“Just tell me the answer to the abbot's puzzle!” I cried out impatiently.
“Your dear Ming T'ien has been telling you the truth. This book has only four chapters, and I bet you can guess what they're called.”
“‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Peace,’ and ‘Health’?” I ventured.
Lao Jiang laughed. “No. You would have failed the test.”
“‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Health,’ and ‘Peace’?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Let me summarize: According to Master Hsien, Taoists are to be happy first and foremost. This happiness will lead them to wish for a long life in order to enjoy that well-being and satisfaction for a very long time. Using Taoist techniques to attain longevity, some of which you already know, they also attain good health. This is very important, because they can't be happy if they're in poor health. Therefore, when they're happy and they know that they're going to live a long, healthy life, thanks to their daily efforts to develop certain physical and mental qualities, then and only then do they aspire to peace, an inner peace that allows them to cultivate the Taoist virtue of wu wei.”
“Wu wei?”
“Inaction. It's a difficult concept for you Westerners to grasp. It means not acting in the face of life events.” He softly stroked his forehead, searching for a way to explain that wasn't as simple as just calling it idleness. “Wu wei isn't the same as passivity, although it might seem that way to you now. Given that his mind is at peace, a wise Taoist lets things happen as they will, without interfering. By renouncing the use of force, heightened emotions, and ambition for material things, he discovers that trying to affect destiny is like stirring up the water in a pond and muddying it. If, on the other hand, his action consists of not stirring up the pond, leaving it be, the water will remain clear or will clear up on its own. The inaction of wu wei doesn't mean not acting, but rather always doing so with Taoist moderation, withdrawing discreetly once the job has been done.”
“That bit about moderation, did you throw that in for any particular reason?”
He looked at me, amused, and shook his head. “The extent of your distrust is truly amazing, Chang Cheng,” he said, using the nickname I'd been given on the Mysterious Mountain. How had he heard it when he'd been shut up in the study all day long? “So says the Tao Te Ching, as you know, in a beautiful piece that was offered to you as a gift. Well now, we'd better send word to the abbot and ask for a meeting to see whether or not we're correct.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I asked, horrified, realizing then that control over emotions and wu wei would never be a part of my life.
“It's nearly dawn,” he replied. “The abbot will have been performing the morning ceremonies for hours already.”
“I've had absolutely no sense of time since we arrived in Wudang,” I admitted. “Those double Chinese hours with animal names just confuse me.”
“That is the true Chinese way of telling time. The only place it's no longer used is in territory occupied by you Westerners,” Lao Jiang replied as he got to his feet. “Biao, go to Purple Cloud Palace and ask for an audience with the abbot. Say we've solved the puzzle.”
“Perhaps I should visit Ming T'ien to confirm the last two ideograms before we speak with the abbot,” I proposed.
“Do,” he agreed, stifling a yawn. “I think I'll be able to sleep for a while, knowing we have the answer. I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help. I'm glad you encouraged me to leave feng shui and look in Taoist texts from Wudang. Soon we'll have the third and final piece of the jiance.”
Surprisingly, my niece was absolutely indifferent to the news. Perhaps, deep down, her transformation had merely been one of self-interest.
“So we'll be leaving Wudang soon?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “I'm not ready to leave my classes yet.”
During breakfast the sun struggled to break through layers of thick clouds on that first morning without rain.
“Biao and I could stay here,” she stubbornly proposed. The boy's eyes lit up, but he didn't dare say a word. He'd just come back from the abbot's palace with the news that a servant would come to accompany us to the meeting at the hour of the Snake.40
“You will go where I go, Fernanda,” I declared, mustering patience. I was the one who had wanted her to stay in Shanghai with Father Castrillo to keep her out of harm's way, and she was the one who had fought not to leave my side. Now she was willing to watch me leave with Lao Jiang and the soldiers just so she could stay in Wudang. “How can I leave you all alone in this Taoist monastery out in the middle of China?”
