The Mandate of Heaven Read online

  The soldiers grunted approvingly until their master silenced them with his fishy stare.

  Deng Nan-shi cleared his throat and smiled affably. ‘It appears the matter is settled, Your Excellency! We shall leave you to your delightful daughter …’

  ‘Shut up, you!’ said Gui.

  The soldiers reacted to such grave discourtesy with narrowed, expectant eyes. The boys stared miserably at the ground. A dark look transformed Deng Nan-shi’s urbane face and his smile froze. Had he possessed the power of his ancestors, things would have gone very cruelly for the Salt Minister.

  ‘Are you aware,’ said Gui, crimson with rage, ‘what g-grade of human the Great Khan classes scholars?’

  ‘I believe we are classified ninth in the ranks of human beings,’ said Deng Nan-shi, ‘one below prostitutes and one above beggars. At least, according to the Northern Edicts.’

  Salt Minister Gui nodded. ‘Precisely. And now your …’ He groped for a suitable word. ‘Your b-brat has kidnapped my daughter.’

  ‘Teng didn’t, Father!’ cried Yun Shu. ‘Teng urged me to return home!’

  ‘B-be quiet! Cover your feet!’

  Deng Nan-shi stepped forward, laying a hand on his son’s quaking shoulder.

  ‘He’s just a child, Your Excellency. They’re just children. Perhaps it is we who should reproach ourselves for not keeping a closer watch on how they grow.’

  For a long moment the bamboo grove was silent. Lights glittered on the blue waters of the lake as the overcast sky cleared.

  ‘Do not cross me again,’ said the Salt Minister, ‘not one of you. Sergeant P’ao! Carry my daughter. I will lead the way.’

  ‘Master,’ said P’ao, ‘what shall I do with these puppies?’

  There were three squeaking plaintively. Salt Minister Gui considered. ‘Throw them over the cliff.’

  ‘No!’ protested Yun Shu, stepping forward too hurriedly. Her feet screamed with pain and she stumbled.

  Again Gui examined her suspiciously. ‘Are not these the whelps of a fox fairy?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Why does she wish to preserve them? Are they her familiars?’

  Yun Shu covered her eyes as P’ao hurried to the cliff edge. One by one the puppies were hurled into space. No one stirred.

  ‘Carry her,’ ordered the Salt Minister, ‘and her clothes.’

  She shot Teng a look of pure hatred. The scholar’s son met her gaze defiantly. But Yun Shu knew she’d been wronged. He had pretended to be her friend. Now she was forever worthless in Father’s eyes.

  Before long, only the Dengs were left beside the tower of bones. Hsiung stood straighter and prouder than before. He stared avidly after Sergeant P’ao and the other soldiers until they vanished in the trees.

  Four

  What of Yun Shu’s journey through the dark wood, her palanquin a spear shaft held horizontally between two men, her pillow rough, unfriendly hands? So intense was her defeat she entered a thoughtless daze. Father brooded in his sedan chair. He did not acknowledge her in any way. When they reached home he stalked to his bureau without a backward glance.

  She was carried through darkened corridors to the same disused section of the mansion where Golden Lotus had attempted to bind her feet. A maid waited with a flickering candle by the open door of one chamber. Even in the soft light Yun Shu detected concern in the girl’s face.

  ‘Master told me to tell you, if you leave this room without permission, you must leave his house and never come back.’

  Yun Shu entered and the door closed. A bolt clicked behind her.

  At first the darkness in the chamber seemed absolute. As her eyes adjusted, Yun Shu noticed the outlines of a window and drape. Hobbling over, she lifted the thick hemp curtain and peered through a lattice of diamond-shaped wooden bars.

  Outside was a strip of abandoned garden that terminated in the cliff edge. The lake sparkled with moonlight. The moon revealed her only comforts: a low, sagging divan and pile of blankets. An open chamber pot in one corner. Yun Shu used it, wondering when she would be given water. It took a long while to achieve even a troubled sleep.

  The next day brought a dawn summons. Yun Shu was shaken awake by the maid from last night, Pink Rose. Today the girl seemed afraid.

  ‘Quickly,’ she hissed, ‘your father wants you.’

  So urgent a summons allowed no time to straighten her dress or hair. When the maid opened the door to her father’s study, Yun Shu’s robes were still stained with mud and the mother dog’s blood.

