China by Edward Rutherfurd (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

month, Brother,” she said, “and you are hiding poison. Please tell me why.”

He paused. He hadn’t wanted to tell her. He’d wanted to fade away quickly. Easily.

“You remember our father’s death,” he said quietly.

“How could I forget?”

“I believe I have the same condition. Last month, when I made a journey into Zhengzhou, I went to see the apothecary. They say he is the best. He found my chi to be badly out of balance. I also had acupuncture. For a little while I felt better. But since then…” He shook his head. “I do not wish to suffer as my father did. Nor for you to have to watch it, nor my son.”

“Do you fear death?” she asked.

“When I was a young man, though I went to our Buddhist temple and also studied the Taoist sages, I strove above all to obey the precepts of Confucius. I thought of work, family duty, right actions in the world. In my middle years, I increasingly found comfort in Buddhism, and I thought more of the life beyond, hoping that a life well lived would lead to a better reincarnation. But as I grow old, I am increasingly drawn to things that have no proper name, but which we call the Tao. The Way.” He nodded to himself. “I do not strive for this life or the next, but I desire to surrender to the great flow of all things.” He looked at her benignly. “Besides,” he added, “every illiterate peasant knows that we live on in our children.”

“Do not take poison yet,” his sister said. “Your son may be coming to see you.”

“The I Ching tells you this?” He looked at her suspiciously. She nodded. He was not deceived. “You wrote to him. Do you know that he is coming?”

“He will come if he can. He is a dutiful son.”

The old man nodded and sat down. After a few minutes he closed his eyes, while his sister continued to stare at the I Ching hexagrams on the paper in front of her.

And dusk was falling when the silence was interrupted by an old servant hurrying into the house and calling out: “Mr. Jiang. Mr. Jiang, sir. Your son is approaching.”

—

Shi-Rong went down on his knees before his father and bowed his head to the ground. The kowtow. The sign of respect owed to his father and the head of the family. But how thin the old man was.

The sight of his son, however, and the news that he brought seemed to put new life in Mr. Jiang. And he nodded vigorously as Shi-Rong outlined his hopes for the future. “This is good,” he agreed. “I have heard of the lord Lin. He is a worthy man. One of the few.” He nodded. “You should sit your exams again, of course. But you are right to take this opportunity. The emperor himself…”

“He will hear nothing but good things of me,” Shi-Rong promised.

“I shall make your favorite meal while you are here,” said his aunt with a smile. Of all the dishes of the province’s Yu cuisine, it was a fish dish that Shi-Rong had always loved the best, ever since he was a boy: carp from the Yellow River, cooked three ways, to make soup, fried fillet, and sweet and sour. And no one made it better than his aunt. But the preparation was complex. It took three days.

“I have to leave in the morning,” Shi-Rong had to confess. He saw her wilt as if she’d been struck by a blow and his father stiffen. But what could he do?

“You must not keep the lord Lin waiting,” his father cried a little hoarsely. And then quickly, to cover his emotion: “But I am sorry that you have to go down amongst the people of the south, my son.”

Shi-Rong smiled. Even now, his father considered the Han of the Yellow River and the great grain-growing plains of the north as the only true Chinese.

“You still don’t admire the people of the rice paddies, Father?”

“Those people think of nothing but money,” his father answered scornfully.

“You say that the lord Lin will be putting a stop to the barbarian pirates,” his aunt said anxiously. “Does that mean that you will have to go to sea?”

“He will do as the lord Lin commands,” his father interrupted sharply. “He must be hungry,” he added.

While his aunt went to prepare some food, his father questioned him closely about the mission. “Are these pirates the red-haired barbarians, or the other bearded devils?” the old man wanted to know.

“I am not sure,” Shi-Rong replied. “Mr. Wen told me that the lord Lin told him that they once sent an embassy here. Also that he has heard they are very hairy and they cannot bend their legs, so that they often fall over.”

“That seems unlikely,” said Mr. Jiang. “But I remember that when I was a young man, an embassy arrived at the court of the present emperor’s grandfather. I heard the details from people who were at court. The barbarians came by ship from a distant western land. Their ambassador brought gifts, but he refused to kowtow to the emperor in the proper manner. This had never happened before. The emperor understood that he was an ignorant and stupid man, but still gave him a magnificent piece of jade—though the fellow clearly had no idea of its value. Next the barbarian showed us goods from his country—clocks, telescopes, and I don’t know what—thinking to impress us. The emperor explained that we had no need for the things he brought, but was too polite to point out that they were inferior to the similar items already given him by embassies from other western lands. Finally this barbarian asked that his wretched people should be allowed to trade with other ports besides Guangzhou—where all the other foreign merchants are content to be allowed—and made all sorts of other foolish demands. He was absurd.” He nodded. “Perhaps these opium pirates come from the