“In reality, hundreds of crossbows didn't fire,” I commented in surprise, “just one.”
Why just one? Would Sai Wu mislead his son, especially to warn him of a danger far beyond what was real? I didn't think so. Therefore, he truly believed that hundreds of arrows would be fired when Sai Shi Gu'er stepped on the black floor of the palace. If he believed that, then he had actually ordered that hundreds of crossbows be placed behind the walls, even if he didn't know how they would work.
“What would happen if we threw the bag somewhere else?” I asked out loud.
“What do you mean?”
“Pass me my bag,” I said to Lao Jiang, because he was closer. He reached out carefully and got it. I rashly pulled the arrow out and threw my bag on the tiles again, this time to the right. An arrow appeared from the far east wall and plunged in with the same precision and force as the first, but, surprisingly, this time it had been fired from eight hundred to a thousand feet away and at another angle. After hesitating for a few seconds, I stood up, took my niece's bag out of her arms and Biao's as well. Using both hands, I threw one to each side, at different distances away from us. It was incredible: two bronze arrows appeared from the east and west walls and again hit the center of their targets. That thousand-year-old mechanism against tomb raiders not only had extraordinary aim, but it behaved exactly as if it had the eyes of a great archer.
Seeing what happened, Lao Jiang brought his hands to his head as if struggling to remember something important. He brushed his white hair back off his forehead again and again.
“It could be …” he finally said. “It could be a combination of earthquake detectors and automatic crossbows. I'm not entirely sure, but that's the most logical explanation. The detectors would register both vibrations in the ground as well as the point of origin and would activate the corresponding crossbow.”
“Lao Jiang, please,” I entreated. “What are you talking about? Earthquake detectors?”
“The dragons,” he asserted.
I didn't understand a word, and by the look on Biao's and Fernanda's faces, neither did they.
“What dragons? Those?” I asked, pointing to the two enormous dragons that flanked the altar where the coffin lay.
“Yes. We in China learned to detect earthquakes a long time ago. A few old seismoscopes can still be seen in Peking and even Shanghai. The first reference to such an invention is from the second century, although scholars have always suspected that a similar device had existed much further back. I think we have the proof of that here, in those dragons.”
“Why in the dragons?” Biao asked.
“Seismoscopes have always been built in the shape of a dragon. It may be because of the superstition around good luck, I'm not sure. The earthquake detector works by means of little metal balls in the animal's mouth. These vibrate in a certain way and in a certain number depending on the intensity of the tremor and where it occurred. They say the dragon in the Peking observatory could tell of earthquakes that occurred anywhere in China, so why couldn't an older mechanism detect simple footsteps inside a room?”
“You mean to say that … seismoscope,” I asked, “registers our steps on the black tiles and sets off the precise crossbow aimed at the place where the vibration occurred?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying.”
“And how many arrows could each crossbow fire?”
“Perhaps twenty or thirty, I'm not sure. The largest ones, for war, had to be transported by four men. They were used to hit targets at great distances, firing on a far-off enemy who could even be hidden behind walls or mountains. Every machine was equipped with twenty or thirty arrows placed on a horizontal bar underneath the bow so the crossbowmen could reload quickly.”
“Hundreds of those huge crossbows intended for war won't fit behind these walls. Weren't there other, smaller ones?”
“Yes, of course. You're right: The ones hidden behind these walls can't be that big. That would be absurd. They're probably small crossbows, the ones carried by a single bowman, and in that case they were equipped with no more than ten bronze arrows. That was the most a man could carry.”
“But there are no men here, Lao Jiang,” my niece objected. “It's just some sort of automatic mechanism.”
“Let's not complicate matters,” he said dismissively. “Wars then weren't like they are today, and machines weren't as sophisticated either. Most likely there'd have been a limited number of arrows per crossbow in an imperial mausoleum. How many attempts could be expected on a place like this? How many have there been over the last two thousand years?”
“I think I have the answer!” Master Red then exclaimed. We all turned to look at him. He was still sitting in the same position but had opened his small, wide-spaced eyes, and his head was tilted to look up at us.
“Really?” Biao asked admiringly.
Meanwhile, being a woman of little faith, I picked up the first arrow that had hit my bag and resolutely threw it at the bones of the Han servants, resulting in what could be considered a dusty sacrilege. Some of the remains and cloth flew into the air and fell on nearby tiles. The interesting part of this experiment was that only two arrows were fired from the north wall and another from the west. It was hard to know, but intuition told me that surely there should have been more. If I was right, it must indicate that the crossbows were emptied after firing only two or three times. I wasn't about to go and test my theory, but it was a point that could come in handy if Master Red, contrary to his assertions, really hadn't solved the problem.
“Have you had quite enough fun, Elvira?”
“Yes, Lao Jiang. I'm very sorry, Master Red Jade. Please, tell us what you've found.”
“You told me, Da Teh,” he began explaining, “that you could avoid the arrows by studying the founder of the Xia dynasty's achievements. I began thinking about the Xia dynasty and its founder, Emperor Yu, who carried out great works and innumerable feats such as being born of a father dead three years earlier, speaking with animals, knowing their secrets, raising mountains, becoming a bear at will, or, much more important, discovering on the shell of a giant tortoise the signs that explain how the changes in the universe occur.”
That was beginning to sound familiar. Wasn't it that Master Tzau, the old man in that cave in the heart of a mountain in Wudang, who told me about this Yu? Yes, yes, it was him. He told me that bit about the solid yang lines and broken yin lines that form the symbols of the I Ching and were discovered by Yu on the shell of a tortoise.
“None of this has any apparent relationship to the crossbows,” Master Red continued. “However, one of Emperor Yu's most important achievements does: containing and controlling the overflowing waters. He lived during the time of the great floods that ravaged the earth. The rains and rising water levels resulted in many deaths and destroyed crops. According to the Shanhai Jing, The Book of Mountains and Seas—”
“You also have a copy of—”
“Lao Jiang, please!” I cut him off. Was there a single ancient book that didn't interest him?
“—the emperors of heaven and the celestial spirits ordered Yu to save the world from the dangerous waters. Why did they order Yu? Well, they knew him; he had often traveled up to heaven to visit them.”
“And how did he travel up to heaven?” Fernanda asked, intrigued. “By means of a dance,” I said, remembering what Master Tzau had told me. Master Red smiled and nodded. “Yu had a magic dance that would take him up to the stars.”
“A dance that only a few of us who practice the internal arts know and is called the ‘Dance of Yu’ or the ‘Steps of Yu.’ ”
“I still don't see the connection,” the antiquarian protested.
“A dance, Lao Jiang!” I exclaimed, turning to face him. “Dance, steps …” He looked at me as if I'd gone crazy. “Steps, footsteps, tiles, crossbows, dragons … !”
His eyes grew wide, indicating that he had finally grasped what I was trying to say.
“Now I understand
,” he murmured. “But you're the only one who knows the steps to this dance, Master Red Jade. The rest of us can't start learning it now.”
“True, it is rather difficult,” Master Red admitted, “but you could follow me. You can step where I step, copying my gestures.”
“The gestures won't be necessary,” I noted.
“Will we be able to get our bags back?” Fernanda asked.
“That may be a problem,” I admitted remorsefully. If we didn't dance anywhere near them, they'd be lost forever, and it was my fault for tossing them so blithely.
“Shall we begin?” Master Red Jade encouraged.
“But what if that dance isn't the answer?” Biao asked worriedly. In addition to Lao Jiang's theories, the boy was picking up my neuroses.
“Then we'll think of something else,” I said, putting a hand on his back and pushing him toward the doors. “What worries me now is that we don't know where the starting point is, which tile to step on first.”
But Master Red had already thought of that. He bent over and calmly picked up a long bone from one of the Han servants that had fallen near the doorframe after I'd scattered them with the arrow.
