The Pidgin Warrior Page 3

  “Second Brother, how about we go to The Great World? Second Brother, I’m so full, oh! Second Brother, tomorrow we should…oh… tomorrow we should go to the Commercial Press Bookstore to buy the Directory of the Golden Lotus to formalize our oath. When you move out, I’ll help you move. I’m… oh! Second Brother, Master will be here soon. You just have to wait, Second Brother. The Master is…”

  “Ah!”

  Shi Zhaochang waited anxiously for a week.

  “Elder Brother, will the Supreme Ultimate Master truly come?”

  “Don’t be impatient. The Master said he will come. He will come.”

  “Elder Brother, Do you think the Supreme Ultimate Master will take me?”

  “Second Brother, relax. Just leave it to me,” he said patting him on the chest.

  “Elder Brother, what kinds of gongfu have you studied? Can you tell me a little bit?”

  “Eh? Eh… Eh! I just started,” This elder brother reached out to the cigarette tin, but it was empty.

  “Liu Fu! Go buy a tin of cigarettes. Liu Fu!”

  Hu Genbao looked at a lithograph printing of a set of couplets in Qing Daoren’s calligraphy that hung on the wall. Each and every character seemed to bend like rattan. Between the couplets hung a rubbing of an engraved image taken from somewhere: “In Memoriam, Yue Fei, Prince E of the Song.” Hu Genbao raised that angular face to stare at the rafters.

  “Second Brother, how much is this house per month?”

  “I think it’s seven hundred fifty liang. I really have no idea.”

  “The house isn’t bad at all,” Hu Genbao looked out the window. “And it’s big enough for your whole family?”

  Shi Zhaochang wanted to talk more about studying the Daoist Arts, but his Elder Brother was hung up on asking if the house had a bathroom, did it have a flushing toilet, as if he was going to be practicing Daoist alchemy in the bathroom.

  What was he always asking those things for? In brief, they lived in a house—three floors, seven hundred fifty liang per month. They moved in five days ago.

  “Who all lives in the two garrets?”

  From the kitchen downstairs, there was a sudden noise: crack!

  Shi Zhaochang curved the edges of his mouth downward. “Humph. Playing mahjong again. If all the Chinese people were all like those, we’d really be done for.”

  “I should go pay my respects to your father.” He rose in a stretch.

  “No need. You don’t have to be so polite. You’re my Elder Brother. I won’t hide anything from my Elder Brother. My family is…”

  He told his Elder Brother: Having his family was like not having a family. His birth mother died when he was three. When he was eight, his father married a woman and they had Zhaowu. He was utterly alone. His mother was very sharp, and saw this coming. Before she died, she had her husband set aside some money to save for their son. Of course, the family had money besides, but there were bandits out there and there was no relying that he could get it in his hands.

  “Now, the only relationship I have with my family is that money. The rest of it has nothing to do with me.”

  “How much money is it?” His Elder Brother asked offhandedly. “Is it all for you to spend on your own?”

  “Eh. I’m an adult. I can use the account however I like. It’s really not that much, only three thousand and some change. I haven’t touched it. I’m preparing for a great undertaking.”

  “Your father and you…”

  “Eh, don’t bring that up.” Shi Zhaochang exhaled. “He’s a good man really, but he’s entered into the dark path.

  To be honest, his father seemed to have a grudge against him. His father and step-mother stood to one side and teased him, made fun of him. He knew that second wife of his father’s harbored nothing good toward his father: she was looking forward to his death so that her own son would be the sole recipient of all his assets.

  Look! Even the people in his own family harbored such suspicious minds!

  “Eh, there aren’t many good people nowadays!”

  Isn’t that the truth—everything you see and hear is all evil people hurting good people. All the big shots just do all they can to squeeze out rent and grain. And don’t those damn foreigners just casually murder a few ordinary Chinese folks just for fun? The rich trade in foreign rice to the point that you can’t get any price for Chinese rice. The tenant farmers are getting more and more rebellious, and it will end up on the heads of their landlords. Dammit, can this be tolerated? And the past few years there have been bandits riling things up in the countryside, and the fucking XX devils, too?

