Everything Under the Sky (29 page)

“Forgive me, Ming T'ien,” I replied, futilely bowing with my hands in front of my forehead. “Today is a very special day, and we're in a bit of a hurry.”

“What does that matter? Do you think the sculptures of tortoises all over the monastery are just for decoration? The tortoise lives a long life because it isn't hurried. This is a lesson you need to learn. Repeat after me: Haste shortens your life.”

“Haste shortens your life,” I repeated in Chinese.

“That's better,” she said, breaking into a wide smile. “I want you to remember that when you're far away from here, Chang Cheng. Will you do that?”

“I will, Ming T'ien,” I promised, not entirely convinced.

“Good. That makes me very happy,” she said, her white eyes turning back to the mountains. “I sense we won't have another opportunity to speak, but I'm glad you came to say good-bye.”

How did she know?

“You must be on your way to Purple Cloud Palace,” she added. “Little Xu will receive you soon.”

“Little Xu?” I asked. She couldn't be speaking of Xu Benshan, the great abbot of Wudang, could she?

She laughed. “I still remember the day he came to these mountains,” she explained. “Like me, he has never left, and he never will.”

How did she know all this? How did she know we'd solved the puzzle? How did she know we had an audience with the abbot?

“I don't want you to be late, Chang Cheng,” she admonished once again. “I know you need to confirm the order of the ideograms, so tell me, what's the correct answer?”

“‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Health,’ and ‘Peace.’ ”

She smiled. “Go on,” she said, waving her hand as if swatting a fly. “Your destiny awaits.”

“But is that right?” I asked uncertainly.

“Of course it's right!” she snapped. “Now, go! I'm getting tired.”

Biao and I turned and began to walk away. I was filled with sadness. I would have liked to stay and learn more from Ming T'ien.

“Remember me when you're my age!” she shouted, and then I heard her laugh. I turned to look at her and wave good-bye, even though I knew she couldn't see me. It was worth taking a few years off my life to hurry away before I couldn't see through my tears.
Remember me when you're my age,
she had said. I smiled. Was she trying to say I'd live to be 112, like her? In that case I'd die in far-off 1992 no less, almost at the end of the century that had just begun. I was laughing by the time we got back to the house and kept laughing as we headed to “Little Xu's” palace, accompanied by a richly dressed servant.

Purple Cloud Palace was even more impressive than the first time I saw it, the day we arrived in the downpour. The sky was still leaden, but, thankfully, not a drop of rain fell as we crossed the long bridge over the moat and climbed the magnificent staircase all the way up to the third level. The abbot received us once again in the Library Pavilion, sitting at the far end with the utmost dignity, flanked by the thousands of bamboo-slat
jiance
s piled in rolls down both sides of the hall now illuminated by the light coming in through the windows covered in rice paper. There were no torches or fire this time, just the four big stone tiles set in front of the abbot, their smooth backs facing us.

After walking with the short steps required by protocol until we had gone as far as we were allowed, the monks who had accompanied us withdrew, bowing deeply. My eyes were again drawn to the enormous platform soles of the abbot's black velvet shoes, but now, in the natural light, the shine of his blue silk tunic caught my attention even more.

“Good news?” Xu Benshan asked softly.

“As if he doesn't know!” I mumbled quietly as Lao Jiang took a step toward the stone tiles. Pointing at them, the antiquarian said, “‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Health,’ and ‘Peace.’ ”

“Little Xu” nodded his assent and placed his right hand in the wide left sleeve of his tunic. My heart raced when I saw him pull out an old roll of slats held together by green silk threads. It was the third piece of the
jiance.

With great ceremony the abbot stood and walked down the three stairs while two monks dressed in purple turned the tiles so we could confirm our answer. There they were, in order: the ideogram
fu,
“Happiness,” the one with the arrows and the squares; then
shou,
“Longevity,” with its multiple horizontal lines; next
k'ang,
“Health,” the trident piercing the little man; and finally
an,
“Peace,” its protagonist dancing the fox-trot.

