Zang Lang-Do yawned in the midst of pouring out a cup of wine. His thin hand shook and spilled clear droplets on the table. He drained the cup before wiping up the wine with his sleeve. "There is no escape," he said. "Once you agree, they will hound you until you are captured, bound, and enslaved for life."
"Is that so bad?" Sun-Sin asked. He had drunk one cup more than his usual and felt relaxed and genial. His foster-brother had not drunk much more than he had. Lang-Do's slight frame and studious habits meant alcohol had a proportionally greater effect on him than on one who had drunk often, though not to excess.
For himself, not the most exotic or expensive wine tasted better to Sun-Sin than this apple-flavored wine of his own home-town. Every sip brought back memories of his eager youth. His impatience to be called to the capital had kept him from enjoying those happy days to the full, yet now, looking back, he saw that his boyhood had been more pleasurable than it had seemed at the time.
"Bad? My brother seems to find compensations. His wife is pregnant, you know. Tang-Su the patriarch of a family. Hardly seems possible. Two years older than me and three years older than you." He paused to count on his fingertips. "Two? Three?"
"That sounds right. What girl have your parents chosen for you? Do you know?"
"There are some few among our social level that they are choosing from or so my valet tells me. Gossip takes up more of his time than caring for my rooms."
"I hope the girl is pretty, whoever they choose."
"Pretty? That is unimportant. Character matters more. The girl I loved before...was more than beautiful."
"You loved someone?" Sun-Sin hoped he would not hear some tale of an illicit romance between his scholarly foster-brother and some entirely unsuitable woman. That was the kind of relationship that soured a man for life. He liked his gentle and unworldly brother too much to wish that upon him.
"My love was quiet and somewhat shy. But her smile struck...struck my heart."
"Quiet and shy...." Sun-Sin repeated with relief. That did not sound like a dancing-girl or flower-maiden. "This girl married someone else, I take it."
"No. Tang-Su liked her too. Even if her life had not been cut short, I doubt her eyes would have ever sought for me. I think our parents were planning to take her as his wife. But the few times we spoke during that last summer demonstrated her kindness. I would have cherished her even as a sister."
"Died? An illness?"
"A fire."
"What?"
"Did you forget? That fire you came to investigate last year? Old General Li's Household. An-Xia was his granddaughter. I could not sleep for a month after that. It seemed so horrible, to die like that. I drank...." He up-ended the wine jug, shaking it when only a few drops came out. "What a waste to spill it upon the table."
Sun-Sin felt tempted to tell Lang-Do that Li An-Xia was far from dead. But what purpose would it serve? Unless he himself were willing to give her up, the news would only re-awaken the pain in his foster-brother's heart. And even if he did give her up, would An-Xia go to Lang-Do? He thought that she would ignore his orders and twine about his ankles forever. "Quiet and shy...and stubborn as a weed."
"Eh? Who's that? The girl you like? Some court beauty, eh?"
"Hardly."
"I toast your happiness." Lang-Do drained one last cup and fell backwards. A pillow had been put there to catch his head before they had poured out even one cup. The same soft-footed servant stole into the room, followed by two others.
"Has he been drinking like this all the time?" Sun-Sin asked him.
"No, your highness. But today is the anniversary of the first time he met the young lady his heart had chosen. I do not anticipate another drinking bout like this, not until the anniversary of her death. By then, I hope his marriage will be provided for to give his thoughts a better direction."
"His parents have chosen someone then? My brother did not seem certain."
"Indeed." The valet waved his underlings out of the elegantly-appointed room as they carried their master. The impulses of a born-gossip overcame his reticence as Sun-Sin had hoped. "It is to be the third daughter of a Western lord. Miss Ha is said to be modest, mild-tempered, and a notable performer upon the bamboo flute."
"A fine match for him, then."
"I have heard that there is little happiness at home since her mother's recent death and her father's swift remarriage. Miss Ha looks upon my master as a hero who is rescuing her from captivity."
"I hope Lang-Do will think of himself in such terms. It would be good for him."
"Yes, your highness." The servant turned to leave.
"A moment, if you please." Sun-Sin put his elbows on the low table and looked at the servant over his clasped hands. "What do you know about the living arrangements here in Bashan of one Cavalry-Colonel Hsia, now General Hsia?"
"I?" The man's eyes shifted. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
"I have not seen you before. Do you know who I am?"
"Of course. Of course, your highness." As though a heavy weight pressed on his shoulders, the valet sank to his knees before the prince.
"Do you think it is wise to lie to me?"
