Chapter 22

Seeing his elder sister-in-craft all fury, turning to go straight out, Doctor Cheng hurried to catch her by the sleeve and called in a low voice: "Elder sister! Su Bailian! Where are you off to?"

Su Bailian turned her head, her eyes all fire: "Cheng Wanning, you'd rein me in? I'm going to find that rotten seed and feed her a whole bottle of Wish-Come Powder — let her spend the rest of her days happy as an immortal! Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Doctor Cheng was much distressed; he couldn't keep hold of Su Bailian's sleeve — but his years in the army camp hadn't been for nothing, so he threw caution to the winds and flung both arms around Su Bailian's waist.

He was only a poor, pitiful little resident physician, cast out of his school by White Stone Mountain as too much trouble, held back by his own good looks; he was no match for this she-demon come down from White Stone Mountain to be the bane of him — say one word wrong to her and she'd be off to feed someone Wish-Come Powder.

And what a wicked thing that Wish-Come Powder was: unlike other poisons, whose aim was death or injury, this one Su Bailian had worked out for the sole purpose of tormenting people.

Anyone who took it felt their whole body plunge into boundless cloud, with nothing to hold or prop them up, able only to lie collapsed on the bed in ceaseless vertigo. A day or two of it was bearable; but to lie abed for a long stretch, dizzy fit to die every day, the body forever falling yet never coming to rest on anything solid — how wretched that would be, you can well imagine.

Su Bailian, a bellyful of fury, went stiff as a board the moment Doctor Cheng's arms closed round her — her whole body rigid as a pole.

Seeing her go still, Doctor Cheng, in a fluster of hands and feet, pressed her down into the seat and coaxed her patiently: "Elder sister — this isn't the Six Steeds Horse Farm that raises the famous horses from beyond the passes, nor is it the old days when you could stir up trouble as you pleased and no one dared say a word for fear of your school's power. Don't forget — our White Stone Mountain is gone!"

Doctor Cheng had always thought he'd get back to his school sooner or later; who could have known the school would break up just like that?

So miserable was he that he wept.

Su Bailian turned her head, dazed, and seeing her junior-in-craft weep, she reached out to wipe his tears — wiping, wiping — and as she did she plucked off Doctor Cheng's false mustache and tucked it into her sleeve.

Then, careful as could be, she smeared a layer of medicine on her own hand, and under cover of wiping his tears, Su Bailian grew more and more pleased: as the medicine rubbed the disguise away, out came the beautiful face of Cheng Wanning — the Soul-Snatching Physician, long since vanished from the martial world.

And what a beautiful face it was: brows so delicate, eyes so bright, nose so straight, lips so vivid; and bending close to sniff, it seemed her junior's very words carried a fragrance... well, of course — her junior's path was that of aromatic medicine; how could he not be fragrant?

Doctor Cheng, still none the wiser, was carrying on with his act.

"Elder sister, I beg you — can't you settle down and live a proper life with me? Can you promise me you won't go about dosing people willy-nilly?"

Su Bailian, drooling, nodded like a pestle pounding garlic: "I promise, I promise — whatever you say, junior~ I promise it all..."

Say pluck down the stars and we'll go pluck the stars; say climb a tree and elder sister will stick monkey-fur on for you; say live in a pigsty, and elder sister will cook you warm swill fresh every day...

As if Doctor Cheng believed a word of it — but he'd learned his lesson and no longer dared to butt heads with her the way he had as a boy; this time he meant to move her with the tactic of the grieving underdog. And so the stiff, stern Doctor Cheng made up his mind, buried his head in Su Bailian's bosom, and said with a sniveling whimper: "Elder sister, you can't go back to the Six Steeds Horse Farm; I'm no use, only a little physician — I can't give you a fine life, nor let you live as freely and wildly as you did before..."

Su Bailian, bewitched by his beauty, felt her heart break with tenderness: "No, no! Junior~ don't cry, I don't care about that, truly I don't — it's only a fine life, and if you can't give it to me... why, I can give it to you!"

