Chapter 26

After the Martial Emperor Yang Zao and his ministers had escorted Tan Shize's coffin three hundred and sixty paces, the Emperor led the princes back first to the Tan army camp.

Tan Shize's bier was to be borne to a place called Sanjiagou, ten li north of Yanjing. The burial ground the Tan house had petitioned for lay just there, and they meant, at that spot, to raise a Lord Wu Su shrine for Tan Shize, so that later generations might come to pay their respects.

Once inside the rest-tent the Tan house had made ready, the Emperor stripped himself clean, inside and out, had the sacrificial clothes taken away to be burned, and then stood bare while four censer-bearing eunuchs held smoking incense-burners about him a while. Only then did he change into a blue kesi-silk dragon-robe of three colors, blue and white and gold.

However close their bond, it could not stand up to Tan Shize's having lain unburied so many days. The reek of rotting flesh was not to be covered even by handfuls of incense, and it was no small thing that the Emperor had never let it show, from first to last.

Feeling the new clothes, the Emperor was rather put out. Pinching a sleeve, he said with displeasure: "Why is it new again?"

At this Zhang Minwang's eyes filled with tender concern: "Ai-yo! Your Majesty, this is nothing at all. Set beside the last dynasty, what does this amount to? Only think: since you took the throne, how long have you worn that one grand-court outfit? And the workmanship of this, this is still old cloth from the stores over yonder. You're not as you were before now..."

"Not as I was?" The Emperor patted his forehead and mocked himself with a sneer: "From ancient times down to now, never mind civil accomplishment and martial glory, which I daren't yet claim, just take being emperor. Hmph! Being emperor! When it comes to enjoying the good life, I don't even rank. But for shabby poverty, I could carry off first prize, and who'd believe it, if you told them?"

Zhang Minwang dared not take up the remark. He knew too that today, seeing the Tan army from top to bottom, ten thousand men at a glance, all newly re-equipped with brand-new armor, all of it money, the Emperor was truly out of sorts.

He'd scraped money together from every side and flung out the better part of several hundred thousand taels, and this was all it came to?

Word was that over in Qingfeng city the relief gruel, never mind chopsticks standing up in it, was so thin you could see your reflection in it.

Other men were emperors, and he was emperor too. But ever since he took the throne it had been money all day long, money, money, money, and where was the joy in this life, compared with before?

When all was set to rights, someone brought tea. But seeing that the porcelain was finer than his own, so gorgeous it hurt the eyes, the Emperor wouldn't use it, and Zhang Minwang, all smiles, offered up another set: "Your Majesty, this is our own, brought from home, not the outside stuff."

Only then did the Emperor spare him a glance, take the teacup, drink a mouthful, and ask: "What hour is it?"

Zhang Minwang said: "Your Majesty, it's only the first quarter of the noon hour. There's a while yet before the departure-hour the Bureau of Astronomy has fixed. Why not take a little something here at their house, meanwhile?"

The Emperor did not like Tan Shiyuan, and so had no wish to eat the man's food. Instead he picked up some palace-brought pastries to go with his tea and ate a couple.

As he was eating, from outside came a boy's shriek, a sound of terror, no good sound, and then a burst of clamor.

The war was only a few days ended. The Emperor wore the dragon-robe now, but his old habits were unchanged. That voice from outside he knew all too well. It was the sixth boy, the one his old lady prized above all, and though the child was odd and rambling by nature as a rule, to hear him cry out like this was a rare thing indeed. His milk-voice cracked clean through with the screaming.

Casting quickly about the room and finding no weapon, the Emperor rushed out bare-handed, snatched the waist-saber of a guard outside the tent, and ran off with it in hand.

A young eunuch scurried after him cradling a pair of black boots, blue kesi-silk, edged with gold-embroidered auspicious clouds and coiling dragons, crying as he went: "Your boots, boots, Your Majesty, your boots..."

He'd not got out of the tent before Zhang Minwang kicked him over.

Scooping up the boots, Zhang Minwang cursed: "You shameful, spoil-sport thing, what are you yelling for! Get out of the way!!"

Making a fuss over nothing, losing face right in front of outsiders.

By the time Zhang Minwang, boots clutched to his chest, had run to the spot along with the anxious stream of people through the camp, the ground over there was already strewn with bodies.

The Sixth Prince, who a moment ago had screamed so terribly, now leaned against the Emperor all excitement. The Emperor, saber in one hand, pinched the boy's fat face with the other and looked him over and over, and only when he saw his son was unhurt did his heart settle: "Why weren't you keeping to the tent? What are you doing running about?!"

