Breaking Bamboo Read online

  ‘More is happening than I expected,’ he confessed.

  ‘I beg you to remain here until I return,’ said Chen Song. ‘I shall go straight to the Bureau of Internal Peace with my memorandum. Given your favourable reception in the city, I shall request that you are granted an early audience with His Excellency Wang Ting-bo.’

  Guang bowed to his friend.

  ‘That would please me above everything,’ he said.

  Chen Song nodded.

  ‘Guang, why not step onto the balcony and acknowledge your admirers. I believe you have acquired a new name.’

  Reluctantly, he parted the curtains and went outside. He was confronted by a hundred up-turned faces. At the sight of him, the people began to clap and Guang heard a strange name called out. At first he wondered if he had been mistaken for someone else.

  ‘Captain Xiao!’ they called. ‘Captain Xiao!’

  Who was this captain? Xiao meant filial piety, the highest moral duty admired by all. Indeed the authorities compiled thick volumes describing notable examples of such piety, so all might be instructed. Could he really have acquired such a name?

  On stepping back into the room, he found Chen Song smiling at his flustered face.

  ‘You are the centre of the hour, my friend. Yet all hours pass.

  Now I must call on the Bureau Chief.’

  Guang was left alone in the room. Servants brought fresh tea, eager to acquire gossip concerning Captain Xiao. Several singing girls loitered round the door suggestively strumming their lutes, but he ignored their services. A woman was the last thing he needed.

  He chose not to appear on the balcony again that evening.

  The adulation of the crowd elated and disturbed him. When he peered through the paper curtain he could see wine and tea sellers circulating. A portable puppet show had been established on the street. Guang could hear the shrill voices of the performers as they acted out an impromptu version of Lord Yun’s rescue.

  Night had fallen when Chen Song returned. He smelt of wine and seemed well-satisfied.

  ‘It was good of you to wait for me,’ he said. ‘I feared you would lose patience and return to oversee the reception of your Honoured Father.’

  Guang had considered doing just that. To be apart from Father felt strange, and he longed for Shih and Cao’s friendly company, to tell them all that had happened while they gasped and exclaimed. But Guang sensed he must establish his independence or risk losing it. Besides, as hours passed in solitude amidst the noises of the city he began to remember his hopes. All his adult life he had been alone, free to act as he chose. Liberty was something he could not surrender lightly.

  Why should he tend Father, day after day, month after tedious month, when Shih was so better suited to the task? One did not ask a tiger to pull a plough.

  ‘My time with the Bureau Chief has passed pleasantly,’ said Chen Song, filling bowls of wine for them both. ‘More importantly, His Excellency Wang Ting-bo has ordered you to attend his morning audience with the city commanders.

  Rumours of your heroism have reached the Pacification Commissioner’s ears. Now, tell me, are you not pleased?’

  Guang drained his cup in one. It washed away awkward doubts.

  ‘Or perhaps I should now address you as Captain Xiao,’ said Chen Song. Then he added wistfully: ‘There are many who would give much for such a name, but are unworthy of it.’

  Dawn brought a visitor while they breakfasted on mutton stew and fish-head broth. Shih’s portly apprentice bowed low as he entered, his eyes drawn to the fragrant dishes.

  ‘Well, Chung,’ said Guang. ‘I take it Father has settled?’

  The apprentice nodded so doubtfully he might as well have shaken his head.

  ‘It was a long night, sir,’ he said. ‘But Master finally persuaded Lord Yun to take a little tea flavoured with. . . something cooling to the spirit. After that, he slept soundly.’

  ‘So everything is settled,’ declared Guang.

  ‘Master requests that you visit him at once, sir.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  The lad stood awkwardly.

  ‘That was his message, sir.’

  ‘Tell him I have urgent business with the Pacification Commissioner. As soon as it is concluded, I shall visit.’

  After Chung had gone, Chen Song watched his friend carefully. Whatever was in his mind did not reach his tongue.

  The streets were already busy. Officials drifted to their bureaux alongside merchants and artisans. Beggars squabbled over pitches for the day. Stalls and booths specialising in breakfast dishes lined the approach to Peacock Hill. Guang and Chen Song were forced to step aside for carriages bearing high officials from their residences in Fouzhou and the garden wards within the city walls of Nancheng.

