Dragon Moon (4 page)

“Now count off the right-hand bundle in the same way and place the remaining stalks between the third and fourth fingers of your left hand.”

Ping concentrated, trying not to drop any. It was difficult to juggle the stalks. When she had finished, her hand resembled a worn-out broom with stalks bristling in all directions.

The seer took the stalks from between the fingers of her left hand and counted them. Then on a piece of calfskin he drew a line.

“The number of stalks determines whether the line I draw is solid or broken,” he explained.

He gathered up the uncounted stalks.

“Now we must repeat the process five more times. The resulting lines form a simple diagram—six lines,
one on top of the other. This diagram will indicate which of the 64 passages I will read from the
Yi Jing—
The Book of Change.”

Ping divided the stalks again and the seer drew another unbroken line. She divided the stalks for a third time and he drew a third unbroken line. She divided the stalk three more times. The finished diagram on the calfskin was six strong, unbroken lines.

The seer raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Duke.

“These six solid lines form the diagram known as
Qian,”
he said. “They represent pure
yang
. The meaning of the diagram is intense activity.”

He put the calfskin aside and opened the bamboo book. He rested his finger on the very first character of the book.

Ping could see the character he was pointing to. She had learned thousands of characters, but she had never seen this one before. Beneath the character were several sentences.

“This is the answer to your query,” the seer said. He read the first line aloud. “At the beginning, a hidden dragon. It is wise to be inactive.” His finger moved to the second line. “A dragon in the fields. It is advantageous to meet the great man.” As he read, he pointed to each line of the diagram on the calfskin, moving from the bottom to the top. The reading was full of dragons. Every line except the third mentioned a dragon.

The seer looked up from the book. “It is a very auspicious divination,” he whispered. “The most auspicious.”

“But what does it mean?” Ping asked.

“The meaning of each line can only be interpreted by the one who divided the yarrow stalks,” the seer said. “But the answer to your question is without doubt that it is favourable for you to leave Yan.”

The Duke frowned and his eyebrows met in the middle. Then he sighed. He couldn’t argue with the reading.

“Kai has brought me nothing but good fortune,” he said. “To go against such a reading would be folly.”

The seer nodded. “You are most wise, Your Grace. Catastrophe would surely follow if you opposed the counsel of the
Yi Jing.”

The seer wrote out the six readings on the calfskin next to the six lines. Then he turned the calfskin over and wrote six more characters on the other side.

“This is the final reading. It is what the book has to say about the diagram as a whole.” He folded the piece of calfskin and handed it to Ping. “It is for you only to read.”

Ping took the calfskin and was about to open it.

“Wait!” the seer said. “You should re-read the six lines as your journey progresses. Each one will reveal its wisdom in turn. But I advise you not to look at the final reading now. Read it only when you are faced
with your greatest difficulty, when you experience your worst moment.”

Ping looked down at the folded calfskin. She had hoped their journey would be without difficulties.

“Now we must find out when is the most auspicious day for Ping to leave,” the Duke said.

The seer bowed and left the room.

Ping didn’t take part in the ceremony to choose the auspicious day. The seer did that in the privacy of the palace’s inner shrine.

The repairs to the palace had been completed and, later that day, Ping took Kai to the dining hall for the first time in months. Although the weather was still chilly, spring had reached Yan and the sunny weather was reflected in the mood at Beibai Palace.

Everyone was delighted to have the dragon back among them. Servants brought Kai cushions, the cooks prepared
him a special meal. The Duke’s wives and sisters made a fuss of Kai. His daughters and the other palace children all wanted to play with the dragon. The women were one minute clucking over Yong Hu, watching him laugh as someone bounced him up and down, the next minute exclaiming over Kai and how much he’d grown. Kai loved being the centre of attention and made tinkling wind-chime sounds. It was more like a party than an ordinary midday meal.

