The Mandate of Heaven (44 page)

She dearly wanted there to be. Over the last year she had come to regard Teng as her closest friend. No, her dearest. His voice seemed always tuneful to her; his words worth hearing. The play of his sensitive eyes like light on a busy stream.

‘How well you read my mind!’ he said, fidgeting a little. ‘You see, I have been foolish and indiscreet. Worse, not entirely honest – though I had my reasons. I meant to make fools of our Mongol friends and their toads.’

‘You are in trouble? You must take care!’

‘Shensi believes we should flee Hou-ming,’ he said. ‘He has heard rumours. But it’s all right for him! I cannot leave Father. I must stay and hope for the best.’

Yun Shu watched his familiar, proud face and wanted to touch his shoulder, comfort him with the warmth of her hand. So strong was the urge, so improper, she blushed. ‘I will help if I can,’ she said.

He smiled at her offer. ‘Do you never wonder how burdensome great ancestors can be? You are a descendent of Yun Cai, whereas I boast no less a hero than Yueh Fei! And my only benefit is the constant sense of being a disappointment! Yet I suspect Yun Cai would applaud your loveliness of soul.’

At this praise her blush deepened.

‘When you blink like that it makes me think of moth wings,’ he said, quietly. ‘Forgive me, I’m talking nonsense. Yet again, living for the moment. You, Yun Shu, live with eternity in mind. No doubt that is better.’

‘No, no.’ Yun Shu struggled to reply. ‘I had a strange thought yesterday, at the grave mound. Nearly two hundred thousand bodies beneath that robe of earth. I thought, are our bodies to be despised so that one only considers Immortality? Oh, Teng, it is a doubt no Nun of Serene Perfection should have! Yet I feel it here.’ She laid a hand across her breast. ‘There is a great joy in a simple, natural life.’

He listened with close attention. ‘Please explain.’

‘I am a woman, Teng. And while Immortality seems as cold and distant as the stars, this woman’s body … You know what a woman’s body can do. Why should I not love? And be loved in return? Why not?’

She feared he would despise her for not mentioning duty. Then it came, a flash of comprehension. Yun Shu understood her daring words. That if Teng offered to marry her, poor though he was and utterly without prospects, she would surrender the position of Abbess. She would descend the Hundred Stairs and dwell in the rotting carcase of Deng Mansions, bringing fresh life to sweep away the decay, raising gardens of happy days, flowers of contented nights.

She understood, as well, that never more would she risk her happiness by assisting Worthy Master Jian. Whatever the consequences, she would drink his elixirs no more, suffer his practises on her body no more.

Yun Shu knew she should rise, thank him decorously for the ox bone scroll and leave. Somehow she could not.

To her surprise he laughed. More a chuckle of relief. ‘So that is how you feel.’ Again he chuckled. ‘
Those
are your innermost feelings! I thought you cared only for your duty as Abbess! Dearest Yun Shu, I must tell you that I share …’

‘Teng! What is this?’

They turned in surprise. At the foot of the miniature mountain stood Deng Nan-shi, leaning on his stick. The old man peered up at them. ‘Teng, why do you entertain our Honoured Guest alone?’ he demanded. ‘Did you not think of telling me she is here?’

Teng almost ground his teeth with vexation and frustration. He shot her an imploring glance. She smiled in reply.

It did not matter their conversation had been delayed. Nothing mattered now. She felt sure of him. Of his intentions. His own innermost feelings. Her doubts and anxieties resolved by the simple word
share
.

‘Come, Yun Shu,’ commanded Deng Nan-shi, ‘I insist you take tea with me in the library.’

Wearing an expression of filial resignation, Teng followed her down the steps of the mound. They returned to the house, Yun Shu speaking gaily of inconsequential things that seemed to her, somehow, more profound than a thousand sutras or obscure prayers or mantras. Just as a puddle may reflect enormities of cloud and sun and sky.

The next day, summer’s languor and waves of monsoon changed suddenly to autumn. Or so it seemed to Teng. Yet he feared change. For decades he and Father had dodged the threats around them, defying the Mongols’ authority by clinging to Deng Mansions. The old scholar’s insistence on teaching the Five Classics was a subtle rebellion. Now their luck had drained away, except Teng could not really blame misfortune, just his own poor judgement – and vanity.