  ‘That was the Pacification Commissioner’s nephew, Wang Bai,’ Chen Song murmured, bowing as a carriage passed, its bells tinkling. ‘And the horsemen with a retinue of archers are the two Zheng cousins, our foremost commanders in the city.

  Perhaps we will meet them at our audience with His Excellency.’

  They reached an imposing gatehouse decorated with carved serpents and phoenixes. Chen Song produced a pass with a flourish of pride.

  ‘This simple piece of paper,’ he told Guang, ‘is a dragon one may ride to the very heart of a dragon’s abode. Think of it! I shall treasure this document always and bequeath it to my children.’

  Guang had no reply to such flights of fancy, other than a smile.

  Although he did not know it, they followed the same route through the former palace of the Kings of Chu that Shih had taken on the occasion of Little Tortoise’s sickness. Finally they were led to an octagonal pavilion Wang Ting-bo used for audiences with his highest officials, built among artificial ponds and walkways, floating lilies and fragrant shrubs. The pavilion’s advantage was that no one could easily overhear the conversation within.

  When Guang entered, it became apparent they were late. An orderly waved them to floor space on the outskirts of the circle surrounding the Pacification Commissioner. A bushy-bearded man Guang recognised as General Zheng Shun was earnestly addressing His Excellency. Zheng Shun was the hero of several notable victories over the Mongols in the last campaign; so much so that he had been posted well away from the frontline by envious officials to prevent him gaining too much influence.

  He had a reputation for inelegant bluntness – a failing Guang shared.

  ‘Our stock of crossbow bolts is insufficient,’ said General Zheng Shun. ‘As for the other necessities for a siege, we gather them too slowly. If the Army of the Right Hand is driven back, we can expect the enemy on our doorstep within a few weeks.

  We must redouble our efforts. The authority can only come from yourself.’

  Guang was amazed at the general’s boldness. Wang Ting-bo listened patiently.

  ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘The requisition of supplies must take precedence.’

  Yet he did not state how this would happen.

  Then Zheng Shun’s cousin, Admiral Zheng Qi-Qi, broke in:

  ‘Your Excellency, our river fleet is sadly weakened by ill-repair and a shortage of supplies.’

  Admiral Qi-Qi was a less daunting personage than his cousin. Whereas Zheng Shun was naturally irascible, a courteous smile played round the corners of Admiral Qi-Qi’s mouth. ‘Should the enemy fall upon us,’ he continued, ‘my boats will be the mouth through which the Twin Cities are fed.

  I fear we will go hungry.’

  Again Wang Ting-bo pursed his lips in agreement.

  ‘No one would deny the validity of your opinion,’ he said.

  The Pacification Commissioner’s nephew, Prefect Wang Bai, spoke up: ‘Your Excellency, I can report happier news. Due to my great efforts, the city’s underground granaries could with-stand a siege of several years. It is true the peasants in the surrounding districts have been taxed hard to achieve this. I make no apologies. Whatever malicious tongues say, none of the impounded grain has b
een used to force up prices in the market. At least as far as I know.’

  The Zheng cousins exchanged mocking glances.

  ‘I commend your diligent work,’ said Wang Ting-bo.

  Then he noticed Guang and peered at him in surprise.

  ‘Have I not met you before?’ he asked, wonderingly. ‘Only then you were a doctor. Now you wear a Captain of Artillery’s uniform.’

  Chen Song coughed apologetically.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said, bowing deeply. ‘Forgive me for speaking. May I humbly inform you, Captain Yun Guang here is the twin brother of the doctor who cured your son. No wonder you mistake one for the other!’

  Still Wang Ting-bo gazed at Guang in amazement.

  ‘I have every reason to thank the good doctor,’ he said. ‘He did me a great service. Now my son is healthier than ever before. Are you the one they call Captain Xiao?’

  Guang advanced and knelt before the great man, his mouth dry as salt. He could not think how to justify his presence.

  Luckily, Chen Song spoke for him.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said. ‘I beg your permission to tell this exalted company how Yun Guang earned the title Captain Xiao.’

