A Bond Undone Read online

  He was smitten.

  Chapter Four

  The Cripple of The Five Lakes

  1

  LOTUS HUANG SLEPT SOUNDLY THAT NIGHT, CONVINCED THAT she had done good by bringing Mercy Mu and Wanyan Kang together. When she told Guo Jing the next morning, he too was pleased that Mercy’s feelings were reciprocated. He had taken on the Jin Prince, he recalled, to make him honour his prize: he had defeated Mercy in the Duel for a Maiden and thereby won her hand. This latest development was also a relief for him, because it meant Qiu Chuji and his shifus could not force him to marry Mercy. As for his betrothal to Khojin, he had not given it much thought since he left Mongolia. There was no need to tell Lotus, since he had decided to refuse the honour from Genghis Khan.

  There was still no sign of Mercy after lunch. “I don’t think she’s coming back,” Lotus said as she disappeared into her room. She re-emerged dressed in men’s clothes, ready for the road.

  They went into town to find a horse for the journey and passed by the Dai Mansion. The livery of the Jin Imperial Envoy had disappeared. Mercy must have left with them.

  Guo Jing and Lotus travelled south along the Grand Canal, taking in the many sights along the way. Before long, they arrived at Yixing, the world capital of pottery. Mounds of purple stoneware were stacked in every corner of the city.

  They continued eastwards and soon arrived at Lake Tai. This enormous body of water was the culmination of many streams that ran through eastern and southern China, and its shores embraced three major cities – Pingjiang, Changzhou and Huzhou. Known in ancient times as the Five Lakes, its shoreline ran to some five hundred li.

  Guo Jing stood, hand in hand, with Lotus, marvelling at the rippling expanse. Growing up in landlocked Mongolia, he had never set eyes on such natural beauty. A lush jade green filled his vision. Verdant peaks stood proud against a sea of rolling waves, which stretched as far as the eye could see. Overcome with awe, he howled with delight into the sky.

  “Let’s explore the lake,” Lotus said.

  They rode to a nearby fishing village to settle the horses and hire a boat. As they rowed from the shore, they could no longer tell the sky from the water, as if all the layers of heaven and earth were contained within the grand sweep of this lake.

  “Official Fan was smart. He chose to roam the Five Lakes with Xi Shi instead of grinding away at court,” Lotus mused, her hair and her robe fluttering in the breeze. “Dying of old age out here would be so much better.”

  “Tell me about this Official Fan. I’ve never heard of him,” Guo Jing said.

  Fan Li was a courtier of the Yue state, from around one thousand five hundred years ago, Lotus explained. He helped his king, Goujian, avenge the humiliation suffered at the hands of the Wu king and return the Yue kingdom to prosperity. When Goujian eventually annexed the Wu state, Fan retired from the court with his beloved Xi Shi and lived as a recluse on Lake Tai.

  Lotus went on to tell the stories of Fan’s contemporaries: Wu Zixu, a general of the Wu state, and Wen Zhong, an official who stayed in King Goujian’s court after the conquest of Wu. Unlike Fan, they were both forced by their kings to commit suicide, in spite of their contributions to their kingdoms.

  It was some time before Guo Jing could grasp the significance of the story. “Fan Li showed foresight in choosing the smart way out, but Wu Zixu and Wen Zhong were honourable for putting the needs of the state ahead of their own. They served their country loyally to their very last breath.”

  “‘When good prevails in the country, strong are those steadfast to the morals of a less abundant age. When dissolution is rife in a state, strong are those who hold firm to their principles unto death’,” Lotus quoted Confucius.

  “Can you explain?”

  “A real man of honour is one who maintains his integrity, even as he grows wealthy and powerful in an age of peace. A man of honour is also one who gives his life to uphold his ethics in corrupt times.”

  “You are so wise to have thought of that!”

  “Oh, that was Confucius, not me! Papa taught me, when I was little.”

  “There’s so much I don’t understand about this world. I wish I knew more about these great thinkers, then perhaps I could comprehend things a little more.”

