Binu and the Great Wall of China (18 page)
‘Into the vat,’ he shouted. ‘Aim at the vat.’
But she dropped the vat and stood up. The herb worker watched her stumble out of the room, leaving sprays of tears in her wake. He scooped up the vat and ran after her, rushing up beside her, but was only able to collect a few precious teardrops. Panicking, he dropped the vat and chased after her, but she had already disappeared at the far end of the winding corridor. All he could manage was a shout at her mournful back, ‘Come back, you’ll get seven sabre coins for a single vat of tears.’
But seven sabre coins meant nothing to Binu, who was running from the news of death, in such a frenzy that it looked as if she might run all the way to Great Swallow Mountain.
Binu considered returning to Five-Grain Tower, where small traders and pedlars from the city, with their reed mats, stoves and kindling, set up stands at the edge of the elm grove, but she was too proud to ask for help. Suddenly she sensed someone watching her; it was the cripple who sold candied figures. His tall figure was like a mountain. In the two days since she’d last seen him, he’d grown much more haggard; his imposing face was now clouded, giving him a gloomy appearance. Binu noticed that his remaining foot was bare, missing the straw boot that most Blue Cloud Prefecture men wore. His once-full candy rack was leaning against the wall; half of the candy was gone, the remaining half looked quite forlorn.
At first she avoided his gaze, unwilling to meet anyone who had witnessed her humiliation. She crouched down and walked away from the wall, but turned around after a few steps. The man’s eyes, which had been cold and bright the day before, like the eyes of the people coming
down from Bluegrass Ravine years earlier, were now filled with anxiety and sadness; they reminded her of Qiliang in the silkworm shed that summer. The man was not Qiliang, of course, but he was from Bluegrass Ravine, and in Five-Grain City, where she knew no one, running in to a former travelling companion, however indifferent he might have been, was a rare treat. She hesitated for a long moment before walking over. Stopping in front of him, she looked at his bare foot and said, ‘Elder Brother, you mustn’t go barefoot on a cold day like this.’
With a glance down the street, he said maliciously, ‘In a world as big as this, and with so many streets and byways in Five-Grain City, why must you insist on bumping into me?’
Binu glared at him. ‘How can you say that? Who wouldn’t want to bump into a familiar face far from home? This is a public street. What makes you think I meant to bump into you?’
‘Watch your mouth! Have you forgotten how it nearly got you into trouble the other day? They carted you away with the firewood then, but today you might not be so lucky. If you don’t stop talking, they might drag you to the chopping block.’
‘Your words are more lethal than poison,’ said Binu
fearfully. ‘It was your mouth that got me into trouble the other day.’ She turned and walked off angrily. But then she stopped, turned back, and said, ‘I wasn’t interested in talking to you. I just thought that, since you’d been peddling your goods in town, you might know when the King will arrive and when the road will re-open.’
‘Go and ask the King when he’ll be here,’ he said, turning to face the wall. ‘And since I’m stuck here, when the road will re-open is of no interest to me. A child stole my boot. I’ve travelled on treacherous roads for years, and I never expected that my reputation would be ruined by a little brat.’
Binu was still angry. ‘How can a man get so annoyed over a boot? You know how to talk big, but that’s about all you can do!’
‘If I told you the things I’d done, you still wouldn’t understand. Now, get away from me.’ He was still facing the wall. ‘If you’ve seen a child wearing my boot, tell me; if not, get away from me. You’re better off talking to the King of the Underworld than to me. You could lose your life and not know why.’
He turned around and whispered to her, ‘Do you remember North Mountain? Do you remember Lord Xintao? Don’t cry out when I tell you who I am. I’m Shaoqi the Assassin, the last descendant of Lord Xintao.
My grandfather was responsible for putting the three hundred people of your North Mountain in great danger, which is why I’m trying to spare you. Now please run away as fast as you can.’
Binu was momentarily stunned. She could not believe him. Everyone growing up at the foot of North Mountain knew that Lord Xintao had left nothing behind but a large pit on the mountain. Every member of Lord Xintao’s family in the three southern counties, from grey-haired old men to newborn babies, had been executed.
Binu cried out, ‘Be careful, the walls have ears. Elder Brother, you’re not frightening me, but you are heading into dangerous territory.’