The Emperor, in speech and dealings, always held his temper in check. But with these sons of his he was truly like any father among the common folk, loving enough, forever joking, but when angered, he'd scold where a scolding was due, kick where a kick was due, and lose his temper where temper was called for.

But there was one he never struck or scolded, one he doted on, and gave way to in everything.

That was the Sixth Prince, Yang Qian.

In the early years, after the Emperor's principal wife died, there'd been no lack of women. Some were given by his legal mother, some sent by his birth mother, some offered up by those below, a good dozen and more, and over the years these women had borne the Emperor twenty-odd children.

But with the jolting of the war years, no few died young. He had five living sons now: the Second Prince Yang Zhen, the Fifth Yang Ying, the Sixth Yang Qian, the Seventh Yang Du, and a Ninth still in swaddling clothes, whom they dared not yet name. They called him only by the milk-name Xuanhe, for long life and health.

Yang Qian's birth mother was surnamed Dou, a beauty offered up by a small local gentry house before the Emperor raised his troops, taken to hold the various factions together. People called her Madam Dou.

Madam Dou was charming and knew how to please. The Supreme Commander of those days was quite taken with her, but her luck was poor, and she died soon after bearing Yang Qian.

That same year the Emperor's own mother, Madam Jiang, fell gravely ill. Out of filial duty the Emperor sent the not-yet-one-year-old Yang Qian to be raised at her side, to cheer the old lady up, in short.

Any child raised at the old lady's side generally had a few traits in common. One, he was fat. Two, the notions in his head always ran a bit like the old woman's.

Madam Jiang, longing for a son she couldn't see, pinned her whole life on burning incense and kowtowing. Not knowing which god in all the world could keep her son safe and prospering, she went at it on every front. Any god at all, she worshipped in earnest, made her offerings devoutly, and thought nothing of building a temple and gilding an idol.

So back in the Emperor's home place, the old lady had prayed up a whole street of gods for him. A Bodhisattva temple, an Immortals' temple, a Dragon King temple, an Emperors' temple, a temple of letters, a Lady temple, an Earth God temple, even a Fire God temple. Besides every god the world already knew, there were temples to all sorts of lucky beasts too.

Every morning the old lady rose, ate her breakfast, and took her darling grandson round the temples one by one, offering incense here, giving alms of rice there, chatting with the temple-keepers, the abbots, the spirit-women, the monks, the Daoist priests, to pass the time.

It was in surroundings like these that the Sixth Prince, Yang Qian, kept company with the gods and grew up happy, free, and healthy to the age of nine.

A few months back, seeing her sixth grandson grown so big while the Emperor still took his own sweet time, the old lady got anxious.

So she penned a letter and, in tears, sent the big fat grandson off to the Emperor, boy and letter together.

The big fat son came back to his father, no need to dwell on how fond they were, and that evening at the family banquet, seeing how innocent he was, the Emperor asked the Sixth Prince before the whole family: My son, is there anything you'd like to do in future? Think it over and tell me, so your father can plan ahead.

What he meant, of course, was: even made a prince with a fief of your own, the way you are you couldn't run it, and I'm not even emperor yet. Won't you take the chance to ask me for something, scrape you up some merit, lay by a little capital for your future princedom, and find you a good, fertile spot besides?

His children had all been quick to read a room from small. One listen and they knew what their father meant.

All at once the room fell dead silent, and then the little fat boy said, glad as could be: "Father! Sooner or later I'll go back to the Heavenly Court and be a god again. I've a great many old friends up in heaven, I haven't seen them in years, and your son thinks of them often. Father only governs the affairs of the earth. You're a man, I'm an immortal, so what your son wants, you can't help with anyway!!"

Such a righteous, self-assured air of disdain.

The whole table's jaws hit the floor. Everyone saw now that the old lady had thoroughly ruined the little fat boy. The Emperor didn't know whether to laugh or cry, his own doing, so he'd dote on it.

He could only laugh: "All right, all right. If my son wants to be a god, then a god he'll be, and your father's safety will rest entirely on your connections among the immortals."

The little fat boy thumped his chest in guarantee: just leave it to him.

But only a few days after, the army set out. Two days through waterless country, and when at last they spotted an old well, before anyone could go draw water the Sixth Prince came flying over, gripped the well's rim, and made to jump in.