  “Papa always says that most of what these philosophers come up with is empty rhetoric! He always mutters – ‘Nonsense!’ ‘Hogwash!’ – when he reads. People ridicule him as the Heretic because he sneers at the sages and mocks the Emperor for not standing up to the Jin. But they should praise him as a strong man. Great scholars and Emperors aren’t always right, don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose we should always think and judge for ourselves.”

  “I really regret spending time studying the sages. I used to harass Papa to teach me everything – painting, divination, anything you can think of. If I had simply focused on martial arts, we wouldn’t have to fear Cyclone Mei or Greybeard Liang. But, now you have learned the Eighteen Minus Three Dragon-Subduing Palms, at least that makes the Ginseng Codger less of a threat.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Guo Jing shook his head.

  “It’s a pity that Count Seven left us so suddenly. I was going to hide his Dog-Beating Cane until he agreed to teach you the last three moves.”

  “You can’t do that! He’s your senior! I’m more than happy with the fifteen moves.”

  They let the waves take them forward. Soon, they were more than a dozen li from the shore. A shallow skiff floated some distance away. On the bow of this leaf-like vessel sat a man fishing with a rod. At the stern, a serving boy stood.

  “This is like an ink-wash landscape. A lone fisherman amid the misty expanse.”

  “What do you mean?” Guo Jing knew nothing about literati culture.

  “It’s a style of painting using only black ink.”

  Guo Jing looked around him. The hills were green, the water blue, the setting sun – yellow and orange – was painting the white clouds in shifting shades of pink and red. The one colour missing was black. He shook his head, unable to see what she meant.

  Lotus looked over at the fisherman again. “What a patient man!”

  He had not moved at all, as still as a figure in a painting.

  A light wind stirred. Ripples lapped gently against their boat. Lotus broke into song as she picked up the oar.

  “Cast into waves stretching thousands of li,

  Verdant hills of the south roll by unseen.

  Clouds gather over the star of rain,

  The river runs with the goddess,

  Eastwards, into the sea.

  This northern traveller drifts,

  His heart shaken, his vision misplaced,

  Headlong into twilight years.

  My mountain hermitage,

  My friends from home,

  A dream, an illusion, gone!”

  She was drawn into the lyrics as she sang; her voice was tinged with grief and tears glistened in her eyes. “That was the first half of ‘Water Dragon Chant’ by Zhu Xizhen. Papa sings it all the time.”

  Just as Guo Jing was about to ask the meaning of the song, mournful singing swelled from the lake. Even he could tell it was the same tune. The stranger’s voice conveyed much anguish.

  “Looking behind, evil remains unvanquished.

  Where are the heroes of our time?

  Strategies to save the state

  Lie disregarded and unused,

  Only dust and defeat.

  The iron gates stood across the river,

  Yet the fleet rode down the waves,

  And left the monarch mourning.

  I can but beat tempo with my oar,

  As I chant with grief

  In a torrent of tears.”

  “I can’t believe the fisherman knows the song too.” Lotus rowed towards the skiff. “It’s about an old man sailing down a river and grieving for his country, which has lost half of its land.”

  By now, the fisherman had put away his fishing rod and was makin
g his way towards Guo Jing and Lotus. When he was a short distance away, he called out over the water, “What a happy encounter! May I invite you for a cup of wine?”

  “We should not impose ourselves on you, sir.” Lotus had not expected the fisherman to be so well spoken.

  “It would be my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He dipped his oar and brought the two boats together.

  Guo Jing and Lotus tied their rowing boat onto the skiff’s stern and hopped across. Once aboard, they put their hands together respectfully in greeting.

  The fisherman returned the salute. “Please forgive me for not standing up to welcome you. My legs are not as strong as they once were.” He invited his guests to sit down.

  The fisherman appeared no more than forty, but his sallow complexion and hollowed-out cheeks gave him the look of someone long haunted by illness. Despite the problem with his legs, he was curiously well built – half a head taller than Guo Jing sitting down.

