China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  * * *

  —

  “I have one other question,” she said one day. “You spoke of buying the barbarians’ ships and guns. But what about their railroads?”

  “Railroads?” He had heard the term, but was still a little vague as to what they were. The previous year, one of the barbarians had set up a few hundred yards of track with a small engine to demonstrate this invention in Beijing. Shi-Rong hadn’t seen it himself, but the authorities, having inspected the devilish contraption, had ordered it dismantled at once. “How did you hear of railroads?”

  “One of my sons went to California, in America, and worked on the railroads. Thousands from our province have done the same.” And she told him all about the railroad: how it was constructed, what the engines and rolling stock were like, how much noise they made, and how these trains could carry people and goods for hundreds of miles, faster than any horse and cart. When she had finished speaking, Shi-Rong could only gaze at her in horror.

  “This invention you describe sounds loathsome. We need to acquire arms from the barbarians to protect our civilization, not foul engines to destroy it. If the man we are sending to the West should encounter such a monstrous machine and report upon it, I am sure the emperor will continue to forbid its appearance here.”

  Mei-Ling nodded respectfully.

  But how strange it was, he thought, that an illiterate peasant woman from an obscure hamlet should know about such things when he, a highly educated mandarin, did not. And it seemed that thousands of other peasants must know about it, too.

  * * *

  —

  Only one thing caused him unease at this time. It concerned Mei-Ling and young Peng. What did Peng think of his mistress?

  The young fellow did his job well, he was respectful, and Shi-Rong had trained him not to talk too much. But he seemed rather straitlaced, and there’d been no sign of his taking up with any local women. Well, that was his business. But given that Peng’s father has told him I’m such a paragon of virtue, he thought, he may secretly disapprove of Mei-Ling. What if he were to tell his father about his feelings in a letter?

  Shi-Rong knew what letters went from the prefecture to Beijing and the young man didn’t seem to have written home—a fact that rather surprised him. If this somewhat solemn young man was to tell his father that his new master’s domestic arrangements left something to be desired, Mr. Peng Senior would probably just laugh. But he might not.

  Avoid trouble, Mr. Peng had advised. Play it safe. Would he think having a concubine from a country village was inappropriate behavior?

  “You get along with my concubine, Mei-Ling, I think, don’t you?” he’d asked young Peng casually one morning.

  “Yes, master. She’s very intelligent,” Peng added respectfully.

  “Quite. And she thinks well of you.” He paused a moment. “It’s a pity that she is only a country peasant, with unbound feet, of course. She’ll return to her village when my tour of duty here is done. But I confess that I shall be sorry to part from her.”

  “You will part from her?”

  “Naturally.” He gave the young man a serious look. “It is very important in one’s career, Peng, to observe all the proper conventions. It’s one thing to have a concubine like Mei-Ling down here—and you may be sure that I discussed the matter with the prefect. But up in Beijing, for instance, no matter how charming and intelligent she is, it wouldn’t do. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I understand, master.”

  “Good. That’s all, Peng. I’ll let you get on with your work.”

  This conversation should have set Shi-Rong’s mind at rest. But it didn’t. Within days he was cursing himself. I shouldn’t have raised the subject at all, he thought. All I’ve done is put it in his mind. He wondered what he could do about it.

  * * *

  —

  When he’d first arrived at the sub-prefect’s residence at Guilin, he’d been pleased to find that it was well furnished, but not in an ostentatious manner. Much of the furniture was wooden, some carved with pleasing fretwork, and other pieces in the Ming dynasty’s simplest style, with hardly any ornament at all. Together with its enclosed philosopher’s garden and fishpond, his home was a tranquil retreat, which both he and Mei-Ling enjoyed.

  It contained a few small treasures, some of which rested unobtrusively on a plain wooden side table in the hall. His favorite was a little jade figure, not even three inches high, that was normally placed towards the back.

  “You’d hardly notice it, would you?” he’d remarked to Mei-Ling one day. For not only was the figure, of a bald musician like a Buddha, very small, but its creamy brown color blended into the pale wood of the table on which it stood. “People think of jade as being green or some other bright color. But it’s not always so. And this little fellow is jade and quite valuable.”

  “I think it brings the house good luck,” she said. And he smiled and agreed that it probably did.

  So he was rather shocked one morning when she silently led him over to the table and pointed to the spot where the tiny musician usually lived.

  “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps one of the servants is cleaning it.”

  But Mei-Ling shook her head. “I’m afraid someone will think I stole it,” she murmured.

  He frowned. But they might. It was true. He wondered what to do.

  “I know who took it,” she went on quietly.

  “You do? Tell me.”

  “I don’t want anyone to know I told you. That would make trouble for me. Bad for me. Bad for you.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “It was Peng. He didn’t see me, but I saw him.”

  “Peng?” How strange. He didn’t disbelieve her. But why should Peng, the son of a rich and powerful man, need to steal?

  “Please don’t tell him I told you.”

  “I won’t.”

  He thought about it all that day. He’d seen such cases before. He slept on it, and by the next morning he knew what to do.