He had believed Ying-ge was too besotted with him to ever betray his secrets. Yet it was a long time since he had patronised her boudoir. According to Shensi, she had been seen entering Salt Minister Gui’s private residence: a fact that darkened his suspicions.

That morning, a hot breeze arose on Six-Hundred-
li
Lake, making loose shutters rattle and leaves flurry. All afternoon Teng loitered in the gatehouse or paced before the library where Deng Nan-shi rested on his divan, having dismissed his classes early. The old scholar rarely ate these days, nourishing himself upon tea and memories.

Teng hoped Yun Shu might find an excuse to conclude their conversation. His mind swirled with little else. He felt sure Deng Nan-shi would approve and commission a suitable matchmaker. Yet he hesitated before mentioning his plan to the old man. After all, such decisions belonged to parents not children.

Towards dusk Teng entered the library and found his father awake, peering at fading light through the window. Teng bowed low then adjusted the old man’s blankets. Deng Nan-shi watched him closely.

‘I was remembering your dear mother,’ he said. ‘The dimming light often summons her to my mind. Even though she came from a more shadowy family than us Dengs, she shone with inner brightness.’

Teng wondered if his father had guessed his intentions towards Yun Shu. ‘Are you comfortable now?’ asked Teng.

‘Yes.’

Nervously rubbing forefinger and thumb, Teng listened to the wind. The trees of Monkey Hat Hill swayed and whispered like a sea of leaves.

‘You’re afraid of something,’ remarked Deng Nan-shi. ‘What is it?’

Teng laughed uneasily. ‘Just your reproaches, Father! As ever.’

‘Does First Son deserve reproaches?’

‘I fear my actions may have put you in danger.’

Deng Nan-shi’s gaunt forehead puckered into a maze of lines.

‘Do not fear for my sake,’ he said, ‘I do not matter. You are the last Deng, the final hope of our ancestors. Who else will carry the family rites into the future? If you are in danger, look to your own safety, not mine.’ Deng Nan-shi’s expression hardened. ‘I do not care about …’

Teng never learned what his father did not care about. At that moment the doors of the library were thrown open. Shensi entered in travelling clothes and boots, a sack on his back, sword at his side. Ignoring Deng Nan-shi, he gestured impatiently to his friend: ‘Quickly! We must talk.’

In the courtyard wind moaned and clouds scudded across a red sunset. Waves broke at the foot of the cliff.

‘What is it?’ asked Teng.

‘No more time,’ said Shensi. ‘We must go at once.’

For a moment Teng hesitated. He could soon gather what remained of his
cash
, a few clothes … His glance crept back to the library.

‘You go, Shensi,’ he said, ‘you know why I must stay.’

The tomb-finder nodded. ‘I have no such obligations. Goodbye then.’

With that he hurried across the courtyard to the gatehouse and disappeared. Teng watched him leave with a burdened heart. Though he and Shensi were opposites in every way, for years adversity had bound them together. And Teng detected more wisdom in Shensi’s prolonged silences than hours of garrulous talk from his actor-friends in the theatre district. More loyalty, as well. Now they might never meet again.

A moment later Shensi was back, only this time running. ‘They’re waiting outside!’ he shouted, charging down a colonnade to the gardens. Teng wondered whether to fetch his sword. Before he could decide a dozen soldiers rushed into the courtyard, just in time to see Shensi vanishing.

‘After him!’ bellowed an officer. A squad pursued the fugitive, swords drawn.

More soldiers entered the weed-choked courtyard, followed by two ornately carved palanquins carried by barefoot servants. Torches were lit and passed round the troops as Teng waited on the library steps. He did not doubt the identity of the men concealed in the palanquins. Childhood fears returned with new force – along with the image of three puppies hurled off a cliff, spinning and scrabbling as they fell. Salt Minister Gui and Golden Lotus stepped out.

The concubine wore a red, green and turquoise huntress’s outfit, complete with shiny boots and a short whip. Golden Lotus’s femininity had scarcely declined since Teng first saw him sixteen years earlier. Above all, his tiny lotus feet and bustling little steps remained the same. One could not tell his
yin
from his
yang
.