People on both sides of the street stuck their heads out to look at them, throwing Binu into a panic.
‘I’ll be your witness if anyone tries to give you trouble,’ she said softly. ‘But you are not Lord Xintao’s grandson. You don’t know me, but I know you. You are a retainer for Lord Hengming of Blue Cloud Prefecture.’
‘I
am
Lord Xintao’s grandson, and that is why I became Lord Hengming’s retainer.’ His patience exhausted, the man took another look at the cotton carts and snarled, ‘You think you will be my witness. Well, no one will be your witness if you don’t run for your life.’
Binu heard him swear, then was shocked to see him
raise the candy rack and fling it at her, scattering the small figures to the ground. She screamed and ran down the street, only to be met by a group of constables swarming towards her in black uniforms, some with spiked clubs. She turned the other way, but managed to take only a few steps before some carters jumped down off their cotton wagons and pulled out clubs from the piles of cotton. Mounted soldiers galloped over from farther west, blocking the exits to the street.
At first Binu thought the constables had been sent by Prefect Zhan, but why would he send so many of them just to detain a woman to get tears for medicine?
Feeling lost, she stood on the street, watching the constables rush up and grab the candy pedlar. The man in charge barked a command: ‘Don’t let him lean against the wall – he can leap over them. Hold his arms tightly and don’t let him fly away.’
Amid the startled shouts from weavers, seamstresses and children, the red figures of the constables swallowed up the pedlar, while one of them triumphantly pulled a glinting sword out from the candy rack.
‘Assassin! He’s an assassin! We’ve caught the assassin!’
Shouts and cheers erupted on the street. The word assassin sent Binu running, and she heard someone shout, ‘That woman is his accomplice. Stop her!
Not knowing what else to do, Binu turned and shouted, ‘I’m not an assassin.’
But men were already running towards her. The last thing she saw as she lay on the ground was an upside-down street, on which fluffed cotton and velvet pieces were floating to the ground, like snow falling from the sky.
Word of an assassin spread through Five-Grain City like the water rushing down its stormy, rain-swept streets. Autumn rain flooded in from the curious south, travelling back and forth between the northern residences of the officials, merchants and rich families and the brothel district in the south. The raindrops, like humans, held their breath and listened in to people’s discussions about the assassin.
Men were talking about the assassin, Shaoqi, who had passed himself off as a candy pedlar, but few inquired about the cause of his missing leg; perhaps there were simply too many people with missing arms and legs. They had animated discussions about the false sole of Assassin Shaoqi’s boot, which had concealed poison and a dagger, noting the remarkable skill of Blue Cloud Prefecture shoemakers, who could turn the sole of a cripple’s boot into an armoury. The assassin’s candy rack
was an even greater wonder. Despite noting its strange shape, no one had realized that it could be bent into a bow. The assassin had sold his candy figures selectively; those he would not sell held their own secrets: the sugar coat could be cracked open to reveal the arrowheads inside.
Boys were chasing after a young tramp called Abao. People said that the King would have been assassinated outside Five-Grain City if Abao hadn’t stolen the assassin’s boot, and that the King was going to summon Abao to an audience with him as soon he entered the city. Hence, for the sake of the city’s honour, officials had already cleaned Abao up; they had even had a child-size formal silk robe made for him. No one would recognize the boy now, they said; the head lice in his filthy dishevelled hair were picked clean, and the best doctor in town had treated the festering sores at the corners of his mouth so that they no longer attracted flies. But some of the shady characters who had gathered at the foot of Five-Grain Tower were unhappy with the praise lavished on Abao. ‘That boy’s no thief,’ they said jealously. ‘All he knows how to do is slip shoes off people’s feet.’
Shaoqi, the assassin, had slept on his back, unaware of Abao’s special talent, which had given Abao the rare
opportunity to bring honour to his ancestors. On the previous night, someone had seen him return, complaining about the one-legged assassin’s boot. It was a high-quality boot, but since there was only one, he could only sell it to another cripple. The boys said that Abao never tried on the shoes he stole because they stank. But the assassin’s boot gave off an unusual musky fragrance, so he stuck his foot in. Being an expert on shoes, men’s and women’s, he shouted as soon as he tried it on, ‘There’s something inside this boot. It must be sabre coins!’