  “Tell me, Peng,” he said amiably when he was alone with his secretary in the office, “are you happy in your work here?”

  “Yes, master. Very much.” He seemed to mean it.

  “It’s very important, Peng, when a young fellow serves a master—just like a son who obeys his father—that he should feel that he is valued and appreciated. Fathers must take care how they treat their sons, for if they do not, then the son, in his unhappiness, may do something foolish in order to retaliate or simply to comfort himself. Confucius is stern against such things, but that does not mean they do not happen. So if as a master I have made you unhappy in any way, you may tell me now.”

  “Oh no, master. Not at all,” said the solemn young man fervently.

  “Good.” Shi-Rong smiled. “Now to another, entirely unrelated matter. A small thing. I haven’t told anyone yet. I want to share it with you. Maybe you can solve it.”

  “Certainly, master.” Peng was studiously attentive.

  “There was a little figure of a musician—pale brown jade—on the table in my hall. I particularly like it. It’s actually rather good. And it’s disappeared. You didn’t by any chance borrow it, did you? Used it to decorate your own room, perhaps? I’d quite understand your liking it, but I’m afraid I want it on my own table. So if you borrowed it, would you please return it now?”

  Did young Peng hesitate for just a second? Shi-Rong thought so.

  “I know nothing of this, master,” he said.

  “Peng.” Shi-Rong looked at the young man. “You’ve done this sort of thing before.”

  “No, master.”

  “Peng, I know you have.”

  There was an awful silence. Peng looked wretched. “My father promised he would not tell you,” he cried in vexation.

  So his guess was right, and the young man
had fallen into the trap. “I ought to inform your father, and the prefect, too,” Shi-Rong continued. “But I fear that if I do, it might enrage your father and also end your career—which would be a pity, when you are so young.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Go and get it, and bring it here.”

  A few minutes later Peng reappeared with the jade figure. Shi-Rong put the little musician in the palm of his hand and gazed at him affectionately. “You must promise never to do this again.”

  “I promise, master.”

  “No, Peng. It’s yourself you must promise, not me. You do your job well. You should take pride in it. You will make your father proud. Then you will have no need to steal.” He paused. “And now I am going to write to your father, and I shall give him a good report of you. Tell me, have you written to your father since you were here?”

  “No, master.”

  “He will think it rather hurtful if he receives a letter from me, but none from his own son. Go and write to him now, then bring me your letter to inspect.”

  In an hour the whole business was done. Shi-Rong’s letter was craftily composed. The young man was working hard, a credit to his family, and well liked by the prefect, by his wife, and by the members of Shi-Rong’s own household. He was most grateful to Mr. Peng Senior for the gift of his son, for whom he predicted a fine career. He cheerfully passed the letter to his secretary to read when the young man came in again.

  As for Peng’s letter, it expressed all his duties to his father in the most correct manner. It then provided a brief account of his work, of the beautiful scenery, of the prefect’s wise administration. But when it came to Shi-Rong, young Peng outdid himself. His master’s wisdom, his rectitude, and his kindness were described with such obvious gratitude and sincerity that, if it hadn’t been exactly what he had all along intended, Shi-Rong might have blushed.

  “Seal your letter,” he instructed, “and I shall seal mine.” He smiled at Peng. “I hope you will look back on this day as a happy turning point in your life, and for that reason it has been a good day for me, too.”

  * * *

  ◦

  As the months went by, Shi-Rong had to confess that although Guilin might have seemed a backwater as far as his career was concerned, he had never been happier in his life. And in terms of his career, it hadn’t been wasted time, either. For he’d soon come to realize that behind the prefect’s genial manner lay a great shrewdness as well as kindness.

  He was also a great teacher. He showed Shi-Rong how to deal with the different tribes and avoid conflict. He taught him not just how to administer the law, but how to manage the magistrates. By the end of a year Shi-Rong realized he was learning more from him than he had from anyone since Commissioner Lin.

  So when a letter came from Mr. Peng to inform him that, if he would just be patient an extra six months, he was confident he could secure him a most remunerative appointment nearer the capital, he was quite content.

  Except for one thing. Mei-Ling would be leaving. Her year and a half would be up.

  Half a year without her. He asked her to stay a few months longer, but she refused.

  “It has been, still is, the most astounding thing that ever happened to me in my life. I am full of gratitude,” she said. She was too honest to lie to him about such a thing.

  “Stay the extra months then,” he begged.

  “My girl’s expecting me. I told her a year and a half. Do you think she hasn’t got the days all counted?”

  It so happened that just at that time a letter had come from Shi-Rong’s wife. It was quite friendly, but it told him that his son Ru-Hai, who was due for a rest from his studies soon, would dearly like it if his father invited him to see the beauties of Guilin for a month.

  “I am due to leave a month after the end of the summer monsoon,” Mei-Ling pointed out. “Why don’t you summon him to arrive just after that? It’s a delightful time of the year, and you’ll have him for company. You’ll be so busy you’ll hardly notice I’ve gone.”

