TUN-HUANG (16 page)

Whenever Hsing-te visited Wang-li, he would hear him call Chiao-chiao many times while he was there. Just as there was a distinctive quality to his shout when Wang-li ordered his men to attack, so, too, his voice had a special tone when he called Chiao-chiao.

That particular day Hsing-te was seated opposite his commander, who was still in uniform. It was an unusually windless day, and the gentle autumn sun falling on the inner courtyard could be seen through the window. After they had drunk their tea, Wang-li proceeded to take off his military clothes, removing one layer after another. Chiao-chiao lovingly assisted him from behind.

“I wonder what this is?” As Chiao-chiao spoke in her clear voice, Hsing-te looked toward her. She held Wang-li’s clothes in one hand and a necklace in the other. Hsing-te watched him slowly turn toward Chiao-chiao. The instant Wang-li recognized what she held in her hand, his expression changed and he shouted harshly. “Don’t touch that!” He had spoken so roughly that even Hsing-te was startled by his vehemence. The young girl hurriedly set the necklace on the table and looked blankly at Wang-li. Wang-li picked it up and took it to an inner chamber. When he returned he had regained his composure, and he again addressed Chiao-chiao in his special tone and asked her to bring more tea.

Hsing-te felt unsettled for the rest of that day, even after he returned to his own quarters. He was almost certain that the necklace Wang-li had was just like his own. He had seen it only for a brief instant when Chiao-chiao had held it, but he didn’t see how he could be mistaken. He recalled that the Uighur princess had worn two identical necklaces around her neck; he possessed one and he guessed that Wang-li had the other. If so, he wondered how Wang-li had obtained his. Had the Uighur princess given Wang-li a strand just as she had given him one? Or had Wang-li taken it from her?

Hsing-te could think of nothing else except the necklace. But no matter how long he pondered, there was no way to learn the answer other than by asking Wang-li himself.

Late that night Hsing-te was finally able to free himself from his obsession with this question. As he thought about it, he realized that it was not only the necklace he was ignorant about. He was aware of how intensely Wang-li had loved the girl and still loved her, but he knew nothing else about their relationship. In addition, he felt he had no right to probe into it. He had made a promise to that girl and had broken it. Despite that, hadn’t she thrown herself off the Kan-chou wall for him? At least, Hsing-te was firmly convinced of this. Wasn’t it enough that she had died for him? There was no need for him to question anything else.

Just as he had never asked Wang-li about his relationship with the girl, he also decided not to mention the necklace. Whether or not the necklace had belonged to the Uighur princess had no bearing on his own relationship with her.

About two weeks after he necklace incident, Kuang unexpectedly came to Hsing-te’s quarters. After returning to Hsing-ch’ing, Kuang had stopped in Kua-chou for only two or three days, then left for Sha-chou, and there had been no word from him for a year.

It was evening when Kuang arrived. As the sun had set, a chill spread in the room. As usual, Kuang had his bold expression and his eyes flashed. He sat in the chair Hsing-te offered him, and with a rather strong preamble to the effect that he would not leave without learning what he had come for, Kuang asked, “Where did you get that necklace? I know good jewelry. Those stones are not common. In Khotan they’re called moonstones. I’ve handled all sorts of gems till now, but I have never seen such priceless stones. I’m not saying that I want yours. I think you should keep it. I just want to have the other one.”

Hsing-te unconsciously raised his voice. “What do you mean, the other one?”

“There should be another one. Tell me where it is. I’ll get it. I’ve always got what I’ve gone after. That necklace is one of a pair. Who has the other?”

“I don’t know.”

To this Kuang answered, “Of course you know. Someone owned your necklace before you. Come on, tell me who!”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know!” Kuang started to rant at him and then quickly changed his mind. “Don’t say such unfriendly things. We traveled to and from Hsing-ch’ing together, didn’t we? We’re like brothers.…”

“I don’t know.”

“Well then, how did you get that necklace? Did you steal it?”

“I don’t know.”

Kuang’s face twitched with anger. “Don’t try to make a fool of me. Don’t you see that it’s Kuang being so humble with you?” The young man rose and looked furtively around as if he were planning to assault Hsing-te again.

“What I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

“All right, then. Give me the one you have.”