After a cup of strong black tea, Sun-Sin went out into the night. Though his foster-brother's valet had not indicated any particular urgency, Sun-Sin knew too well the agony of waiting to let another person linger in that pain. If his royal father had never called him to court, would it have been better to continue hoping or to have some stranger cut that hope off like a diseased limb?
The valet had all the pride of an old family retainer despite being employed only in the last two or three years by Lord Zang's household. His sniff might have come from someone fifty years in the family. "Even if he has tired of the woman, General Hsia owes it to his ancestry to care for the child."
"There is a child, then?"
"A fine boy. All the same, that person has neither sent word nor a single copper cash in months. And that woman is most foolishly proud. Even our gracious lady has extended charity to the woman, only to have it refused."
"My foster-mother extended a charitable hand?"
The valet bowed. "Since her religious awakening, Lady Zang has been immersed in good works, including a school for poor boys and a sewing collective for young women of good but impoverished families."
"I feel certain you have charitable impulses of your own." A few coins changed hands. "Give me those directions again."
As Sun-Sin walked, he heard the sounds of happy families celebrating birthdays, wedding feasts, and the safe deliverance of children. He ignored, as he had the night before, the sense that someone followed in his path. That prickle on the back of his neck was an unmistakable sign. But then, he had not really expected to be able to leave the capital without someone watching him. But which of his enemies and friends would be the most likely to send a spy after him?
General Hsia's house was of a good size with the traditional red pillars in front to encourage good fortune. No lantern showed up the inscription over the door, nor did any servant appear to welcome the late visitor in, though Sun-Sin shouted, "One has come," several times into the grey dark. After his eyes adjusted, he stepped pushed harder at the door and it creaked open only wide enough to admit him if he edged in sideways.
Seeing the faintest light shining yellow through a bamboo frame lined with paper, Sun-Sin walked toward it through the silent garden. No water-pipe knocked against a stone to mark the passing minutes. No stream ran through the dry bed. Even insects were silent, though it was the right time of year for the newly hatched to rise up and sing.
As he went closer, he heard a murmur as of voices. Despite never having any good fortune when it came to eavesdropping, Sun-Sin listened.
Half an hour later, he came out into the street again. Passing a trembling hand over his brow, he found his fingers came away wet. "And men dare to call themselves brave," he said out loud.
A sliding tile crashed to the ground behind him. Without wasting time in turning, Sun-Sin jumped forward. If it were no more than a hunting tomcat on the roof, he would look like a fool. Better a live fool than a dead target, he thought as he turned, drawing his sword cleanly.
A man muffled in a black scarf stood before him, a length of steel already in his hand. The moon gave an indistinct light from behind drifting clouds but the light reflected off the blade from end to end. "I am not acting out of hatred," he said, "but to feed my family."
Sun-Sin scoffed. "You lie. You are Meng, right? The Third Prince's man?"
The man jerked the scarf down from around his mouth and chin. "Yes, that is my name. I am under orders to kill you. Because it is a family matter, I will do it quickly."
Sun-Sin looked at the ground, his shoulders slumping. "No," he said, sheathing his weapon with a click. "I am not the mood right now. If you want me to die, you will have to stab me in the back because I am walking away."
"What? Wait!"
Sun-Sin led the way to a happier street. Pausing on the corner, he said over his shoulder, "Do you know this district? Where can we get a drink?"
"A drink?"
"You do drink?"
"I...I have been staying at an inn a little distance away. They serve food at night."
"What is their special dish?"
"Sticky Chicken Rolls. Their wine is harsh but bearable."
"'Harsh but bearable'...like my life at the moment. You lead."
Hawk followed Lion through the streets of Bashan, sidestepping happy couples, haggling shoppers, and drunken friends. Those citizens who noticed either man sobered for a moment, burdened by their grim demeanor, but soon brightened after they had passed by. The business of life did not stop because a cloud passed over the sun.
The lowest floor of the inn was crowded with customers. Those waiting for a space courteously gave way before Meng and the prince. "Do they know you?" Meng asked in an undertone.
"Probably not. But look at us. Do we seem like the sort who should be kept waiting?"
The landlord's son stopped in front of them, a tray loaded with bottles on his shoulder. "Mister Meng? There is a table opening up by the back wall. Give me a moment to clear it for you, sir."
"Seems like they know you," Sun-Sin said, glancing at a happy baby bouncing on his mother's back. He quickly looked away, feeling a sting in his eyes.
"I have been waiting for you to come back to Bashan for some weeks."
"A dreary business, waiting for your...."
"This way!" the boy said, still carrying the tray now stacked with lidded dishes. Fragrant steam floated back to the men as they followed the boy through the closely-packed tables. They had no sooner seated themselves than the boy laid a dish on the table between them. As though he pulled them from the air, two bowls and sets of chopsticks also appeared before them. "Ne-Ne! The wine for Mister Meng! Hurry up!"
