Sandalwood Death (30 page)

I acquired divine boxing skills in Caozhou, aided by immortals of every school, all to ensure that the foreign devils do not survive. Before I left, the Patriarch said to erect a divine altar in Gaomi after I arrive. Here I am to teach divine skills and demonstrate the martial arts, until the people have gained the will to move even Mt. Tai. Immortal brothers Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie have been sent down from the celestial kingdom, bequeathed by the Tao that remains alive
.

By the time Sun Bing had finished his aria, the people’s faith in him had vanished. Divine boxing skills indeed! This was nothing more than his old stage show! With his hands cupped at his chest as a sign of respect, Sun Bing said:

“Fellow villagers, I traveled to Caozhou to study at the feet of the Patriarch of the Righteous Harmony Boxers. The revered elder had heard that the German devils who were laying track in Northeast Gaomi Township against the people’s wishes were on a murderous rampage, and the fires of loathing burned in his breast. At first the revered elder vowed to lead a divine army to crush the foreigners, but so many military affairs demanded his attention that he could not tear himself away. Instead he passed on to me his secrets of divine boxing and told me to return and erect a divine altar, then to teach divine boxing skills that would succeed in driving the foreign devils out of our land. My companions, Elder Brothers Wukong and Bajie, have been sent to aid me in my mission. Their bodies are impervious to all manner of weapons, a divine art that they will teach you. But first I will demonstrate the skills I have learned, in order, as the adage goes, to cast a brick to attract jade.”

Sun Bing laid down his club, took some sheets of yellow mounting paper from a bundle Sun Wukong was carrying, and lit them from a candle. The paper curled as it burned in his hand and rose into the air, where it merged with the swirling currents above the bonfire. When all the paper had been burned, he knelt in front of the incense stand and performed three solemn kowtows. Back on his feet, he reached into his own bundle and removed a tally, which he laid in a large black bowl and set on fire. Then he unhooked a gourd from his waistband and poured its watery contents into the black bowl, stirring the muddy ash with an unused red chopstick. After placing the bowl on the incense stand, he knelt a second time and performed three more kowtows. This time, however, he remained on his knees as he picked up the bowl with both hands and drank down the contents. Having drunk the tally, he kowtowed three more times before closing his eyes and beginning to chant. An occasional word seemed discernible in his incantation, but to the untrained ear it was speaking in tongues, ranging from high to low, the notes lingering in the air like unbroken threads in a piece of beautiful embroidery and affecting those who heard it like a soporific, replete with yawns and drooping eyes. That somnolent air was abruptly shattered by a piercing shout, as he began to foam at the mouth and his body was wracked by spastic jerks, just before he keeled over backward. The crowd reacted with fear and shock, but before they could rush to his aid, Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie stopped them.

Slowly the crowd settled down and fixed their eyes on Sun Bing as he flopped up and down, like a fish on dry land, until his stalwart body began to levitate, light as a feather, attaining a height of three feet or more before settling firmly back to earth. Well acquainted with Sun Bing, the locals knew him as an outdoor opera actor, a man who was breathless after a couple of somersaults on stage. Seeing him perform so expertly now left them speechless and secretly amazed. In the blazing flames of the bonfire, they saw strange lights in Sun Bing’s eyes and a vivid expression sweep across his red face, one that struck everyone who saw it as intimate and unfamiliar at the same time. Normally they knew what to expect when he spoke, but this time they heard things they could not believe were coming from his mouth. An unfamiliar modulation rang with majestic power and proclaimed a noble, stern, indomitable spirit:

“I am the heroic general of the Great Song Dynasty, Yue Fei, known as Pengju, a resident of Tangyin in Henan Province.”

The people’s hearts seemed suddenly and precariously suspended, like red apples hanging heavily from supple branches, swaying in a breeze before snapping off and falling with a metallic thud to the ground.

“It’s the great General Yue!”

“It’s the spirit of the martyred Yue Fei!”