“Well, I don't know why not, Auntie. We're safer here than anywhere else. Besides, you don't need Biao and me to find the tomb of that darned Emperor Ti Huang … whatever.”
“The case is closed, Fernanda,” I said, raising my hand in the air. “I will not allow you to stay here. Off you go to your classes, but you're to return with Biao as soon as he comes to get you.”
She didn't hesitate and strode out of the room without finishing her breakfast. A sleepy-looking Lao Jiang appeared just then. That was the first morning I'd done tai chi on my own, and although I'd made one mistake after another, the solitude in those serene mountains was magnificent.
“Ni hao,” the antiquarian said. “What news have you got?”
“In an hour—a Western hour, that is—one of the abbot's servants will come to take us to Purple Cloud Palace.”
“Ah, perfect!” he exclaimed happily, sitting down to breakfast. “Didn't you want to visit Ming T'ien first?”
“We were just leaving, weren't we, Biao?” I replied as I got out of my chair. I wasn't sure the old nun would be on her satin cushion that early, but I had to try. It might be the last time I saw her.
We walked down the still-wet cobbled streets, puffs of steam coming out of our mouths. Monks dressed in long black tunics were sweeping the corridors, bridges, patios, palaces, and steps of Wudang, trying to get rid of all the accumulated mud. The cold was revitalizing, and the views after so many days of rain were positively intoxicating. As we passed a path along a cliff, a carpet of white clouds lay several hundred feet below us. Ming T'ien's temple was visible in the distance, across a bridge, on a slope. Wudang was so enormous that the scenery changed each day. This was a city, a mysterious city, in which peace filled your lungs with every breath of fresh air. Deep down, my niece was right: I wouldn't have minded staying awhile to reflect calmly on everything I'd seen and heard, but above all to reconsider the things I'd learned and dismissed perhaps a bit too quickly and with too many built-in prejudices.
Just then my heart leaped with happiness when I saw the little figure of the old nun sitting on the portico.
“Hurry!” I urged Biao, and we both quickened our pace.
As soon as we reached her, much to my surprise, Ming T'ien gave us a stern reprimand.
“Why are you always running from place to place?” she spit out angrily. Biao's soft tone when interpreting was far from the foul-tempered one she had used to address me.
“Forgive me, Ming T'ien,” I replied, futilely bowing with my hands in front of my forehead. “Today is a very special day, and we're in a bit of a hurry.”
“What does that matter? Do you think the sculptures of tortoises all over the monastery are just for decoration? The tortoise lives a long life because it isn't hurried. This is a lesson you need to learn. Repeat after me: Haste shortens your life.”
“Haste shortens your life,” I repeated in Chinese.
“That's better,” she said, breaking into a wide smile. “I want you to remember that when you're far away from here, Chang Cheng. Will you do that?”
“I will, Ming T'ien,” I promised, not entirely convinced.
“Good. That makes me very happy,” she said, her white eyes turning back to the mountains. “I sense we won't have another opportunity to speak, but I'm glad you came to say good-bye.”
How did she know?
“You mu
st be on your way to Purple Cloud Palace,” she added. “Little Xu will receive you soon.”
“Little Xu?” I asked. She couldn't be speaking of Xu Benshan, the great abbot of Wudang, could she?
She laughed. “I still remember the day he came to these mountains,” she explained. “Like me, he has never left, and he never will.”
How did she know all this? How did she know we'd solved the puzzle? How did she know we had an audience with the abbot?
“I don't want you to be late, Chang Cheng,” she admonished once again. “I know you need to confirm the order of the ideograms, so tell me, what's the correct answer?”
“‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Health,’ and ‘Peace.’ ”
She smiled. “Go on,” she said, waving her hand as if swatting a fly. “Your destiny awaits.”
“But is that right?” I asked uncertainly.
“Of course it's right!” she snapped. “Now, go! I'm getting tired.”
Biao and I turned and began to walk away. I was filled with sadness. I would have liked to stay and learn more from Ming T'ien.
