“He says that's far enough,” Biao whispered when we were about six feet away. “We're to stop here and sit on the ground.”
“Just what I needed,” I mumbled, obeying. From down there the master looked like the statute of an imposing, pestiferous god. Poor Biao still had trouble sitting, and it took a few seconds before he found a kneeling position that was more or less comfortable.
The yellow-eyed spirit lifted a dry old hand in the air to show us the sticks he was holding.
“Since you are a foreigner,” he said, “there is no way you can understand the depth and meaning of the I Ching, also known as the Book of Changes. That is why the abbot has asked me to explain it to you. Using these sticks, I can tell you much about yourself, your current situation, your problems, and what course of action to take so matters can be resolved in the best way possible.”
“The abbot wants you to speak to me about clairvoyance and fortune-telling?” The look on my face couldn't have expressed my opinion any more clearly, but surely it was as inscrutable to the Chinese as theirs was to me, because the master continued his lecture as if I hadn't spoken.
“It is not about clairvoyance or fortune-telling,” the old man replied. “The I Ching is a book that is thousands of years old and contains the wisdom of the universe, nature, and mankind, as well as the changes they are subject to. Anything you want to know can be found in the I Ching.”
“You said it was a book….” I commented, looking around to see if there was a copy of this I Ching anywhere.
“Yes, it is a book, the Book of Changes.” The devil with the yellow eyes let out a sinister little laugh. “You won't see it, because it is all in my head. I have studied it for so long that I know the sixty-four hexagrams by heart, as well as its rules, symbols, and interpretations, not to mention the Ten Wings, or commentaries, appended by Confucius, as well as the many treatises written over the millennia by more important scholars than I regarding this wise book.
“The I Ching describes both the internal order of the universe as well as the changes that occur within it, and it does so by means of the sixty-four hexagrams. The wise spirits use these to tell us of the different situations in which we humans can find ourselves and, according to the law of change, predict how such situations are going to evolve. Thus the spirits that speak through the I Ching can advise those who consult them about future events.”
Good Lord, I thought. Why am I wasting my time? I have absolutely no interest in spirits!
“You'll find fortune-tellers you can pay to cast the I Ching on every street in China, tai-tai,” Biao whispered to me. “But none of them are really worthy of respect. It's a great honor for Master Tzau to be your oracle.”
“If you say so,” I said doubtfully.
Biao glanced up at the master. “We should apologize for the interruption.”
“Go on, then. Hurry up. I want to speak to that old nun Ming T'ien before lunch.”
“The Book of Changes,” Master Tzau continued, oblivious of my disinterest, “was one of few books that were saved when the First Emperor ordered that all books be burned. Thanks to the fact that he was a devout follower of the philosophies of yin and yang, the Five Elements, the K'an-yu or feng shui, and the I Ching, we can continue to consult the spirits today.” Now, this was a different matter, I thought, perking up my ears. I'd pay attention if he kept talking about the First Emperor. But he didn't, of course. It had been nothing more than a colorful anecdote.
“He told me to ask you what you want to know so he can cast the sticks,” Biao said.
I didn't have to think twice. “Well, tell him I want to know, in order of importance, the four objectives for the life of a Taoist from Wudang. Make it clear I'm not talking about the objectives of any Chinese Taoist, but specifically Taoists from this monastery.”
“Very well,” the master replied once Biao had repeated my request. I didn't believe him, of course. Would the abbot really give us the answer to his own question through a medium—or whatever that strange old man was? He had already begun his odd ceremony, picking up the sticks and holding them out in front of him on the rock, like a gambler fanning a deck of cards on the table. First he took one out and set it aside. Then he grouped the rest in two parallel piles. He pulled one more out of the group on the right and put it between the pinkie and ring fingers of his left hand. Using that same hand, he picked up the pile closest to him and began to methodically pull out groups of four sticks. When he got down to fewer than four, he placed those between his ring and middle fingers, that hand beginning to resemble a pincushion or a cactus. Then he repeated the whole procedure with the pile on the right and put the final few between his middle and index fingers. After that he used a brush to note something on a piece of rice paper and, much to my dismay, began the whole ritual over again from the beginning until he had done it five more times. At that point he finally seemed satisfied, and I had to quickly come back from wherever my bored thoughts had taken me. Master Tzau's yellow eyes remained fixed on me as he pointed a curling nail at one of the etchings on the wall.