"Elder sister, boo-hoo... I'm a man, you know — I've a salary to keep a household on too..."

When had Su Bailian ever seen her junior wear such a tearful, pitiful look? In that instant her very soul went off like a firework, and one sound was all that was left in her head: baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa, baa... her junior, wrapped in a white sheepskin, went rolling to and fro across the meadow of her soul...

Slowly letting out a breath inside, Doctor Cheng sniffed and looked up: "Elder sister, she's only a black-hearted back-court woman — wicked, yes! But her daughter's just two years old. If that woman were gone, do you suppose the old lady, or the young wife today, would look after her? Would they help her raise the child? A little child is innocent; and there'll be no end of such things from now on — think about it: you and I are going to live in this camp, and all these petty odds and ends, could you ever see to them all?"

Let them all go die! Every last one! And if they won't die, then poison the lot to death!!

Su Bailian shook her head sweetly; Doctor Cheng nodded, satisfied: "You've seen it too, haven't you — that girl..."

Su Bailian nodded. So what if all the girl's channels were open? The world was full of prodigies; she couldn't be bothered with so much. All she wanted was~ mm, to graze sheep! To graze sheep with a little whip in hand, and then... baa, baa, baa, baa, baa... how lovely that would be.

Her once-unattainable junior actually had it in mind to make a life with her — Su Bailian was so happy she could have fainted...

And so, little by little, the look on her face began to show its signs, and slowly, slowly, she pressed poor Doctor Cheng back into the corner of the carriage...

Only now did Doctor Cheng sense something was wrong; he shoved Su Bailian off and, rather cross, growled low: "Su Bailian!!"

"Now don't be cross, junior~ elder sister will stick monkey-fur on for you..."

"...Su— Su... Su Bai... eek..."

---

A band of old soldiers who'd been carrying firewood to the old lady's place with Meng Wanquan came back to camp lugging a crock of black bean-paste, and at the camp's mouth they saw Doctor Cheng's driver and a little maid squatting there piteously, looking off into the distance.

Puzzled, Meng Wanquan asked the maid: "Where are your master and mistress?"

The little maid, helpless, turned her face to look off into the distance... and far away a blue-mule cart was going so fast it all but took flight, so that all Meng Wanquan could make out was the dim rump of it.

After a moment's thought Meng Wanquan laughed, rubbed the back of his head with his one hand, and sighed: "Heh! In such a monkey-hurry! An old married pair, tsk — oh~ my~ word~ truly something to envy!"

The old soldiers caught his meaning at once and all burst out laughing together.

---

Under the withered, yellowing vines of the little courtyard, crickets were playing at their tunes... On the old stove by the pit in the east side-room, an iron pot had been set up again; Qi Qian'er squatted at the stove-mouth, breaking firewood in both hands to feed the fire — and in the great iron pot that had once been used to boil down salt brine, an old lady was now being stewed.

For a few hundred li around Yanjing, some of the folk customs are the greatest fun.

For instance, any household with means has a stove-room set up with a great cauldron.

Such a stove-room, all the year round — save at spring planting, autumn harvest, and the New Year rush, when the big iron cauldron cooks a communal meal for ten or even scores of mouths — is where, in the slack times, everyone heats the big pot to bathe.

And a fine thing it is: by the niceties at the foot of the imperial city, a respectable person, even without perfume, must have no body odor, and hair that's never greasy.

But a commoner like Chen née Wu had never once had a proper bath since the day she was born; and when the water had come to about the right warmth, fit to get into the pot, the old lady was bashful at first and wouldn't go in for anything, until Qi Qian'er, after coaxing her several times, grew impatient at last and said: those three new layers of clothes, and the new bedding besides — are you going to make free with them just as you are?

For the poor, putting on new clothes is a matter of the first importance; and thinking of the great pile of new clothes her granddaughter-in-law had laid out for her, the old lady gritted her teeth and, doing as the girl bade, got into the pot at last.