  Salt Minister Gui sat on a high-backed chair like an emperor, his expression forbidding. Golden Lotus hovered behind. Yun Shu sank stiffly to her knees and kowtowed, resting her forehead on the cool earth. No one spoke.

  ‘You’re obedient now,’ said Father, finally. ‘Let’s hope your change of heart is sincere. Otherwise you’re no use to anyone.’

  Although Yun Shu dared not look up, she sensed Golden Lotus stirring. The concubine whispered in Father’s ear.

  ‘Quite right, my love,’ said the Salt Minister, ‘the only real proof will be lotus feet. That’s what my contract with your new family in Chenglingji specifies!’

  Again, silence.

  ‘She looks like a peasant girl,’ muttered Golden Lotus, unable to hide his contempt. ‘Just like her mother.’

  Yun Shu sensed her father had grown agitated at the mention of Mother. The Salt Minister clicked bead after bead on his abacus, as though that sum could never tally. Never balance. She was led away like a criminal back to her cell.

  Days passed in the room. Hot, dull transitions from morning to night, her only company a bloated spider and its flies. At first Yun Shu slumped miserably on the bed in a pose she hoped would arouse pity if Father saw. No one came. No one saw.

  Gradually the tenderness of her feet lessened so that, in her boredom, she walked complex patterns round the room. Soon she could hop, stretch and wriggle her toes; bend the arch of her instep up and down. Freedom to exercise had a contrary effect to the one her gaolers intended. Yun Shu began to love her feet, however large, as something precious, strong, not to be casually discarded – especially to please a future husband she had never seen, whose family were equally unknown.

  When Golden Lotus came, he found her barefoot in the hot room, oblivious to shame. His lotus gait held more of a suggestive sway than usual and she detected wine on his breath,

  ‘Hide them!’ he whispered. ‘Are you a peasant girl in her paddy?’

  Yun Shu reluctantly obeyed, head lowered. Golden Lotus beamed through his white mask of make-up and brilliant red mouth. ‘Follow me!’ he cried in a brittle singsong voice that left Yun Shu warier than ever.

  It was a short journey: merely across the corridor.

  ‘Here we are!’ cooed Golden Lotus.

  Yun Shu’s heart beat uncomfortably as they entered the clean room with its stools and chairs and tables and shiny wooden box of bandages. Its bowls of fresh water and reeking pig’s blood, putrid in the heat. There was, however, something new. On the table were four lacquered cases with closed lids.

  ‘Sit!’

  Golden Lotus’s doll-like, painted face remained impassive as he examined her. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I used to pity you when you were small – such an ugly child. Yet I could see a single hope for you. Do you know what it was?’

  Yun Shu could guess. She shook her head dutifully.

  ‘That, however plain your face, your feet would give you a little power over men. For they dote on lotus feet, Yun Shu, you cannot imagine it!’

  Yun Shu’s eyes opened wide as she swallowed a reply.

  ‘Instead,’ said Golden Lotus, ‘you want to be ugly.’

  For a while, more silence. Yun Shu conceived a faint hope she might be ordered back to her room.

  ‘Youngest Daughter,’ sighed Golden Lotus, with a flutter of his eyes. ‘I have something to show you. Something I never show anyone except your Father. You may rise. Come! Come!’ Golden Lotus beckoned her to the lacquered cases on the new
table. ‘Do you know what these contain?’ he asked, excitedly.

  Yun Shu shook her head.

  ‘I’m surprised. You’re not a stupid girl. Come nearer. See!’

  There was a peculiar, giddy gloat in his voice as he produced a hidden key and unlocked the first polished box. It opened to reveal nine compartments, each containing a pair of tiny shoes four inches long, like coverings for a deer’s hoof. Shoes stitched with silk and gold and silver and pearls worth a peasant’s wages for a whole year.

  Golden Lotus giggled as he threw back lid after lid: ‘See! See! These are a beautiful lady’s war chests, her armoury. You may touch them, Yun Shu. There, I must care for you! I never allow anyone to touch them. Oh, look at that turquoise pair! So dainty, such loveliness!’

  Nervous tittering agitated the young man. He rocked forward, hiding his mouth. Frightened by his strange behaviour, Yun Shu picked out a splendid golden shoe. For all its costliness, the feel and smell of it sickened her. Luckily, Golden Lotus was incapable of noticing.

  ‘The merest twitch of your dress makes every man who sees such sweet slippers stare! That is power! But you must pay the price for that power.’

