A Single Petal Page 6

  Feng, still staring at the noodle bowl, nodded.

  “I think a beautiful girl must be like the petal of a flower, don’t you think? Without petals a flower is nothing. Without beautiful girls, life must be empty and meaningless.”

  Feng smiled.

  “Yaosheng said you’re a bit of a poet!”

  “Will you teach me if I help you find your friend’s daughter?”

  “I’d do anything to find little Xiaopeng. But I fail to see how...” Feng stopped mid-sentence. For a moment it was like a cloud had lifted and it all became so very clear. “Of course! How stupid I’ve been. The tree of a thousand petals!”

  Jinjin stared dumbfounded at Feng.

  Destiny of a Pig

  The day her father left on his impossible quest, Feier spent the morning teaching a noisy gaggle of Miao village children in the market place. A young man, Angwan, who’d recently returned to the village because of his father’s death to become a shaman-priest in the dead man’s place, had gone with three other men to explain the teacher’s arrangements to the Han villagers and to fetch the body of Chang. They returned before sunset with a promise of good will from the Han folk and a cart laden with the bloated merchant’s corpse. It seemed Feng had been Chang’s only real friend in the area for no-one else in either village showed concern over the murder. The vanishing Miao girls, nevertheless, did focus them after being told there might be a link with the dead man. It seemed only a matter of time before attractive young girls from the Han village might also vanish.

  Feier was in the fields helping Yueloong with the rice harvest when she spotted the men digging in the distance. On the ground beside a hole a large brown hump was all that remained of her father’s late friend. The thought of working in that particular field filled the child with dread; dread that a secret shared only with one living person would some day reach the ears of others.

  Out of duty for baba, she would burn incense for Chang, but on seeing the body covered with brown sackcloth she knew she could never overcome her revulsion for the dead merchant. Not the partly-eaten, swollen corpse, but the man it had once been, his ugliness, the way he used to look at her as no other village men or boys did, and the lingering touch of his stubby fingers. The revulsion merged with the shame of her relief that he was dead. That would surely count against her when her time came, like Mama, to be thrown to the mercy of events that would decide her fate. Because of what happened, and her disgust, would her samsara dictate she be reincarnated as a pig and be forced to live with the other pigs in Uncle Yueloong’s pig-pen? Was hers the destiny of a pig?

  The child’s father had encouraged her to call his farmer friend ‘uncle’. This pleased her, for it made her feel closer to little Xiaopeng, whilst her baba had reckoned it would help the Miao villagers more easily to accept her into their fold, although for many years it seemed that would never be an issue for the teacher’s exquisitely pretty daughter. But Feier was now mature enough to know nothing is certain. Her father had repeatedly told her so. Friendships like the one between him and Yueloong could prove as fragile as single threads of silk in a storm when faced with strife between communities. Could the teacher’s acceptance as spirit brother to the Miao farmer prevent their particular thread from breaking?

  When Feier and Yueloong returned from the fields that evening, they found Angwan alone in the farmhouse, his feet up on the table, a cup of tea in one hand and a scroll in the other. Feier held back at the doorway, uncertain about the young man’s presence. Had he been saying things to ‘uncle’? The young man glanced at her and said something to Yueloong in the Miao [8] tongue. Feier understood only a few words taught to her by Xiaopeng; besides, Angwan spoke too fast.

  “Mandarin only, please, in Feier’s presence!” interrupted Yueloong.

  Relieved to see the man smile, Feier blushed and looked down at the floor. Angwan stood and gave a short bow. Making fun of her? Should she feel angry? Confused by this unnecessary display of deference, she re-turned a slight nod of the head, an action she hoped Uncle Yueloong would not notice. She knew how Xiaopeng worshipped the young priest, but following recent events everything had been flipped upside down; destinies that seemed certain before were now muddied. The girl had blushed because of a mix of embarrassment and excitement that it was she, not Yueloong’s daughter, who’d been thus acknowledged by the young Miao priest. But could she be sure he wasn’t playing games with her after what had happened?