  He spoke eloquently, outlining his own mission and what he had learned concerning the Mongols’ dispositions. How he had chanced upon Guang in Chunming, after the latter gentleman had valiantly killed the despoilers of his ancestral tomb and liberated his father. It was a story deserving the utmost attention.

  ‘All this is true?’ asked Wang Ting-bo.

  ‘As I kneel here, sir,’ replied Chen Song, solemnly. ‘May I add, the heroic Yun Guang, though too modest to proclaim his own virtues, is a notable commander of artillery, a master of the latest weapons. By a lucky chance he has no commission at present.’

  Chen Song subsided. His glance flickered round the circle of notables. Wang Bai was smiling thinly, as though appreciating a private joke.

  ‘Ah!’ said the Pacification Commissioner. ‘I shall send a memorandum concerning this to the Son of Heaven’s First Minister! Let the clerks take note that Captain Xiao shall also be awarded five thousand cash from public funds.’ He looked at Guang curiously. ‘There is something strange here. Your twin brother saves my heir when all other doctors despair. Now you appear, just when I lack a Commander of Artillery. How do you explain that?’

  The Pacification Commissioner addressed Guang directly.

  He sensed his whole future depended on his reply. The other officers were watching. Guang lifted his eyes so they boldly met Wang Ting-bo’s.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it was meant to be so. If the enemy besieges the Twin Cities we will need every weapon at our disposal – thunderclap bomb, whirling tiger catapult, fire lance and naphtha. Our traditional weapons will not suffice. We must construct tactics they cannot anticipate. If I were your Commander of Artillery, I would ensure our siege equipment outmatches their own. That way, they could not even approach the walls – except to perish.’

  Wang Ting-bo stared at him thoughtfully.

  ‘First your brother saves my son,’ he said. ‘Now you promise to save the city. Can Heaven’s hand be in this?’

  The Zheng cousins stirred. Admiral Qi-Qi laid a restraining hand on his cousin’s arm.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ broke in General Zheng Shun, his cheeks flushing. ‘Perhaps we should learn more about this valiant captain before he is promoted to Commander of Artillery.’

  Wang Bai had been silent for some time. Now he spoke so courteously that General Zheng Shun seemed a coarse, dis-agreeable, unsubtle fellow in comparison.

  ‘I, for one, have heard Yun Guang’s name mentioned with honour,’ he said, ‘as a man of courage and filial piety. One might add that in rescuing his father he used our latest weapons to startling effect. So he clearly knows his trade.’

  Wang Bai had everyone’s close attention, especially his uncle’s.

  ‘In addition,’ he said, ‘I fear that reinforcing our defences will involve hardship for many in the city – I refer to the confiscation of valuable property, forced labour, the levelling of homes. Yun Guang’s deeds seem to have gripped the people’s imagination. Very good. If Captain Xiao oversees this work, grumblers will find it harder to argue. Yet I agree with General Zheng Shun to this extent. . . any appointment should be temporary and I myself will direct all his actions.’

  ‘As an administrator you should not oversee military matters!’ burst in General Zheng Shun.

  ‘What do you say, Honoured Uncle?’ asked Wang Bai, ignoring the interruption.

  ‘I would beg His Excellency not to make a decision without further enquiries,’ urged Admiral Qi-Qi. His voice held little hope. He knew Wang Ting-bo all too well.

  ‘First, my son, now this,’ mused the Pacification Commissioner.

  ‘Let it be as both Wang Bai and Zheng Shun suggest. I hereby appoint Yun Guang as temporary Commander of Artillery. He shall receive half the normal salary until he proves competent.

  With regard to strengthening the city’s defences, he shall report directly to my nephew, Prefect Wang Bai. Today’s audience is over.

  Good day, gentlemen.’

  One by one the assembled officers and high officials left the pavilion, the Zheng cousins and their supporters muttering angrily amongst themselves. Guang followed until he heard Wang Bai calling his name. He bowed deeply to his new benefactor.

  ‘You spoke for me, sir,’ he said, fiercely. ‘I shall never forget your faith in me.’

  Wang Bai smiled.

