The Chinese Alchemist (13 page)

Still, I kept looking, not because I thought I was going to see Burton, but because I was enjoying myself. To either side of the informal stalls were antique shops, and I visited every one of these. I tried asking about a silver box, but no one could understand me, even when I took out the photograph of George’s box and waved it in front of them. Only in Beijing could I manage such a task in English. I was envious of Burton for his facility with the language.

Burton wasn’t in the temple itself, either. He would have liked it, too, especially a hall devoted to Sun Simiao, a master pharmacist of the T’ang dynasty, and one of the earliest practitioners of Chinese medicine, now worshipped as a Buddha-like god. Sun Simiao was the first to write on the subject of medical ethics, and wrote several texts on medicine with many, perhaps thousands, of formulations for just about whatever might ail you. Apparently he was a sickly child, and managed to cure himself along with everybody else. The walls of the hall were covered in a colorful mural that depicted scenes from the sage’s life. All in all, he seemed to me to be Burton’s kind of guy.

Beyond his more conventional medical talents, though, Sun Simiao was an alchemist who secluded himself on Zhong Nan Mountain to perform practices that would allow him to become immortal. He also believed in exorcism. He wrote a text on these subjects called, more or less, “Essential Instructions from the Books on the Elixirs of the Great Purity,” which was probably based on texts called
Taiqing Jing
or “Book of Great Purity,” one of the first books anywhere on alchemy, now lost to us. These formulations quite possibly included elixirs that contained mercury and arsenic, which the master pharmacist was said to have administered to himself. Apparently it worked. Legend has it that his corpse had not begun to decompose some months after he died.

This alchemy business I found interesting, given the T’ang box. I’d thought the formula for the elixir of immortality contained in the box was unusual at best, laughable at worst. But clearly no one in T’ang times would have agreed with me. Its loss was more than just the theft of a valuable object, as I had begun to realize that night at Dr. Xie’s celebration. It clearly was an artifact of some great importance, and I felt sad not just for Dory, not just for China, but really for all of us who value the past. I also realized that I had known only two people who were true experts on T’ang China and would not think it odd if I asked them about alchemy. One was Dory Matthews, and it was too late to ask her. The other was Burton Haldimand. To ask him would take much swallowing of pride on my part. I wasn’t sure I was up for it.

Burton was not answering his phone when I got back to the hotel. This annoyed me even more, if that was possible. I chose to deal with this aggravation by going out for the rest of the day, visiting the truly awe-inspiring terra-cotta warriors of China’s first emperor, Qin Shi Huangdi who reigned from 221 to 210 BCE. The terra-cotta warriors are a World Heritage site, deservedly so. They are as spectacular as you might imagine them to be, row upon row of hundreds of men, all life-size and no face the same: generals, archers, light infantry, heavy armored soldiers, cavalry complete with horses, and in a special place, two wonderful chariots for the emperor. The actual mausoleum of the emperor, the place where presumably his body was laid to rest, has never been opened. All we can see is a pyramid-shaped structure near Mount Li. The historian Sima Qian reported, however, that a whole world had been created for the First Son of Heaven, with representations of the Yellow and Yangtze Rivers dug and filled with mercury, flowing somehow mechanically, the heavens above him complete with representations of the constellations. Automatic crossbows were set to kill any tomb robbers. It would be a difficult place to break into. Whether as a tomb robber or an archaeologist, the hazards would be many. Even at the time it was a decidedly unhealthy place to be. Qin Shi Huangdi’s successor had the first emperor’s childless concubines buried with him, and all who worked on the enormous tomb were sealed in it to die. Protecting him through all eternity were the terra-cotta warriors we see today.

Qin Shi Huangdi believed in immortality, and may have taken far too much of the elixir that was supposed to guarantee it. He was reported to have sent several expeditions in search of an island where the Immortals dwelt. The Immortals lived, if that’s the right verb, in special places befitting their status, secret islands or underground cities or, for Taoists especially, on mountaintops. None of these expeditions of Qin Shi Huangdi’s came back. One has to wonder why. Perhaps they couldn’t resist the temptation of escaping the emperor, who was undoubtedly not the most benevolent of rulers.