  “She should choose,” Angwan said. “He was one of her people.”

  The girl glanced up. Not playing... totally serious. She could tell from his eyes. In fact, no-one other than Chang had stared at her in that way, but the feeling the priest’s eyes aroused in the girl was so very different from the revulsion inspired by the dead merchant. Her blush deepened.

  “Choose what?” she asked timidly.

  “An inscription for the stone on the dead man’s tomb. I was looking at these poems here,” he held up the scroll, “and I was going to ask Farmer Li since he professes to be a Buddhist, but perhaps the teacher’s daughter would have a better idea. Let’s face it, Yueloong, you’re hardly a man of poetry.”

  “What poems are there about merchants - men who make money from the hardship of others?” asked the farmer.

  Feier’s mind went blank. To write an epitaph for a man she thought of as better off dead was one thing, but to expose her ignorance to the young man she and Xiaopeng had so often talked about in those secret, hidden places of young girls was something else.

  “The child’s tired, Angwan. She’s worked hard all day teaching, helping me to keep house and start the harvest of young rice. There’ll be plenty of time to think of something for the teacher’s friend. But won’t you join us for something to eat seeing as you’re here?”

  Feier’s panic magnified. Her culinary skills were hardly up to those of Yueloong’s daughter. Things could change so quickly if she were to accidentally poison the young priest.

  “No, Yueloong,” insisted Angwan to her relief. “My poor mother will be worrying what’s happened to me with a murderer on the loose.” Feier looked down again. “You know what she’s like! But tomorrow I’ll call at sunrise to escort Feier and the children to the Han village.”

  Feier stepped aside from the doorway, although stayed close enough to take in his young man smell as he passed by. It was a smell of strength, mystery and courage, and it made her feel different: a woman, at last. And she was so pleased it was he who would be with her and the children the following day. She tried to persuade herself this was because of his strength and the protection it would give them that made her feel happy, rather than an arousal of the woman within.

  “Feier?”

  He called back from the path as she stood silhouetted in the doorway staring at him. He was addressing her alone and she held on to the door, as if she might sink to the ground should she let go.

  “Yes?”

  “A saying from the great master from Shandong, Kong Fuzi, perhaps?”

  Feier nodded, smiling; smiling because he’d made no mention of it. No-one else knew, not even her baba.

  Angwan turned and left, playfully waving the scroll in his hand. He seemed curiously jocular for one who’d just buried a man - and for someone who shared such a terrible secret. Still smiling, she too felt strangely cheered as she went back inside to prepare noodles and vegetables for uncle and herself.

  ***

  “Thank you, young man!” exclaimed Feng getting up from his drum seat. “One day you’ll make a great poet and a successful innkeeper. But tomorrow I must hurry on to Chang’an. I’m after an audience with the new magistrate. Don’t fancy ending up with a bamboo stake in the belly like my friend!”

  “Wait! Tell me, teacher, what’s so important about a tree with a thou-sand petals?”

  Feng looked around to reassure himself Jinjin’
s were the only inquisi-tive eyes and ears.

  “The tree with a thousand petals! The one in the Imperial Palace at Chang’an, of course.” Jinjin’s faced remained blank. “Petals... pretty girls... you’ve given me the answer, Jinjin.”

  “The question being?”

  “Why steal all these girls? Easy... because of what you just said! For whoever’s behind this, it’s a justification in the eyes of the Jade Emperor of Heaven to depose the present emperor of Earth. To possess such a thing of beauty as befits an emperor on Earth means true power.”

  “A thing?”

  “Whatever’s happening, I’m sure the man responsible will be trying to collect together a thousand girls. They’ll represent the petals of a beautiful and very special imperial flower. Think of the qi force that will release!

  When he has a thousand he can march on Chang’an. And if those soldiers you saw stealing that village girl were really the emperor’s guards it seems likely there are already traitors on the inside.”