Everyone around went frantic. A crowd rushed up, some grabbing, some hauling, some coaxing, and got him down at last, just as the Emperor arrived and demanded, beside himself, what his son thought he was doing.

But the little fat boy told the Emperor, all solemn: "Father doesn't know, your son was just going down the well to find the Well Dragon King. The Well Dragon King and the East Sea Dragon King are cousins. His house is bound to have a shortcut through to the Eastern Sea. Give me a moment to renew the acquaintance, and I'll have the East Sea Dragon King come in person to raise clouds and rain for my father, and solve this pressing trouble..."

Hearing him out, the Emperor truly didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and the people around held their laughter in till their lungs near burst.

In short, this was a prince who firmly believed himself a god. No one dared laugh at him, so they all just doted on him together and played along as if he really were one.

---

A god-prince like this had just had Chen Dasheng and the others burst out of nowhere and grab him with a question. Raised all his life in peace and quiet, where would he have seen men like Chen Dasheng, or a scene like that, springing out at him all of a sudden, seizing him all of a sudden to ask whether he could read?

The Sixth Prince shrieked in fright, and by the time the palace's master guards came charging out and the prince had got his wits back, the first thing he did was shout: "You lot are not to kill or draw blood as you please! Ruin the foundation of my cultivation, and I'll not be finished with you mortals..."

The masters couldn't bring their skills to bear. In fewer than a few passes, Yu Qingguan alone had knocked them rolling to the ground with the butt of his saber.

Chen Dasheng didn't dare draw his own saber lightly.

By now the Emperor had reached the spot and been ringed round by guards. Pinching the Sixth Prince's fat face and turning it side to side, he asked, "Weren't you to stay in the tent? What are you doing running about..."

Zhang Minwang had run up too, and knelt to put the Emperor's boots on. But in his ear the Sixth Prince was saying, all excitement: "Father! Just now I half-heard someone say an immortal in a feather robe and a tall hat had come drifting in, surely it's Wei Shuqing of Zhongshan. Why, in the old days Wei Shuqing too paid court to a Martial Emperor..."

Before he could finish, the Emperor, sorely put upon, handed the saber to a guard and said: "That one's a woman!"

The Sixth Prince blinked, then grew more excited still: "Ah! A woman immortal, no less? Could it be the maiden Duo, the one who went to Pengzu, has come? Oh dear, oh dear, this is far too rude of me! I've long wanted to meet this lady immortal. Why, in the old days the maiden Duo met Pengzu to ask the way to a post among the immortals..."

At the end of his patience, the Martial Emperor quietly gathered himself, scooped up his big fat son, tossed him to a guard, and said: "Take your household god off to his dinner, quick!"

The little fat boy was still howling from a good way off: "Father, no! Your son's met a true immortal at last, am I to miss her after all? Can it be that Father can't bear to part with me, and means to spoil my chance?... Father, we're of one blood, how could you, how could you! Your son may be dear and lovable, but part with me you must, Father. Aiya, if you couldn't bear to lose me you should have said so sooner! I'll not hide it from you, Father, up in heaven I've a phoenix-chariot that goes ten thousand li a day. Whenever you want to see me, just, whoosh..."

After that no one could make out what he said anymore. He must have got too far off.

---

Someone laid out a carpet and set up a low table. The Emperor sat up high, took up his tea to steady himself, and drank a mouthful, then, thinking of who knows what, turned his face and spat the tea out, half-covering it with a hand, his shoulders heaving and heaving.

Now snickers broke out on every side and wouldn't stop. Whatever great anger there'd been, it scattered at that.

After a good while the Emperor, mouth half open, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, pointed at the low, huddled heap kneeling and sprawled across from him: "Speak, out with it, what happened? You frightened my sixth boy near clean up into heaven..."

And then another fit of stifled laughter.

A guard at the side came forward to beg pardon, saying only that just now the Sixth Prince had been napping. The Tan army camp kept no discipline, idlers and strangers wandering everywhere, and somehow the Sixth Lord had got wind of them, taken it into his head that immortals had come, and led the men off to hunt for immortals all over.

These few, no telling where from, had suddenly popped out and grabbed hold of the Sixth Lord, asking, Young master, can you read? Young master, do you know your letters?

The Sixth Lord got a fright and cried out. The guards meant to seize them, but as they came to blows the Sixth Lord was shouting again, no drawing blood, don't ruin his cultivation, and so it came to this.

His account done, the guard had several long sabers, wrapped in ragged cloth, brought forward.