  As for Shi Zhaochang, he had to be a hero: What he had suffered, what others had suffered, he had turned it into outrage. He had suffered, but he also thought of what others had suffered.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to be a hero.”

  What his father had said long ago was so true: “You were born with the horoscope of a general. You must study hard, understand? You must study hard. Do not be an ordinary person.”

  Everyone said that his horoscope fated him to be a man of astonishing accomplishments.

  “Come.” His father had often dragged him in from of him. “Tell me. What kind of person are you going to be?”

  “I will be Guan Yu. I’ll be Yue Fei.”

  “Good boy!” He would clap. “Then your father will be proud.”

  He read The Loyalty of Yue Fei. Then he read The Seven Heroes and Five Gallants and Seven Swordsmen and Thirteen Gallants. He started to study martial arts. This was all when he was young. But he never changed: he still thought of his future, still bowing to a master and studying martial arts.

  But now his father had transferred his hopes to Zhaowu and didn’t have faith in his eldest anymore.

  “Hmph. I must be stalwart… I must… It is mandated by fate. It’s my native ability.

  To be a hero, one must believe in oneself. One must train tirelessly. One must establish great ambitions.

  Last year, on passing his twenty-fourth birthday, he found a run-down temple to Guan Yu and he made a vow. He knelt before the red-faced god with wrinkled brow.

  “I will practice the Dao until I am transformed into an immortal of the blade. I will scour the world clean of evil men and fight all injustice. I will subdue the entire world. I will annihilate all Evil—Those who don’t believe in gods, those who don’t respect the Dao of the sages, anti-Confucians, those who don’t maintain the separation of superiors and subordinates, those who promote communal wives, those evildoers. I will kill every last bandit, I will capture every last thief in the world…”

  Now he thought about it to see if he had left anything out. As so he added another: “I will make our land peaceful in life and happy in work, grain will be affordable, the lower classes will enter into the Way of Good and will know the difference between superior and inferior, they will know their own place and will have faith in the heavenly decrees of fate. I want to bring peace to the world. I, Shi Zhaochang make these vows and I am resolute in my ambition: Please, Duke Guan…Please Lord Guan… Please Elder Guan… Guan Guan Guan…”

  He suddenly didn’t know how to address him.

  What, forgotten? Didn’t Elder Guan become an emperor after he died?

  “Please Emperor Guan!” He said quickly. “I, Shi Zhaochang plead to Emperor Guan for your blessing on my success… I, Shi Zhaochang pledge my life to become such a swordsman.”

  He had actually made these vows long before, but up until that day he had never formally made the pledges before the face of the god. And so he had to do all he could to find a man of the Dao to take as his master, find a master of martial arts who could teach him Form-Intention Boxing.

  “That type is only a foundation gongfu,” Shi Zhaochang said as he opened up the newly-bought tin of cigarettes. “I’ve studied several forms.”

  As if r
eciting a memorized resume, in one go, he told his Elder Brother the other forms he had studied, and then put a cigarette in his mouth. Thus Endeth the Curriculum Vitae.

  Hu Genbao kept staring at the rafters.

  Silence. From downstairs came the sound of mahjong tiles and laughter.

  Shi Zhaochang paced up and down the room: He used the splayfoot stride of the masculine characters from the opera. His eyes were always fixed on the big mirror on the wardrobe: watching to see if his bearing was correct or not.

  His father taught him this splayfoot stance when he was small.

  “People who are Correct walk in a Correct way. Don’t be all higgledy piggledy.”

  His father walked around with a splayfoot stride to show him.

  “Walking must be done like this with regular precision. In ancient times, the sages, the emperors, the ministers, the generals, they all walked like this. Monks and Daoists use this stance when they do their rituals. All you have to do is go find someone who has studied the Way, even today, they walk with this regular precision. Even though walking is a small thing, you must pay close attention. In our China, this nation of propriety, this stands as a… a kind of… a kind of… Well, anyway this type of bearing represents our cultural legacy.”