“Remember me when you're my age!” she shouted, and then I heard her laugh. I turned to look at her and wave good-bye, even though I knew she couldn't see me. It was worth taking a few years off my life to hurry away before I couldn't see through my tears. Remember me when you're my age, she had said. I smiled. Was she trying to say I'd live to be 112, like her? In that case I'd die in far-off 1992 no less, almost at the end of the century that had just begun. I was laughing by the time we got back to the house and kept laughing as we headed to “Little Xu's” palace, accompanied by a richly dressed servant.
Purple Cloud Palace was even more impressive than the first time I saw it, the day we arrived in the downpour. The sky was still leaden, but, thankfully, not a drop of rain fell as we crossed the long bridge over the moat and climbed the magnificent staircase all the way up to the third level. The abbot received us once again in the Library Pavilion, sitting at the far end with the utmost dignity, flanked by the thousands of bamboo-slat jiances piled in rolls down both sides of the hall now illuminated by the light coming in through the windows covered in rice paper. There were no torches or fire this time, just the four big stone tiles set in front of the abbot, their smooth backs facing us.
After walking with the short steps required by protocol until we had gone as far as we were allowed, the monks who had accompanied us withdrew, bowing deeply. My eyes were again drawn to the enormous platform soles of the abbot's black velvet shoes, but now, in the natural light, the shine of his blue silk tunic caught my attention even more.
“Good news?” Xu Benshan asked softly.
“As if he doesn't know!” I mumbled quietly as Lao Jiang took a step toward the stone tiles. Pointing at them, the antiquarian said, “‘Happiness,’ ‘Longevity,’ ‘Health,’ and ‘Peace.’ ”
“Little Xu” nodded his assent and placed his right hand in the wide left sleeve of his tunic. My heart raced when I saw him pull out an old roll of slats held together by green silk threads. It was the third piece of the jiance.
With great ceremony the abbot stood and walked down the three stairs while two monks dressed in purple turned the tiles so we could confirm our answer. There they were, in order: the ideogram fu, “Happiness,” the one with the arrows and the squares; then shou, “Longevity,” with its multiple horizontal lines; next k'ang, “Health,” the trident piercing the little man; and finally an, “Peace,” its protagonist dancing the fox-trot.
The abbot walked past the tiles and reached out to hand Lao Jiang the last piece of the jiance written by the architect and engineer Sai Wu over two thousand years earlier. Up close, Xu Benshan seemed very young, a boy almost, but my eyes left his face to follow the jiance as it passed from his hand to Lao Jiang's. It was ours. Now we'd know how to find the First Emperor's tomb.
“Thank you, Abbot,” I heard the antiquarian say.
“You are welcome to enjoy our hospitality as long as you like. The most difficult part of your journey is about to begin. Do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you need.”
We bowed deeply in thanks, and as the abbot stood watching, Lao Jiang, Biao, and I began the slow, interminable walk out of the palace, barely able to contain our desire to run and examine the anxiously awaited trophy outside. We finally had the third piece! And from what I could tell at a glance, it was identical to the two already in our possession.
“Let's not open it until we're at the house,” Lao Jiang said, lifting the slats victoriously in the air. “I want to put all three together for a complete reading.”
“Biao!” I said jubilantly. “Go find Fernanda, and the two of you get back as quick as you can.”
Chapter
4
The table in the study was now completely cleared of books, and for the first time since that night in 1662 when the Prince of Gui severed the silk threads that held the bamboo slats together, separating it into three pieces that he instructed his most trusted friends to hide all along the Yangtze, those pieces of the old letter written by the architect Sai Wu were once again reunited. As we suspected, the last piece indicated the location of the First Emperor's tomb, as well as how to enter without setting off what we now knew were automatic crossbows and dangerous mechanical traps placed to keep tomb raiders out (to keep us out, that is). A full reading of the jiance was thus very important. Even Fernanda, who hurried back as soon as Biao found her, was visibly nervous, leaning over the slats as if she could understand what she was looking at. Lao Jiang was forced to order her to move back before sitting down and placing his glasses on his nose. The rest of us gathered behind him in complete silence and peered over his shoulder.