Salt Minister Gui struggled out of the narrow palanquin like a clumsy bear confined in a box. He seemed distracted, an abacus in his large hands. He glanced round sleepily until he caught sight of Teng on the library steps. Then he frowned and pointed: ‘That one!’ Teng offered no resistance as two soldiers seized his arms.

‘Search every room,’ ordered the Salt Minister. ‘Fetch anything valuable.’

Teng stirred. ‘There is no need for that,’ he said, ‘I surrender willingly. Take me to the judge.’

By now Gui had approached. He pointed at him with an odd jabbing motion. A vein on his forehead bulged. He breathed heavily.

‘Hit this one!’ he managed. ‘Yes! Hit!’

Teng’s stomach took the blow. He doubled over, tottered, gasped for air.

‘The library!’ commanded Gui. ‘Into there with him.’

The Salt Minister followed his soldiers into the long room lined with cases and shelves. Here he appeared to forget Teng’s existence, let alone that of Deng Nan-shi who had struggled up from the divan and stood shivering, blankets round his ankles. ‘Ah!’ chuckled Gui, ‘just as I thought.’ Teng watched the broad, awkward man amble to the nearest shelf, muttering as he inspected its contents: ‘G-get the secretary, I must have an inventory … Oldest first, yes, then according to value.’ Gui produced his abacus and clicked the beads with astonishing rapidity.

Teng noticed a disconcerting reminder of Yun Shu in her father’s face – for his eyelashes fluttered as he worked the abacus.

‘Your Honour!’ broke in Deng Nan-shi, having mastered a coughing fit. ‘This is an unusual way to enter my house.’

If Gui heard he gave no sign. Shoving past the hunchbacked scholar he picked up a musty old volume of poetry. Deciding it was valueless he tossed it to the floor.

‘Where are the pictures?’ he asked. ‘Scrolls, pictures? Statues of horses or holy b-books of the B-buddha?’

Deng Nan-shi raised a contemptuous eyebrow. ‘Are you robbing us?’

At this the Salt Minister froze. His thick finger raised to jab again, only this time at the old man. Gui turned to the nearest soldier and muttered: ‘Hit!’ Just as the soldier’s burly arm swung Teng rushed forward. The blow knocked him sideways. Blood dripped from his torn lip. The library span wildly.

‘Enough!’ said Gui. ‘Do not call
me
a robber, you old b-brigand! Your son has treated me … cheated me … Hit!’ he cried.

Another blow. Teng staggered comically, keening and clutching his chest. Golden Lotus’s rouged lips twitched.

‘This Yueh Fei dog, this
rebel
has tricked me out of thousands,’ continued Gui. ‘I’ll have every
cash
coin b-back!’

Deng Nan-shi glanced at Teng in alarm. His son lay crumpled on the floor, breath whooping. ‘Can you be sure?’ he asked. ‘There must be a trial before punishment. Where is the judge?’

‘Hah!’ exclaimed Golden Lotus. ‘No need for a trial! Your son’s concubine, Ying-ge, told us everything! A fraud to trick the Excellent Gui’s noble friends!’

To Deng Nan-shi’s surprise the Salt Minister grew distracted again and muttered as he flicked through a large volume of old paintings depicting fishermen on mountain lakes: ‘How odd that people think me g-greedy!’ he mumbled. ‘How absurd people are! My sons are b-both at the Great Khan’s court! Of course they need gold, silver. People do not try to understand. Yet I am more honest than other officials.’

‘If you have been wronged, we shall recompense you,’ interrupted Deng Nan-shi. ‘We shall pay twice your losses. No, three times! Then you can send plenty to your sons.’

The Salt Minister did not listen. His abacus clicked furiously. It was Golden Lotus who replied: ‘Honourable Gui has already decided how to be paid. All this!’ Golden Lotus’s arms swept wide in a gesture encompassing the entire library. ‘All this now belongs to Gui!’

For a long moment Teng and Deng Nan-shi stared aghast. To his son’s amazement, the old scholar nodded. ‘Yes, take it! Take it all! Only set my son free.’

‘Oh, we will take it,’ said Golden Lotus in his singsong voice, producing a long ivory fan that opened with a click. Daintily he wafted, stirring a stray lock of hair. Outside a greater wind shook the ancient trees of Monkey Hat Hill.