  Correct people absolutely walk with this type of stride. Even though he had never himself seen those ancient heroes or great warriors, from watching operas and from what he had studied carefully in paintings, he saw: Guan Gong, Yue Fei, Hua Mulan, Wu Song, Jiang Ziya, Thirteenth Sister, Dust Mote, Zhuge Liang, Gan Fengchi, Laozi, they all had this same splayfoot stance, and many, many more people too.

  Who knows if Supreme Ultimate Master had legs like that too…

  Shi Zhaochang’s eyes slid down from the big mirror, settling on the two legs of that disciple of the Supreme Ultimate Master.

  His legs were folded, nothing to be seen there.

  “Brother, how does the Supreme Ultimate Master walk?”

  “What?” He puzzled.

  “Ah, nothing. I was just…”

  Suddenly a girl cried out from downstairs, “Mom! Mom! Second brother pulled my hair! Mom!”

  Shi Zhaochang immediately rushed out the door.

  He was going to right an injustice, right?

  No. That little girl was the fourth sister of his stepmother. She was always at odds with Zhaowu and had just come to lodge her complaint with her mother. This wasn’t uncommon.

  But downstairs in the guest room the wet nurse was making accusations against the second master too:

  “You see Mistress, Second Master stole one of my pairs of trousers and threw them in the trashcan. Second Master beat me too, look. Look Mistress.”

  The Mistress’ voice: “What? Your trousers?”

  The men and women who were playing mahjong roared in laughter.

  Dear Readers, you have not seen that Mistress, so you will allow me to introduce you. Come downstairs and take a look at the commotion.

  Ah, now that one with the purple scar on her temple is the wife of the Elder Mr. Shi Boxiang, Shi Zhaochang’s stepmother. In age, she doesn’t look more than forty. Her eyes are reddened. Sitting behind her the Elder Mr. Shi Boxiang is looking at her tiles.

  The wet nurse is standing in front of them, with the not quite one-year-old fifth sister in her left arm, her right arm stretched out to show her the black-green bruising on her wrist.

  “How could he have run off with your trousers?” Mistress kept her laughter-induced tear-filled eyes locked on her tiles.

  “The dresser in my room is broken. Second Master just went in, snatched them, and ran. He threw my trousers in the trashcan. I came to tell you Mistress, Second Master just beat me.”

  Mistress wrinkled her brow slightly.

  “What a muddle of a wet nurse you are: you can’t even babysit your own trousers! You are all aware of Second Master’s temperament. You should be more careful. What a person, you!”

  Then Mistress sighed. “That boy Zhaowu is certainly naughty. Even if someone can’t babysit their own trousers, you shouldn’t throw them in the trashcan, trashcan…Pong! Seven wan pong! Three bamboo. You’ll eat that one I bet. Three bamboo is a good one, and I’ve just broke up a pair to give it to you. You don’t want it? Such a good tile and you don’t want it? Truly naughty. It infuriates me. Trousers in the trashcan… How did Mrs. Liu make a set? Ai, Boxiong, light a cigarette for me. I’ll have to punish Zhaowu. Zhaowu! Zhaowu! Where has Second Master gone to? Call him out here…Zhaowu!”

  “Spank Second Master! Spank Second Master!” Cried Forth Sister, but her voice was drowned out by the shuffling of the mahjong tiles.

  Seven or eight minutes later, Mistress sighed again. “That boy Zhaowu is certainly naughty. Fifteen years old. Aiya, thanks to you for that red dragon! What a good gunner to set off my cannon! Ha Ha ha! Even though they say we should encourage a martial spirit, you shouldn’t beat the wet nurse—if you injure her, how would we have milk? And after stealing the trousers, was there any need to throw them in the trashcan? That boy infuriates me!”

  The Elder Shi Boxiong cautiously lit Mistress’s cigarette and tried to comfort her: “That boy Zhaowu is truly naughty. But don’t come down too harshly: When he becomes a division commander at sixteen, won’t you enjoy your son’s good fortune?”