The abbot walked past the tiles and reached out to hand Lao Jiang the last piece of the
jiance
written by the architect and engineer Sai Wu over two thousand years earlier. Up close, Xu Benshan seemed very young, a boy almost, but my eyes left his face to follow the
jiance
as it passed from his hand to Lao Jiang's. It was ours. Now we'd know how to find the First Emperor's tomb.

“Thank you, Abbot,” I heard the antiquarian say.

“You are welcome to enjoy our hospitality as long as you like. The most difficult part of your journey is about to begin. Do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you need.”

We bowed deeply in thanks, and as the abbot stood watching, Lao Jiang, Biao, and I began the slow, interminable walk out of the palace, barely able to contain our desire to run and examine the anxiously awaited trophy outside. We finally had the third piece! And from what I could tell at a glance, it was identical to the two already in our possession.

“Let's not open it until we're at the house,” Lao Jiang said, lifting the slats victoriously in the air. “I want to put all three together for a complete reading.”

“Biao!” I said jubilantly. “Go find Fernanda, and the two of you get back as quick as you can.”

T
he table in the study was now completely cleared of books, and for the first time since that night in 1662 when the Prince of Gui severed the silk threads that held the bamboo slats together, separating it into three pieces that he instructed his most trusted friends to hide all along the Yangtze, those pieces of the old letter written by the architect Sai Wu were once again reunited. As we suspected, the last piece indicated the location of the First Emperor's tomb, as well as how to enter without setting off what we now knew were automatic crossbows and dangerous mechanical traps placed to keep tomb raiders out (to keep us out, that is). A full reading of the
jiance
was thus very important. Even Fernanda, who hurried back as soon as Biao found her, was visibly nervous, leaning over the slats as if she could understand what she was looking at. Lao Jiang was forced to order her to move back before sitting down and placing his glasses on his nose. The rest of us gathered behind him in complete silence and peered over his shoulder.

“What does the new piece say?” I asked after quite some time.

The antiquarian slowly shook his head. “These ideograms are a little smaller than the others, and some I can't read at all because the ink has smudged,” he finally replied.

“Just what we needed,” I murmured, inching a bit closer. “Read what you can.”

He grunted something unintelligible and reached a hand out toward Biao. “Pass me the magnifying glass that's over there on those books.” The boy raced to get it and was back before the antiquarian had even finished his sentence.

“Let's see, then…. Here it says, ‘When you, my son, arrive at the mausoleum, all of us who worked on it will have been sacrificed, and no one will remember its location.’ ”

“How old did Sai Wu think his orphan son would be when he went to the tomb?” Fernanda asked, surprised at how quickly the architect thought a work of that magnitude and importance would be forgotten.

“I imagine after he'd come of age, as it says in the first piece,” Lao Jiang replied, taking his glasses off to look at her. “Somewhere between eighteen and twenty years after he sent the boy to live with his friend in … where was it? Chaoxian? Yes, Chaoxian,” he confirmed by looking at the first piece. “But it's not surprising no one could recall where the First Emperor's tomb was after such a short time. Remember, only those condemned to forced labor and their bosses, the architects and engineers, were ever on that site, and all of them died with Shi Huang Ti when they were buried alive. The common people—or ‘black-headed ones,’ as free men were called—never knew where the construction site was. The only ones who did know the secret were the ministers and the imperial family, who had to perform the funeral rites. However, they all died within three years after Shi Huang Ti, as a result of court conspiracies, peasant revolts, and uprisings by former feudal lords. The dynasty our First Emperor founded for ten thousand years barely lasted three.”

“Could you continue reading, please?” I asked, bringing my hands to my waist in a very Spanish gesture that took me by surprise.

“Of course,” the antiquarian said, putting his glasses back on and holding the magnifying glass over the slats. “Where was I? Ah, yes, here. ‘Look at the map, Sai Shi Gu'er. The secret entrance is in the artificial lake formed by the dam on the Shahe River. Dive in where I have indicated and descend four
ren
—’ ”

“Hold on! Hold on!” I exclaimed, pulling one of the stools over so I could sit comfortably. “We'd better take a closer look at this map. I haven't been able to make heads or tails of it no matter how hard I try. Perhaps now, with Sai Wu's directions, we'll actually be able to understand these blotches of ink.”

