China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

In another year or two there will be a number of appointments coming up, and I think I can get you one which carries both promotion and profit.”

“Guilin?” Shi-Rong had pursed his lips. It wasn’t just a backwater. The Miao people, a big ethnic tribe who’d been giving trouble for centuries, had been in a state of rebellion for the last decade. True, the insurrections had all been in the next province to the north. But there were plenty of Miao folk in the area around Guilin. It might be uncomfortable, even dangerous. “You’ve really nothing else to suggest?” he asked.

“If you’re worrying about the Miao, I just had a letter from the prefect there. He’s a splendid fellow. He assures me it’s all right. It’s poor but quite beautiful. Put a little time in there, and you’ll be rewarded, I promise you.”

It was a chance, at least, the best hope he’d had for quite a while. So he’d accepted it gratefully. And when his patron mentioned that his third son needed a job, Shi-Rong had taken the hint at once.

“Is there anything I need to know about the young man?” he asked.

“You’ll have to tell him to stop talking.” Peng’s father gave him an apologetic smile. “Frequently.”

—

During the first month Peng asked quite a lot of questions about the administration of a prefecture and his duties. The questions weren’t stupid, and Shi-Rong was content to answer them. He also taught the young man some Cantonese. It passed the time, after all. And he soon evolved ways of shutting the young man up, without being unkind.

“Will your wife and family be joining us?” Peng asked on the second day.

“Not at present. My daughter, sadly, is not in good health. Not well enough to travel. My dear wife will remain with her at our family home until she is stronger.”

“I see. Shall we have the pleasure of seeing your sons?”

“Perhaps. My elder boy is busy with his studies at present. But it may do him good to come to Guilin for a rest in a few months.”

“It must be difficult to be parted from one’s wife,” Peng ventured.

“Indeed,” said Shi-Rong. Not as difficult as you suppose, he could have added. Instead he said solemnly: “Our duty to the emperor comes first.”

“Oh. Of course, master. Duty first.”

“And now I should like to enjoy the view in silence, my dear Peng,” Shi-Rong said firmly, “if you would be so kind.”

“Is it true,” Peng asked another time, “that you were with the great Lord Lin as his private secretary during his time in Guangzhou?”

“It is true.”

“My father says that Lord Lin was a great hero, and the most honest servant of the emperor who ever lived,” Peng continued.

“He was certainly honest,” Shi-Rong replied. “As you know, he was temporarily disgraced and then reinstated, but his career never quite recovered. I am glad that after his death his memory has been held in ever higher esteem.”

“My father says most mandarins are just out to line their pockets.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Shi-Rong said cautiously.

“My father says you’re like the lord Lin.”

“He is too kind. I am undeserving.”

“I know I shall see nothing but the utmost correctness in all your actions in Guilin, master,” Peng went on enthusiastically. “I shall study all you do.”

Shi-Rong did not reply. He seemed to be considering something.

In fact, young Peng’s enthusiasm was not entirely misplaced. By the standards of many men in his position, Shi-Rong had been a model of probity. But it wasn’t as if his reputation for probity had brought him any promotion. It hadn’t. He was in his fifties now, and he hadn’t risen very far. If he was going to do something for his family, earn the respect of his children at least, then he needed to put some money by and add to the family fortune. Not that he would stoop to evil conduct. If a man was rightly accused of a crime and the family tried to bribe him to find the fellow innocent, he wouldn’t even consider it. But there might be other, more harmless ways to come by extra money. And if these came his way, then perhaps occasionally he might avail himself of the opportunity in future. If he was sure he wouldn’t be caught.

Anyway, it was time for Peng to shut up again. “Do you know the little poem ‘Silent Night’ by the poet Li Bai of the Tang dynasty?” he suddenly asked.

“Of course, master. Every child knows it.”

“Recite the poem to me.”

Peng did so:

Moonlight makes my bed board gleam

Like the ground frost’s silver sheen

Look up to see the moon so bright

Look down, and see your childhood home

“Excellent,” said Shi-Rong. “Li Bai wrote over a thousand poems, you know, and another of them has just come into my mind. I should like to contemplate it now, uninterrupted,” he added pleasantly, “for the rest of the day.”

So they continued into the second month. And Shi-Rong was pleased to note that never, not even once, did Peng again ask him why they were going so far to the south.

◦

The sun was sinking in the west when Mei-Ling saw the four horsemen approaching. She was standing at the gate with Elder Son admiring the newly completed bridge over the pond below.

The head of the household was in a cheerful mood. He’d even managed to collect some rent from a tenant that day. “Look at what a good job we’ve made of that bridge,” he had just remarked, quite as if he’d done some of the work himself.

One of the horsemen, a tall young man, dismounted and approached them. “My master is an important official,” he told Elder Son in halting Cantonese. “We need shelter for the night. We’d pay you well.”

The young man certainly looked like an official. Mei-Ling’s gaze traveled to the other riders: two servants, obviously, and a mandarin. The mandarin was walking his horse closer.

But when she saw his face, Mei-Ling went very pale. Her mind began to race. Why had he