  With shaking hands, Yun Shu returned the golden shoe to its compartment. One by one, Golden Lotus closed the lids. Tears glistened on his cheeks.

  ‘Now,’ he said, composing himself, ‘let us begin. And no more nonsense!’

  Yun Shu found the courage to speak. She gulped, for her mouth and tongue were parched. ‘I … I won’t. I can’t!’

  Golden Lotus’s face lost all emotion in an instant. His white, rice powder face-paint had run from his tears so that the pale cheeks resembled cracked jade.

  ‘Is it the pain?’ he demanded. ‘I endured it. Why can’t you?’

  This taunt goaded Yun Shu one more dangerous step towards honesty.

  ‘Do not make me say why!’

  ‘You refuse beauty and power,’ pressed Golden Lotus, steadily more furious. ‘I promised your father I’d persuade you so the marriage contract would be honoured! Do you not know how much money is at stake? Why?’ He seized her shoulders and shook hard. ‘Tell me why!’

  ‘Do not force me to speak!’ moaned Yun Shu.

  ‘Look at my feet! My lovely shoes!’ By now his voice was edged with hysteria. ‘You think you’re better than me, don’t you?’ shrieked Golden Lotus so loudly it echoed round the house. ‘Just like your mother! You think feet like barges are better than mine, don’t you? I’ve met your envious, spiteful kind before!’

  The madness in him frightened Yun Shu. Yet she felt compelled towards defiance. For a long moment she balanced between possible futures then truth erupted. ‘I want to run and skip!’ she cried. ‘I want to dance like the Dao! Oh, I heard its music in the woods! I want to ripple like the stars!’ Where these words came from Yun Shu would never know. Later she often meditated on them, particularly her precocious reference to the Dao.

  ‘You think my treasures are ugly!’ whispered Golden Lotus. ‘Don’t you?’

  To Yun Shu’s eternal horror, she heard her firm reply: ‘Yes, I do. They’re hideous! And so are you!’

  For a long moment stillness in the room.

  ‘You’re not Gui’s daughter!’ wailed Golden Lotus. ‘You’re a fox fairy in disguise! I shall never forgive this!’

  He swept from the room, calling out for his maids in a high, agitated voice. Answering cries and rushing feet filled the corridors. Yun Shu fled to her room.

  The fierce beating she anticipated did not occur that day – or even the next, or any that followed over long weeks. She had been abandoned to the small, empty room with barred windows. Father’s curse would never be reconsidered. Even the kindly servant girl, Pink Rose, regarded her fearfully when she delivered water or food, as though the rumours were true, that Yun Shu was a fox fairy who might cast a wicked spell.

  The long summer passed until Yun Shu detected signs of autumn through the latticed, diagonal wooden bars: a certain softness to the sky, stray leaves blown across the garden and long crescents of white birds arriving from the cold north to fish the plentiful lake. Still the punishment she expected did not fall. Neither Teng nor Hsiung came to set her free. She had been forgotten, just as when Mother died, just as always.

  Five

  Teng looked up and down the dusty lane: no one. On either side high walls where yellow, star-shaped flowers colonised gaps between bricks. A drillmaster’s bellowed commands drifted over one of the walls.

  Teng examined the brickwork for handholds. Pulling himself up, he reached the top with a gasp and peered over.

  An ill-assorted band of soldiers, the Salt Minister’s bodyguards, drilled in the front courtyard of Yun Shu’s house. Their numbers had doubled in response to attacks against the Great Khan’s officials by Red Turban rebels.

  Teng examined the burly men stabbing imaginary foes. At the end of the line stood a diminutive warrior: Hsiung.

  Twisting a spear to murder air, his former playmate screamed Hai! Hai-eee! Ha! Somehow Hsiung glimpsed Teng’s head bobbing over the boundary wall. The young warrior hesitated, perhaps because Deng Nan-shi had impressed upon the two boys that no decent man willingly becomes a soldier, before shouting more loudly than ever, Hai! Hai-eee! Ha!

  Teng withdrew and climbed down into the lane.

  There, aimlessly plucking handfuls of grass from the verge, he listened to Sergeant P’ao shouting. It was weeks since he and Hsiung had explored their favourite haunts together. His old companion had grown indifferent to all they once shared. Whenever his duties at Deng Mansions allowed – and often when they didn’t – Hsiung skipped away to join Salt Minister Gui’s bodyguards, who had adopted him as a blend of mascot, slave and butt of their jokes.