In that instant, there was nothing left to regret in being alive.

When her old frame was taken in wholly by the comfortable hot water, Chen née Wu felt at once she'd gone up to heaven; a little giddy, she moaned a few times, then caught herself in time, and all at once her old face flushed red, red.

Hearing her granddaughter-in-law laugh softly behind her, she felt at the hollowed wooden board laid under her specially to sit on while bathing, and joked at her own expense: "Mind the heat there, you wicked girl — don't go boiling me done!"

Qi Qian'er reached in to test the water's warmth, then bent and pulled two sticks of dry firewood from the stove-pit, tossing them under the small stove at the side to heat a small pot of water.

She joked back, laughing too: "That'd suit me — there'd be meat to eat."

As inch-long rolls of grime came away from the old lady's hide, her old heart traveled from shame and awkwardness all the way to shameless ease.

Never mind — if there are good days to be had, then live them; what's there to be fussy about? A person like her, with days like these — even if she died tomorrow, she'd die content.

Feeling the skin of her back tended to, layer by layer, with a dry cloth, the old lady laughed and cried at once.

She looked at the wall before her, at a recess in it where a lamp-stand long gone dry had been filled up with lamp oil, and the bright flame leapt and danced, ruddy and glittering — so very lovely to see.

Her granddaughter-in-law said from behind: "Granny~ lie back, I'll wash your hair, then put a little hair-oil on and comb it through with the fine comb; with none of those filthy things to bite you, you'll sleep sound from now on."

The old lady said stoutly: "As long as you don't torment me, I always sleep well!"

Somehow or other, Qi Qian'er began to laugh behind the old lady; she'd remembered how, in the past, the old lady's greatest revenge on her had been to get up in the middle of the night and make her empty the chamber pot.

To torment her, the old lady would insist on drinking half a kettle of water before bed.

In the past she'd never thought kindly of the old woman; but thinking of it now, it was uncommonly funny — half a kettle of water going down like that couldn't have felt too good either...

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing... lean back — there, lie on this board — that's it..."

"No laughing! Hold your breath!"

"Hold my breath — I'd suffocate!"

"You're a hobgoblin — no holding your breath could kill you!"

"Mm — could be, at that."

"Didn't I say so... a hobgoblin!"

Breathing in the sweet fragrance of the hair-oil, Chen née Wu felt herself comfortable in every part, not a spot on her left untended; lying back with nothing to do, she suddenly thought of that grandson of hers.

"Qi Qian'er."

"Mm?"

"How is it you never ask what your man is like? Aren't you... aren't you afraid he's one like Meng Wanquan?"

"...I'm not afraid."

"That's a fib!"

"Mm~ a fib. But I'm already here — Granny, could you bear to let me go?"

"That won't do at all! Even if they all leave, you can't leave! You've promised to see me through my old age. Qian'er, let Granny tell you: of these three grandsons of mine still living, if it's brains you're after, Scabby's dead last for certain; if it's looks, well, he's presentable enough. He's not the sort who can give you a life of wealth... but that boy, he's steady, and he's honest and true..."

The old lady, thinking of who knows what, fell silent a moment, and suddenly made to sit up.

Qi Qian'er pressed her back down: "Now don't go moving about."

In the old lady's heart the girl now ranked above everyone; and so she got to thinking — if Qi Qian'er weren't satisfied with Scabby tomorrow, well, there were still Stinky-melon and Stinky-egg to be had.

Never mind, she'd say no more; tomorrow when they met, she'd see whether it suited. And if it didn't suit, no matter — she'd just line up Stinky-melon and Stinky-egg together and let her Qian'er take her pick...

The fine comb roamed over the old lady's scalp, and, itching inside, she struggled a little and asked, abashed: "...Are there many?"

Qi Qian'er tossed the lice and nits combed out into the fire-hole, looked up, and said with a smile: "Not many — you're a clean one."

"Of course! I'm one for cleanliness above all..."

A thick crackling came from the fire-hole, and the old lady's words took a turn.