Someone in the crowd fell to his knees; others followed, until no one was left standing. Sun Bing, now the transformed spirit of General Yue Fei, circled the area with flying kicks, light and nimble on his feet, all with remarkable poise and skill. As his body rose and fell, the commanding flags behind his back fluttered in the wind. Waves of light glinted off the scales of his silver armor. At this moment, Sun Bing was no longer a man, he was a mythical dragon among men. After the dance, he clutched his date-wood club and whirled it like a silver spear, stabbing left and parrying right, thrusting upward, thwarting below, like a strange python, a coiled snake. The people were dazzled as they watched him—he had won their hearts. One by one, they fell to their knees and kowtowed. Now that his club display had ended, he raised his golden voice:

The hateful twelve edicts have doomed the nation, the three armies howl in protest, as waves on the Yellow River in rage implore. Alas, the aged suffer. Alas, the Imperial carriage does not return to the palace. When will dust from barbarian hordes be swept from the northern shore? My fury at treacherous court officials will not easily be appeased. To whom can I vent the grief and indignation in my heart? I look to heaven, sword in hand, and roar.

I am Yue Fei, Yue Pengju. I have descended onto the divine altar and taken possession of the body of Sun Bing by Imperial Demand. I shall transmit my martial skills to you who will engage the foreign devils in a life-or-death struggle. Wukong, heed my command
.

The general who had taken on the appearance of Wukong took a step forward and knelt on one knee.

“Your servant is here!” he replied in a childish voice.

“I command you to demonstrate for this crowd the eighteen stages of cudgel fighting.”

“As you command!”

Sun Wukong adjusted the apron around his waist, raised one hand, and brushed it across his face. When the hand fell away, it was as if a mask had been put in place. It was now a lively, vigorous face, like that of a monkey—nose twitching, eyes winking. The crowd nearly laughed at this strange simian behavior, but dared not. After demonstrating the range of facial expressions, he uttered a peculiar cry, grabbed his cudgel with both hands, and executed a perfect somersault. The crowd roared its approval. He responded to the acclamation with a more impressively spirited performance: flinging his cudgel high into the air, he sprang up after it, made two complete flips, and landed solidly on his feet, where he steadily, silently, confidently reached up and caught the falling cudgel before it hit the ground. Every move, every maneuver, was accomplished with perfection, and the crowd reacted with frenzied applause; the Monkey King performed his cudgel artistry in the light of the bonfire: he became a coiled dragon, his cudgel a swimming dragon. Jab, strike, brush, sweep, pound, press, block, draw, mix, poke, every move done with precision, each maneuver a sight to behold. The cudgel whistled like the wind as it flew through the air. The demonstration came to an end when he flung it to the ground, where it stood on end like a stake. He leaped into the air, landed with one foot on the top of the cudgel, and assumed the golden rooster stance, shading his eyes with his hand, like a monkey gazing into the distance. The finale: a backward leap sent him back to the ground, where he landed solidly, brought his hands together in front of his chest, and bowed to his audience. Neither breathing hard nor sweating, he was perfectly poised, entirely natural, an extraordinary individual. The crowd applauded and shouted:

“Bravo!”

General Yue Fei issued a second command:

“Bajie, heed my command—”

The general who had taken on the appearance of Zhu Bajie waddled forward.

“Your servant is here!” he replied in a muffled voice.

“I order you to demonstrate for this crowd the eighteen models of manure rake skills.”

“As you command!”

Dragging his manure rake up in front of the crowd, Zhu Bajie greeted them with a foolish laugh—
ke ke ke
—the way a simple-minded farmer would approach a pile of manure to be raked. There was no mistaking his weapon: it was an ordinary manure rake, the sort that all families owned and all farmers knew how to use. Dragging it behind him, he circled the crowd with a silly grin, did it again, and then a third time. The crowd laughed, but they were getting annoyed, as they wondered whether walking around them with a silly grin was all this general was capable of doing. After the third revolution, he threw away his rake, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled on the ground, making pig noises—
oink oink
—like an old sow rooting for food. The crowd could hold back no longer. An explosion of laughter greeted this sight, but stopped abruptly when the people glanced at General Yue, who stood ramrod straight and immobile as a statue. Maybe, the people wondered, maybe this third general is leading up to some unique skills.