“What does the new piece say?” I asked after quite some time.
The antiquarian slowly shook his head. “These ideograms are a little smaller than the others, and some I can't read at all because the ink has smudged,” he finally replied.
“Just what we needed,” I murmured, inching a bit closer. “Read what you can.”
He grunted something unintelligible and reached a hand out toward Biao. “Pass me the magnifying glass that's over there on those books.” The boy raced to get it and was back before the antiquarian had even finished his sentence.
“Let's see, then…. Here it says, ‘When you, my son, arrive at the mausoleum, all of us who worked on it will have been sacrificed, and no one will remember its location.’ ”
“How old did Sai Wu think his orphan son would be when he went to the tomb?” Fernanda asked, surprised at how quickly the architect thought a work of that magnitude and importance would be forgotten.
“I imagine after he'd come of age, as it says in the first piece,” Lao Jiang replied, taking his glasses off to look at her. “Somewhere between eighteen and twenty years after he sent the boy to live with his friend in … where was it? Chaoxian? Yes, Chaoxian,” he confirmed by looking at the first piece. “But it's not surprising no one could recall where the First Emperor's tomb was after such a short time. Remember, only those condemned to forced labor and their bosses, the architects and engineers, were ever on that site, and all of them died with Shi Huang Ti when they were buried alive. The common people—or ‘black-headed ones,’ as free men were called—never knew where the construction site was. The only ones who did know the secret were the ministers and the imperial family, who had to perform the funeral rites. However, they all died within three years after Shi Huang Ti, as a result of court conspiracies, peasant revolts, and uprisings by former feudal lords. The dynasty our First Emperor founded for ten thousand years barely lasted three.”
“Could you continue reading, please?” I asked, bringing my hands to my waist in a very Spanish gesture that took me by surprise.
“Of course,” the antiquarian said, putting his glasses back on and holding the magnifying glass over the slats. “Where was I? Ah, yes, here. ‘Look at the map, Sai Shi Gu'er. The secret entrance is in the artificial lake for
med by the dam on the Shahe River. Dive in where I have indicated and descend four ren—’ ”
“Hold on! Hold on!” I exclaimed, pulling one of the stools over so I could sit comfortably. “We'd better take a closer look at this map. I haven't been able to make heads or tails of it no matter how hard I try. Perhaps now, with Sai Wu's directions, we'll actually be able to understand these blotches of ink.”
Lao Jiang turned to look at me, smiling. “But it's perfectly clear, Elvira. Look, take a good look at this square here,” he said, pointing to a tiny mark in the upper left- hand corner of the map. “Inside, it says ‘Xianyang,’ former capital of the first Chinese empire, Shi Huang Ti's city. It's only logical to assume that the mausoleum would be relatively nearby, no more than sixty miles in any direction. Xianyang is likely nothing more than a pile of ruins today, if anything's left at all. However, not far away is the metropolis of Xi'an, which is erroneously assumed to be the old capital. As you can see, Xi'an doesn't appear on this map, and that proves its authenticity, because the city wasn't founded until years after Shi Huang Ti died.”
“And is Xi'an very far from here, from Wudang?”
Lao Jiang tilted his head pensively. “I estimate it's about the same distance as from Hankow, heading westnorth,” he finally said. “Xi'an is the capital of neighboring Shensi41 province to the north, and Wudang is on the border, so it's likely … about two hundred forty miles, maybe less. The hardest part will be the mountains. You see, the Qin Ling mountain range divides Wudang and Shensi, so we'll need another month or month and a half to get there.”
It wasn't going to be easy, I thought desolately. In the middle of the rainy season, with winter coming on, we'd have to cross a mountain range that would surely be even more fearsome than Wudang with its seventy-two high, sheer peaks.