The sabers were dropped on the ground with a dull clatter. One glance down and the Emperor's brows twitched faintly, and his eyes rested on the few men a while.

He'd seen sabers of this pattern, how could he not have? A few hundred of them, just now, in black armor on horseback, spending his money and beating their chests and roaring "Might and valor!" at him, only the sabers on their backs would be the later long sabers.

These few were the earliest model of long saber. Later Tan Shize had submitted revised drawings more than once. The new sabers took better material, and their weight came down, bit by bit, by three jin four liang, but they couldn't be made as long, only seven chi.

The old long saber was this kind before him: seven and a half chi long, twenty-two jin in weight, the blade three and a half chi, the haft four chi. He knew it well, had handled it with his own hands times beyond counting. Only the ones he'd handled were a cut apart from these.

These blades were half a cun narrower than the old blades, no smith's work, this, but ground down slowly by human bone and flesh and skin.

The Emperor spoke up suddenly to the guard: "Draw them."

The guard started, followed the Martial Emperor's gaze, then hurriedly crouched and drew the sabers one by one, laying them out in a row.

The old sabers lay side by side without a sound. Save for a thread of silver-white along the edge, every other part was a deep black. They had no leather scabbards, but were wrapped in strange black cloth ones, showing a shabby neglect, as if their owners thought nothing of them.

The guards around, seeing it, thought it strange, cloth scabbards, in this world? But the quicker-witted, thinking it through, felt a chill of solemnity, and their faces slowly turned grave.

Once, it must have been a palm's-width strip of cloth wound round the blade. Only, with all the blood it had seen, the cloth would no longer come loose, and so it had been glued, with human blood, into a scabbard.

Something had come over the guard drawing them. Without knowing it, from the very first saber he'd drawn one-handed, his other hand never leaving the hilt at his own waist. On the surface he feigned calm, but inside came wave after wave of an unspeakable dread.

The captain of the guard made to rebuke him, but the Emperor shot him a glare.

Look again at the old sabers: everyone knew a blade was a deadly thing, and once it was honed you'd bind the hilt with a bright-red strip of cloth to ward off evil and keep off sweat. But the hilts of these gleamed black, the red cloth no longer to be made out at all, every one worn black and shining like dark jade fondled for a few hundred years, down to one even skin.

The guard got the sabers laid out at last and stood up with a breath of relief, only to hear the Emperor say he'd got it wrong?

He looked up, and saw the Emperor pointing at the sabers: "This is the first, that the second, that the third..."

Once the sabers were in order, the Emperor looked at the few men some way off, and a gentle smile came to his face after all: "You there, lift your heads, all of you, and let me look at you."

Chen Dasheng and the others had lain prostrate all this while, flat to the ground. They'd steeled themselves beforehand, so when the Emperor above called them to raise their heads, they played dumb and didn't stir.

It wasn't until someone kicked their backsides that they raised their heads one by one, all staring at the Emperor with blank, bewildered faces.

Seeing someone get rough, the Emperor was displeased at once. He glared at the smart aleck and cursed: "You! Get out of here, who do you take these men for, that you'd dare kick them..."

But the Emperor got only half the words out before he startled. Nothing else for it, the state these few men were in was too far gone.

No wonder his sixth boy had got a fright.

What sort of get-up was this? Their heads, from topknot to neck, were all wound in head-cloths of no color you could name. Their clothes were a flapping of tatters, ragged as a torn lapel and a bared elbow, and only by peering hard could you tell they were the soldier's kit issued, all of one make, a very long time ago. Call it armor, but really no more than a thick cloth jacket. And wasn't that the sort of jacket handed out for winter?

Look again at their faces, worse still to see: exactly like an old caravan-guard who'd had one bath and then run a three-year escort route. Not a face you could make out clearly, each as if a crust of baked earth had been fitted over it, the flesh grey and thick and stiff, dull and wooden.

Oddly, one face among them stood out: the grey crust on it ran in streaks, like the ridged and hollowed face of an earthen slope after rain.

This was Chen Dasheng, who'd just been rained on, which showed how filthy these men's faces were.

Only the two eyes still had life in them, black where black should be, white where white, and when the mouth opened, gums and big white teeth stood out clean red and white, and yes, along the jaw was the wretched stubble of a beard hacked short with a saber.

A caravan-guard on the road, to keep off wind and frost and cracked skin, wouldn't wash his face for a whole year's escort. For a three-year escort, three years unwashed.

If a caravan-guard was like that, how not an old soldier who'd marched year on year?