  Teng trailed home to his study with its worn table and stool, cheap ink cake and writing materials. There he read a woodcut printed volume of poems from Father’s library. One in particular, The Lotus, seemed so fine that he copied it in a flowing cursive style for display on his study wall.

  Engrossed by this work, Teng didn’t notice Deng Nan-shi’s presence until he was peering over his shoulder. The boy lowered his brush and bowed.

  ‘Ah,’ said Deng Nan-shi, ‘The Lotus! I’m glad you found it out for yourself.’

  Teng blushed at such rare praise.

  ‘Do you know the poet’s name?’ asked Deng Nan-shi.

  ‘Yun Cai,’ replied Teng, indicating the front page of the book.

  ‘Yes, Yun. Does it not strike you as strange he shares his surname with our courteous neighbour’s daughter?’

  Teng shrugged. He grew uneasy whenever he thought about Yun Shu. Lady Lu Si had heard from one of her friends in Cloud Abode Monastery that Yun Shu was kept prisoner in a room with barred windows.

  ‘The world is full of Yuns,’ he muttered, ‘as the sky is full of clouds.’

  The hunchbacked scholar nodded.

  ‘Perhaps finding The Lotus is a sign,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Teng, there is somewhere I must show you.’

  He led his son through courtyards and corridors, emerging at the rear of the compound, where a faithful model of Holy Mount Chang, tall as two men, had been sculpted from rocks and earth. On its summit stood a small moon-gazing pavilion with a high domed roof resting on six carved pillars.

  Deng Nan-shi climbed the model mountain, seating himself on a marble bench in the centre of the pavilion. Vines, creepers and moss covered the structure. Teng crouched at his feet, looking out at the lake.

  ‘It is twenty-eight years since I last set foot here,’ said Deng Nan-shi.

  Teng waited. Father bent forward, his eyes closed as though in meditation. Finally he sat upright.

  ‘Our family,’ said Deng Nan-shi, ‘has been the foremost in this province since the advent of the Song Dynasty, three centuries ago.’

  All this Teng knew. It seemed all he had ever been allowed to know.

  ‘You have heard of our ancestor General Yueh Fei,’ continued Deng Nan-shi, �
�a great hero and saviour of the Empire against the Kin barbarians, betrayed by cowards, pragmatists, traitors. Yet before his execution, Yueh Fei granted a mountain estate to an unknown infantry officer with the surname Yun. I know this because I found a document in our library. It states Officer Yun saved General Yueh Fei at the Battle of T’su Hu Pass, and so earned his reward.’

  A ragged vee of honking geese flew overhead toward the lake; both watched silently.

  ‘Officer Yun had a famous son, a brilliant son, a great poet. The author of that poem you found without my prompting: noble Yun Cai. When I was young we loved his poems. They described our deepest feelings – and fears.’

  The boy’s thoughts raced ahead. ‘But Father, Yun Shu … Can she really be related to Yun Cai?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the scholar, ‘impossible as it seems. Though the poet died a hundred years ago, his descendents still exist. Debased, certainly. Diminished, of course. I have established your little friend, Yun Shu, is a direct descendent of the poet, through her dead mother.’

  Deng Nan-shi settled back on the bench.

  ‘That is the first thing I wanted you to know,’ he said.

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Teng.

  ‘Mean? Probably nothing. What does anything mean?’

  Teng stirred. ‘Why did you bring me to this pavilion, Father?’

  ‘Ah, now that is not coincidental.’

  It was for a story Teng knew well, pieced together from hints and indiscretions.

  After Hou-ming’s defences crumbled twenty-eight years earlier, the Mongol army stormed through its ancient wards. All resistance melted into abject pleading, yet the victorious soldiers’ orders excluded the option of mercy. Prefect Deng’s futile defiance had cost the Mongol general, Prince Arslan, his brother’s life.

  ‘Did Prince Arslan really vow to add the last human, dog and cat in the city to his brother’s grave mound?’ asked Teng.

  ‘You have seen the size of the mound,’ said his father, ‘judge for yourself.’

  Deng Nan-shi had been a sallow youth of eighteen, the youngest of five sons, disregarded because of his deformed back. Yet he had been married since the age of sixteen to a younger daughter of an impoverished scholar family.