  “Even so, these times always make you a little grumpy, don’t they? Now, I’m always…Self-drawn all chow! I’ve been waiting on a four or seven bamboo for so long. Are you waiting for one? I was waiting on that four seven bamboo forever! I couldn’t wait any longer. Right, wait until I’m enjoying his good fortune, but for now he is too naughty. A mother’s heart is never at ease…”

  Mistress put her cigarette on the ashtray so she could shuffle the tiles, but her mouth kept on. She told everyone about the fortune that was told to Zhaowu about becoming a division commander at age sixteen.

  “To be a division commander at sixteen would be a hardship. There would be not time to play around as a division commander. So I’m a little more forgiving toward him now. Of course sixteen is a little too young to become a division commander, but what can one do? But in ancient times, there was an outstanding prime minister who was only twelve. Zhaowu is fifteen this year, so there aren’t many days left for him to play around, so let him play. By the end of the year, he will be done with his silliness and in the new year he will begin his proper work. If he wants to play, let him play, he’ll never again…again with the…his ambition is in the military realm. But… but… I’ve always thought to become a division commander at sixteen, will be a hardship. Others are still children at sixteen, ah, isn’t that so, Mrs. Liu?”

  Shi Zhaochang walked his elder brother downstairs and stood outside the door to listen for a while. He spit heavily on the ground. “Hmph, a sixteen year-old division commander! Like he could!”

  3

  The Flying Mud-Pellets of the Woman Warrior

  The weather had gradually become colder, but the news was still tense. There was a citizen’s meeting at the public sports field. Students flooded the North Station, taking trains to Nanjing to make petitions. Solicitors of donations to the Aid the Northwest Volunteer Corps carried their bamboo tubes around, asking for money. Every national salvation group had mobilized all at once.

  Many guests had just arrived at the Elder Mister Shi Boxiang’s home. They were waiting for food to be served while they listened to a committee member from the National Salvation Group give a talk.

  “I hope that each of you will join our Group, because everyone here is of the elite families.”

  The committee member looked out the window, speaking as if from a script. The listeners could only see the flat back of his head.

  Shi Zhaochang stood and as he went to the table to get the committee member a cigarette, he said, “But I feel that your position is useless.”

  On this the c
ommittee member turned his head back. Dear readers, take a look at his face: ah, it is someone we are already familiar with, Mister Liu Liu.

  Mister Liu Liu seemed not to have heard Shi Zhaochang. A cigarette hung from his lips as he took a small volume from his black leather bag.

  “This is the charter of our Group.”

  The Elder Mister Shi Boxiang pulled out his eyeglasses and put them on. First he commented on the cover of the volume:

  “These characters are written very well indeed.”

  Several heads gathered around.

  “These are Zhao Style.”

  “The strokes are a bit similar to Zhao Style, but whoever wrote this certainly studied Zheng Xiaozu’s characters.”

  “Not so. I have a friend, Mr. Le Lezhai, and his characters look a bit like Kang Nanhai’s. He studied Wei Dynasty stele writing - the Shimen Stone Carvings by Wang Yuan. Kang Nanhai studied the Shimen Carvings too.”

  “I don’t think so,” The Elder Mister Shi Boxiang said with a lingering voice.

  “In that case, what do you think the writer studied?”

  Boxiang only stared distractedly for a while. “It does have a flavor of Yan in it. I think… I think it… I think it…Perhaps he studied Qian Nanyuan’s.”

  “Qian Nanyuan’s—I’m not so sure.”

  Mister Liu Liu smiled in triumph, without saying a word. He wanted to wait until someone asked him, but he couldn’t resist.

  The cover of the volume was:

  Hunger Strike of the Elite National Salvation Group Charter

  —The Imprint of Le Lezhai, Doctor of Literature

  One friend in western attire had seen the characters on the cover clearly and left the gathering of heads and with an older gentleman returned to the sofa talking about Le Lezhai’s characters.

  “I saw him copying inscriptions with my own eyes. He was copying… Mi… Mi something, Mi Shee… Shi Te, Mi Shite!”

  “Mi Shite?” The older gentleman didn’t understand.

  “Hm. With my own eyes, I saw it, with my own eyes! He was copying out Mi Shite’s rhapsody on the Great Peng Rhapsody.”