“There is your answer. That is your first figure, ‘Duration.’
“I looked over, and this is what I saw:
“Since there is an Old Yin in the sixth line,” he continued, “you also have a second figure, that one over there,” he said, pointing in another direction. “‘The Caldron.’ ”
I was completely confused. This oracle thing must have been intended solely for the Chinese, because I certainly didn't understand it. What was I supposed to do now, thank the master for that absurd prediction, according to which a very steadfast, long-lasting caldron was the answer to my question about the objectives of Wudang Taoists? The old man had pointed to two of the strange drawings on the walls, each consisting of six lines on top of one another, some of which were solid and others of which were broken in half, each with a Chinese ideogram on top that must have been its name. The ones that corresponded to me, thanks to that dance he had performed with the rods, was “Duration”—two broken lines, three solid lines, and finally another broken line—and “The Caldron”—one solid line, a broken line, three solid lines, and the last broken. That is, they were identical except for the top line. This led me to believe that must be the Old Yin on the sixth line the psychic had mentioned. Therefore, the hexagrams were read from bottom to top and not from top to bottom.
“You are one of those people,” the old man began, “who lives in a permanent state of unease. This has brought and still brings you great misfortune. You are not happy, you are not at peace, and you cannot find relief. ‘Duration’ speaks of how thunder and wind obey the perpetual laws of nature, as well as of the benefits of perseverance and having somewhere to go. Furthermore, the Old Yin on the sixth line indicates that your perseverance is affected by your unease and that your mind and spirit suffer a great deal because of your agitation. However, ‘The Caldron’ says that if you change your attitude, if you always act in moderation with regard to everything, your destiny will lead you to find the meaning of your life and to follow the proper path, on which you will attain great fortune and success.”
It wasn't exactly the answer to my question, but it came awfully close to a very good description of myself. Just as a river overflows as a result of torrential rains, I was beginning to slowly but unstoppably boil over as a result of this Chinese obsession with examining your soul and baring it all so you can make I don't know how many changes to your personality for I don't know what strange reasons. True, there was none of that horrible Christian morality I'd been raised with hidden behind their words, but I was far too proud to allow some white-haired Celestial to feel he had the right to tell me what I was doing wrong and what I should do to correct it. I had never allowed my family to do so, and I was not about to let strangers from another country do so now! Master Tzau, however, hadn't finished.
“The I Ching has told you things you should heed. The spiritual entities that speak through the Book of Changes only want to help us. Th
e universe has a plan that is far too big for us to understand. We see only little, inexplicable bits and are essentially blind. It was the former kings Fu Hsi and Yu who discovered the signs made of combinations of solid yang lines and broken yin lines that make up the sixty-four hexagrams of the I Ching, over five thousand years ago. King Fu Hsi discovered the signs that describe the internal order of the universe on the back of a horse that rose up out of the river Lo, while King Yu discovered the signs that explain how changes occur on the shell of a giant tortoise that emerged from the sea when the waters receded. King Yu was the only human who could control the rising waters and floods during the time of great rains that ravaged the earth. He often traveled to the stars to visit the heavenly spirits, and they were the ones who gave him the mythical Book of Power Over the Waters that allowed him to channel the waters and prevent the world from being inundated. Even today Taoist masters who practice the internal martial arts perform the supreme magic dance that took Yu to the heavens. It is a very powerful dance that should be interpreted with great care. Finally, I must tell you about King Wen, from the Shang36 dynasty. It was he who joined and mathematically combined the signs that King Fu Hsi and King Yu found, composing the sixty-four hexagrams of the I Ching that you see chiseled into the walls of this cave.”