  “Can’t go just by the colour of their tunics. But what if it’s been our emperor all along? Perhaps he wants the girls for an embroidery factory. To make more money to buy off the Turks and the Tibetans?”

  “Our emperor? He’s too lost in the arts to think like that. No! I must get going by tomorrow. It’s a long journey to the capital.”

  “And get yourself killed? I’ll speak with innkeeper Wong first. He’ll know someone we can trust. Someone who can get us to the capital quickly on horseback.”

  Us? Trust?

  Feng still found it difficult to believe his friend Chang had anything to do with the disappearing Miao girls, but the seeds of doubt had been sown. And could he trust Wong? He wavered in his deliberation.

  “Look, I’m coming with you, teacher,” persisted Jinjin. “No argument. I could act as another pair of eyes, right?”

  Feng thought for a few moments. The boy was an incurable chatterer but seemed trustworthy. The teacher admired his headstrong eagerness, his youthful naivity. He’d shut out the incessant jabber if it became overbearing and Jinjin would at least be a companion he could talk to rather than a mere living creature to pat, scratch and ride, like Mimi. Above all else the boy was bright. Feng prided his ability as a teacher to distinguish half-wits from high-fliers, and this boy was a veritable kite.

  “You’re right about going by horseback,” the teacher agreed. “Time’s running out fast. We’ll need a couple of horses from the new prefectural magistrate. I’ll call at first light. We can leave Mimi with him.”

  “A donkey for two horses?”

  “A donkey and a scroll.”

  “What can the prefectural magistrate do with a scroll?” Feng shrugged his shoulders.

  “We’ll see. It’s by the poet Su Dongpo. I always carry it with me. Worth a small fortune. If you really want to risk your life, we leave just before sunrise. But I’ll understand perfectly if you don’t show up.”

  “If we succeed - if we get this girl back for her father - would you... er... well, I wondered whether... um...?” Jinjin seemed oddly at a loss for words.

  “Not now!” retorted Feng. “I’ve enough to think about. Ask me tomor-row.”

  “Your daughter?” blurted Jinjin. Feng half-turned, his eyes narrowed. “My daughter?”

  “How old? I mean... her hair... does it... you know... still flow free like a mountain waterfall?”

  Feng decided he’d had enough of the urchin’s impudence for the evening. Without replying, he turned his back on the boy and pushed his way through the noisy crowd to the steps that led to his room on the upper storey. It had a bed, his bamboo baskets and the pole - all that Feng needed. The teacher stretched himself out on the low bed, resting his head on the ceramic pig pillow, and before sinking into a fitful sleep wondered why he’d wasted time with the urchin boy.

  ***

  Feier was awoken by a tap-tap-tapping on the outside of the wooden wall beside her bed. She leapt up, hurriedly wrapped a blanket around her half-naked body and went to the door, expecting to find an angry Yueloong about to berate her for oversleeping. But it was yet dark, and standing respectfully back from the open doorway was the shadowy form of the young priest.

  “We must leave early,” he said. “I’ll call again just before sunrise with the children.”

  For a few moments Feier stood still, uncertain what to say, uncertain about those feelings so powerful they threatened to engulf her... feelings that were both wrong and beautiful.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For not saying.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve come too soon. Perhaps... “ began Angwan. He appeared awkward and this made Feier feel protective.

  “No. I’ll be ready in no time. After making breakfast for uncle.”

  “Are you sure? You must be weary. But I thought, well, we could take another path. Avoid the lotus lake if you prefer. It would take longer.”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Sunrise is fine. The lotus lake too.”

  She’d stopped short of adding because with you at my side I’ll fear nothing. She remained at the doorway until the young priest’s shadow had been swallowed by the darkness, before turning, still smiling, to dress and prepare breakfast. Only when the farmer appeared, the stiffness in his body after a night with the pigs evident in his curious straight-legged gait, did the girl’s smile vanish.

  “Pleased to be going back to your own village?” he asked.