Some young tramps crowded around to watch him cut the sole open. It wasn’t sabre coins; it was three daggers and a packet of poison.
Assassin Shaoqi’s reputation had preceded him. Some doubted his royal bloodline, saying that, thanks to the King, Lord Xintao’s descendants had all disappeared from the face of the earth. But a nagging question remained: who but Lord Xintao’s grandson would harbour such deep hatred for the King and would consider it his mission in life to kill a ruler who was worshipped by thousands of subjects? Speculation centred around the inside story, all about the mastermind behind the assassin. A rumour about Hundred Springs Terrace in Blue Cloud Prefecture, the assassin’s home, was already circulating. Everyone was talking about Lord Hengming,
how his wealth matched the King’s, how he employed several hundred retainers with unusual and esoteric skills, and about the clever devices and secret tunnels that surrounded his residence.
‘The King will never make it to Five-Grain City,’ they said. ‘The country will change hands in the winter, and Lord Hengming of Blue Cloud Prefecture will become the new ruler.’
All agreed that Shaoqi was exceptionally talented, for he could shoot a poplar leaf from a hundred paces, retrieve a dagger from his boot in the blink of an eye, and could fly over roofs and walk on walls. But his handsome face, his tall, strong physique, and the fire of wrath that had burned inside him for years, were his greatest hindrances. An assassin can be ugly but must not be handsome. An assassin can be tender but anger is a taboo. There was no greater misfortune than for an angry, handsome man like Shaoqi to become an assassin, which is why he had decided to wear a black robe and a dark bandanna to cover his face, giving him the appearance of a bandit.
‘Who would be afraid of anyone hopping along on one leg?’ said one of the tramps.
Everyone agreed that the missing leg was as good as a travel permit, that it had allowed the handsome Shaoqi
to slip easily into Five-Grain City. But exactly when had he lost his leg, and how? While it was normal for an assassin to assume a disguise, it was certainly unusual for one to do so by cutting off a leg.
An old assassin spoke up, ‘I wasn’t his teacher,’ he said, ‘nor was I a retainer at Hundred Springs Terrace, so I don’t know how they deal with the custom of living testaments, but I do know that this one was well designed.’
His companions questioned him anxiously, ‘A living testament? What do you mean by that? Are there dead testaments? Don’t keep us in suspense.’
‘When I was young, I did a job for the Sun family in Shepherd Town. I took the money and was ready to leave when someone in the family asked me to leave a living testament behind. That was my first time working for a rich family, so I didn’t know what to expect. I thought I’d leave a fingerprint, and stood there waiting for them to bring me the paper. What they brought instead was a copper basin and a knife. They wanted my toes, so that they could trust me completely. When a rich family hires an assassin, they don’t just plot against their enemy; they protect themselves against the assassin too. They’re afraid they may be implicated if the assassin were to reveal his identity after too many killings, so they ask
the assassin to promise that he will stop at some point. Taking a toe from you will not affect your work, but it serves as a daily reminder that you must keep your promise.’
The bandit lamented the fact that the world had changed so quickly. Toes had once been enough for a living testament, but now people required a whole leg.
‘Shaoqi was different from me,’ he continued. ‘He was hired to assassinate the King, and it was an all-or-nothing proposition. His leg was probably more than just a living testament; it would also serve as a way out for Lord Hengming. If Shaoqi’s attempt were to be exposed, Hundred Springs Terrace would present the leg to the King and tell him they had discovered the plot and had lopped off one of the assassin’s legs to foil his plans. By keeping Shaoqi’s leg, Lord Hengming was able to put himself in the clear.’
The assassin’s head did not join the other ones on the city wall, after all; rumour had it that the beheading had been postponed until after the King’s arrival. No one in Five-Grain City, except for a few important officials, knew where the assassin Shaoqi was being held, but everyone knew the whereabouts of the woman from Blue Cloud Prefecture. She was being displayed in a cage at the city gate and crowds of people gathered to gawp at her. A downpour sent the guards scurrying for shelter, and the adults gawking at her ducked under the eaves of shops. Seeing that the guards were not paying attention, some youngsters ran through the rain to stare at her. One gave her an ear of corn, then ran back into the crowd to deliver the latest news: