“Now what?”
“Now we rest. You're in no shape to move for at least a couple of days, and we have to arrange for Master Black Jade to return to Wudang. He won't be able to accompany us on the remainder of our journey, and we can't leave him here.”
“Is he that bad?”
“Both arms are broken, and he has a very deep gash on his right leg. He fought courageously and took the worst of it, but he'll certainly recover.
“Now that we've no soldiers,” Lao Jiang went on, “and Master Black Jade is going back to Wudang, we'll never survive another attack like last night's.”
“Can't you ask the Kuomintang or the Communists here for help?”
“Kuomintang in this part of China? No, Elvira. There are no Kuomintang or Communists here. We're at the top of the Qin Ling massif, remember? It's essentially cut off from the rest of the world, except for a steep, narrow mountain trail covered in snow. However, the good news is that if we stay off that trail and take another route, they won't be able to catch up to us, and if they lose our trail now, they won't be able to find us again. They don't know where we're going.”
“We're going to Xi'an,” Fernanda replied.
“Xi'an is very big, young Fernanda, as big as Shanghai, and we're not actually going to the city,” Lao Jiang said, ruining my plan to leave the children there. “The Green Gang has no idea what our destination is. Why do you think they wanted the jiance? They don't know where the mausoleum is.”
“But, Lao Jiang,” I objected—without blinking, so my head wouldn't explode—”how are we going to cross the mountains alone? Don't you remember what it took to get here? How will we survive if we don't follow the trail?”
“It's not far now, Elvira. Even in the worst possible weather, we're a week away from Xi'an at most, and it's all downhill from here. We have to prevent them from following us no matter what. It's all they can do, their only way of finding the tomb. I'm sure they've left spies in Shanghsien, people willing to follow us to the very entrance of the mausoleum. Do you want them to attack us there? Can you imagine? We have to take every possible precaution.”
“So there's someone out there waiting for us to set off once again,” I said. A strange exhaustion was closing my eyes, but I was afraid to fall asleep.
“This final stretch is the most important for them, because they don't have any other references. It's all over if they lose sight of us now, and I don't think they're that stupid. On the other hand, I don't suppose they thought last night's assault would fail, but we'd better watch ourselves very carefully just in case.”
“And how will we do that?” I asked. I was falling fast asleep and couldn't do anything to stop it.
“Well, we thought we'd do the following….”
I don't remember another thing.
I awoke that afternoon but didn't feel any better. I was barely able to take a sip of water. My niece told me Lao Jiang had paid the owner of the lü kuan for our lodging as well as for all the damage and had hired six expert porters to take Master Black Jade back to Wudang. In order to avoid problems with the Chinese authorities in Shang-hsien, he had also purchased a small plot of land on the outskirts and made arrangements with some peasants to bury the dead there as soon as it was possible—the ground was still frozen at this time of year. Meanwhile, the bodies would be kept on Mount Shangshan, in caves, which Lao Jiang also had to rent.
While she spoke, Fernanda tried to feed me as if I were a small child, but I simply couldn't swallow a thing. Out of curiosity I passed my hand lightly over the bandage that covered the swelling on my head, and not only did I see stars, but I got quite a fright when I discovered that the bump was exactly as big as the broad side of an egg. What a knock that beast of a Shaolin, mandarin, or whatever he was had given me. He had, of course, paid a high price for being an idiot. Well, too bad for him. If he'd only chosen a more peaceful profession he would still be alive.
The next morning, however, I woke feeling much better. My head still throbbed, but I was able to get up out of the k'ang. I had to be extremely careful washing my face, because the whole left side hurt, and then at breakfast every mouthful caused me to cry out in pain. Later I wandered through the lü kuan, watching the servants try to repair all the damage that had been caused during the battle—it was a great deal. It looked as if a tornado had blown through or, worse, as if there'd been an earthquake like the one that had destroyed Japan three months earlier, when Fernanda and I arrived in Shanghai. It was amazing to think we'd been traveling through China in search of the lost tomb of some ancient emperor for that amount of time, but as hard as it was to believe, my callused feet and strong legs left no doubt. I continued to wander around the lü kuan until, unexpectedly, I found myself in front of a large octagonal mirror with a trigram carved on each side of the frame—the I Ching hexagrams consisted of six lines, while these had only three, but they seemed closely related. I couldn't help but yelp in horror when I saw my reflection. The bandage made me look just like the wounded soldiers who came back to Paris during the war, but even worse was the blue-black swelling that distorted the left half of my face (eye, lips, and ear included). I'd become a monster. If the much-talked-about Taoist moderation was ever going to do me good, it was undoubtedly now. It had nothing to do with being ugly, beautiful, or deformed: It was the realization that he could have killed me with that blow called an “Iron Fist.” My face was absolute proof of it. I could be dead, I kept repeating to myself as I examined myself carefully. I knew that as long as that enormous bruise was still there, I'd best make use of moderation, wu wei, and moderation again.
New guests started arriving at the lü kuan that afternoon. At first it was just two or three men, but within a short while entire families streamed in as if it were a celebration. By night the inn was full; in fact, there weren't enough tables for everyone and hardly enough chairs. It must have been an avalanche of unexpected visitors or a large group of merchants traveling with their wives and children.
As soon as the servants had brought us our dinner, Lao Jiang cast a satisfied look around the dining room and exclaimed, “Well then, here are our protectors. I don't think anyone's missing.”
Fernanda and Master Red seemed to know what was going on, because they smiled and kept eating, but I didn't have the faintest idea what Lao Jiang was talking about.
“You fell asleep when I started to tell you our plan,” he said, diving heartily into his rice soup. “We invited all these peasants from the surrounding areas for dinner. Do you see that man there?” he asked, pointing to a tall, thin, elderly man. “He'll be me, and that woman over there is you, Elvira. The innkeeper's daughter will cut her hair to look like yours. That man will be Master Red Jade, and the tall boy on his right will be Biao. I still haven't decided which of those two girls will be Fernanda. Who do you think looks more like her? Don't pay any attention to their faces; that's the least of it. Look at body shape and height. They'll all leave Shang-hsien in about three hours, in the middle of the night, heading toward Xi'an, with a few of our horses.”
“So that's the plan. Doubles will take our place while we remain safe inside the lü kuan.”
“No, we won't stay in the lü kuan. We'll leave as soon as Biao tells us the spies have followed that group or, if that doesn't happen, a few hours after they've gone.”
“But what if these people have talked? What if the supposed spies already know what we're planning?”
“How could they?” he replied happily. “Our own doubles don't even know yet!”
The man never ceased to amaze me. I must have had a blank look on my face, although because of my swelling, you might not have been able to tell the difference.
“All these people are very poor,” the antiquarian explained. “Master Red Jade and I invited the neediest of the peasants. There's no chance they'll refuse when I show them what we're willing to pay.”
And indeed they did not refuse. While Fernanda and I finished our dinner and Biao came back from t
he kitchen, Lao Jiang and Master Red went from table to table closing deals and making payments. They also gave money to everyone else who was present, so no arguments would arise and no one would decide to rob us. Our impersonators followed us to our rooms, and less than half an hour later they were dressed in our clothing, had their hair combed like ours, and were wearing our hats, sheepskin coats, and boots (magnificent leather boots we'd been given in Wudang, lined with heavy wool and a thick leather sole for the snow). Luckily, we had extras of almost everything. Our doubles looked so good that even I might not have noticed the difference if I didn't look at their faces. They seemed very willing to do their well-paid work: to walk all night long and all the next day, not even stopping to eat. Then they could go back to their homes. By that time we'd have gotten far enough away that the Green Gang wouldn't be able to catch up to us.
I made sure Biao dressed warmly before he left the lü kuan through the woodshed. He was going to spend the next few hours hiding beside the trail that led to Xi'an, in the middle of the night and in the snow, and I didn't want him to freeze to death. Then our doubles left. The woman who was pretending to be me had protested loudly, because, she said, I had such a strange walk that it was hard for her to imitate. It wasn't because she had “Golden Lilies” (it was rare for girls from poor families to suffer that monstrous deformity, because they'd have to work in the fields with the men when they were older), but because I moved my whole body when I walked, especially my hips, and she'd never seen such a thing. The woman practiced in our room until she was satisfied. So did the young girl who was playing Fernanda.
Biao returned less than an hour later, nervous and shivering from the cold, with the news that a couple of men had indeed followed our doubles as soon as they left Shang-hsien.
“It's time!” the antiquarian exclaimed, quickly putting on his coat. “Let's go!”
We mounted the remaining horses and left Shang-hsien. Those of us who didn't know how to ride had to swallow our fear, keep our balance, and hold on to the reins as best we could. The mules loaded with the rest of the boxes and bags followed meekly behind, and one of the locals who'd been paid at the lü kuan led the way. The good man took us along a narrow trail that encircled the city, along the Danjiang River and slightly up the side of Shangshan Mountain. After a few hours, Lao Jiang stopped his horse in the middle of a thick forest of pines, dismounted, and spoke with our guide. The children were holding up well despite the late hour and freezing temperatures. I was the one having the most trouble: The cold air on the left side of my face felt like a knife slicing my skin into thin ribbons.
The guide left us there, and Lao Jiang and Master Red conferred for quite a while. In the faint light of a waning moon, they consulted something the size and shape of a plate that looked like a compass. We then continued on through the forest, following a nonexistent path in an unknown direction. The sun rose, but we didn't stop for breakfast, nor did we stop for lunch; we simply ate without dismounting. When the sun began to set and I started to think we'd never get off those poor animals, the antiquarian finally ordered a rest. Nothing in the landscape had changed through the entire day. We were still surrounded by trees, with snow up to our ankles, but now that it was nightfall, a mysterious fog slid softly between the trunks. We made camp there, and the next day was identical, as was the next. Nothing differentiated the time: trees and more trees, scrub peeking through the snow, the horses’ hooves sinking into it with a dry, insistent crunch; a fire at night to scare off wild animals—felines and bears—and to prepare the night's dinner and the morning's breakfast. We erased all signs of our passing before mounting and continuing on our way. Occasionally Master Red would stay behind for a while, crouching down in the trees to make sure no one was following us. The children were always sort of dazed, lulled almost to sleep by the monotonous swaying of the horses. The only time they woke a little was when we did tai chi, but they soon fell back into their torpor. By the end of our eight-day journey, we'd crossed four or five rivers, some not very deep and others so wide and with such swift currents that we had to rent rafts to reach the other side.
The first sign that we were reaching more “civilized” areas was the apocalyptic vision of villages that had been razed or burned to the ground with the unmistakable tracks in the snow of passing military troops and gangs of bandits. Things were getting more difficult. We didn't have much food left, just a little bread that we soaked in our tea and some dry crackers. Fernanda gave me the happy news that my bump was noticeably smaller and that the left half of my face had turned a lovely shade of green. At least I was beginning to heal. Since we were still hiding from people and didn't want to be seen, we continued to take absurd detours with the help of that strange compass called a luo p'an, made out of a broad wooden plate with a magnetic needle in the center that pointed south. It was the strangest Chinese artifact I had seen so far, and I was determined to draw it at the first opportunity. The plate contained between fifteen and twenty narrow, delicately carved concentric circles, each ring containing trigrams, Chinese characters, and strange symbols, some in red ink and others in black. It was very pretty, utterly original, and Master Red, who owned it, explained that it was used to discover the energies of the earth and calculate the forces of feng shui, although we were using it for a much more vulgar purpose: to guide us to the First Emperor's mausoleum.
Finally, toward the end of the first week of December, having left the mountains and the snow behind, we came to a one-horse town called T'ieh-lu, where we stocked up on provisions in a little shop inside the railway station.
As soon as we'd left, Lao Jiang pointed to a mountain in the distance and announced, “There's Li Shan, the Mount Li that Sima Qian mentions in his chronicle regarding Shi Huang Ti's tomb. We'll be at the dam on the Shahe River in a few hours.”
He sounded so optimistic and encouraging. The end of our long journey was approaching, and precisely for that reason my stomach flipped in fear: We'd reach the Shahe dam only if we'd managed to trick the Green Gang, and if we hadn't, the next few hours were going to be extremely dangerous. In any event, arriving at the dam wasn't exactly a panacea. An undesirable dive into frozen waters and arrows fired by Shi Huang Ti's phantom army awaited us there. No matter how you looked at it, it was going to be a perilous afternoon.
Master Red, who even at this point on our journey still didn't know exactly where we were headed, showed interest when he heard the bit about the dam on the Shahe River. As a precautionary measure (although I'd say it was more of a misguided sense of distrust), Lao Jiang had refused to show the jiance to the brothers Red and Black or tell them about the clues Sai Wu had left to help his son get into the mausoleum and guide him through it. All poor Master Red knew was what Sima Qian said in his Basic Annals, and he was the only one of us who knew nothing about the cold bath that lay ahead.
The children, on the other hand, couldn't have been happier. As far as they were concerned, the best, most exciting part of the past few months was drawing near. This was a fantastic adventure with a considerable treasure for a prize at the end. What more could you ask for at thirteen and seventeen years of age? It had always been my intention to keep them safe, but things kept going wrong. I felt terribly guilty about exposing them to the same risks and dangers we would face inside the tomb. If anything were to happen to Fernanda or Biao … I didn't want to even think about it. And all this was to pay debts that weren't even mine. The law that burdened me with Rémy's financial problems was absolutely unfair. None of this would be happening if only he'd been responsible. Suddenly, I don't know why, I thought of the advice Lao Jiang had given me when we were in Nanking and learned that Paddy Tichborne's leg would have to be amputated: “Let me give you your first lesson in Taoism, madame: Learn to see the good in the bad and the bad in the good. They're both the same thing, like yin and yang.” What could have been the good in all that? I couldn't see it, to be honest, and it was amid these dark thoughts that we passed through great, empty fields
that must have yielded rich crops for their owners in more peaceful times but now lay abandoned. All the peasants had fled, and a great loneliness hung over the land.
We still hadn't seen the Shahe River when Master Red pointed out a verdant hill approximately 150 feet high, strangely alone in a vast stretch of farmland, the five Siamese peaks of Mount Li silhouetted behind.
“We've done it!” Lao Jiang exclaimed, standing up in his stirrups to get a better look from that distance. We all smiled happily, filled with emotion.
“Trees and bushes were planted to give the appearance of a mountain,” Sima Qian had written. The description was a little pretentious, since it didn't exactly look like a mountain, but it was certainly impressive to think that the tomb of the First Emperor of China, lost for two thousand years, was there, under that insignificant, low hillock. The truly incredible part was that we were going to be the first to go inside.
Suddenly something seemed to infuriate Lao Jiang.
“We should already be alongside the Shahe,” he said. “According to the map, it flowed from Mount Li toward the river Wei, behind us. But there's no water here.”
“The Shahe River doesn't exist?” I asked, perplexed.
“It might have dried up over the last twenty-two hundred years,” he grumbled. “Who knows?”
Increasingly worried, we continued heading south, with the mausoleum on our right. Not a river could be seen anywhere in that vast space and, what was worse, no dam, no artificial lake…. We should have been looking right at it but weren't; only wasteland stretched between there and the slopes of Mount Li.
Devastated, we stopped a little while later at the spot Sai Wu had mentioned in the jiance as the place to dive in. After surveying the land for as long as we could, until the sun went down, Master Red, Lao Jiang, and I came to the conclusion that the dam had existed sometime in the past. We discovered slight elevations in the ground that coincided with the big oblong shape on the map and a depression in the middle that seemed to indicate that there had indeed been a lake there at some point. Time and nature had undoubtedly eroded and finally destroyed the dam and any other works or diversions the First Emperor's engineers may have made to the Shahe. Only after reluctantly admitting to this distressing situation did we prepare to spend the night, already enveloped in complete darkness. It was a new moon, and so we didn't light a fire to prepare dinner or warm ourselves; it would have been far too visible across that immense, empty plain. In silence we ate some of what we'd bought that morning at the small store in the train station, and though it was bitterly cold and there was nothing to do but go to sleep, none of us moved.