With a look of exasperation, Kuang seized him. But he seemed to change his mind again at this point. He could take it away from Hsing-te at any time. Letting Hsing-te keep it would be like having the necklace deposited in a convenient, safe place. Besides, it would definitely be better to have two strands rather than one. Kuang’s expression softened and he said, “You should store such valuable gems in a safe place. It’s best for you to keep yours. I’ll get the other. Such a necklace should anyway belong to me, as descendant of the Khotan royal family. I’m going to Liang-chou again. Think it over while I’m gone.”

After this, Kuang left the room, darkening in the dusk, for the cold outdoors.

Kuang, who said he was leaving for Liang-chou, reappeared at Hsing-te’s lodgings after about twenty days. According to him, in July the Hsi-hsia leader, Yüan-hao, had finally crossed the Chinese borders and had attacked, plundering private houses on the way and leaving a path of devastation as far as Ch’ing-chou. Now he had pulled back to Hsing-ch’ing. Meanwhile, the Wu-liang territory east of Kan-chou was in utter chaos because of the anticipated attack of the Chinese army and the continued presence of the Turfans. Only Kua-chou, ignorant of the situation, remained carefree. Actually, in the deserts, grass plains and plateaus east of Kan-chou, there were daily skirmishes between the Hsi-hsia and the Turfans, who were now moving about erratically. Even Kuang did not dare venture east of Kan-chou.

When he had finaished, Kuang asked, “Have you thought it over about the necklace? Just who did you get it from?” Again, the same question.

“I don’t know.” Again, the same answer.

Kuang threatened, shouted, placated Hsing-te, and finally, seeing that his efforts were fruitless, calmed down as he had before, and asked Hsing-te to think about it. Then he left. This time Kuang took a caravan to Qoco.

In January 1035, Wang-li’s unit received orders to leave. The Hsi-hsia army was to invade Ch’ing-t’ang, Chüeh-ssu-lo’s base, in order to subjugate the Turfans, and Wang-li’s troops were to be the vanguard in this campaign. Before all-out war with China, the Hsi-hsia planned to launch a full-scale attack on the Turfans and to destroy them at one blow.

Hsing-te was summoned by Wang-li. When he arrived, Wang-li abruptly asked, “Do you want to go?”

“Naturally I’ll go,” Hsing-te replied.

“You might not return.”

“I don’t care.”

Hsing-te had no fear of death. The only thing he regretted was that his translation of the Diamond Sutra into Hsi-hsia was not yet completed, but that couldn’t be helped. If he survived and returned, he could probably resume that work. The prospect of risking his life again on the battlefield after such a long lapse made Hsing-te tense with excitement.

However, a few days later, in the midst of the hubbub of departure preparations, Hsing-te was summoned to see Wang-li again.

“I think it’s best that you remain here and continue your work. You stay here with five hundred troops and guard the city,” Wang-li ordered. As Hsing-te tried to reply, Wang-li said severely, “These are orders. Don’t answer back.” He then gave Hsing-te detailed instructions on deploying the defense troops.

On the day that Wang-li and his four and a half thousand men left Kua-chou, a terrible storm blew up. Fierce winds hurled the snow against the age-old walls. The long line of camels and horses left from Capital Gate and headed east. Soon they disappeared into the blizzard. For a long time after their departure into the gray world, Hsing-te kept his troops, who had seen the men off, standing at attention beside the gate.

Kua-chou suddenly seemed empty and terribly quiet. The blizzard which had swallowed up Wang-li’s troops raged for three days and nights. Hsing-te suddenly became very busy. He couldn’t go every day to the translation wing of Yen-hui’s palace as before. He could only make sure that the sutra translations continued steadily, though at a snail’s pace; then he would return to the barracks to make his rounds in order to keep up morale. Also, since Hsing-te had no experience as a commander in the front lines, he had to train himself first.

The small marauding units of Turfans and the constant clashes that had taken place while Wang-li was there suddenly ceased as though prearranged as soon as Wang-li left. Perhaps the Turfan troops, including the small units in this area, had also been thrown into the major battle arena to the east.

It was around the end of June, about half a year after Wang-li had left, that the first news from the east was relayed to Kua-chou. Three stalwart Chinese soldiers carried the first message from Wang-li. It appeared that Wang-li had dictated it to someone, and it was a short, concise message in Hsi-hsia.

