The Concubine's Daughter (48 page)

As she knelt before the grave of the Fish, arranging the blossoms like the fan of a peacock and lighting incense to rise in threads of perfumed smoke, there was a noise that Siu-Sing had heard before—a guttural hiss of warning and a dry slither of scales over loose stones. She raised her eyes warily, knowing she must not move quickly.

The forest cobra had been coiled in sleep, its colors and patterns of earth and stone unnoticed on the small garden of river pebbles in front of the little tomb. The hood was spread wide, the flat, shiny head poised like a blade. Suddenly, the years between were snatched away, and Siu-Sing saw again the eyes of the snake and the perfectly formed sections of its throat and neck, smooth as ivory. Was this the
yan-jing-shi
that the Fish had saved her from, grown now to twice its size? Could it have returned to live in the tomb of the one whose life it had sought?

She had heard the reed-cutters speak of such things.
Yan-jing-shi
was known to find tombs, empty houses, and deserted temples abundant hunting grounds, the perfect place to rear its young. She had seen the
great snake coiled in sleep on warm rocks or winding through the cane grass, leaving telltale trails in the snow, and had seen its dead and discarded skin blown across the grasses.

Suddenly, there was a scything of the air above her head, so close it stirred her hair. A sweeping side kick arched over her, delivering a knife-edged foot to the snake’s head with such force that it fell. In that same fraction of time, Siu-Sing was thrown aside by Ah-Keung. He had stripped off his shirt, winding it around one hand as he faced the snake, crouching to its level, eye to eye.

He had the stance of the knife-fighters she had seen among the Hokklo fishermen drunk on homemade wine.
Yan-jing-shi
had risen again, swaying back against coils of bunched muscle, its hood strained fully open, its shoelace tongue vibrating like the reed in a bamboo flute. “Ah,
yan-jing-shi
,” he sneered, mimicking the sway of the cobra. “Let us dance. We shall see who is faster, you or I.” Savagely alert, the cobra struck again and again, its hiss compressed to a growl. Each time Ah-Keung easily evaded the wide yellow mouth, sticking out his tongue in defiance, his hands held wide and ready.

“I give you four chances,
Yan-jing-shi
. This hand? … That hand? … This foot? … That foot? Which is it to be?” He circled the snake, forcing it to move with him, their eyes locked. “See how I wear down my worthy opponent, how much he hates me, how careless and clumsy he becomes. So determined to kill me, he does not see that I am more dangerous than he could ever be; that I am faster than the tongue of a horned toad.”

From a boxer’s crouch, he snapped out his hand like the fall of a whip to grasp the cobra’s head above the spread of its hood, his thumb perfectly centered on its throat an inch below the hinge of its jaws; it dug deep, forcing the mouth wide. He held the thrashing coils at arm’s length, then rose fully, with the serpent flinging this way and that from his rigidly outstretched arm.

“You see who is faster?” He grinned. “Yet he is as tall as I am, and as thick as my arm. See how quickly the king of the forest becomes harmless in the hands of his master? There is nothing to fear—I have challenged his threat and defeated it.”

With his free hand, Ah-Keung produced a knife from his belt. He tossed it in the air with a juggler’s hand, catching it by the polished blade, then offered the bone handle to her. “Could this be the one that tried to kill you and the old one? Perhaps he has returned to try again. Take your vengeance—sever the head. If it was not this snake that hid in the basket, it was one of his clan.”

He waggled the gaping jaws before her eyes. “You see, Ah-Keung is back and watching over the Little Star … or is your name Red Lotus?” The fangs of the cobra were unsheathed, like the claws of a cat held inches from her face. He worked the thumb that controlled the snake’s jaw, until beads of clear venom dripped harmlessly as droplets of dew. When Siu-Sing made no move to take the knife, it was quickly gone, his hand so fast it defied the eye.

“No? Well then, I shall avenge your poor
ah-paw
for you.” With the slow precision of a marketplace showman, he turned the cobra’s head to face him, bringing it closer to his face, mimicking its open jaws and darting tongue, mocking its helplessness. His thumb shifted upward to close the mouth, clamping it shut.

“So you would bite my friend the Little Star, failed assassin of old hags? We shall see.” Without haste he opened his own jaws and stretched them wide, then bit down on the snake’s head with a savage grunt, twisting and wrenching it from its body and spitting it at Siu-Sing’s feet. A swath of blood streaked his chest like a winner’s sash. Ah-Keung held the writhing trunk high and stood looking down at her, his rigid arm jerking as violent spasms rippled through the cobra’s length.

“Did I not tell you that
yan-jing-shi
and his kind are not to be trusted? Warriors do not know when it is time to die; they cannot accept defeat. His head is gone, yet still his heart beats. I have tamed the foot well, have I not, Red Lotus?” He spat blood, drawing a forearm across his mouth. “It is faster and more deadly than the king of all snakes. It has saved the life of the disciple of the White Crane. Am I not still your friend?”

His unexpected appearance and the use of her temple name had surprised her, but she looked at him without fear. “You are the victor, Ah-Keung; the honor is yours. We will never know if I would have become
the victim of
yan-jing-shi
; we had a score to settle, he and I. I thank you for protecting me, but I did not ask for your help. If your foot had not been fast enough, it would have been my life, not yours, that
yan-jing-shi
would have tried to take.”