Lao Jiang turned to look at me, smiling. “But it's perfectly clear, Elvira. Look, take a good look at this square here,” he said, pointing to a tiny mark in the upper left- hand corner of the map. “Inside, it says ‘Xianyang,’ former capital of the first Chinese empire, Shi Huang Ti's city. It's only logical to assume that the mausoleum would be relatively nearby, no more than sixty miles in any direction. Xianyang is likely nothing more than a pile of ruins today, if anything's left at all. However, not far away is the metropolis of Xi'an, which is erroneously assumed to be the old capital. As you can see, Xi'an doesn't appear on this map, and that proves its authenticity, because the city wasn't founded until years after Shi Huang Ti died.”

“And is Xi'an very far from here, from Wudang?”

Lao Jiang tilted his head pensively. “I estimate it's about the same distance as from Hankow, heading westnorth,” he finally said. “Xi'an is the capital of neighboring Shensi
⁴¹
province to the north, and Wudang is on the border, so it's likely … about two hundred forty miles, maybe less. The hardest part will be the mountains. You see, the Qin Ling mountain range divides Wudang and Shensi, so we'll need another month or month and a half to get there.”

It wasn't going to be easy, I thought desolately. In the middle of the rainy season, with winter coming on, we'd have to cross a mountain range that would surely be even more fearsome than Wudang with its seventy-two high, sheer peaks.

“Don't be discouraged, Elvira,” I heard the antiquarian say. “Xi'an was the starting point for the famous Silk Road that linked East and West, so it's easily accessible. There are good roads and mountain trails.”

“But what about the war? And the Green Gang?”

“Shall we get back to the map? So we've now located the First Emperor's capital, old Xianyang. This dotted line down below, running from one end of the slats to the other, is the river Wei,” he said, pointing to another couple of illegible characters. Surely I'd have seen it better if he'd been able to point it out with those gold fingernails he'd had in Shanghai. “If we follow it to the east, we can see many effluents to the north and south, but this one,” he emphasized, placing his finger on the last line that went down toward the lower right-hand corner of the map, “this is definitely the Shahe, which Sai Wu referred to in his letter. See? Here's the name. And this elongated wide bit is undoubtedly the artificial lake formed as a result of the dam. It's simply marvelous!” he exclaimed, opening his arms as if to embrace that unlucky foreman who'd died two thousand years earlier. “Note this little red mark at one end of the reservoir. It's barely visible, but it's there.”

He passed me the magnifying glass and moved over so I could examine this red mark. When I looked at it in light of his explanation, the strange map did become comprehensible. If I followed the Shahe's vertical descent from the Wei to a mountain chain along the bottom of the bamboo slats, near the end there was an elongated wide bit angled slightly northeast that had a tiny red spot on the end closest to the mountains. So that red spot indicated where to dive into the water? Oh, please!

After Fernanda and even Biao had examined the map, the magnifying glass was passed back to Lao Jiang, who continued reading.

“‘Dive in where I have indicated and descend four
ren
—’ he repeated.

“How far is a
ren
?” my niece asked.

The antiquarian seemed taken aback by the question.

“That's an ancient measurement,” he explained after giving it some thought, “and many of them have changed over time. However, I'd say four
ren
is about twenty- five feet.”

“Twenty-five feet!” I wailed. “But I hardly know how to swim!”

“Don't worry,
tai-tai,
” Biao encouraged, “we'll help you. It's not hard.”

Lao Jiang, fed up with the interruptions, continued reading:

“‘… four
ren
until you come to the mouth of a pentagonal pipe that forms part of the funeral chamber's drainage system.’ ”

“Pentagonal?” Biao whispered.

“It has five sides,” Fernanda quickly clarified.

“‘Move through it for twenty
chi
—’ ”

“Not again!” my niece complained. “Now how far is a
chi
?”

“A
chi
equals approximately eight inches,” Lao Jiang explained, keeping his eyes on the
jiance.
“If I'm not mistaken, twenty
chi
would be a little over thirteen feet.”