“Get up against the walls, away from the doors,” Master Red Jade instructed. Any arrow that came out of the north wall and didn't find a target would fly out into the esplanade below, spearing whoever happened to be in its way. Master Red was the one who would be in danger, even though he lay on the ground, hidden behind the doorframe and also took cover behind his bundle, just in case. With the bone in his right hand, he hit every tile in the first row one after the other, slithering along like a snake from the first door on the right to the last one on the left, nearest us. The first tap filled our hearts with gladness: No arrows flew, but that's because Master Red had been unsure of how strong the bone was and tapped it too softly. The second tile set off an arrow from the north wall as expected. It flew out the door and over the stone balustrade on the terrace. The same thing happened with the next tile, and the next, and the next…. We didn't get discouraged no matter how slim our opportunities were becoming; we knew we were on the right track. Thus, when Master Red hit the same tile twice without an arrow's being fired from the other end, we all let out a happy whoop.
“It's here,” he said confidently. “The next one should be safe as well.”
And indeed he gave it a good knock, and no arrow flew through the air. “This is where the dance begins,” he announced as he got to his feet.
“Shouldn't you test the remaining tiles just to make sure you're right?” I suggested as we all stood behind him.
“The remaining tiles, madame, will set off arrows,” he said. “Are you sure? Then how do you plan to move forward?”
“Just be patient, Auntie. Let's see what happens.”
Master Red, in a surprising show of bravery, lifted one leg and then the other, setting one foot on each of the two contiguous tiles that hadn't rattled the little metallic balls in the dragons’ mouths. He had done it. He was inside and apparently safe.
“Get down on the floor, children,” I ordered as I lay flat and watched Lao Jiang follow suit. “Master Red, first test the next tile you're going to step on, and try to get out of the line of fire, please.”
Since none of us dared lift our heads, we couldn't see what was happening. All we heard were Master Red's steps and, so far, not a single whistling arrow. His footsteps moved farther away as he continued through the hall.
“Are you all right, Master Red Jade?” I shouted.
“Fine, thank you,” he replied. “I'm almost at the first set of stairs.”
“How are we going to follow him?” my niece asked worriedly. “I suppose he'll tell us what to do once he's at the other end.”
“But it'll be so easy to make a mistake,” she objected. “One wrong tile and it's all over.”
She was right. We had to change our strategy.
“Master Red Jade!” I shouted. “Could you come back?”
“Come back?” he asked. His voice sounded very far away.
“Yes, please,” I asked. We waited patiently, without moving, until we heard him arrive. Only then did we stand up with a sigh of relief.
“That went well, didn't it?” Lao Jiang asked, satisfied. “Very well.” Master Red nodded. “The Steps of Yu work.”
“Here, Master Red Jade,” I said, handing him my box of pencils. “Mark the tiles that are safe with a colored X so we'll know where to step.”
“But you can just follow me,” he objected. “You're not in any danger. Come with me now.”
I didn't like the idea. I didn't like it at all.
“Master Red Jade is right,” the antiquarian said. “Let's just go with him.”
“I'll mark the tiles in any event,” I said stubbornly, refusing to admit that this was going to be impossible, “in case we have to turn around and run out.”
That's how we had the great honor of learning to follow the Steps of Yu, a four-thousand-year-old magic dance that was capable of taking ancient Chinese shamans up to heaven.
Lao Jiang followed Master Red, I went next, then Fernanda, and finally Biao. When my turn came, I was shaking from head to toe as I stepped on the first two tiles. The next step was diagonally to the left on just one foot and then hopping on the same foot two tiles ahead. Next was another diagonal step to the right and three more hops on the right foot; another three on the left; three more on the right; another three on the left; and at last, both feet next to one another, like at the beginning. Master Red told us this first sequence was called “Steps on the Heavenly Scale” and the next was “Pacing the Big Dipper,” which consisted of one jump diagonally to the right, one more ahead, another to the left, and three ahead, as if drawing the shape of a ladle.
