Jade Dragon Mountain (3 page)

He waited for Tulishen to address him again, conscious of the ritual that had brought him to Dayan. He understood the humiliation of his position, the required deference, and, above all, the imperative that he not cause trouble, scandal, or any embarrassment whatsoever to the local officials. He had only to act out his role, and he could be on his way.

Tulishen kept his eyes on the papers in front of him as he spoke. “You were a librarian of the Forbidden City. Almost five years ago you were sentenced to exile from the capital for your friendship with traitors. Had it been determined that you knew of their treachery, you would have joined them in the lingering death.” Tulishen waited for a response. When none came, he looked up at Li Du. “Our family was spared that, at least,” he said.

There was mutual understanding in the short silence that followed. Li Du was well aware that his family's concern from the moment he was arrested had been for their reputation, not for his life. This had not surprised him. He had never been ignorant of his family's priorities, and, in the end, the knowledge had eased his departure.

“I have come,” said Li Du quietly, “to fulfill the condition of my sentence, to register my presence upon arrival in a new prefecture.”

“Then let us observe the formalities,” said Tulishen. “Where were you before you came to Dayan?”

“I have been in the south, in the tea forests.”

“You are alone? You do not travel with a guide or translator?”

“No. I prefer to travel this way whenever it is possible. I carry a small collection of published travel journals with me. I rely on their geographical descriptions of the area.”

“And you have not caught the fever?”

“I read that chrysanthemum smoke is toxic to the insects who carry the disease. I burned it when I could, and avoided the lakes.”

“Not many will go so far south. Even in Dayan there have been cases of the fever. But the weather is cool now and travelers are safe.” He paused delicately, then continued. “Do you plan to stay long in Dayan?”

“I have no plans to stay at all. I will leave as soon as it is convenient, and go north, toward Gyalthang.”

The tension around Tulishen's mouth eased slightly. “Why to Gyalthang?”

“Simply because I am more content when I am traveling. It is not my habit to remain long in any city. I am going to Gyalthang because I have not been there before.”

“Gyalthang is crowded with Kham Tibetans. They are violent people. Their men are bandits, and their women have no grace. The local people here in Dayan have been fighting them for generations. The bickering of the uneducated. Of course, the situation is improving. We are civilizing this part of China, slowly. But if the savages and their bad food do not deter you, I will give you the permissions you need to go there.” He paused, and Li Du waited for the expected dismissal.

It did not come. Tulishen leaned back slightly in his chair, and looked at his cousin with some curiosity. “I admit, Li Du, that when I saw your papers and realized who you were, I thought that you were here to take advantage of your connection to me. I assumed you meant to beg the Emperor for leniency, an end to your exile. But it appears that is not your object.”

Li Du was stung. He wanted to say that if he had known the Emperor was coming to Dayan, he would have avoided the province completely. He wanted to say that he had made a life for himself, a solitary one, but one with which he was, in his own way, entirely satisfied. He had no wish ever to see the Emperor of China again.

He said merely, “I did not know he was coming to Dayan. Not until I saw the announcements in the city today.”

“In that case, you are possibly the only visitor to Dayan who has
not
come to see the Emperor.”

“I imagine word of his travel has spread through the area. But I have been very much on my own.”

“Have you spoken to no one at all?”

“Not for some time.”

“Ah,” said Tulishen, looking pleased with himself, as if he had solved a puzzle. “You have become a scholar recluse, have you? You write poetry and commune with the trees like the old poets.”

Li Du gave a little smile. “Honestly, Cousin, I considered it. But in spite of the romantic potential of my situation, I have no skill in composition.” It was true. Li Du had the advantage of knowing most of the poems ever composed in Chinese, but he found that this left little room for originality on the subject of clouds, mountains, or bamboo groves.

Tulishen did not return the smile. “You were always modest. You did well enough on your exams to earn a position in the royal library.” There was an edge to Tulishen's voice, and Li Du remembered that Tulishen himself had never passed the national examinations. He could not imagine his cousin envied him now.

