Taming Poison Dragons (41 page)

‘We shall go to Su Lin,’ I said.

Mi Feng replied cautiously: ‘You might find her busy.

Perhaps best not to surprise her, as it were, sir.’

‘I told you not to call me that, damn you! Accompany me to her house or go to hell. For that is where I am going.’

Without grumbling, he cantered behind me down the Imperial Way. How familiar the city seemed, and strange.

After so long away I felt like one traversing a dream. Face after face, each turned inward upon its business. Voices and smells mingling. Not a soul caring that we had been at the edge of the world, engaged in a desperate struggle.

Wine shops were as busy as ever. Tea-houses from which a faint thread of melody unwound into the street. Did anyone recognise me? I would not have noticed if they had. I rode stiff-backed, viewing everything through the corner of my eyes, afraid tears might begin, tears I could barely explain.

We rode right through the city to the West Lake.

Hundreds of craft on the water, lit by more lamps than there are stars in the sky. Gay laughter floated, then died away. I watched the scene coldly.

‘This must be a happy sight!’ said Mi Feng. ‘Sir always loved the Lake!’

He sounded anxious that I should be happy, so I tried to smile. Soon my mouth fell.

‘I thought this place loved me – no, not that, only that I loved it. But it is indifferent, Mi Feng, it does not care about us at all.’

He glanced at me, then at the West Lake.

‘How can water care about anything?’ he asked.

I stared at him.

‘You are the true poet here,’ I said.

He sighed, and would have said more, but I rode on, eager to discover what I most dreaded. We reached the cottage by the lake where Su Lin dwelt. Here came my first surprise. A strange singing girl stood outside her house, hugging a drunken suitor, evidently eager to send him on his way.

‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘Where is Su Lin?’

She blinked at me artfully, and giggled. The suitor bristled, as though I was trying to steal his girl. Then he caught a glimpse of our weapons.

‘Don’t you know, sir?’ she said. ‘Su Lin doesn’t live here anymore. She wouldn’t dirty her slippers here now. That’s where Su Lin lives.’

I followed her pointing finger. On a knoll above the lakeside, stood a fine house in its own grounds.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked.

The girl’s laugh tinkled like ice.

‘Yes, the lucky whore!’

I should have struck her for such impudence. Turning my tired horse, I cantered up the low hill to the gatehouse.

A sleepy servant tried to stop me, but I brushed him aside with my good arm and marched up to the house. I wanted no announcement, I wanted to find her exactly as she was, however it pained my heart. Mi Feng hurried behind me, pausing only to intimidate the gatekeeper with a glare.

‘That’s right, sir,’ he said. ‘Catch her at it.’

I strode to the entrance and did not bother to knock.

Throwing open the door, I stood for a moment, one arm in a sling, the other resting on the hilt of P’ei Ti’s sword.

What I saw lumped my throat.

Fear creates a thousand miseries which never occur.

Longing a thousand more. I was met by a gasp. A sudden cry. Su Lin sat on a stool in the courtyard beside a small pond green with lily-pads. Lanterns lit the water, softening her gentle features. In her hand, a lute; on her face, sheer consternation. She froze in mid-song, for she was practising a tune. Her lifeless fingers released the instrument and it slid down her knees to the ground, clanging with a discordant sound.

Our eyes found each other’s soul.

‘They told me,’ she cried. ‘Oh, I thought!’

Her voice trailed away. Then came a flurry of silks in motion. She was clasping me hard, hurting my injured shoulder.

‘They told me you were dead,’ she sobbed against my chest. ‘Oh Yun Cai, you have come back.’

I peered around. No other man was visible. But I could not be sure. I held her away from me suspiciously.

‘Is anyone else here?’ I asked.

‘What do you mean? There’s just us, and the servants.’

At last, I could relax. If another man had been present I do not like to think what I would have done.

‘Dearest Yun Cai, how thin you look! And your arm!

What has happened to your arm?’

Like a kite abruptly falling when the wind drops, my fury became its opposite. I was myself again. We clutched each other, crying out excited questions, murmuring endearments, calling out each other’s name. Yet in my soul, barely noticed, was a coldness. Though I longed for it to melt, something had frozen inside me like ice one sometimes sees, full of grit and dead leaves.

What a night followed! For all my exhaustion it continued until dawn. The finest food appeared, and wines.