Basically, those were the Steps of Yu, and repeating both series, we reached the first staircase, where we were relieved to find no crossbows aimed at us. By this time we'd retrieved my bag and Biao's, but not Fernanda's. It had fallen too far from where our dance had taken us. The girl was sulking and looked at me so insistently that I knew I had to somehow get that bag or put up with her reproaches for the rest of my life. Since this would clearly have been harmful to my health, I madly tried to think of a way to rescue that lost bundle. I consulted with Lao Jing in a whisper. After assuring me that such an effort was ridiculous, he grudgingly said he'd take care of it. The antiquarian opened up his bag of tricks and pulled out the hundred-treasure chest as well as a very thin, extremely long line of some sort. He tied a knot around one of the gold pieces from the chest, a pendant earring on what looked like a fishhook.
“If you catch it with that,” I warned, “you'll set off all the crossbows when you drag the bag across the tiles.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“We'd better lie flat on the stairs,” I said, turning to address the others. Everyone hurried to obey me. There were only three stairs, but since they were so long, we all fit on the first and safest one. Lao Jiang moved to the left of the bag and onto the second stair, so that when he tossed the line, it was nearly horizontal. He made his first attempt. Luckily, the earring didn't weigh enough to cause the balls of the seismoscope to vibrate, because the antiquarian's aim left a lot to be desired. When he finally hooked Fernanda's bag, we heard the unpleasant sound of chains and the sharp whistling of arrows just above our heads.
We reached the second set of stairs and rested. The light wasn't as good there as it had been at the start. That final stretch was an absolute nightmare. I sweated buckets from the effort, the nerves, and the very reasonable fear of making a mistake. The lines between the tiles were hard to distinguish, and we took each step guided purely by intuition, but we made it. Everyone arrived safe and sound, and I don't remember a nicer sensation than putting my foot on the first of many stairs leading up to the altar and the coffin. I was overjoyed. The children were fine, Master Red and Lao Jiang were fine, and I was fine. It had been the longest, most exhausting dance of my lif
e.
The children shouted enthusiastically and ran up the stairs to look at the coffin. For a moment I was afraid something might happen to them, that there would be some other death trap on that first level of the mausoleum, but Sai Wu hadn't mentioned anything of the sort in the jiance, so I decided not to worry. The adults followed the children, just as pleased but more restrained. “Haste shortens your life,” Ming T'ien had said. Master Red, Lao Jiang, and I were the very embodiment of moderation at this thrilling time.
The stone altar on which the coffin lay was shaped like a double bed, only three times as big. There was not only a black-lacquered rectangular casket finely decorated with dragons, tigers, and clouds of gold, but also fifteen or twenty medium-size coffins separated by those little tea tables that sit on Chinese sofas. Around the coffin, beautiful brocade cloths covered pyramids of something, and several dozen jade soldiers and fantastic animals were lined up all over the surface. There were also ceramic vessels, mother-of-pearl brushes and ornamental combs, lovely burnished bronze mirrors, cups, and knives inlaid with turquoise. Everything was covered in just a thin layer of dust, as if it had been cleaned a week earlier.
Taking great care not to break anything, Lao Jiang leaped nimbly onto the altar to open the coffin. He undid the latch, but the lid was too heavy for him to lift on his own. Biao jumped up beside him, and although the two of them were able to lift it an inch or so, they finally had to let it go. Master Red, Fernanda, and I climbed up onto the altar as well, and this time, between the five of us, we were able to open the stubborn sarcophagus, only to discover that it contained just an impressive set of armor. Made of small stone plates joined together like fish scales, it was complete with shoulder guards, breast and back plates, and a long skirt. There was even a helmet with an opening for the face and a neck guard. It may well have been a funeral offering of great worth, a unique display of Qin-dynasty imperial armor, as Lao Jiang asserted, but I got the distinct impression that the First Emperor was playing a joke, thumbing his nose at whoever opened this false sarcophagus.