"Well — not so few either, hah! A grown life of running about — who's without these! Don't you laugh at me, you've got them too!"

"Mm, I have — quite a lot, in fact."

"Then you sleep under the old bedding tonight, and by and by I'll comb yours out for you too."

"All right."

That night the old lady was tended head to foot by Qi Qian'er twice over, and by the time her flesh and bones had gone soft and floating-on-cloud and Qi Qian'er saw her back to the east room, she'd long since gone muzzy and lost all her bearings.

By the time her hair had dried at long last, and she'd put on a new set of underclothes and got into the new bedding, she'd hardly had the heart to savor it a few moments before she was quickly fast asleep.

Only once the old lady was asleep did Qi Qian'er go out, clean the big cauldron, draw ten more loads of water for herself, and heat a fresh pot of bathwater.

Luckily, this kind of bathing stove-room had a soak-well beneath it, so pouring the water away was easy as could be.

The old lady never knew what hour her granddaughter-in-law toiled to; she slept sweet and snug, and when her eyes opened of themselves the next day, she didn't want to get up at all, but lay there in the covers feeling herself a noble empress.

The old lady felt at her own smooth old hair, felt the new underclothes, felt the new bedding, then took a sniff — she was all sweet-smelling too... ai-ya, what a lovely life this was.

Gazing contentedly at Qi Qian'er at the other end of the kang, the old lady thought: never mind Scabby — with this one skill of hers at scrubbing off the grime alone, she'd stake anything on it, there wasn't a man in the world who could hold out against the girl.

At the thought, the old lady tucked the quilt-edge round her, sniffed the smell of the new cotton, and thought: what a pity — no telling when she'd get to see her Scabby; and if her Scabby knew what a fine wife she'd found him, there was no saying how overjoyed he'd be...

---

On the twenty-ninth day of the tenth month in the first year of Yong'an, the Martial Emperor Yang Zao ascended the throne, changed the reign-title, proclaimed a general amnesty across the realm, and handed out fiefs and titles to his ministers... On the fourteenth day of the eleventh month, first year of Yong'an: a Monkey day set against the Tiger; the Director of Destinies upon the yellow path; nobility due east, joy due south, fortune to the northeast; auspicious for — sealing pacts, burial, encoffining, and the moving of the bier...

Before dawn that day, the Senior General Tan Shize, whose bier had lain in state many days, at last had his posthumous name: Wu Su — the Martial and Stern.

With a posthumous name, a spirit-tablet could be made, and Tan Shize's funeral could at last be set in motion. Only the tablet that had been made up long before could not, now, be set out at all.

The Tan family had wanted "Wu Zhong" — the Martial and Loyal — and had all along felt that Tan Shize, whatever else, was surely a Wu Zhong.

But wait as they might, hope as they might — the whole army had waited so many days — what came was "Wu Su." There was no help for it; the steward managing the funeral could only order the tablet remade in haste at the back, and in the end it was set out with the lacquer not yet dry.

Once the spirit-tablet was in place, Tan Shiyuan led the sons and nephews of his house in paying obeisance before it; and when he rose, his head began to swim, his body to sway, and his eldest son, the young general Tan Weitong, standing at his side, hurried forward to steady him, cried "Father," and then wept freely.

In the great mourning-tent a wave of grief rose in an instant.

Tan Shiyuan flung off his son's hand and stared fixedly at the tablet before him; how long passed, no one knew, before he began to mutter to himself: "When Shao Shang raised his troops, your Second Uncle defied the ancestors' command and led his men to answer the call — a thousand battles along the way, cities beyond counting stormed. How many fighting generals, how many retainers, did our house of Tan lose for that Yang Zao? And in the end — what did your Second Uncle get? His head parted from his body, not even a whole corpse!! And yet why 'Su'?! Why? Not 'Zhong'?! Eh?!"

He roared, heart and lungs tearing, and no one dared speak... yet the Tan sons and nephews kneeling there could not help the resentment in their hearts, and grieved beyond bearing.