Was it the hour of the Horse yet? I didn't want to seem rude and so pretended to be paying close attention to Master Tzau's speech, furrowing my brow and nodding my head. In reality, however, the only thing that concerned me just then was finding old Ming T'ien before lunch. I couldn't have cared less about those ancient Chinese kings and their universal floods. We in the West had had our flood, too, as well as our savior, Noah.
“And now you may go,” the master unexpectedly declared, closing his eyes and assuming the same pose of absolute concentration as when we'd arrived. He placed one hand over the other in front of his stomach and looked as if he were asleep. It was the sign I'd been waiting for. Biao and I, still a little surprised at the sudden end to that conversation, stood up and took the same labyrinth of a path back out of the cave. When I could once again hear the lovely sound of the rain and the thundering skies in the distance, my heart felt much relieved, and I quickened my pace in order to get out into the fresh, clean mountain air. Enclosed spaces were so asphyxiating—especially when they reeked of filth.
Once we had our umbrellas in hand, Biao and I looked at one another, disoriented.
“Do we know how to get back to the monastery?” I asked.
“We'll get somewhere,” Biao brilliantly deduced.
We wandered all over the mountain, at times taking trails that led to other caves or to springs where it was no wonder the water bubbled up in abundance. The mud stuck to our feet like heavy army boots. We could see the temple buildings off on the mountain slopes in front of us and tried to reach them but got lost time and time again. We finally came across a stretch of the Divine Corridor and followed it down, feeling immensely relieved. We washed our feet in puddles, but our canvas sandals were ruined, and we were barefoot by the time we reached the first of the palaces en route, a martial arts school for very young boys and girls. What looked like bags of sand and oddly shaped pieces of wood hung down from the roof for the children to use in their strange exercises, but we didn't stop to watch. I was anxious to speak with Ming T'ien. I was sure I'd be able to worm the second ideogram in the puzzle out of her. With two in our possession, the third would be as easy a pie, while the fourth and final, I thought with a smile, would be obvious through the process of elimination.
However, by the time we reached her temple, Ming T'ien was already resting after lunch. It turns out we'd been in the cave with Master Tzau and wandering on the mountainside for quite some time. A novice told us she wouldn't be back on her silk cushion until the hour of the Monkey.37 Biao and I were thus left no choice but to go back to the house empty-handed.
Lao Jiang was sitting comfortably in a corner of the patio watching the rain when we arrived. Huge, deafening booms of thunder rang out as if the sky itself were splitting in two. Everything vibrated and shook, but the antiquarian had a satisfied look on his face and grinned as we came through the door.
“Wonderful news, Elvira!” he announced, standing and walking toward us with open arms. The hem of his tunic was wet from the water on the ground.
“Well, that's good, because all I got was my future told,” I exclaimed desolately, leaning my umbrella up against the wall.
Lao Jiang seemed quite impressed. “Who did that?”
“The abbot wanted me to visit this Master Tzau who lives in an underground cave inside a mountain.”
“What an honor!” he murmured. “If I may say so, take whatever the master said very seriously.”
“You may, although oracles and mediums are not at all my cup of tea. Perhaps you'll be invited to visit his cave so the master can read your future.”
The antiquarian's face changed for a few seconds. I thought I saw fear in his eyes, a strange fear that disappeared as quickly as it came and left me wondering whether it had simply been my overactive imagination.
“What I can tell you,” I continued, perhaps a little too quickly, “is that the First Emperor ordered a great burning of books, and the I Ching was one of few that were saved.”
Lao Jiang nodded. “That's right. Shi Huang Ti ordered that all the texts from the Hundred Schools, the chronicles from previous kingdoms, all poetry, and all documents from the old archives be burned. His intention was to eliminate any trace of previous government systems. After unifying Everything Under the Sky and creating the Middle Kingdom, he wanted the old ideas to disappear and, with them, any attempt to return to the old ways.”