The more I drank the more boastful I became, for I sensed Su Lin expected me to boast. She wanted me to resemble a hero in a tale. And P’ei Ti was summoned, rushing across the city to join us. I told them stories of our journey from the frontier, joking about the rapaciousness of fleas. Su Lin sat close by, urging me to drink another cup, eat another morsel, occasionally clasping me and murmuring how thin I looked.

Finally, sitting beneath the stars in Su Lin’s courtyard –

I insisted we eat outside because it was what I had grownused to – P’ei Ti grew serious. He indicated to Su Lin that she should be silent, though she wanted to entertain me with a favourite song. Actually, she was drunk, in the most endearing way possible.

‘Well, my old friend,’ he said. ‘No, not my old friend, but my dearest friend. It’s obvious you’ve had a very bad time of it.’

I tried to shrug, drank more wine.

‘How did you come by your wound?’ he asked.

‘An arrow,’ I said.

‘Ah. So you saw no, what do they call it, close quarter fighting?’

I looked at him, suddenly sober.

‘Better not to mention it,’ I said. ‘But P’ei Ti, your sword saved my life.’

I rose, pushing Su Lin aside, and paced up and down.

‘I had to kill a man,’ I said, a brittle edge to my voice.

‘If the Buddha is right, I am damned for torment in the next life, or even hell itself. I stabbed him in the groin and his blood sprayed all over me! But I had no choice, P’ei Ti, I was allowed no choice!’

He gripped my shaking hands.

‘Do not distress yourself. You are safe among friends now.’

‘It was Lord Xiao’s doing!’ I cried. ‘He hired assassins, P’ei Ti. I had to kill one of them. Oh, it is an unpleasant story!’

Su Lin was watching me, her mouth slightly open.

‘Let us talk of this tomorrow,’ said P’ei Ti, soothingly.

‘Lord Xiao will reap what he has sown.’

‘He hates me, P’ei Ti! He will never let me be.’

‘No, my friend, it is his own ignominy he despises. His pride is a kind of madness and will be his undoing. Let us talk of it tomorrow. Tonight I wish you to feel only joy.’

I sat down again, flustered beyond measure. Then a voice from the shadows spoke up. It was Mi Feng, clutching a flask which he emptied from the nape. His voice slurred.

‘So what if he killed a man!’ he said. ‘I killed three of ’em, and they all wanted my master’s head. You people are always letting others fight your wars, but he acted like a man.’

Then, as P’ei Ti and Su Lin listened, he told of Wen Po’s siege works and the tunnel, our fight in Pinang and flight from the Kin. I was so befuddled by drink and exhaustion, I hardly took in half of what he said. Su Lin dragged me to my feet, and led me to bed, whispering endearments. I left P’ei Ti gazing open-mouthed at Mi Feng, encouraging him with yet more wine.

When I lay on the bed the ceiling spun. I clutched Su Lin on silken sheets, sinking my head on her breast, and never thought who had nestled there before me.

The next dawn I ignored Su Lin’s plea to rest. I was like a stringed instrument unable to stop vibrating. If only painful duties would let me be! As I dressed hurriedly, Su Lin watched from the bed.

‘I am surprised you rush away as soon as you have arrived,’ she said, pouting. ‘Dearest, you must have new clothes. It makes a poor impression to be seen in rags.’

I was barely listening. Dare I strap P’ei Ti’s sword to my belt? I felt vulnerable without it. But for a civilian to carry weapons was illegal.

‘Do you think a man’s duty should be determined by his tailor?’ I snapped.

She looked at me timidly.

‘Your voice has grown so harsh,’ she muttered. ‘I suppose it is to be expected.’

I might have countered that courtesy is flimsy. What was it anyway, except a mask? I frowned, unable to remember how I spoke before Pinang. Less angrily, for sure. Rudeness was always a horror of mine. Now I could imagine more fundamental failings.

I sat beside her on the bed and took her soft, languid hand. My own fingers were callused, grained with dirt.

Once I had been fastidious about cleanliness, too. What had happened to me?

‘Forgive me if I speak a little roughly,’ I said. ‘But this obligation cannot be delayed. It is a family matter. I must tell Cousin Hong about his brother.’

Su Lin’s fingers entwined with my own. Her warmth crept through my veins, touching my heart.

‘You must not expect me to be as I was,’ I said, confused. Then I added, for a glance at her face told me exactly what she expected: ‘Not yet, at least.’