The palace carpenter brought a special backscratcher that he’d carved over winter for Kai. The dragon often had an itch on his back that he couldn’t reach and had knocked over several expensive ornaments and left grubby marks on walls while trying to scratch the spot. The children all took it in turns to scratch the dragon’s back with the new backscratcher. The Duke was quieter than the rest of his household as he ate his midday meal. Ping was quiet too.

Halfway through the third course, the seer entered.

“Must you interrupt my meal?” the Duke said, though he was only picking at his food.

“I must, Your Grace,” the seer replied. “My message is urgent. There is only one auspicious day for Ping to leave. It is the day after tomorrow.”

The mood of the meal soon changed once the news circulated and everyone realised that Kai was going to
leave. The servants were complaining, the children were crying, the cook was wondering what he was going to do with all the snails and worms he’d collected for Kai to eat.

“He is going,” the Duke said, “whether you like it or not.”

Silence descended over the room, broken only by the sniffling of a small boy.

The next day and a half passed in a bustle of preparation as Princess Yangxin supervised the packing of Ping’s baggage. Ping didn’t object to the piles of clothing and cooking equipment, the boxes of animal furs and cushions, the large tent and the great quantity of food that was being packed for her and Kai’s use. It was better that the household was occupied. Ping collected more practical things—a jar of red cloud herb ointment for healing, a good bronze knife, a pair of fire-making sticks.

The Princess gave Ping a roll of calfskin, brush and ink so that she could write to her. Ping tried to refuse, but the Princess insisted. Yangxin also wanted her to take fine gowns and jewellery. This time Ping was firm.

“A simple gown is best for travelling,” she said, selecting a dark green hemp gown with shallow sleeves and simple pale green silk edging. “And my bamboo square is all the jewellery I need.”

“Kai wants to take the backscratcher,” the little dragon said. “Plenty of jujubes. And worms.”

Ping was telling him they couldn’t take any worms when an attendant arrived with a message that the Duke wished to see her in the Peony Hall.

“You will need money for your journey, Ping.” The Duke signalled to his administrator who gave Ping a purse.

“There are some gold pieces,” he said, “but gold attracts attention like flies to a dead dog. I have also given you plenty of copper coins for making small purchases.”

“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace,” Ping said.

The Duke smiled at her. “I will
miss our poetry readings in the library,” he said.

It was a tearful farewell. Ping had made many friends at the palace and Kai had endeared himself to everyone—from the chief advisors to the kitchen boys. They were all sad to see the pair go. There was another reason for their sadness, though nobody mentioned it. No one in the palace wanted to see the cause of all their good luck leave. The Duke had done his best to convince the palace’s inhabitants that the dragon’s departure was the only way to continue their good fortune, but they didn’t believe him. Every single person in the palace wanted to touch the dragon one last time for luck.

The Princess was crying again.

“I know you are following your true path, Ping,” she said as she hugged her friend. “I am being selfish. I will miss you, and I did so much want Yong Hu to grow up with a dragon.”

Before long, their carriage, crammed with enough baggage for a dozen people, was passing through the western gateway of Beibai Palace. Though Ping had been eager to begin the journey, now that she was actually leaving she was sad to say goodbye to her friends and the place that had been such a comfortable home.

The Duke had insisted that they travel with an armed escort. He had wanted to send six men. Ping had managed to convince him that six soldiers would attract too much attention, and that two soldiers and a driver would be more than enough. She leaned out of the carriage and watched Beibai Palace shrink into the distance. It was unimpressive from the outside. Made of unadorned mud bricks, its blank walls gave no clue as to what lay inside. Ping had a feeling she would never return.

Kai was hanging out of the carriage window making sounds like a cracked bell ringing. But when the palace finally disappeared from sight, he pulled his head into the carriage and settled down quietly with his head in Ping’s lap.

The regret Ping had felt was disappearing. She knew the time was right to leave. Her stomach was churning with excitement and anticipation. She remembered the first line of her
Yi Jing
reading.
At the beginning, a hidden dragon. It is wise to be inactive
. Ping had interpreted it to
mean that while Kai was submerged in the well it was all right to stay at the palace. Now that he was not hidden, it followed that it would be unwise to be inactive. To delay any longer would lead to misfortune.

