Chapter XXIX
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
(A partial list, characters generally identified by their role when first appearing)
Associated with the court
Emperor Wenzong of Kitai
Chizu, his son and heir
Zhizeng (“Prince Jen”), his ninth son
Hang Dejin, prime minister of Kitai
Hang Hsien, his son
Kai Zhen, deputy prime minister of Kitai
Yu-lan, his wife
Tan Ming, one of his concubines
Wu Tong, a eunuch, Kai Zhen’s ally, a military commander
Sun Shiwei, an assassin
Elsewhere in Kitai
Ren Yuan, a clerk in the western village of Shengdu
Ren Daiyan, his younger son
Wang Fuyin, sub-prefect in Shengdu
Tuan Lung (“Teacher Tuan”), founder of an academy in Shengdu
Zhao Ziji, a military officer
Lin Kuo, a court gentleman
Lin Shan, his daughter and only child
Qi Wai, husband to Shan
Xi Wengao (“Master Xi”), formerly prime minister, a historian
Lu Chen, friend to Xi Wengao, a poet, exiled
Lu Chao, Chen’s brother, also exiled
Lu Mah, Chen’s son
Shao Bian, a young woman in the Great River town of Chunyu
Shao Pan, her younger brother
Sima Peng, a woman in Gongzhu, a hamlet near the Great River
Zhi-li, her daughter
Ming Dun, a soldier
Kang Junwen, a soldier, escapee from occupied lands
Shenwei Huang, a military commander
On the steppe
Emperor Te-kuan of the Xiaolu
Yao-kan, his cousin and principal adviser
Yan’po, kaghan of the Altai tribe
Wan’yen, war-leader of the Altai
Bai’ji, Wan’yen’s brother
Paiya, kaghan of the Khashin tribe
O-Pang, kaghan of the Jeni tribe
O-Yan, his youngest brother
CHAPTER I
Late autumn, early morning. It is cold, mist rising from the forest floor, sheathing the green bamboo trees in the grove, muffling sounds, hiding the Twelve Peaks to the east. The maple leaves on the way here are red and yellow on the ground, and falling. The temple bells from the edge of town seem distant when they ring, as if from another world.
There are tigers in the forests, but they hunt at night, will not be hungry now, and this is a small grove. The villagers of Shengdu, though they fear them and the older ones make offerings to a tiger god at altars, still go into the woods by day when they need to, for firewood or to hunt, unless a man-eater is known to be about. At such times a primitive terror claims them all, and fields will go untilled, tea plants unharvested, until the beast is killed, which can take a great effort, and sometimes there are deaths.
The boy was alone in the bamboo grove on a morning swaddled in fog, a wan, weak hint of sun pushing between leaves: light trying to declare itself, not quite there. He was swinging a bamboo sword he’d made, and he was angry.
He’d been unhappy and aggrieved for two weeks now, having reasons entirely sufficient in his own mind, such as his life lying in ruins like a city sacked by barbarians.
At the moment, however, because he was inclined towards thinking in certain ways, he was attempting to decide whether anger made him better or worse with the bamboo sword. And would it be different with his bow?
The exercise he pursued here, one he’d invented for himself, was a test, training, discipline, not a child’s diversion (he wasn’t a child any more).
As best he could tell, no one knew he came to this grove. His brother certainly didn’t, or he’d have followed to mock—and probably break the bamboo swords.
The challenge he’d set himself involved spinning and wheeling at speed, swinging the too-long (and also too-light) bamboo weapon as hard as he could, downstrokes and thrusts—without touching any of the trees surrounding him in the mist.
He’d been doing this for two years now, wearing out—or breaking—an uncountable number of wooden swords. They lay scattered around him. He left them on the uneven ground to increase the challenge. Terrain for any real combat would have such obstacles.
The boy was big for his age, possibly too confident, and grimly, unshakably determined to be one of the great men of his time, restoring glory with his virtue to a diminished world.
He was also the second son of a records clerk in the sub-prefecture town of Shengdu, at the western margin of the Kitan empire in its Twelfth Dynasty—which pretty much eliminated the possibility of such ambition coming to fulfillment in the world as they knew it.
To this truth was now added the blunt, significant fact that the only teacher in their sub-prefecture had closed his private school, the Yingtan Mountain Academy, and left two weeks ago. He had set off east (there was nowhere to go, west) to find what might be his fortune, or at