  “If it helps to bring our villages together, yes, uncle.”

  “But so many children together? Not even your father has to put up with that.”

  “Oh, I can be strict. I’ll have them working hard. No chance to play up with me!”

  “The young man who’ll escort you, Angwan... his mother and I have made an arrangement, you know.” Feier’s face fell like a stone from a cliff. “In two years she’ll dance for him at the Lusheng Festival. He’ll play the lusheng [9] for her. He’s good... very good. But... now? What now?”

  “Father won’t give up, uncle. He won’t rest till Xiaopeng’s returned to you... and the merchant’s death has been avenged.”

  “Yes, yes, the merchant! I never could see how... oh, it doesn’t matter now. He’s a good man, your father. No denying it!”

  Did she now feel differently about Xiaopeng and her return? Knowing that Angwan and the farmer’s daughter were intended for each other sent her mind into a maelstrom of unwelcome emotions. How stupid to hope or think it might have been otherwise. She and Angwan were from separate communities. Apart from that other thing, the only connection between them was through the Miao children’s education, and this because of her father and his friendship with the farmer; a friendship founded on peace, not conflict. Besides, Xiaopeng was her friend. How could she wish for the poor girl never to return merely because of those deliciously warm feelings she had for a man she barely knew - and a man destined to marry the younger girl?

  But that longing in Angwan’s eyes was for her; unquestionablyfor her!

  She thrilled at this thought as she and uncle ate in silence. Afterwards, having washed the bowls and chopsticks at the pump outside, Feier fetched her calligraphy box and scrolls then stood waiting at the doorway.

  Had it been so obvious from her body language? Was that why Yue-loong informed her about his daughter and Angwan, to make it all crystal clear? Had Feier’s father not easily read her body language about her disgust with the merchant... and would the same body have told Uncle Li a very different story about the young priest and the teacher’s daughter?

  Without a further word, the farmer left for the rice fields with his water buffalo. The pink glow to the east grew to fill half the sky before a bright rim of sun slipped above the hazy horizon.

  ***

  Feng slept fitfully. Most of the night he was wor
rying about Feier; whether he’d been foolhardy, even neglectful, to leave her with his Miao friend, and whether he could ever save her from the spite of the vengeful marriage maker. Most of that night, apart from brief interludes of sleep, he lay staring through the darkness at the half-eaten face of Merchant Chang. The White Tiger League? What nonsense!

  As usual, he was up before sunrise. He went downstairs expecting to find Jinjin ready to bombard him with more presumptuous questions but was surprised to discover only Wenling clearing up from the night before. Everything that had escaped the mouths of the inn guests had ended up on the floor.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Meili,” the woman said, glancing at him. “Even now some of our customers still talk about her beauty. But you’ve got a daughter. That’s good, for surely her mother’s beauty now lives on.”

  Feng nodded with a sigh. “Yes. I have a daughter. And, yes, she has her mother’s beauty.” He changed the subject: “That young urchin, Jinjin. Have you seen him this morning?”

  Wenling stopped sweeping and lent forwards on her brush.

  “Jinjin? I hope he didn’t make himself a nuisance last night. Sometimes I fear he chases customers away by prying into their private lives all the time. But Yungchin has a soft spot for him. No children of our own, you see. There was a time when we hoped he might be like a son for us. Take over the inn when we’re both past it. But Jinjin? No way! Mind you, he’s a hard worker when he is here, and quick to learn, but his heart lies elsewhere and, well, you could hardly call him reliable! Pfff! He’d say one thing one moment and decide to do the opposite the next. And he keeps disappearing. Always when you need him the most! Vanishes for weeks at a time, then reappears and refuses point blank to say where he’s been! Funny thing, that. He could drag the life history out of a man who’s had his tongue cut off, but tell you what he gets up to when he disappears? Never!”

  “That’s just it,” agreed Feng. “I was hoping he’d help me out. A friend of mine was killed and one thing’s certain. It’s linked to the disappearance of all those Miao girls.”