking for rebels. I’ll have to arrest you.”

  “I can’t allow that.” Nio’s hand went back to his knife. “I don’t want to kill you, Mr. Jiang, but if you try to arrest me, I’ll have to.”

  “No, Little Brother!” the woman cried out in terror. “Do not bring that upon us.”

  “She’s right,” said Shi-Rong. And turning to the beautiful woman: “Are you harboring this man? Why do you call him Little Brother?”

  The woman looked lost, but Nio intervened. “When I was a boy, Mr. Jiang, I ran away from home. Her family took me in, saved my life. She was like a sister to me. Whenever I make a journey this way, I look in to see that she’s all right.” He gestured to his horse. “I just arrived a few moments ago, as you see.” He smiled. “We’re out on the bridge because her family won’t have me in the house.”

  Shi-Rong watched the woman. She loved Nio. He could see that. He was also pretty sure Nio was telling the truth. “She appears to be doing well enough,” Shi-Rong said drily. He indicated the farm. “Big house.”

  “But falling apart,” said Nio. “The family’s ruined.” He gave Shi-Rong a bleak look. “The usual story. Opium.”

  “Which I tried to stop,” Shi-Rong reminded him.

  And which I helped to smuggle, Nio thought sadly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. “The woman and her family have no part in this, I promise you,” he said.

  Shi-Rong nodded. “We have no interest in them.”

  “I’m going to ride away.”

  “I shall ride after you.”

  Nio allowed himself a faint smile. “You didn’t catch me last time.”

  “I shall catch you.”

  “Then one of us will die.” Nio gave a wry grimace. “Perhaps both of us.” He turned to the woman. “Goodbye, Big Sister. Take care of yourself.” Then without another word he strode towards his horse, mounted, and rode away towards the lane.

  Shi-Rong watched him go. “That lane up there,” he asked the woman, “it leads to the village?” She nodded. He might as well return that way then, he thought. No point in taking the dark path through the woods again.

  But he did not move.

  Should he set out after Nio at once? He calculated. His riders were probably asleep already. He’d have to rouse them. They wouldn’t like that. And their horses needed rest in any case. It would probably be better to wake the men at dawn, tell them a Taiping warrior had been seen during the night, and set off then, with men and horses that were fresh.

  No doubt Nio would make detours to give them the slip, but there were only certain roads he could take to get him back to Nanjing.

  Truth to tell, if the task of capturing Nio fell to someone else, he wouldn’t be sorry.

  But the woman standing before him did not know that. “He did not want to kill you, Lord,” she said in a low voice. “Were you friends?”

  “We knew each other.”

  “Do you want to kill him?”

  “He’s a traitor. I serve the emperor.”

  “Do you want money, Lord?”

  She was trying to bribe him. What else could she
do? Many officials, no doubt, would have taken the money.

  “I thought you had no money.”

  “He gave me money,” she said dully.

  He nodded slowly. Of course. Nio had given her money. Money she needed for her family. And she was going to give it up to save his life. “I have no need of money,” he said.

  She made a little gesture of despair. “What will they do to him?” she asked in a whisper.

  He didn’t answer. Put him in chains, for a start. Then they’d ask him questions. They’d want to know everything about the Taiping, the state of affairs in Nanjing, the future plans of the Heavenly King.

  If they were intelligent, they might even try to persuade Nio to turn informant, return to Nanjing and act as a government agent. After all, that was usually the way with these pirates and smugglers. They’d work for any side so long as you paid them.

  The question was, would Nio cooperate? Would he talk at all?

  Shi-Rong had a feeling he would not. In the years gone by, he would have. But there was something about the fellow now, a maturity, a firmness. As if he’d found a purpose in life. If he did break, he probably wouldn’t tell them anything of much use.

  For they were sure to torture him. They’d do to Nio just what he himself had done to that pirate who’d tried to kill Commissioner Lin, all those years ago in Guangzhou.

  The woman might have some idea about torture, but he wasn’t going to tell her.

  And as the horror of that torture and death suddenly came back to him with an appalling vividness, he knew he did not want that for Nio. I’m not sending him to that, he thought, not even for the emperor.

  His father would surely have told him that he must. But he wasn’t going to.

  How beautiful the woman was. Perfect. Spotless. How extraordinary to find such a beauty in a humble village. A precious pearl in the wilderness.

  “Have you wine?” he asked. She nodded. “Bring me wine and I shall look at the moon,” he said.

  While she went to get the wine, he remained on the little bridge over the pond and gazed at the moon’s reflection in the water. When she came back again, he told her, “I am not going after Nio, on one condition. You must never tell anyone that I met him and let him go. Otherwise, it is I who will be arrested. Do you understand?”

  She bowed. “I swear, Lord,” she said. And she was about to retire to the house when he motioned to her to sit down on the bank, a few feet away from him. He saw her look alarmed.

  It was hardly proper for a married woman to remain out there with him. But who was going to see? She was certainly in his power. Some men, military commanders on campaign, he supposed, might have tried to take advantage of her.

  He gazed at her. I would not touch her, he thought. But I can enjoy her beauty in the moonlight. “I shall remain here until dawn,” he remarked. “You are going to entertain me.” He smiled. “You will have to tell me a long story.”

  “A story, Lord? There are many famous tales.”

  “No. I want something different. Tell me the story of your life. It must be truthful. You must leave nothing out.”

