When not performing, she kept mainly to herself in chambers above the theater. Unlike her colleagues, she did not bedeck herself in bright robes, fanciful headdresses, and other garish finery. On stage, she wore a coarse cotton shirt and trousers. This peasant simplicity endeared her all the more to her devoted audiences. Also, she had the strange custom, each night, of climbing to the rooftop and, alone, playing melodies still more beautiful than those she played in public. This odd habit only enraptured her listeners.
Because of a certain air of mystery about her, and because she was never seen in public eating rooms, teahouses, or taverns, the townsfolk affectionately called her Lady Shadow Behind a Screen.
She was, in fact, Voyaging Moon. All this had come about after she had galloped off leaving the merchant sleeping soundly. Heading northward again, she happened to fall in with a troupe of dancers and jugglers on their way to Nang-pei. Seeing that she carried a flute, they persuaded her to play and were so enchanted they urged her to join them. At first, she refused. She intended to continue to the River Lo. This, she was told, would be extremely dangerous, if not altogether impossible.
As one of the jugglers explained, a powerful warlord was ravaging the countryside, defeating every army sent against him. He already held sway in many districts. His troops showed no regard or mercy for innocent folk caught between the lines of these fierce battles. It was said he had once been a bandit. Now, he called himself the Yellow Scarf King.
Voyaging Moon remembered all too well the brutality of Natha. Impatient though she was to continue northward, she could not risk falling into his clutches again. For the moment, she reluctantly had to admit, the sensible course was to heed the troupe's warning and follow their advice. And so she went with them to Nang-pei.
There, the theater director was as openhanded as Hong had been tightfisted. Hearing her play, he promised a handsome share of his profits and was better than his word. Her fame and fortune grew. Voyaging Moon or, Lady Shadow Behind a Screen-was able to commission the best craftsmen to build her a carriage, so spacious and well-appointed that she could live in it as comfortably as in a chamber. She bought six fine horses and began to lay in a store of provisions, hoping the fighting would subside and she might leave Nang-pei before winter.
Meantime, she played her flute alone each night on the rooftop, her thoughts ever turning to Jen. Had he continued to T'ien-kuo? Had he found Mafoo or Moxa? Was he still alive? Of that, she never permitted herself to doubt.
"If he has gone," she told herself, "he will come back. If he is searching for me, he will find me."
• • • • •
Are Voyaging Moon's hopes justified? While she, by accident, has gained fame and fortune, what has become of her beloved Jen? To find out, leave Voyaging Moon in Nang-pei and read the next chapter.
16
• What is Fished Out of The River •
• What is Told to Jen •
• What is To Be Decided •
HE LAY ON A PILE OF STRAW. Sunlight streamed through a narrow doorway. A gray-haired woman bent over him. A man's weathered face peered down.
"Where are they?" Jen tried to sit up. He was in the corner of a hut. Nets hung from the low ceiling. His head pounded as if the storm filled it. He could scarcely bring his eyes to focus. "Where?"
"Safe." The woman smiled. "I'll fetch them."
"Fished out along with you," the man added. "Wet, but undamaged."
Jen gave a joyous cry. His last memory was the face of Voyaging Moon, her hands outstretched, struggling in the tide. The storm was over. They had lived through it.
The woman was back. She held out a bundle. "See. We kept your goods carefully."
"No!" Jen burst out. "Not these! My friends."
"No others," the fisherman said. "You were alone. More than half-drowned, and with a broken head, too."
"They must be nearby. Washed ashore with me." The hut spun before Jen's eyes. "We were all together, crossing the river yesterday. The boat foundered." The fisherman and his wife exchanged glances. The woman spoke gently. "The storm passed a week and more ago. You've lain here since then. We feared you'd never come back to your senses. Rest. Take food now."
"A week?" Jen stared around wildly. "Where is this? We crossed above Chen-yeh."
"Chen-yeh?" The fisherman raised his eyebrows. "You're leagues from there. The river carried you far downstream. Be glad you're alive."
"My friends are alive, too. They must be."
The fisherman was about to speak. His wife gestured to him. "Let him believe so, if that will help him," she murmured.
"I'll find them." Jen lurched to his feet. His legs buckled under him. He fell back onto the straw. He had heard the woman's words. "Yes, they are alive," he said. "I believe it. I know it." He wondered if he was telling himself the truth.
Two days passed before Jen could stand unaided, and another day before he could walk. Even then, he was light-headed, his steps uncertain. The fisherman and his wife urged him to wait until he had his full strength again.
"Young man," the fisherman said, "who you are and what your business maybe is no affair of ours. You don't strike me as a murderer or a thief. If you've run afoul of the law in some way-there's plenty like you in the kingdom, for His Majesty's officials deal out more injustice than otherwise. No matter, you stay with us, if you want, as long as you want."
Only then did Jen realize the couple had never asked his name, but tended him nonetheless. "I've not run afoul of any laws," he said. "I'm seeking to learn better ones."
"So I hope you do," the fisherman said, questioning him no further.
When Jen thanked the couple, telling them he must seek his friends, the fisherman and his wife shared what food they could spare to help him on his journey. Taking grateful leave of them, Jen set out following the river upstream. He thought to find the ferryman's hut. If the man had lived out the storm, he might know something of Voyaging Moon, Mafoo, Moxa, and Master Shu.
Meantime, trudging along the Lo, he questioned all who lived near the riverbank. They treated him kindly, gave food when his supply ran out, and let him sleep under their roofs at night. But they could tell him nothing.
Despite that, his hope did not lessen. For there were times, when he lay restless and wakeful, half in a dream, it seemed that the voice of Voyaging Moon called out to him. He even imagined hearing the shimmering notes of the flute. This, he knew, was only a memory that both saddened and lifted his heart.
He came in sight of Chen-yeh by week's end. He did not skirt the town as he had planned. Rather, he found his steps drawn to crooked streets of dwellings and shops, hawkers of rags, of sweetmeats, of fighting crickets. A seller of birds, with bamboo cages stacked high beside him, cried his wares.
"Buy! Buy! All sweet singers. Sweet as the flute girl's melodies."
Jen stopped short. He had heard correctly, his ears had not deceived him. He ran to the bird seller. "What flute girl? What melodies?"
The man blinked at him. "You're a stranger in Chen-yeh, that's easy to guess. Flute girl? We've all heard and won't forget her. She used to play at the Golden Grasshopper, the inn of Master Hong."
"Where?" Jen's heart raced. The bird seller pointed up the street. "A stranger for sure, if you don't know the Golden Grasshopper. There, to the right, past Phoenix Lane."
Jen set off running where the bird seller had indicated. In the courtyard of the inn, a man with the look of the proprietor was berating a servant maid for laziness. Jen strode up to him.
"A girl who played the flute. She was here. I was told so. Where is she now?"
"What's that to you?" Hong looked him up and down. "Get out. I don't lodge beggars."
Jen took Hong by the shirt collar. "What it is to me," he said between his teeth, "is this: I asked you a question. I'll have an answer."
Hong choked, his eyes bulged as he tried to shake free of Jen's grip. "Madman! Hands off! I'll call the law on you. All right, let go," he gasped. "She's gone. Lon
g gone."
Jen set the innkeeper down hard on his heels. Puffing and scowling, Hong rubbed his neck. "Lunatic devil," he muttered. He cocked an eye at Jen. "Yes. She was here and she left. Good riddance to her."
"Her name?"
"How should I know? She worked in my kitchen. I don't concern myself with scullery maids. Peasant girl, from the look of her," he quickly added, backing away as Jen stepped closer. "Yes, she played the flute a few times. I paid her well for it, the ungrateful wench."
"Then?"
"Gone, I told you," Hong flung at him. "Who the devil are you? What do you care? Aha-your little sweetheart, eh?" A look of sly malice crept into the inn keeper's eyes. "So that's your interest, is it? Well, my handsome fellow, I can tell you a little something else about her. Oh, she's gone, yes," Hong added. He grinned at Jen. "But not alone-if you take my meaning."