At this late day, how were there still old soldiers like these? It sat ill with the Emperor. Far off as he was, the stink there was no covering came at him in waves, and he minded it not at all.

How long since he'd smelled that smell? Long ago, in the hardest days, his own old soldiers had known times like these.

The smell was still here, but his old soldiers were very, very few now.

By that smell alone the Emperor knew in his heart these were no assassins, and no outsiders.

These were the old soldiers who'd won the realm with him, city by city. No, men who'd been through more than that: these were the old blades from Tan the Second's hand.

The few of them at last raised their heads slowly and saw clearly the great personage above, and one of them, seeing the Emperor there, gave a low, startled cry, as if he knew him: "The S-Supreme Commander..."

Before he'd finished, someone behind thumped him hard and cursed: "Fool! It's His Majesty the Emperor! He's been His Majesty the Emperor these many days..."

Before that was out, this one took a thump too, and then together they flung themselves flat to the ground, kowtowing so hard and sincere the very floor gave a faint tremble.

The Emperor, unable to keep his mouth from twitching, said: "No ceremony, no ceremony, up you get, up you get!"

But plainly the few of them were afraid. They raised their heads slowly, and one took the lead: "We... your, your soldiers? pay respects? to the, the Emperor, Your Majesty?"

The poor few, never having seen the like, looked about in a fluster for rescue.

Zhang Minwang came out smiling to help them along: "You're to say 'Your Majesty,' you men..."

He glanced at the Emperor. The Emperor nodded, thought about it seriously, and said: "Have them call themselves 'your servants.'"

He owned them as his own.

Zhang Minwang swallowed and said: "You just call yourselves 'your servants.'"

The ring of guards looked at the few old soldiers in surprise.

The few of them looked at one another, still all at sea. But the one in the lead knocked his head down again: "Your, Your Majesty, your servant, may you..."

"Tsk! What nonsense are you talking? You're servants, you're to say 'we your servants,' that is, 'we'..."

The Emperor waved a helpless hand at Zhang Minwang: "You hush, you're only muddling them. Teach them slowly later, don't go frightening them!"

Then he said to Chen Dasheng and the rest with a smile: "Don't be afraid. Call me whatever you like. They can teach you the rest slowly, by and by."

Chen Dasheng nodded woodenly, led his brothers in another earnest kowtow, and only then cupped his hands respectfully: "Right Army, Long Saber Battalion, Chen Dasheng!"

"Yu Qingguan!"

"Tong Jintai!"

"Ma Ergu!"

"Hu Yougui!"

"Cui Erdian!"

"Guan Si'er!"

Another honest bow, and Chen Dasheng straightened up and went on in earnest: "Respectful congratulations to the Emperor, His Majesty the Emperor..." Poor man, he knew hardly a character, had no learning in his belly, and the rest behind him were no better, but somebody had to make a start, so he put his ox's strength into it and bawled: "Congratulations to you, my lord, on a fine son, soon!"

Yu Qingguan was worried past bearing. He whispered quick: "Chief, His Majesty's already got a whole brood of sons!"

Chen Dasheng, thoroughly flustered, said: "Ah, already? Oh, oh, then may you top the exam list..." No, that wasn't right either. Driven to it, he shut his eyes and boomed: "My lord, may you strike it rich!!"

Yu Qingguan, thirty-six this year and a man of experience, took it up smugly: "May wealth flow in from every side!"

Mm, the rest put their ox's strength into good wishes too, poor things, and so it went on down the line.

"May you open your door to good news!"

"Good health!"

"Good? The very best!!"

"Eat well and drink well every day...!"

By the time the nonsense reached Cui Erdian, he was tickled pink, his turn to shine at last. Back in his begging days, when a landlord's house had a new baby, he'd gone with his master to sing the good-luck ditties. He had good words beyond counting. And so, cupping his hands, he, started to sing?

The whole ring of guards, and the Emperor with them, didn't know what to do. Their heads were full of one thing only: "He's singing? He's actually singing... singing..."

"Ai, ai, ai, a Blessing writ large, and joy comes rushing in. The wellspring of fortune sends down peace and fair omen..."

Yu Qingguan, furious, reached back over the others and dealt him a hard slap: "Shut it, will you."

Cui Erdian went down under the slap, uncovering the piteous Guan Si'er behind him. The boy was frantic too, so he cocked his head, rolled his big eyes up all sincerity, opened his mouth wide to show red gums and white teeth, cupped his hands, and shouted: "My lord, con, congratulations!!"