A girl no more than ten years old popped up, seemingly out of her brother's pocket. She spun two cups onto the table, pouring wine into them almost before they had stopped whirling. Then she left the pot on the table, bobbed a quick bow and was off to the sound of another 'Ne-Ne!'
The adversaries looked at each other and laughed. Sun-Sin drank, then coughed, his eyes watering again.
"I did warn you," Meng said, sipping from his own cup.
"No warning would be enough." Sun-Sin wheezed a moment, then drank again. "Bearable is indeed the word."
A large bowl of rice had arrived while his eyes were blurred. He wondered if the household cat had brought it as he could not remember seeing another servant passing by the table. The deliciousness of the food made up for the deficiencies of the wine.
Picking a scrap of chicken out of his eyetooth, Meng asked, "Where were you coming from that you looked so weary?"
"A deathbed."
"Ah. Whose?"
"A woman...and her child."
"Yours?"
"No."
"Ah." Meng inspected the scrap he had excavated and flicked it away onto the floor. "It is always interesting to discover where one's limits lie. However, I cannot see that this limit of yours should be any restraint on me."
"Perhaps not."
"Did this woman by any chance give you the thing you are cherishing over your heart?" Meng indicated the spot with his wine-cup.
Sun-Sin patted his left side. "An interesting read for later this evening."
"Poetry?" the swordsman scoffed.
"A ledger. And notes in an august hand."
"Your brother's hand, by a curious coincidence?"
Smiling, Sun-Sin raised his cup in a toast. "A bad man who practices good calligraphy goes against all the precepts we are taught as children, yet...there it is."
Meng poured out again, the last drops in the pot. No sooner had he put the pot down than a childish hand snatched it away and put another in its place. "Drink well!" Ne-Ne chirped as she raced away.
The two men contemplated the highly glazed white ceramic jar. "If we drink this," Sun-Sin said, "we will not fight this evening. Shall we postpone it?"
"I have waited this long. It is of no consequence if I must wait another day."
"I propose that we put it off for longer than that. Say, long enough for you to find your master and deliver a message for me. I think that one will trust it if it comes from you."
"That only proves you do not know him. No one has ever achieved gaining that trust. And if what I think I am hearing is correct, General Hsia is even more untrustworthy than others. Is that the message you wish me to deliver?"
"Would it insult you to say that you are wasted in my brother's service?"
"No, so long as you do not invite me into yours. A man must keep his allegiance until death."
"And yours is to T'ien Luo-Bi of all men?" Sun-Sin clicked his tongue pityingly. "That does not seem to fit."
"Mine is to my own sworn-brother, that Kang whom your man killed. I must kill you on the prince's orders. But my vengeance is not on you alone."
"I see," Sun-Sin said, as fear for An-Xia squeezed his heart. If his beloved carried a weapon, Meng would go down to death as swiftly as his comrade. But An-Xia the woman did not carry a sword in her left hand and was therefore helpless. Sun-Sin could not rely on Meng failing to discover the truth of the impersonation; too many people already suspected it. Meng was the sort who would hunt his prey forever, unless stopped. "I think we had better not indulge in this second pot. And I will find another to deliver my message to my brother."
"Very well." Meng held up his hand to signal for the bill. "I will pay for this meal. Win or lose, that seems right to me."
Sun-Sin bowed his thanks. "That person...that person you mean to find next. Perhaps I should tell you the truth about his swordplay. You saw, that day, how swift and sure his blade could be."
"I did. But it will not deter me."
"My martial arts master believes that person to have skills that are not of this earth."
"As I believe also," Meng said as though it was of no great importance.
"What?" Sun-Sin stared at him.
"Whether man, fox-spirit, or deity, I will kill that person as soon as I can."
"Thank you; that is very clear. Where shall we go for our own purposes?"
Meng caught the son of the inn by the sleeve as he collected the coins on the table. "If two gentlemen have a quarrel to resolve, where do you suggest they go?"
The boy's sharp eyes flashed between the two smiling men. "There is a cleared lot three lanes behind this inn where a house is to be rebuilt. The light is bad, though. Would it not be better to wait until the clouds depart from the moon, if one must fight at night? Come, have another round of wine...on the house."
"Our time is short," Meng said. "If I do not return, you can be my heir. This gentleman is our witness."
Sun-Sin bowed again and took out the ledger from his robe. "Please keep this for me. One way or another, one of us will return for it."