Tan Weitong patted his father's chest and back, and, finding his chance, shot a glance at his second and third younger brothers kneeling on the ground.

A moment later, a few muffled grunts sounded outside the mourning-tent; and before long a squad of soldiers came up quietly to fill the posts, standing before the tent as if nothing at all had happened.

The Founding Marquis Tan Shiyuan held office as Left Vice Minister of War, of the upper second grade; and because the new dynasty's founding titles were so many, he was called after his fief as well — the Marquis of Yiyang, Marquis Tan.

Tan Shiyuan wanted a "Zhong" for his brother, and all through these days of lying in state he had been moving heaven and earth, all for that one word: Zhong — loyal.

Everyone knew that if the Tan house could win the shelter of that word "loyal," all that had gone before could be wiped away at a stroke, and from then on ruler and subject would be at peace — a happy ending for all.

But plainly there was one unwilling... "Zhong Wu" — Loyal and Martial — was the highest honor a fighting general could have, and if the Tan house wanted it, the Martial Emperor Yang Zao, first of all, was unwilling to grant it.

His head a rumbling tangle, with his brave and battle-skilled younger brother gone from under him, Tan Shiyuan's heart had never felt so cold and alone. What was he to do from here on?

The realm was settled, the tide had turned against them; what was he to do to carry the three branches of the Tan house, twelve hundred kinsfolk, safely through the days to come?

In the midst of his gloom, from far off came a long call of report:

"Report...!"

The one bringing word was Wu Xiu, younger brother of Tan Weitong's wife, Madam Wu — a fellow of no great promise, who tagged after his brother-in-law scrounging credit in the army, forever angling to get ahead.

Sweat all over his head, Wu Xiu rushed into the mourning-tent, dropped to his knees before Tan Shiyuan, and cried: "Great joy, honored kinsman-lord!!"

At a time like this? What manner of man was this?

Tan Shiyuan, in a fury, reached out and dealt his own son a slap across the face, then turned and kicked Wu Xiu rolling across the ground.

Wu Xiu was frightened out of his wits; scrambling up, he prostrated himself on the ground and said in a trembling voice: "M-marquis, spare me, spare me!"

Tan Shiyuan roared at him: "Get out!!!"

Tan Weitong, cupping half his face and quite at a loss now, scolded him too: "Still — still not gone? Have you no eyes for where you are?"

Wu Xiu dared not raise his head, and said through tears: "It's only — it's only that I heard them say that tomorrow, at the first quarter of the mao hour, the Emperor will come out of the city in person, with all the princes and the court's ministers, to pay respects to the Second Lord, and so I..."

Before he'd finished, Tan Shiyuan hauled him up one-handed and demanded urgently: "What did you say?"

Wu Xiu, scared witless, said with snot and tears streaming: "Yes — yes — it's word I just had from that friend of mine in the capital. He says the Emperor means to bring the princes and ministers tomorrow morning to pay respects to the Second Lord..."

"This word — is it true?"

"True, true! It's true — that brother— that friend of mine, his father's in the Ministry of Rites; he says they've already set someone to draft the edict, and the herald bearing it will likely be here before long..."

Tan Shiyuan flung the rascal aside and paced about the tent. For the Tan house, this news that the Emperor was coming was like a withered tree meeting spring — everything showed signs of budding anew...

How many turns he made, no one knew, before Tan Shiyuan halted at last and gave his orders to those below: "Pass the word down — have every unit sweep out the tents and wash down the warhorses..." And here he turned his head to his eldest son: "Go — have the men of the Long Saber Battalion make themselves a sight of awe and might for me; issue the new armor. Tomorrow, though it be the death of you, you'll show the fierce, soaring spirit of my Tan army's Long Saber Battalion — the long saber over all under heaven, sweeping the field of battle. Do you understand?"

His orders given, the veins standing out on his neck, Tan Shiyuan roared out into the open...

"Tan the Second is dead! But his Long Saber Battalion lives on!!!"