“As you can see,” said Tulishen, “I am very busy. Dayan is to be the southernmost point in the Emperor's tour. When the festival is over, he will turn north, and begin the journey back to the capital.”

Li Du, sensing that some expression of interest was required, asked, “How long has he been away from it?”

“Almost a full year. And all for this. All to come here, now, to my city. The festival is to be so grand that he has even invited foreigners to cross the southwest borders and attend.”

“Does this mean that the Emperor has relaxed his policy on foreigners in China?”

Tulishen shook his head. “It is a limited invitation. It will expire when the festival is over. But when we are so close to the border, why should they not come? The arrogant foreigners will witness the Emperor's command of the heavens, and know his superiority over their own kings. The Son of the True Dragon has bestowed on my city the great honor of hosting this demonstration. Nothing like it has ever been seen in this distant corner of the empire.”

“His command of the heavens?” Li Du remembered the schedule he had seen on the wall. “You mean the eclipse.”

“An unmatched honor, to host the event,” Tulishen repeated. Li Du saw fear in his cousin's expression, and understood it. Tulishen had always been ambitious, but even he was intimidated by what was being asked of him now.

The Emperor of China had the power, according to ancient tradition, to predict astronomical phenomena. Displays of this power confirmed the Emperor's divine legitimacy, and were taken very seriously. The more accurate the prediction, the more effective the demonstration. Members of the intellectual elite, of which Li Du and Tulishen numbered, were aware that for many years it had been the Jesuits at court who had provided the Emperor with a yearly calendar of astronomical events. Their calculations had proven reliable and accurate to the minute. Naturally, public acknowledgment of their role was forbidden, as it would tarnish the pageantry of the Emperor's predictions.

And what better way to assert control over a notoriously unstable province than to impress its people with a spectacular festival and an eclipse of the sun? It had fallen to Tulishen to organize the unprecedented event in an area known throughout China only for its disease and barbarism. He would be blamed if the Emperor was disappointed.

“Thousands will gather in a field east of the city,” Tulishen went on, with forced enthusiasm. “And the Emperor will appear before them as a deity, on a towering golden pavilion. The foreigners, and the uncivilized people of this province, will know our Emperor's power. They will not forget.”

“I saw one of the foreigners at your gate earlier today, a merchant.”

Tulishen shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “He is the most recent arrival. The first one came three days ago, an old man as bleached as a dead tree on the plains. One of the religious men in black robes, but he did not come from Beijing. He says he lives in India. That is not all he says. The man does not stop talking. Obviously he does not know
the more words spoken, the more mistakes made.
And that is not the extent of his foolishness. He journeyed here with Khampa traders. I am surprised they did not rob and murder him and his friend.”

“His friend?”

“A performer who has come for the festival. A storyteller from Arabia.” Tulishen brightened a little. “The storyteller is amusing and speaks good Chinese. I have hired him to perform here tonight.”

For a moment Tulishen was lost in thought. Then he recalled himself and continued. “There is another one in black robes, but he arrived alone. A young man, unimpressive. He speaks Chinese like an imbecile. And he has a weak stomach—he has not left his room at the inn since he arrived. I sent my doctor to bring him herbs, and now the strange man wants to know everything about the plants the doctor used. He has a fascination for plants, he says. Did you encounter these religious men in Beijing?”

“The Jesuits?” Li Du said. “I was tutored by one.”

Tulishen's expression wavered. This was an unwelcome reminder of Li Du's academic superiority, but Tulishen had not become magistrate by ignoring opportunities to use the knowledge of others. “Did you learn to speak their language?”

“Most of the ones I met in Beijing spoke good Chinese. But yes, I learned their Latin.”

“Tell me about them.”

“What is it you want to know?”

Tulishen was irritated. “I never wasted my time with foreigners in the capital. I am not interested in distant places that do not affect us. But now they are here and I am responsible for them. Tell me something useful.”