The carriage headed west, passing through bare orchards and the drab, empty fields where ploughs pulled by oxen were preparing the ground for spring planting. Beyond that were tussocky grasslands where the battle between the Xiong Nu and the imperial soldiers had taken place only a few days earlier. The road was littered with weapons, boxes of food and occasionally a dead body, dropped by the imperial army to lighten their loads so they could gain more speed as they retreated. A group of the Duke’s men were still busy with the grisly task of collecting the dead for burial, piling the broken and bloody bodies of imperial and Yan soldiers onto a wagon. A smashed war chariot lay on its side with one wheel in the air. A dead horse lay rigid, the fatal arrow still sticking out of its chest. Patches of dark dried blood stained the winter-pale grass. Ping wondered how many men had died because of this latest imperial folly.

After an hour, they left the signs of battle behind and the road wound its way through the bleak hills of Yan. The driver had been uneasy when they departed. There was no dot or cross on the map to indicate precisely where Dragon’s Lament Creek was. He was used to knowing his exact destination. Ping felt no fear of this journey. She was the Dragonkeeper and she meant to
do her job properly. With Danzi’s map and the
Yi Jing
reading to guide her, she was sure she would find her way to wherever it was they had to go. She had her second sight to warn her of danger. She could summon her
qi
power to protect herself. Whatever difficulties they faced, she was confident that she would be able to overcome them.

Ping stared out of the carriage window. The spring rains were overdue and the hills were dry and yellow. After so many months of seeing nothing but the inside of courtyards and halls, even these bleak hills seemed beautiful.

When Danzi had first told Ping that she was the true Dragonkeeper, she hadn’t believed him. Even though she had all the characteristics—left-handedness, second sight and the ability to hear dragon speech in her head—it still didn’t seem possible. She was such an insignificant person. How could she be so important? Others had also doubted that she was the true Dragonkeeper. She was, after all, a girl. No other Dragonkeeper in the hundreds of years of imperial history had ever been female.

At first Ping had been very hesitant and unsure about becoming a Dragonkeeper, but she had grown more confident over time and had finally come to believe that it was her true role.

At first the responsibility of being a Dragonkeeper had been a burden, now it was what Ping wanted to do
more than anything in the world. It had been easier than she’d expected to leave behind friends and comfort. She had a job to do, a purpose, a destiny. No amount of fine clothes and good food could replace that.

The first task Danzi had given her as Dragonkeeper was to carry his precious dragon stone to Ocean. He wouldn’t tell her why. Their journey across the Empire had been difficult and dangerous. They had been tracked by a dragon hunter who wanted to capture the old dragon for his body parts, which were worth a great deal of gold because of their medicinal and magical properties. Then a shape-changing necromancer had pursued them. Both of these powerful men had tried to take the dragon stone from her. Neither had succeeded. Ping had confronted the dragon hunter, and he had fallen to his death from a peak on Tai Shan.

When they reached Ocean, Ping had finally learned the secret of the purple stone when it cracked open and, to her amazement, a tiny purple dragon slipped out of it. By that time, Danzi was badly wounded and weary of the world of men. Though his wings were in tatters, he flew off across Ocean to the Isle of the Blest to be healed, leaving her to care for the newborn dragon. Since then she had dreamt of him, and those dreams had helped her find her path alone, but she had never seen Danzi again.

She pulled one of Danzi’s scales from the pouch around her waist. She missed the old dragon. She’d
discovered that if she held the moonlit dragon scale before she went to sleep, she would dream of him. In her dreams, he always had some words of guidance, though their meaning wasn’t always clear. But during her stay at Beibai Palace, her dreams of Danzi had ceased. She had held the scale in the light of a full moon and her sleep had been dreamless.

“Kai, do you still have dreams of Danzi?” she asked.