They walked in an oddly comfortable silence from the bustling inn to the quiet of a residential street. The hour having grown late, the social life around them had ebbed. Decent people had retired after the exertions of the day, while thieves, reprobate sons, and willow-houses were merely at the dawn of their evening. Being out so late on such an errand put himself solidly in the 'reprobate' category, Sun-Sin reflected as he and Meng studied the ground, kicking bits of wood or stones out of their way. He shrugged out of his outer robe and hung it over the remains of the wall that had once bordered the property. He laid his scabbard there as well. Shu Ban-Li's sword reflected the moonlight with a dull gleam reminiscent of water.
'Oh, my, what's all this then?" Sun-Sin froze an instant as he heard that voice, then shook his head as though to dislodge a pesky mosquito.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Oh, yes!"
Sun-Sin knew from the first strike of their swords together that he was over-matched. Meng had reach and weight fighting for him. He could strike harder and recover more quickly from the numbing shock of blade against blade than Sun-Sin. His desire for revenge blazed like a comet and urged him to shake off his opponent's most forceful lunges. Meng was older and perhaps half-a-heartbeat slower than in his best days, but his years of extra experience as a duelist gave him another advantage.
Step-by-step, Sun-Sin gave up ground, defending himself now instead of attacking. Soon he would be out of the cleared area, lost on a ground covered with rubble and debris. One wrong step and he would be at Meng's mercy. He saw the whites of Meng's eyes and the gritted teeth and knew that 'mercy' was not a word to be used here. He lunged forward and felt, with sick despair, his blade being forced aside. Meng's left hand crooked like a talon to reach for Sun-Sin's throat.
"This will not do," a female voice said, as firm as Nanny Jan in the palace nursery. "He leaves his left ribcage wide open and you are not taking advantage of that. Where did you learn your swordsmanship?"
Sun-Sin jabbed Meng's unguarded left side with an upward thrust of his hilt, leverage and surprise enough to throw the older man back a few staggering steps. He recovered at once and came again, his teeth bared against the pain.
"Low! Hit him low."
"I...I fight fair," Sun-Sin gasped in response.
"Trained at the Royal Academy, no doubt. Pretty technique but no common sense."
"I was taught by the Flame of Zhao...."
"Who are you talking to?" Meng panted.
"I really have no idea," Sun-Sin said, his thrust scraping along the length of Meng's sword toward his face. With all his fading strength, Meng fought to bring his blade up enough so that the point of Sun-Sin's missed his throat. He succeeded but the tip of Sun-Sin's sword cut his left cheek. Blood ran down. He pressed the back of his hand against it, hissing when it came away red.
"You speak to ghosts?" Meng scoffed. "Is this land haunted?"
"I might have brought this one with me." Sun-Sin lunged again, locking in with his enemy, blade to blade, chest to chest, struggling to be the first to break free. "Reconsider my offer," he gasped, looking at the wild eyes. "Take my message to your master."
"And then what do I do? Provided, that is, the Third Prince does not order me killed for disloyalty." Making a last strong effort, he tossed Sun-Sin backwards.
The prince stumbled as a stone twisted under his foot, surprised that Meng did not instantly take advantage of his difficulty. But the older man seemed to have trouble drawing a full breath. Had that blow against his side done internal damage?
"Whatever you please. Offer your sword to another king...anywhere but in Yiang. Or go to the Khan; I will give you a letter of introduction."
"I am not tempted."
"I would rather not kill you."
"Then why fight him?"
"Then why fight me?"
Sun-Sin ignored the voice. "I want you to know I am sincere. I do not want to kill you and I very much do not want to die. There is this girl, you see."
"The maiden will be given no time to mourn you. The Third Prince, my master, is already turning his eyes toward her. In his past, there is a banquet of women's hearts." He grinned at Sun-Sin. "We may be far from the capital but gossip flies like a crow."
"I almost feel sorry for him. My love is no ordinary woman to be wooed and won."
"That is what all men say. But if you are right, I think I owe it to my master to sample her charms first. On the same principle as a food-taster, eh?"
"Do not respond to his taunting you. Keep your temper...oh, well. I suppose it had to be this way."
When the moon came out again, Sun-Sin did not raise his head from his hands. A few feet away lay Meng's body, the blood already ceasing to flow from the wound in his neck. His own wounds, a vibrating pain in his punctured left shoulder, and the slice along his cheekbone that matched the first scratch he had given his late opponent, were draining his energy. He pressed the heel of his hand against the shallow cut, trying to stop the bleeding. It felt minor but the stripes painting his cheek were wide.
Sun-Sin stood up from the overturned wheelbarrow and looked down at Meng. "I tried very hard not to kill you. Please bear it in mind when you go for judgment. Do not follow me as a ghost. You would find my path very crowded and, I am afraid, it is about to become more so."