Ah-Keung seemed not to hear her, his eyes bright with excitement. The tip of his knife ran cleanly down the length of the snake’s belly. With finger and thumb he pinched out the gall bladder, carefully emptying the dark green bile into a bean gourd taken from his pocket. “The bile of
yan-jing-shi
is the nectar of the gods. Let us take it to the old master. It will prepare him well for the journey to the great Gum Sarn.”

The Forceful One kicked the trembling remains of the cobra onto the garden of stones, crossing to the spring to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He splashed his chest, wiping it clean with the shirt. “We are the same, you and I; we have nothing but our skills to protect us. Let us be friends. I too am traveling to the Golden Hill. I have been there many times since I herded goats and slept with spiders. I have worked aboard the river junks to earn my passage and know the journey well. Perhaps we will travel together, the great
si-fu
and his disciples. Let us see.”

Ah-Keung bowed deeply three times, a mark of great respect by a returned disciple to his master. “Master To, as a boy I disappointed you and was not worthy of your teachings. I was a dog with a broken foot who knew nothing of honor. Because of you, I am now a man who walks tall and straight with his head held high.” He held out the gourd in both hands. “I beg your forgiveness. The foot you healed so well has killed
yan-jing-shi
and saved the Little Star. I offer you the essence of its life.”

Master To returned the Forceful One’s bow. “Is this true?” he asked Siu-Sing.

“Yes,
si-fu
. The forest cobra awaited me at the tomb of my
paw-paw
. Ah-Keung was fearless; he destroyed it with courage and great skill.”

Master To accepted the gourd, draining the bitter draught in a single swallow. “You have my gratitude, Ah-Keung. I am honored by your respect.”

The Forceful One bowed. “I ask only to accompany you to the world beyond the mountains. I have recently come from there, and I beg to be your servant and arrange your passage.” He grinned. “The boatmen know Ah-Keung well and will not cheat me.”

“Perhaps …” Master To turned to enter the hut. “Let us sleep and see what morning brings.”

Siu-Sing slept soundly and later than any morning she could remember. Always Master To was first to rise, lighting the lamp and raking the coals beneath the cooking stove and fetching water from the jar in a comforting start to the day. On this morning the hut remained in darkness, but the first light creeping through the window was slanted higher and brighter than usual. She listened for the sounds of Master To sluicing at the water jar, but nothing disturbed the shrilling of cicadas in the bamboo.

“
Si-fu
, are you awake?” She spoke quietly, her words an empty intrusion that brought no reply. The oil lamp had not been lit, nor the fire beneath the congee pot. There was no sign of movement from his dark corner as she listened for his even breath. “It is time to rise,
si-fu
,” she whispered. “
Si-fu
, are you there?”

It was not fear that closed in on Siu-Sing as she reached his side—surely fear could not exist in the master’s presence—but why was there no sound or movement from one so readily alert? She reached into the shadows to awaken him and found his hand. It was faintly warm, yet he did not stir at her touch. Even as she spoke his name, her hand grasping his more strongly, he did not move. Her fingertips felt for the silent pulses of his wrists as he had taught her. They beat as faintly as a bird’s, and when she pressed her ear to his heart, the steady thump faltered like a weary footstep.

She pulled aside the flannel shirt that was his sleeping garment, feeling for the flow of blood in the hollow of his throat. It too was as faint as a drifting snowC ake.

“What is the matter, Little Star; the flatboat is already loading. Is the master unwell?” Ah-Keung was suddenly beside her. He stood looking down, his presence huge against the open door.

“Something is wrong—I can’t wake him. We must help him; there is an herb he keeps for such an emergency—”

She hurried to the shelf where such things were kept.

“I think it is too late; our
si-fu
has left us.” Ah-Keung had lit the bedside lamp. She saw that her master’s eyes were open wide, their brilliance dulled and still, the lines of laughter still creased like crumpled silk.

The lamp threw Ah-Keung’s shadow against the mat walls until it seemed to fill the hut. He dropped to his knees beside her, quick to seek the old man’s pulse as she had done. His words faltered. “He is gone, Little Star. The jade amulet, it is also gone.”

“No!” she protested. “No, he lives; his pulse, his heart still beats. He is still with us.” Siu-Sing did not recognize her own voice as it whispered such desperate words.

“It is the ginseng, Little Star… . the root of heaven.” The Forceful One spoke quietly, eager to explain the mystery of this terrible thing. “He drank the ginseng tea every day of his life … the finest only he could find. It sustained him to a great longevity. I believe he had lived more than ninety years, perhaps more than one hundred, yet was ever young. It is said the mandrake root contains great magic and can sustain the life-force after the spirit has flown … sometimes for many moments, even more than an hour.”

“Is there breath? Can you feel or hear his breathing?”

Siu-Sing placed the back of her hand under the master’s nose, holding it there for countless moments. There was nothing but stillness and the sobs that shook her soul. Ah-Keung straightened up and waited, allowing the first moments of shock to pass. “The reed-cutters have no respect for such as our
si-fu
; they see only the sorcerer and the alchemist. They were afraid of him, but still they sent their snot-nosed brats to steal herbs from the shed.”

Ah-Keung reached out to gently close the
si-fu
’s eyes, covering his face with the bearskin. “There is no way of knowing if they, or some passing trapper, had a hand in this … or if his time had come join his ancestors.” He shrugged his shoulders sadly. “Perhaps he was not meant to leave this place he loved so much. It is something we will never know.”