  ‘One should not forget one’s debts,’ he said. ‘Remember also how the Zheng cousins opposed your promotion! Yun Guang, you must justify my faith in you. As soon as you are settled in your new quarters – I have rather a fine house in mind – inspect our defences carefully and report what might be improved.

  Remember, I am your patron now.’

  ‘I will do as you say,’ said Guang, fervently.

  Wang Bai examined him for a moment without speaking.

  ‘Outwardly you resemble your brother, but the inner is quite different,’ he said. ‘Only inferior minds look no further than appearances. Now I shall order an official to conduct you to your new residence. I think you will find it rather splendid.’

  Love for Wang Ting-bo and his nephew filled the new Commander of Artillery. He noticed Chen Song hovering to one side and felt a brief guilt. Perhaps he should argue for his friend’s promotion. But Guang adopted a haughty expression and followed Wang Bai into the Pacification Commissioner’s private mansion. Chen Song was left alone in the garden where small birds twittered.

  *

  Guang spent the next two days in ceaseless activity, inspecting every inch of the ramparts, too busy to visit Apricot Corner Court. A team of clerks noted the potential location of catapults and giant crossbows, muster-points and arsenals for thunderclap bombs. It was an absorbing study. His new patron, Wang Bai, read the completed report in Guang’s presence.

  ‘Did you have any help in this work?’ he asked, suspiciously.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You are energetic, unexpectedly so. I shall give you a list of properties we need to confiscate. Make sure you add it to your memorandum. And next time, submit your reports directly to me alone, rather than ordering your scribes to prepare a copy for the Pacification Commissioner.’ Wang Bai smiled thinly.

  ‘That way we can ensure there are no errors.’

  Convinced he had made a good start, Guang rode his new horse to Dr Shih’s modest shop. As usual the attention he attracted was gratifying. People called out Captain Xiao as he passed. Mothers instructed their children to stare at him. For all his fine horse and uniform, Guang felt oddly alone as he trotted through the streets. He realised it was not Yun Guang from humble Wei Valley these people admired, but a giant they had created as an antidote to their fear. He felt these things but could not articulate them. Chen Song would have known how to express the thought. Yet Guang was ashamed that his conduct
towards his friend had been ungrateful, and so avoided him.

  He led his horse into Apricot Corner Court, a place he knew intimately from the winter he had spent there as his twin brother’s guest.

  Widow Mu’s children and Old Hsu’s grandchildren ceased their game and stared in wonder at his painted armour and tasselled sword. Flies buzzed around the horse’s eyes and it snorted impatiently. A distant rumble of thunder echoed from the mountains west of Nancheng.

  ‘Hey, Little Melon,’ he called to a boy too thin for such a round name. He was bolder than the other children and crept curiously towards the horse. ‘Not afraid he might bite?’

  ‘I’m not afraid!’ came the shrill reply.

  ‘Ask your mother if you are allowed to earn a string of cash for tending my horse.’

  Little Melon gasped.

  ‘A whole string!’

  It was a week’s income for a poor family. The boy ran into Widow Mu’s dumpling shop and emerged with his mother, who at once bowed very low.

  ‘You are too noble to visit us, sir!’ said the widow, sweetly.

  Old Hsu stuck his head through his workshop window and glowered at Guang’s armour and sword.

  ‘There would be no more war if men did not wage war!’ he called out. ‘No more murderers if men reformed their vicious ways!’

  His head disappeared back into the house. Widow Mu waved her eldest daughter forward to present Guang with some dumplings wrapped in a banana leaf.

  ‘Take no notice of Old Hsu,’ she whispered, confidentially.

  ‘Since his son was conscripted he can’t abide the sight of a soldier.’

  Guang had always considered the old man to be a madman or, at best, a buffoon. He was half tempted to report him to the Ward Constable for possessing unorthodox opinions. Even so, the exchange dampened his mood.

  He was still eating his dumplings when he entered Shih’s shop by a side door. He found no sign of his brother or apprentice. Madam Cao sat on a low stool by the counter, drinking tea and examining a ledger of accounts. At the sight of him filling her doorway, she gasped with pleasure.

  ‘You have come at last!’ she said, bowing with exaggerated respect.