Li Du considered. He had not thought of the Jesuits in years. “To me,” he said, “the Jesuits always seemed more scholars than holy men. They spend their time studying our language and reading our books, instead of reviewing their own. As I recall, that is how they fell out of favor with their leaders even as they earned the Emperor's respect. I doubt these visitors wish to cause any offense or inconvenience. They simply want to know more of the world.”

“But they have caused inconvenience already,” snapped Tulishen. “They conduct themselves awkwardly. And the old one speaks unwisely on subjects that are forbidden. You do not understand the burden that has been placed upon me. I have no time for such disturbances.”

“I am sure that all will go as planned,” said Li Du, vaguely. He was thinking of the map to the mountain pass, and beginning to make a list of the modest supplies he would purchase in the market on his way out. Perhaps a little bottle of wine to warm over the fire, and some preserved ham, and a small bag of bean paste pastries.…

Tulishen observed Li Du's distraction. “You have always acted above society.”

Li Du blinked. “I am banished from my own home,” he said. “I am an exile, invisible to society.”

“And yet, for a man who has wandered in the mountains for three years, you speak of court matters with some elegance.”

Li Du could see that Tulishen was struggling with an idea that was unpalatable to him, and with a sense of dread Li Du guessed what it might be. “I require a favor of you,” said Tulishen. “I want you to remain in Dayan for a few days.”

Li Du spoke carefully. “I am grateful, Cousin, for your hospitality. But I am here merely to provide a record of my presence, as required. I should not be in the city when the Emperor comes. I was exiled at his order.”

Tulishen waved his hand dismissively. “Of course you were. But you were exiled from Beijing, and we are far from that city. I have need of you here. I want you to talk to the foreigners. Question them, politely, tactfully, and tell me what you learn. I don't want any surprises when the Emperor is here. If this talkative old Jesuit makes a nuisance of himself I am the one who will bear shame. You will leave before the Emperor arrives.”

“But I—”

“Any further protest will offend me, Cousin.”

They both knew the request for what it actually was: an order.

“Then it is decided,” said Tulishen, satisfied. “You will stay in the guesthouse, and you will meet the Jesuit in my library this afternoon.”

“You have a library?”

“In remote areas like these,” said Tulishen, “it is important to keep reminders of more refined places. It sets an example for the locals. My father and grandfather were renowned collectors, as I am sure you know. I had the entire library moved here from my residence in the capital. Its design has been praised in the highest circles of society, but is, sadly, underappreciated here.”

“I will enjoy seeing it,” said Li Du, honestly, though aware that his cousin's interest was in acquiring books, not reading them. “And who was the merchant at the gate? Am I to speak to him also?”

Tulishen frowned. “He has brought tribute from a powerful foreign company. They want access to our eastern seaports, but it is unlikely that they will get what they want. The Emperor has refused them for years—he will not be persuaded to change his mind by a few boxes of trinkets. But the man is to be treated with deference until the Emperor makes a decision.”

“Your soldiers were inspecting the crates he carried.”

Tulishen nodded. “We must be very thorough. This region is wild. The Ming loyalists still lurk at the borders. And Tibet cannot be trusted.” Tulishen put his hand to his forehead as if it pained him.

A young official had just entered the room, and Li Du recognized the man who had so adeptly managed the situation at the gate. He had the clean, unremarkable presence of a young scholar. Under his arm he carried a bundle of dirty, crumpled papers. He bowed respectfully and, after a brief, curious glance at Li Du, directed his gaze forward and waited to be addressed.

“This is my secretary, Jia Huan,” said Tulishen. “He arrived from Beijing a month ago and already has taken great initiative in the matters of this province. With my guidance he may become a magistrate himself one day. What is it?”

“The merchant from the English East India Company is concerned that the treasure room is not secure enough. He says that he does not trust Mu Gao to guard it, and Mu Gao has gone away to drink with his friend the clerk.”