"What are you saying?" Jen demanded. "Who was with her?"
"Not a wretch like you," Hong said. "I'm a tenderhearted man, I wanted to spare your feelings. But why should I? She had eyes for one of my guests, with more in his purse than you have. The pair of them ran off together. And there you have it. The way of the world."
Hong gave Jen a scornful glance, turned on his heel, and hurried away, leaving Jen staring after him.
By the time Jen found words, Hong had disappeared. Jen stood, head reeling as if he had been struck in the face. He started after the innkeeper. As he did, one of the grooms loitering close by beckoned to him. Still trying to swallow what Hong had said, Jen stepped toward the man.
"Too bad you didn't choke that son of a turtle," the groom said under his breath. "I saw it all. Listen to me, lad. Hong's a liar as well as a cheat. The girl was here a while, true. How did she leave? I was in an empty stall that night. There was scuffling that woke me up. I saw Hong and one of his lodgers, the girl bound and gagged between them. A merchant of some sort, I don't know his name. They packed her into his carriage, and he drove off as fast as he could. Later, I heard the merchant went south, to Chai-sang. That's all I can tell, for what good it may do you."
Jen blurted his thanks and ran from the courtyard. Voyaging Moon lived. Nothing else mattered. He would search and find her at all cost.
He halted. To break off his journey now, having come so far? Chai-sang lay in the opposite direction. What if he could not find her? How long would he dare to delay? What of Mafoo and Moxa? Too many questions. He could not gather his wits to think clearly. Then he remembered Master Hu's long lecturing on royal virtues. The old sage would have advised him to press on to T'ien-kuo. To do otherwise Jen could see Master Hu's frown of disapproval. A prince worthy of his title would not even consider forsaking his duty.
"Yes, that is true," Jen admitted. "Then, as it is true, I am a prince no longer." He turned south, toward Chai-sang.
• • • • •
An ignoble, unworthy decision. Yet, how can we not forgive a loving heart? Before judging Jen too harshly, continue to the next chapter.
17
• Jen Turns His Back On One Journey And His Face Toward Another •
• Fragrance Of Orchid And Her Grandmother •
THERE WAS FIGHTING in the southern districts. As often as local governors ordered out warriors, as often they met with defeat. Some troops deserted, throwing in their lot with a former bandit now arrogantly calling himself the Yellow Scarf King. Peasants whose fields had been trampled, villagers whose dwellings had been ravaged first by one side and then the other, took to the roads and fled northward. They loaded their few possessions into ox carts and barrows, or bore their goods in bundles on their backs.
It was from one of these trains of men and women, old and young, that Jen heard a name he had forgotten. It came about one evening. Having turned away from T'ien-kuo and set his path for Chai-sang, Jen fell in with a ragged band of folk heading in the opposite direction. Jen himself had been many footsore days on the road when he found them camped for the night in a stubble field, huddled around cook fires. They took him, first, for a straggler from some burned hamlet. When he told them his destination, they took him for a fool.
"Stay clear of Chai-sang," one of the men, a villager, warned. "The Yellow Scarf King's on the march around there."
"No stopping him," put in a rice farmer. "His army gets bigger every day. If he keeps on, he'll be master of the whole country." The farmer shook his head. "You'd think he had a charmed life. I saw him once. He was right in the thick of it, slashing about him with that sword of his. A dozen warriors set on him-he cut them down like grass."
"I heard it told," said the villager, "he rides a dragon instead of a horse. His sword flashes lightning. A magic blade is what they say, big as a tree. Nobody stands against it."
"Dragon? Nonsense." The farmer spat scornfully. "A horse like any other. And he's a man like any other, his real name's Natha. Sword big as a tree? More nonsense. And yet," he added, "there's something strange about that blade. I've seen it slice through a helmet, armor and all. You could almost believe it's magical."