“That reminds me of your obsession with preventing an imperial restoration.”
The antiquarian looked down at the floor. “Shi Huang Ti was right to suspect that whenever there is progress in the world, there are also always dangerous nostalgics capable of anything, madame. If you don't believe me, just look at the military coup in your country, Big Luzon. That's why the First Emperor ordered that all books and files be burned. He wanted people to forget. However, we mustn't overlook the fact that he also ordered every citizen in his new empire to turn in his weapons to be destroyed. After smelting the bronze, the emperor had it made into enormous bells and twelve giant statues that he placed at the entrance to his palace in Xianyang. Ideas and weapons, Elvira. It makes sense, doesn't it?”
It was an odd question, especially because of the tone with which he'd asked it, but everything on that Mysterious Mountain was odd, and I was quite sure of my answer.
“Weapons, yes, Lao Jiang,” I replied, realizing I was famished and walking toward the dining room, “but books, no. Weapons kill. Remember our recent war in Europe. Books, on the other hand, nourish our minds and set us free.”
“But many of those minds get caught up in the web of dangerous ideas.”
I sighed. “Well, that's the way the world is. We can always try to make it better without killing or destroying. I'm surprised that a Taoist like you, who spared the lives of the Green Gang assassins at Yuyuan Gardens in Shanghai, would say such things.”
I sat down in front of my appetizing bowls of cold food, and Lao Jiang sat across from me. Biao had taken his into a corner, and Fernanda, naturally, wasn't there.
“I'm not defending weapons or death,” Lao Jiang replied. “All I'm saying is that we need to prevent old ideas from strangling new ones, that the world changes and evolves, and going back to the past has never made a nation great.”
“Look,” I said, bringing some rice to my mouth, “I'm not all that fond of politics or big speeches. Why don't you tell me that good news you mentioned when I arrived?”
His face lit up. “You're right. I apologize. Let me go get the book, and I'll read what I found while you eat.”
“Yes, please, do,” I encouraged, gobbling my vegetables with gusto, but he wasn't gone more than a few minutes. Soon he was back, seated again, wi
th an ancient Chinese tome open on his lap.
“Remember I once told you about Sima Qian, the most important Chinese historian of all times?”
I gestured in a way that meant nothing, because that's exactly what I remembered: nothing.
“When we were on the barge on the Yangtze,” he carried on, unperturbed, “I told you that in his book, Records of the Grand Historian, Sima Qian says that everyone involved in building the First Emperor's mausoleum died along with him. Do you remember?”
I nodded and kept eating.
“Well, this is a marvelous copy of the Shiji, or Records of the Grand Historian, by Sima Qian, written over two thousand years ago, shortly after the First Emperor's death. I knew they'd have a copy in Wudang. Believe me, there aren't many. This would be worth an absolute fortune,” he said, speaking like a true merchant now. “I asked for this particular book because I wanted to confirm the chronicler's information about the tomb, and it's the only documented source in existence. Listen to what I found in the part called The Basic Annals of the First Emperor of the Qin,” he said with a heavy sigh, and then began to read. “‘In the ninth month, the First Emperor was interred at Mount Li. When the emperor first came to the throne, he began digging and shaping Mount Li. Later, when he unified the empire, he had more than seven hundred thousand men from all over the empire transported to the spot. They dug down to the third layer of underground springs and poured in bronze to make the outer coffin. Replicas of palaces, scenic towers, and the hundred officials, as well as rare utensils and wonderful objects, were brought to fill up the tomb. Craftsmen were ordered to set up crossbows and arrows, rigged so they would immediately shoot down anyone attempting to break in. Mercury was used to fashion imitations of the hundred rivers, the Yellow River and the Yangtze, and the seas, constructed in such a way that they seemed to flow.’ ”
By this point I had stopped eating and was listening spellbound. Enough mercury to fashion rivers and seas? Replicas of palaces, towers, and officials, as well as wonderful objects and utensils? What exactly were we talking about here?