All in all, Qin Shi Huangdi didn’t have much luck in the immortality department if the stories of his death many miles from home are anything to go by. Rather than making the leap and leaving his clothes behind, his corpse was put into his carriage and began the journey back to the palace. Those in charge did not want anyone to know he had died, so they packed the carriage with rotting fish to cover the smell of rotting emperor. It was an ignominious end, I suppose, for the man who had united China.

Still the warriors are a remarkable sight, and I felt immeasurably better when I got back to the hotel. This pleasant feeling lasted for about ten minutes. Burton still wasn’t answering his phone. After fuming for a while, both about Burton and the sheer uselessness of this trip to Xi’an from a silver-box point of view, I decided that once again the only approach was to go directly to Burton’s room. I’d managed to inveigle the room number from the hotel operator, again with the colleague-from-Toronto story. By the time I’d left to see the warriors, I’d asked her to put me through to him so often that I’m sure she was glad to just give me the number so I’d go away.

The door was open when I got there, a housekeeping cart right outside. The maid was scrubbing the bathroom. I took a quick peek inside. The room was empty. There was no suitcase, no portable air filter buzzing away, no tea apparatus, no clothes, no toiletries in the bathroom. The slug had slipped away from me again!

I stomped back to my room. First I called Air China and tried to get on a flight back to Beijing the next day. That didn’t work, but I could
get
out the following day. Then I called the hotel in Beijing to tell them when I was coming back. The woman at the desk asked me to hold for a moment, and then came back on the line to tell me there was a message flagged to my room. She had it still, given that they didn’t want to put it in the room until I returned. It was in a sealed envelope. I asked her to open the envelope and fax it to me at my present location. She agreed to do that right away.

While I waited for the contents of the mysterious sealed envelope to be put into my hands, I went to the hotel bar. The lobby was a hive of activity. The staff was putting up Christmas decorations, garlands were being strung from every pillar and post, an enormous fake tree already fully decorated was being set into place, and Christmas carols, sung by Chinese children, were being piped through the whole place. This did not improve my mood. The bar didn’t either. It was the off-season, December now, and the bar, despite the frenzy of Christmas cheer elsewhere in the hotel, was far from a happening place. In fact, it was empty. I ordered a glass of the house red, something nonspecific from a company called Dragon Seal. If I thought wine would help, it didn’t, but there was nothing that was going to make me happy that evening, that much was certain.

As I sat there in solitary splendor, the staff whispering to each other over in a corner, occasionally casting glances my way, I gave myself a stern talking to. First off, I told myself to calm down. Why exactly was I in Xi’an? What exactly had I hoped to accomplish? Why was I letting Burton Haldimand
get
to me? Yes, he was scum—lying, deceitful scum, that is—obsessed with getting that silver box ahead of anyone else, including me. Why, though, was I falling into the trap of becoming just as obsessed as he was? Rob tells me that occasionally I am like a little dog with a bone. That’s his polite way of telling me that at times I can be stubborn, willful, and occasionally even obsessed beyond all reason with something. It seemed to me that where Burton Haldimand and the silver box were concerned, this was one of those times. I told myself to take a few deep breaths and let it go.

I was making some, albeit minimal, progress, telling myself how much fun I would have in Taiwan with Rob and Jennifer, when I was joined by two other visitors. That I should know them, in fact know anyone in Xi’an other than Burton, came as a surprise.

“Lara!” Dr. Xie exclaimed when he saw me. “What a pleasant surprise! You know Mira Tetford, of course. May we join you?”

“Hello, Dr. Xie, Mira,” I said. “Please do. It is an unexpected pleasure for me, too.”

“I left a message for you at your hotel in Beijing this morning before I flew down. They said you were still registered. Did you get it?” Mira asked. “And what brings you to Xi’an?”

“The terra-cotta warriors, of course,” I said, without missing a beat. “I decided I couldn’t leave China without seeing them. They are as fabulous as everyone says they are.” I’d seen them on my previous visit many years earlier, but why bother to mention that small detail?

“They are one of the wonders of the world,” Dr. Xie agreed.

“And how about you two? What brings you to Xi’an?” I asked.

“I have a manufacturing facility here,” Dr. Xie said. “I come here frequently. I have an apartment in town, in fact. And Mira is helping me with an acquisition of a company in this area. We meet with the company representatives tomorrow, and have been working on our strategy all day. I have promised Mira that I will take her to one of our famed dumpling buffets. I insist that you join us. My car and driver are right outside to take us when we’re ready.”

