The Mandate of Heaven (6 page)

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.

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.’