Shadows on Water
You are woken in the morning with what feels like an axe in your skull, but it's merely the result of an old man drinking like a young one. The soldier, Fang, stands above you.
"We should leave. Pack a light bag, put your affairs in order."
First you wake up your half-brother and tell him of your decision to serve the emperor. He accepts this straightforwardly, it seems he expected it. Though you have some qualms about entrusting the farm to him, you have no other kin to do the job. No tearful farewells, just a hurried explanation of what you need him to do. He nods slowly, you hope you have made yourself clear.
You pack a bag with writing materials and some food. As you walk down the path to the brushwood gate the sun has not yet emerged from the earth, it hides behind the clump of trees to the east, you remember childhood adventures there, fighting imaginary barbarians. The grass in the garden is wet from last night's downpour. The mountains to the north loom large and close.As Fang helps you mount a small brown horse, you hope you haven't, suspect you may have, left something behind.
"Take this dagger, leaving home can be dangerous sometimes. We make for Ch'ang-an, by way of the Yellow River. " says Fang.
You strap the long dagger around your waist.
The journey down the mountain is a familiar one. A stream, the one you drank from as a child, keeps you company as you wind down through the forest. Parts of a forgotten song trickle through your mind. For some time a crow circles above your party, tracking you for a while, then flies on ahead.
Fang says little as you ride. In the presence of his soldiers he is relaxed, but distant. His attention is completely given to his surroundings. Often he spurs his horse on to scout out what lies beyond a bend in the path, and on one such occaision Ling, the largest and toughest looking of the soldiers, strikes up a conversation with you. He strokes his fearsome looking beard and smiles, before saying;
"Tell me master, what can an ignorant soldier hope to learn from one so wise?"
"That if one were to live a thousand lives, then one might rightly be called wise. To be born into another life, to see things anew, that would be a wonderful thing, though I don't suppose it to be possible." you say.
"I've had the pleasure of bringing many lives into this world, and taking many from it, and it seems to me that being born is the more traumatic for those involved. Being born is overated, as is giving birth i'm told. Conceiving is a different matter. Give me a thousand deaths, I say, each bloodier and more glorious than the last. And top it all off with death in the middle of lovemaking. What say you Chen? How many births? How many deaths?" he says, turning to the other soldier.
"One of each is quite enough, thank you."
An hour or so later you come to a crossroads. A crow is perched on a branch overhanging the way ahead.
"Our friend the crow again." says Ling.
"Pay no mind to it." you reply.
Fang looks about him, trying to see through the trees, and says, "It means danger."
"We should leave. Pack a light bag, put your affairs in order."
First you wake up your half-brother and tell him of your decision to serve the emperor. He accepts this straightforwardly, it seems he expected it. Though you have some qualms about entrusting the farm to him, you have no other kin to do the job. No tearful farewells, just a hurried explanation of what you need him to do. He nods slowly, you hope you have made yourself clear.
You pack a bag with writing materials and some food. As you walk down the path to the brushwood gate the sun has not yet emerged from the earth, it hides behind the clump of trees to the east, you remember childhood adventures there, fighting imaginary barbarians. The grass in the garden is wet from last night's downpour. The mountains to the north loom large and close.As Fang helps you mount a small brown horse, you hope you haven't, suspect you may have, left something behind.
"Take this dagger, leaving home can be dangerous sometimes. We make for Ch'ang-an, by way of the Yellow River. " says Fang.
You strap the long dagger around your waist.
The journey down the mountain is a familiar one. A stream, the one you drank from as a child, keeps you company as you wind down through the forest. Parts of a forgotten song trickle through your mind. For some time a crow circles above your party, tracking you for a while, then flies on ahead.
Fang says little as you ride. In the presence of his soldiers he is relaxed, but distant. His attention is completely given to his surroundings. Often he spurs his horse on to scout out what lies beyond a bend in the path, and on one such occaision Ling, the largest and toughest looking of the soldiers, strikes up a conversation with you. He strokes his fearsome looking beard and smiles, before saying;
"Tell me master, what can an ignorant soldier hope to learn from one so wise?"
"That if one were to live a thousand lives, then one might rightly be called wise. To be born into another life, to see things anew, that would be a wonderful thing, though I don't suppose it to be possible." you say.
"I've had the pleasure of bringing many lives into this world, and taking many from it, and it seems to me that being born is the more traumatic for those involved. Being born is overated, as is giving birth i'm told. Conceiving is a different matter. Give me a thousand deaths, I say, each bloodier and more glorious than the last. And top it all off with death in the middle of lovemaking. What say you Chen? How many births? How many deaths?" he says, turning to the other soldier.
"One of each is quite enough, thank you."
An hour or so later you come to a crossroads. A crow is perched on a branch overhanging the way ahead.
"Our friend the crow again." says Ling.
"Pay no mind to it." you reply.
Fang looks about him, trying to see through the trees, and says, "It means danger."