Jen turned away and put down the bowl of food they had given him. For a while, his love of Voyaging Moon had washed away his memory of the cavern. As he squatted by the fire, listening to the farmer talk, it came blazing into his mind.
"It was I," Jen murmured to himself. "I gave him the sword. Because I feared him. Because I feared for my life. I put it in his hands. This is what has come of It."
He tried to reason, telling himself that if he had let Natha kill him the bandit would have taken the sword in any case. Reason did not speak as clearly as shame suddenly did. With that burden, heavier than his bundle of offerings, he set off again the next morning.
"What you can do," one of the men told him, as Jen took his leave, "if you're set on going to Chai-sang, you can try the long way round. Go cross-country to Nang-pei and approach from the east. It's a good bit off your road, but a lot safer."
Jen thought this over. Following that advice would cost him as much as a week. On the other hand, with less risk, he could also manage to find food and shelter in Nang-pei. At last he decided. Weighing possible danger against certain loss of time, he chose to head straight for Chai-sang. He saw no use in turning aside and so he did not go to Nang-pei.
During the next couple of days, he grew all the more satisfied that he had chosen well. From others he met on the road, he gathered that Natha and his warriors had fallen back a little, there was a lull in the fighting, and his chances of reaching Chai-sang unhindered were better than before.
This knowledge quickened his steps and brightened his hopes. In Chai-sang, he told himself, he would surely find Voyaging Moon. Together, they would search for Moxa and Mafoo. Even Master Shu might have lived through the storm.
As for T'ien-kuo, he knew he had chosen ignobly. Worse, he did not regret his decision. Someday, he vowed, he would set it right. Reunited with Voyaging Moon, they would cross the Lo and continue their journey. He would not be altogether emptyhanded. Three offerings remained. Yuan-ming would grant him an audience. Though Jen had forfeited the right to call himself prince, the words of Master Shu came back to him: Yuan-ming would know him for what he was.
"And yet," he added, "if I am not Jen Shao-yeh, the Young Lord Prince-what am I?" To this question, he doubted that Master Hu himself could give an answer.
His concerns, in any case, were more immediate: food and a roof. One chilly evening, he stopped at a small farmhouse, having learned that the folk of this district were hospitable to travelers poorer than themselves.
A sturdy, open-faced old woman in cotton skirt and straw sandals greeted him politely. Out of courtesy, she asked nothing of his destination or purposes. Her name, she told him, was Plum Blossom. Jen at first thought she lived here alone. But when his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness of the room, he noticed a low cot. A child was curled on it.
"My granddaughter, Fragrance of Orchid," the woman said as Jen begged pardon for disturbing her sleep. "No, she does not sleep. Nor d
oes she wake. She's lain thus from the day the Yellow Scarves burned our village. Her mother and father were killed. I carried her in my arms to this little property of mine. Here, I thought she would recover. But she neither eats nor drinks, only what I force between her lips. She does not speak, she does not move."
"Is there no way to rouse her?" Jen asked. "Can nothing be done?"
"What have I not done?" replied Plum Blossom. "I've talked to her, sung to her, whispered, pleaded, scolded. I walked miles to find a healer, a herbalist, and brought him here. She is beyond his skill. If she continues unchanged, I am told she will die." Plum Blossom glanced at Jen with fierce determination. "So, I must find some other means."
"Her eyes are open." Jen had stepped quietly to the cot. He bent over the motionless figure, a girl of perhaps ten years. "She sees. She follows the motions of my hand."
"The spirit is lacking," Plum Blossom said. "Without that, can she be called living? Even so, I'll not cease trying to make her live."
"What of toys?" Jen asked. "Her favorite playthings? A doll she loved?"
"Toys? She seldom played with them. Birds were her greatest joy," Plum Blossom said. "She loved to see them fly. She would wave and call to them. Now the birds in these parts are gone, their nests are empty. Fighting and destruction have driven them away."
Jen stood some silent moments watching Fragrance of Orchid. He turned to the old woman. "I have a bird."