  “His name is Guo, and mine is Huang. Our impromptu singing must have disturbed sir’s enjoyment,” Lotus said.

  “Your aria washed away my worldly worries. Is it your first time on Lake Tai? My name is Lu.”

  “Yes, sir,” Guo Jing answered.

  At the fisherman’s signal, the serving boy left his place at the stern, where he had been fanning the stove to heat wine, to set up the banquet.

  The host personally poured the wine, demonstrating that he held his guests in great esteem. The four dishes served were not as delicate as Lotus’s creations, but the elegance of the presentation and crockery indicated to the young couple that they were in the company of a wealthy and important man.

  “My young friend, you sang the ‘Water Dragon Chant’ with such melancholy and gusto,” the fisherman said after the second toast. “It is exceptional to have grasped the sentiment contained in the lyrics at your tender age.”

  “Every literati has lamented the fate of our country since the Song court retreated south. Zhang Yuhu expressed similar emotions in ‘Prelude to Six Provinces’.” Lotus started to sing:

  “I heard our countrymen left in the north,

  Oft looked towards the south

  For the Emperor’s procession.

  To see them fills travellers with anger and pity,

  To see them fills eyes with tears.”

  Smacking the table in agreement, the fisherman sang the last two lines again and poured yet more wine for his guests, and they toasted three more times.

  The fisherman talked about poetry with passion and Lotus responded with the same animation, adapting her father’s commentaries. But, deep down, she knew she was too young to grasp the concern for king and country expressed by the verses.

  Greatly moved by Lotus’s insight and her elegant phrasing, the fisherman struck the table again and again in impassioned approval. Guo Jing understood little of their discussion, but was pleased to see the fisherman’s reaction.

  Soon, twilight fell, shrouding the lake in mist.

  “My humble abode is on the lakeshore; might I be so bold as to invite you to break your journey for a few days?” Before they answered, the fisherman added, “I am fortunate that my home is surrounded by abundant natural beauty, and since my young friends are here on Lake Tai to enjoy the scenery, please do not imagine that you would be imposing.”

  “Well, we shall trouble you then, Master Lu,” Guo Jing answered, moved by Lu’s earnest invitation.

  Happy that his new friends had agreed to stay, the fisherman ordered the serving boy to steer them ashore so Guo Jing and Lotus could return their boat.

  “We will be back once we have made arrangements for our horses,” Guo Jing said, when he and Lotus were on land.

  “I am familiar with the inhabitants of this area; please allow him to attend to your needs,” the fisherman said, pointing at the serving boy, who now stood next to them on the shore.

  “My ride is of rough temperament; it is best if I settle him personally.”

  “In that case, I shall await your arrival.” With these words, the fisherman and his skiff disappeared among a thicket of weeping willows.

  2

  AFTER THEY HAD RETURNED THE ROWING BOAT AND retrieved the horses, the serving boy led Guo Jing and Lotus Huang to a household one li along the shore, to board a larger vessel. Six stout rowers ferried them across the lake for several li to a stone pier on an islet populated by a series of buildings and pavilions interlinked by covered corridors.

  The young couple exchanged a look of surprise. What a grand manor for a fisherman!

  Across an imposing stone bridge leading to the gate of the manor, a youth of eighteen stood before a formal line of half a dozen servants.

  He stepped forward. “Father sent me to welcome you to Roaming Cloud Manor.”

  Wrapping an open palm over a fist in a gesture of thanks, Guo Jing and Lotus marvelled at the resemblance. Here was a strapping, youthful version of the fisherman. He wore a robe of fine silk over his broad shoulders and muscular torso.

  “Please call me by my first name, Laurel,” the young man said deferentially as he led the way.

  This manor was worlds away from the simple grandeur Guo Jing had found in the architecture of the north. Here, every beam and pillar was carved and painted according to an elaborate decorative scheme. But it was the layout and arrangement of the paths and walkways that caught Lotus’s attention as they were guided through the estate. After meandering through three courtyards, they at last reached their destination.

  “Please come in!” they heard the fisherman call.