Sure enough, once he’d finished his rooting old sow act, his hands and feet began to speed up, until he was crawling along faster than any pig could possibly run, oinking the whole time. He crawled and he crawled, and then he rolled on the ground, rolled and rolled, quickly becoming a black whirlwind that spun him into a standing position. How, his puzzled audience wondered, had his manure rake wound up back in his hand? His movements seemed clumsy and awkward, but any expert could have told them that clumsy, awkward movements sometimes hide beauty in motion. Every move, every maneuver, was just as it should have been, and the crowd showed their appreciation with a generous round of applause.

General Yue said:

“Revered villagers, be heedful. The Jade Emperor has commanded me to take control of the divine altar in order to form and train a homeborn army to make war against the foreign devils. They are the reincarnation of Jin soldiers; you will be the disseminators of the way of Yue Fei. The foreign enemy is in possession of powerful rifles and cannons, and of sharp bayonets. How will you ward off their assaults unless you master the martial arts? The Heavenly Emperor has sent me to pass on the secrets of the divine fists, whose mastery will make you impervious to their knives and bullets, unaffected by water or fire, immune to death. Are you willing to do as your general asks?”

“We await your instructions, great general!” the crowd roared.

“Sun, Zhu, heed my command!” General Yue said.

“Your servant awaits his orders!” one said.

“Your servant awaits his orders!” the other said.

The General commanded:

“Demonstrate the Golden Bell Shield technique of divine boxing to the assembled crowd.”

“As commanded!” Sun and Zhu replied in unison.

General Yue Fei personally turned two paper tallies into ashes and told Wukong and Bajie to swallow the solution. Then he recited a secret incantation, this time clearly enunciating every word, as if wanting the crowd to commit it to memory:

“Golden Bell Shield, iron shirt, both parts of Righteous Harmony fist. Righteous Harmony fist holds up the sky, ingesting tallies as an iron immortal in the celestial mist. An iron immortal sits on an iron lotus terrace. Iron head, iron waist, iron stockade, all fortified against enemy weapons . . .”

The incantation ended, the General sprayed a mouthful of water over Wukong. Then he sprayed another mouthful over Bajie.

“It is done!” he said. “Now perform!”

Sun Wukong concentrated his strength and pointed to his head; Zhu Bajie twirled his manure rake, took aim at Sun Wukong’s head, and swung. Wukong straightened his neck—his head was unmarked.

Zhu Bajie concentrated his strength in his paunch. Sun Wukong twirled his cudgel over his head, took aim at Bajie’s paunch, and swung with such force that he recoiled backward when he hit his target. Bajie massaged his belly and laughed—
ke ke ke
.

General Yue said:

“If there are those among you who do not believe, come forward to see for yourselves.”

A young hothead by the name of Yu Jin, who had once felled an ox with a single punch, leaped into the ring, picked up a brick, and flung it at Wukong’s head. The brick disintegrated, but Wukong’s head suffered no injury. So then Yu Jin asked Sixi to fetch a cleaver from his shop.

“General,” he said, “may I?”

General Yue smiled but said nothing.

Zhu Bajie nodded his approval.

Yu Jin raised the cleaver and swung it with all his might at Bajie’s paunch. There was a loud clang, as if he’d struck iron. Bajie’s belly sported a new white mark; the blade of the cleaver was ruined.

There were no more disbelievers in that crowd, all of whom asked to be taught the magical boxing skills.

General Yue said:

“The most wonderful aspect of divine boxing is speed. You may lack the strength to tie up a chicken, but if you are pure of heart, the spirit will come. When you drink the ashes of an amulet, that spirit will attach itself to your body, and whichever divine host you desire will be yours. If you ask for Huang Tianba, Huang Tianba will be there; if it is Lü Dongbin you prefer, he will come. And when that divine host attaches himself to your body, you will be a master with unimaginable power. Drink down another tally, and you will have a body that can ward off all weapons and attacks, be impervious to water and fire. The virtues of Righteous Harmony fists are legion. In battle you crush the enemy, and off the battlefield it keeps you safe and healthy.”

“We accept General Yue as our leader!” the crowd erupted as one.

————

3

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On a misty, drizzly morning ten days later—during the 1900 Qingming Festival—Sun Bing issued an order for the army whose training had just ended to launch an attack on the shed that served as the German engineers’ construction headquarters.