  “It won’t be the same.” He smiled ruefully. “But you’re right. It’s what I ought to do.” And he sent instructions to that effect.

  * * *

  ◦

  The summer rains had come to an end a few days ago, and Shi-Rong had just begun to plan how he might amuse the boy. He hardly knew what he’d expected their meeting would be like. It had been nearly two years since they’d last seen each other. Ru-Hai must now be in his eighteenth year and quite a young man, he supposed, no longer the boy he remembered.

  So he was quite astonished one afternoon when Ru-Hai turned up at the house. “We weren’t expecting you for a month,” he cried.

  “I came early,” said Ru-Hai. “Are you not pleased to see me?”

  “Of course I’m pleased. Delighted,” Shi-Rong assured him. “Just surprised. You look taller,” he said. “Have you been studying hard?”

  “Yes, Father,” said Ru-Hai, and bowed respectfully.

  “Well, well, come in,” his father said cheerfully, “and tell me all the news.”

  Ru-Hai recited the news from home. His mother was well. “Excellent,” cried Shi-Rong. “I shall write to your dear mother at once to let her know you’ve arrived safely.” His younger brother was also well and attending to his schoolbooks assiduously. “Good, good,” said Shi-Rong with a smile. But his sister was still sickly and really couldn’t travel far from the family home. “I wish it were otherwise,” Shi-Rong said sadly. “Your mother is quite right to remain with her, but I wish it were otherwise.”

  Leading him to his office, Shi-Rong introduced his son to Peng, told him about the kindly prefect and his wife, and gave him some account of the area and its beauties. A servant brought them tea.

  The boy seemed happy enough. Being tired from his journey, he went to rest for a while before joining his father and Peng for the evening meal.

  “What do I do?” Shi-Rong asked Mei-Ling.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.”

  “Then do nothing.”

  When Mei-Ling entered to serve them, Shi-Rong introduced her by name, and Ru-Hai acknowledged her politely; but it wasn’t clear he’d realized who she was. After the meal, Peng had to attend to some correspondence, so father and son were left alone.

  “The housekeeper’s rather beautiful,” Ru-Hai remarked. “Did she come with the residence?”

  “No, she didn’t come with the residence,” his father said. “Actually, she is my concubine. I forgot to mention it when I introduced you.”

  “You have a concubine?” Ru-Hai looked at his father in consternation.

  “Just one,” his father replied.

  “Does my mother know?”

  “No. I only acquired her when I got here, you see.”

  Ru-Hai was silent for a moment. “You have another woman, and my poor mother doesn’t even know?”

  “It’s perfectly proper for a man in my position to have a concubine.”

  “My mother was right,” Ru-Hai burst out. “You think only of yourself.” And he rushed out of the room.

  Shi-Rong waited an hour. He wondered what else his wife had said about him behind his back. He wasn’t angry with the boy for wanting to defend his mother. But he couldn’t have him insulting his father, either. When the hour was up, he summoned Peng and told him to find Ru-Hai and bring him back.

  When Ru-Hai returned, still looking sulky, Shi-Rong was firm. “You are not to insult your father. Whatever your feelings are, you must show respect to me. That is your duty. Kindly remember it.” He paused. “As far as Mei-Ling is concerned, she will probably never meet your mother, because when I leave here, she will return to her family. I shall be sorry to lose her, but that is what will happen. In the meantime, you will find her a charming person.”

  “She’s just a poor peasant
from a village in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even got bound feet.”

  “She is part Hakka. As you will know, the Hakka, like the Manchu, do not bind their feet. Though as it happens, her daughter’s feet are being bound. As for her family, they have a big farm and a great deal of land. They live off the rents.” It had been true in the past, he thought. It might be true in the future. The present, therefore, could be overlooked.

  “She’s still a Cantonese peasant,” Ru-Hai muttered.

  Shi-Rong should have rebuked him at once for being rude, but he decided to reason with him instead. “You will find that her manners are elegant, she can read and write a little, which is as much as many well-born ladies can manage, and she speaks enough Mandarin to recite poetry.” He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the prefect’s wife for these accomplishments, and as he did so, he realized that he had another card in his hand. “You had better be careful what you say about her to the prefect, by the way,” he added, “because she is also a close friend of his wife.”

  That struck home. His son looked up in surprise and then fell silent.

  Shi-Rong had seen such things before. A merchant, for instance, takes a second wife, his children inspect her, and the thing they care about most is whether she will enhance the family’s status or not. It was natural enough, he thought. It’s the instinct for survival. The children hate the new wife not because she is pretty when their own mother is ceasing to be so, but because firstly, if she has children, their own inheritance will be diluted, and secondly, they consider the younger woman comes from a lower class. Of course, if she is rich and brings money into the family, that may be another matter.

  Ru-Hai said nothing more. But later that evening, as Mei-Ling passed quietly through the courtyard, Shi-Rong noticed his son look at her curiously.

  * * *

  —

  The next day they all went to see the prefect. Mei-Ling and the prefect’s wife retired together while the prefect and Shi-Rong took Ru-Hai on a tour of the area.