‘Return soon,’ she said, resting her head on my chest.

I embraced her tightly, all the while glancing at the door. On the way out I found Mi Feng beneath a pile of blankets in the courtyard, a broken wine cup beside his head. Two of the servants were hovering in distress, broom in hand. I could tell they wished to sweep him up, ragged clothes and all. At first, I intended to wake him, for I had grown as dependent on his presence as on my sword. Mastering myself, I walked into the city.

An hour later, I found myself in the vicinity of the Pig Market, off the broad Imperial Way. Down a narrow side street, full of wheelbarrows and butcher-boys carrying sides of pork, I reached a medium-sized wine shop adjoining the pavement. A jug festooned with gay ribbons hung above the gate. There was a sharp reek as a barrow of night soil trundled past, otherwise the district smelt pervasively of dead animals and smoke. A child played by the gate and, at the sight of me, he screamed and dashed inside. A moment later Cousin Hong appeared. His expression of amazed joy, so out of character, made me smile.

‘Little General! It is you! Why are you waiting in the street? Come inside!’

He rushed forward and led me into the courtyard.

Despite the early hour, or perhaps because of it, dozens of men sat drinking and breakfasting on bowls of rice fried with onions, spices and pork. The aroma of ginger and garlic made me hungry. I looked round in a daze. My sister-in-law had appeared from the kitchen where she was supervising the servants. She bowed humbly. The customers on the benches watched but did not cease to dip and scoop their chopsticks.

‘Little General!’ crowed Cousin Hong. ‘They said you were a dead man!’

He chuckled as he hugged me, roaring for the best wine in the house. I felt tearful, for it is no small thing to re-join one’s family. He was all I had left, apart from my parents and sisters in far off Wei. Separation ached in my heart like a rebuke.

‘How fat you’ve grown!’ I cried. ‘I can hardly get my arms round you.’

‘And how thin you are, Little General. Wife, bring food with the wine. Not another word until you’ve eaten. No, I won’t hear a single word!’

While I swallowed strips of fatty pork and rice, slurping cups of warm wine, Cousin Hong addressed his customers:

‘See here, good sirs! Didn’t I tell you about my famous cousin, the poet? And not one of you believed me. He’s just back from trouncing the rebels up north. Don’t be fooled by his campaigning gear, this man is a gentleman.

A cup of free wine for everyone to celebrate the return of the Honourable Yun Cai!’

To my surprise, a butcher wearing a blood-spattered smock began to sing one of my verses. Half the words were wrong but for the first time in months I felt elation.

We could have had quite a celebration, until I remembered why I had come.

‘Cousin Hong,’ I said, setting aside my cup, afraid of drinking too much. ‘This is not seemly behaviour, given the circumstances, though I know you mean well. I must speak with you alone.’

He lowered his own drink, for he knew when I was serious.

Sitting before the ancestral shrine in his living room where Uncle Ming’s spirit and ashes resided, I told him the sad story of his brother Zhi and how he had fallen fighting the barbarous Kin. At least, I told him a story. It concerned quite a different fellow from Cousin Zhi. One who always strived for the welfare of the conscripted peasants under his care so that they nicknamed him Beloved Father. How he had heroically fought off a Jurchen warrior using a borrowed spear, enabling his men to reach the safety of the pass. Then I stopped, tears in my eyes. So strongly did I wish these things to be true that I had half-convinced myself.

Cousin Hong watched shrewdly. He seemed oddly unaffected by my tale. He stood up and re-arranged a bowl of chrysanthemum petals on the ancestral shrine, straightening the tablet bearing his father’s name.

‘It wasn’t quite like that, Little General,’ he said. ‘Was it?’

I did not know how to reply.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘That is how we shall tell it to the children.’

He cleared his throat hoarsely, wiping his forehead.

‘No,’ I insisted. ‘He died well.’

‘Good!’ cried Cousin Hong. ‘Then at least he did something well! If he had passed the examinations – and heaven knows how many tens of thousands were spent to ensure he would! If he had achieved half of what Mother and Father hoped of him, do you think I’d be running a wine shop by the Pig Market? Don’t tell me he died well.’

I shrugged helplessly.

‘I’m sure he tried his best,’ I said.

‘Do you think my wife expected to be overseeing a load of butchers’ breakfasts when she married me?’ he continued. ‘Her family own half a million in property, not that a single string of
cash
comes our way. So Zhi has gone.