“Yüan-hao personally led his troops and besieged Maonin city for a month. The enemy would not surrender. He made a false truce and had the enemy open the gates, then wantonly slaughtered them. Our casualties were five hundred men. Tomorrow morning we set off to invade Chüeh-ssu-lo’s main base, Ch’ing-t’ang.” The five hundred casualties in the message seemed to be Wang-li’s men.

About a month and a half later, in mid-August, a second message from Wang-li arrived. This was also a report on the battle conditions, but this time the note was written in Chinese.

“The main army attacked Ch’ing-t’ang. Other forces are fighting in An-erh on the Tsung River, and at various fronts. An-tzu-lo, Chüeh-ssu-lo’s deputy general, has cut off the main army’s retreat. Our unit has been fighting day and night for over a month in the invasion of the Tai-hsing mountains. Our casualties have reached three thousand.”

The first message had been in Hsi-hsia, but the fact that this second one was in Chinese seemed to indicate that the Hsi-hsia writer had been among the three thousand casualties. Whether or not this was the case was beside the point. It was extremely difficult to make out from this message whether the situation was developing favorably or unfavorably for the Hsi-hsia army. However, the three thousand casualties mentioned at the end was an enormous number. Adding this to the five hundred casualties in the earlier report meant that Wang-li had lost four-fifths of his unit. The soldier who brought the message was one of the Kan-chou defense troops, and since he had not been sent directly from the front, Hsing-te could get no further information from him.

Wang-li’s third report came about three months later, at the beginning of November. This message was even briefer than the previous one and also written in Chinese.

“After more than two hundred days of fighting here and there on the frontiers, Chüeh-ssu-lo fled to the south. Our unit is on its way back. Yüan-hao’s main army is also proceeding toward Kua-chou.”

Hsing-to learned from this short message that Yüan-hao, who had routed Chüeh-ssu-lo from his main base after a prolonged, raging battle with the Turfans, was now advancing toward Kua-chou and Sha-chou with the remnants of his army.

The garrison, which had been peaceful until now, suddenly began to bustle with activity. Preparations had to be made for Wang-li’s victorious return and living quarters also had to be provided for the main Hsi-hsia army which was to follow. Hsing-te went to see Yen-hui and informed him of Wang-li’s message. In response, Yen-hui slowly creased the sagging muscles of his wrinkled face, and said, “That’s terrible! I thought they would come sometime. The day has finally arrived!”

It was hard to judge from Yen-hui’s expression whether he was happy or sad about it. Soon after, however, Hsing-te saw that Yen-hui trembled with sorrow and fear. Perhaps from agitation, Yen-hui moved his lips continuously, as though he were talking to himself. His voice was low.

“That’s why I said it. People think my brother, Hsien-shun, is extremely perceptive, but I think the opposite. This new development certainly proves my point. When Hsi-hsia took Su-chou, Hsien-shun should have negotiated with the Hsi-hsia as I did.”

Yen-hui stopped talking and stared vacantly into space, his expression unchanged for a while, and then said, “When I think about it, it won’t be an easy time. After Kua-chou, the Hsi-hsia with its large army will probably invade Sha-chou. Pagodas will be burned and temples destroyed. All the men will be drafted as soldiers, and the women used as servants. And there’s no doubt that all the Buddhist sutras will be taken away. That’s why I told him. Hsien-shun opposed me then, but he should have followed my example. He should have sent an envoy to Hsi-hsia. He must realize now how right I was.” Yen-hui seemed to be oblivious to Hsing-te’s presence and continued to talk as if alone.

Hsing-te thought Yen-hui was merely vexed with his brother, Governor Hsien-shun, and was relieving his anxiety a bit by speaking out like this, but he soon learned he was mistaken. Yen-hui rose and approached Hsing-te and said, “My brother will be killed. Sha-chou will be destroyed. The Buddhist caves in the Ming-sha mountains will be destroyed. The seventeen great temples will be burned, and the sutras will be taken away. The Chinese will be destroyed by Hsi-hsia.”

Hsing-te’s feelings were strange as he watched Yen-hui’s eyes fill with tears, which then rolled down his cheeks

As though trying to overtake his third message, Wang-li’s unit returned within ten days after the message. He had been gone for ten months. It was the middle of November, and the first hail of the season had fallen that day. The hail was the size of a man’s thumb, and the noise it made as it hit the ground was deafening. No one could go outdoors for even a moment while it was hailing.