I did join them. It’s difficult to imagine a buffet where your meal consists of a choice of twentysomething different Chinese dumplings, but in fact, it was delicious. I tried not to think about either Burton or the silver box, but there was a floor show with song and dance from the T’ang dynasty, which as interesting as it was, I’d just as soon have skipped under the circumstances.

It was on the way back that something interesting happened. My seatbelt had slipped down between the top and bottom of the seat. When I managed to pull it up, something unpleasant-feeling came up with it. I held it up to find a surgical glove.

“Has Burton Haldimand been in this car by any chance?” I asked, wiggling it.

“It would be difficult to think it would be anyone else,” Dr. Xie said, smiling at the glove. “I had my driver take Burton sightseeing this afternoon. He wanted to see the imperial tombs west of the city and tours do not regularly go there this time of year. Not,” he added, “that Burton seems a tour kind of person.”

“I thought I was going to meet him here,” I said, stretching the truth just a tad. “But he doesn’t seem to be in the hotel any longer.”

Dr. Xie spoke to his driver, whose English name was Jackie, chosen for his hero Jackie Chan apparently. “Jackie says that he dropped Burton at the train station at the end of their tour.”

“The train station? I guess he’s not going back to Beijing.”

“That would not be the ideal way to get there, no.” Dr. Xie spoke to the driver again. The man shrugged at first, and Dr. Xie looked about to tell me Jackie had no idea, when the man spoke again.

“The driver thought Burton a little odd,” Dr. Xie said.

“I can’t imagine why,” I muttered.

“Burton told him that the trip to the tombs had been most educational, and that now he was going to see the Jade Women, something about meeting someone where the Jade Women live. No accounting for tastes, but Burton’s a grown man, and he can do whatever he wants. I’d be happy to have Jackie take you to see the imperial tombs tomorrow. They are worth seeing, and I’m sure you would enjoy them as much as Burton did.”

“Thank you, but I can’t accept your kind offer. You will need the car.” Actually, the new me wasn’t going to look at anything that would get the silver box back on my personal agenda, nor did I think that anything that Burton might like would appeal to me in the slightest.

“Nonsense. I insist. Here is my telephone number in Xi’an, and my mobile as well. I’ll have Jackie take Mira and me to our meeting in the morning, and he will show you around the rest of the day.”

“Thank you,” I said. It seemed churlish to refuse such a gracious offer.

The desk clerk at the hotel called out to me when I came through the doors, having said good night to Mira and Dr. Xie. “Your fax from Beijing is here,” he said. I’d completely forgotten about it.

I opened it in the room. Based on my chance meeting with Dr. Xie and Mira, I had already concluded it was from Mira, telling me she was traveling to Xi’an for a day or two. Instead it was a message from Burton.

Lara, I hope you weren’t waiting for me too long at Panjiayuan Market. My apologies! No doubt you were standing in the cold, cursing my name. I have good news, however. I have received some information about the whereabouts of the silver box. It was too late to call you because you would already have left for the market, hence this note. I am flying out to Xi’an today if I can get to the airport in time for the flight, and will call you from there. Burton.

He’d got the cursing part about right, but the rest of it left me dazed. In fact, I read it three times to make sure I’d understood it correctly. Having concluded that there was only one possible interpretation, I reached two obvious conclusions. The first was that Burton had not intended to lie to me about Panjiayuan Market, and the second was that in this instance the slug was not Burton, but a certain antique dealer.

I called the Beijing hotel again and asked to be put through to my voice mail. Burton had said he would call me. Had he done that as well?

Yes, he had, as had Mira, just as she said. As expected, her call was merely to say she was out of town for a couple of days, but if I needed anything to feel free to call Ruby. There were three messages from Burton. In the first, he said he hoped I’d forgiven him for the Panjiayuan business, and that he would call again. The second indicated that he was making progress, and thought he knew who had the silver box. The third was considerably more unsettling. As soon as I heard it, I headed for the business center and looked up the Jade Women. Apparently they were Immortals who protected alchemical texts, and probably the alchemists, too, and who dispensed cups of the sacred elixir of immortality to those of us below deemed worthy. They awaited the arrival of adepts on the top of the Western Mountain, one of the five sacred mountains that held up the sky. They also came down to Earth from time to time. Apparently they were recognizable because of a tiny grain of yellow jade above their noses.