  “Due to his indisposition, my father will receive you in the east study.” Laurel Lu led them around the screen wall to an open doorway.

  Seated on a couch, with a white goose-feather fan in his hand, the fisherman was now dressed in a scholar’s robe. He cupped his hands together in greeting and invited his guests to sit. Laurel Lu stood to attention in a corner of the study.

  Lotus looked around the room. It was full of artefacts and ancient books, with antique bronzes and jades displayed on every surface. Her eyes fell on an ink-wash scroll of a middle-aged scholar, which was hanging on the wall. The forlorn figure stood with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, seemingly sighing into an empty courtyard, under a moonlit sky. A lyric poem was inscribed on the top left of the picture plane:

  The autumn cricket chirped incessantly yesternight.

  Startled from the land of dreams a thousand li away,

  Midnight had already passed.

  Out of the bed, alone in the courtyard pacing,

  Solitary was I.

  Beyond the blinds, the moon was shrouded in haze.

  Striving for honour and rank has turned my hair grey.

  The ancient pines and bamboos of the old mountain

  Stand in the way of return.

  I wish to confide by the music of my zither,

  But who will listen?

  Who will hear when my string snaps?

  Lotus remembered her father teaching her this verse, then she read the signature: Scribbled by the Cripple of the Five Lakes, in an infirm state. Their host must have painted this, though she had doubts how ill he could have been at the time. The powerful brushwork slashed like a sword and quivered with pent-up force, as if each stroke could pierce through the paper and take flight.

  Noticing Lotus’s interest in the painting, Squire Lu said, “Brother, please honour us with your thoughts.”

  “I hope I am not being impertinent,” Lotus replied. “The painting portrays some of the frustration expressed in Yue Fei’s ‘Layered Hills’. However, General Yue wanted military action against the Jurchen after they annexed the northern part of our realm. He believed he owed it to the people to repel the invaders, but the Imperial Court was more interested in negotiating peace treaties – no-one heard Yue Fei’s plea. Though he wholeheartedly opposed talks with the Jin, he did not wish to openly defy the court.

  “It’s as though indignation, a sense of bei
ng wronged, fuelled sir’s creation of the work. The brushstrokes are imbued with might, but they are also sharp and spiky, as if the brush was fighting its nemesis to the death. In that sense, perhaps it does not quite match the helplessness and concern Yue Fei felt for the country and the people.

  “I once heard that, if one is to attain mastery in the art of the brush, one should never simply pursue force at the expense of the more subtle nuances of control.”

  Squire Lu sighed and said nothing.

  “Forgive my unchecked tongue, Squire Lu.” Lotus had parroted her father’s interpretation of the poem and his views on artistry. She had not thought it would upset her host so.

  Her words jolted Squire Lu out of his gloom and now he seemed pleased. “Brother Huang, please, there is no need to apologise. You are the first person to perceive the state I was in when I created this painting. You can’t imagine what joy this understanding brings me. The sharpness of my brushwork is something I’ve never managed to rectify and I am grateful of this reminder.” Squire Lu then turned to his son. “Send word for the banquet to be prepared.” The young man left the study quietly, with a bow.

  “Brother, you are a true connoisseur,” he continued. “I am sure you come from a cultured family. Might I ask your father’s name?”

  “I don’t deserve such praise, sir. My father runs an academy in the country. His name is not known at all.”

  “The world sighs for talent so neglected.”

  AFTER A sumptuous feast, they returned to the study. “The caves of Celestial Master Zhang and Hermit Shan Juan the Virtuous are some of the most exceptional sights under the heavens and they are only a short distance away,” Squire Lu said. “Please stay for a few days and explore at your leisure. Would you like to retire for the evening?”

  Guo Jing and Lotus stood up to take their leave. On the way out, Lotus noticed eight pieces of iron nailed into the lintel over the study door. The metal strips had the outline of the Eight Trigrams, yet they were arranged in slanted, asymmetric disarray. Keeping the discovery to herself, she followed Guo Jing and the servant out of the east study.