  “It’s not very interesting,” she said.

  He smiled. “Then I shall fall asleep.”

  But he did not fall asleep, and the peasant woman told him her story until dawn.

  * * *

  —

  The morning passed quietly. She helped Mother as if everything were normal. In the afternoon, they both rested a little.

  That evening the sky was clear as darkness fell. Nobody stayed up late. Mother was ready to turn in. Her elder boy, Ka-Fai, was tired from his work. Even her brother-in-law had been out in the fields that day and had already gone to lie down.

  Only Mei-Ling was still awake. From the courtyard she could see the moon, almost full, rising over the wall, but she had no desire to go outside and look at the glimmering pond. She stayed sitting by the tree, with the gate shut. She could feel her eyes drooping, and she was about to go to her bed when a sound at the gate caused her to start, then frown.

  Someone was trying to get in. Who could it possibly be at this hour? Surely Nio was far away by now. Then with a sinking feeling, she thought of the magistrate. Had he changed his mind? Had he caught Nio and returned to arrest the family for harboring him? Was it an intruder? The gate was closed fast by a stout wooden crossbar. It would take more than a single man to break it down. Just wait, she told herself, and the intruder would go away. But he didn’t. Now Mother appeared, woken by the noise. They looked at each other uncertainly.

  And then came a voice calling for someone to let him in. A voice she could not mistake.

  * * *

  —

  “I had to come back,” Second Son explained when they were all sitting together. “I just had this feeling something was wrong, that you needed me.”

  “What did the American say?” Mei-Ling asked.

  “He was all right.” Her husband smiled. “He said: ‘You gotta do what you gotta do.’ ” So he and their son had hurried back. They’d been traveling since before dawn. “But now that you’re all well,” he continued, “I wonder if I should go back and join the American again. I’m sure we could catch him up. We still need the money.”

  “There’s no need,” Mother told him. “I found money today that your father must have hidden away.” She glanced at Mei-Ling, who nodded at once and said that it was most fortunate. “Enough to keep us going for quite a while.”

  “Really?” said Second Son. “Well then, it was fate that brought me back.”

  “It was,” said Mei-Ling.

  And tired though they were, they made love that night.

  * * *

  —

  It was just a few days later that Mei-Ling began to have a strange feeling. She could not say exactly why. Was it an instinct? A memory of how she had felt before? Or was it her imagination? Whatever the cause, the suspicion came and would not go away. A suspicion that a new life had begun within her.

  Three weeks later, the suspicion grew much stronger. A month after that, she was almost sure. She told Mother, who nodded and made no comment.

  That evening, when Second Son came in, Mother told him: “Good news. You’re going to be a father again.” And Second Son was overjoyed.

  “It must have been the night before I left,” he said to Mei-Ling when they were alone later.

  “It could have been the night you came back,” she replied.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “Don’t you see? That’s why I had the message, telling me I needed to return.” He beamed at her excitedly. “It all makes sense. The ancestors were watching over us.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Mei-Ling said. It could be so.

  But although she was happy at the turn events had taken, there was still something else that Mei-Ling would need in order to complete her happiness.

  A few days later, without telling Mother, she went to a small Buddhist temple a few miles away. Taking great care, making sure to step with her right foot over the entrance and not to do anything to offend the spirits of the place, she offered two lighted candles to the Buddha. Then, kneeling before him and pressing her forehead three times to the ground, she prayed most fervently that the life within her should be a girl.

  As she returned home, she felt the warm light of the afternoon sun falling so kindly on her face that she took it for a blessing.

  * * *

  —

  When the baby was born seven months later, Second Son was overjoyed. “Our first daughter,” he cried in delight. “You always wanted one. And she looks just like you!”

  It was true. The baby was tiny, delicately featured, and looked just like Mei-Ling.

  Even Mother was pleased. “You are a good daughter,” she told Mei-Ling with a smile. “If the baby has your character as well
as your looks, we shall be fortunate indeed.” All the astrological signs were promising as well.

  But what should they call her? It was Second Son who provided the answer.

  “She must have been conceived just around the time of the full moon,” he said. “We shall name her Bright Moon. As long as you don’t mind,” he added, looking at Mei-Ling, who smiled and agreed.

  Everyone calls me Lacquer Nail. Ever since I was a young man. But I had to find my way into the palace of the emperor himself to get my name. So I’d better explain how that came about. It’s quite a strange tale, really. I don’t know anyone else who has a story as interesting as mine.

  The village where I was born lies about fifteen miles south of Beijing. My parents had nine children, but just three of us lived beyond infancy—my two sisters and me. So it was up to me to carry on the family line.

  My father was a carpenter, but I don’t think he was very good at it, because sometimes he wasn’t employed at all. He was a bit of a dreamer, really. “My grandfather was the son of a merchant with money,” he’d say, “but money’s not important to me.” When he said that, my mother would cry: “That’s only because you haven’t got any.” She was impatient with him sometimes, although I think they loved each other.

  The only time I remember him trying to get money was when I was seven years old. The time he took me to Beijing.

  My grandfather’s brother had left for Beijing long before my father was even born. But he used to come to our village every spring for the Qingming Ancestors Day, to pay his respects at the family graves. He’d given that up a couple of years before I was born, on account of his age, so I’d never met him. He must have been almost eighty when we went to Beijing.