“I know. Just the same—well, just the same.”
“And as for making love, I have heard from those learned in the Tao state that by so doing, especially if he prolongs the act as much as possible, a man comes nearer balancing his Yang with the Yin. At least, this is one school of thought. Others disagree, I am told. But we can hardly expect conventional respectability of a person whose goal in fife is enlightenment.”
Yen Ting-kuo achieved a sour smile. “My lord is more tolerant than me, it seems.”
“No, I merely thought I should seek to prepare myself /before setting out, that I might hope to understand whatever I may find.” Ts’ai Li paused. “What of Tu Shan’s earlier life? How much truth is in his claim to great age? I hear he has the aspect of a young man.”
“He does, together with the vigor and all else. Should a sage not be, rather, of reverend appearance?” Yen Ting-kuo drew breath. “Well, but I have made inquiries about those claims of his. Not that he asserts them loudly. In fact, he never mentions the matter unless he must for some reason, as to explain how long-dead Chou P’eng could have been his teacher. But neither has he tried to cover his tracks. I have been able to question people and to visit a few sites myself, when business has taken me in those directions.”
“Please tell me what you have ascertained, that I may compare my own information.”
“Well, it is evidently true, he was born more than a hundred years ago. That was in the Three Great Rocks district, and his class was merely artisan. He followed his father’s trade, a blacksmith, married, had children, nothing unusual aside from his not growing old in body. That did gradually make him a neighborhood marvel, but he does not seem to have taken much if any advantage of it. Instead, when his children were married off and his wife had died, he announced he would seek wisdom, the reason for his strange condition and for all else in the world. He set forth, and was not heard of again until he became a disciple of Chou P’eng. When that old sage died in turn, Tu Shan fared onward, teaching and practicing the Tao as he understood it. I do not know how close that is to what Chou P’eng taught. Nor do I know how long Tu Shan proposes to stay here. Perhaps he himself does not. I have asked him, but such people are always skilled in evading questions they do not wish to answer.”
“Thank you. It confirms the reports given me. Now a man of your perspicacity, Sir Subprefect, must see that such a life indicates extraordinary powers of some kind, and—”
A deferential presence appeared in the doorway. “Enter and speak,” said Yen Ting-kuo.
Ts’ai Li’s secretary took a step into the room, bowed low, and announced: “This underling begs pardon for disturbing his superiors. However, word has just come to him which may have a certain interest and perhaps urgency. The sage Tu Shan is on the western road bound for the village. Has my lord any commands?”
“Well, well,” murmured’ the subprefect. “What an interesting coincidence.”
“If it is a coincidence,” answered Ts’ai Li.
Yen Ting-kuo lifted his heavy brows. “Has he foreseen my lord’s arrival and purpose?”
“It need not be a matter of occult abilities. The Tao works to bring events together in harmony.”
“Shall I summon him here, or bid him wait upon my lord’s convenience?”
“Neither. I will go to him—much though it pains me to interrupt this fascinating conversation.” At his host’s look of surprise, Ts’ai Li added, “After all, otherwise I would have sought him out in his retreat. If he is worthy of respect, let him be shown respect,”
With a rustle of silk and brocade, he rose from his cushion and started forth. Yen Ting-kuo followed. The inspector’s equerry hastened to summon a decent minimum of attendants and bring them after the magnates. They went through the gate and down the hill at a suitably dignified pace.
A wind had arisen. It boomed from the north, cooling the air, driving clouds before it whose shadows went like sickles across the land. Dust whirled yellow off fields and the road. A flock of crows winged past. Their cawing cut through the babble underneath. Folk had clustered at the village well. They were those whose work was not out amidst the crops: tradesmen, artisans, their women and children, the aged and infirm. Soldiers from the envoy’s escort crowded roughly in among them, curious.
All were gathered about a man who had stopped at the wellside. His frame, big and broad, wore the same plain blue, quilted jacket and trousers as any peasant’s. His feet were bare, thick with calluses. Also bare was his head; stray black locks fluttered free below a topknot. His face was wide, rather flat-nosed, weatherbeaten. He had leaned a staff against the coping and taken a small girl child onto his shoulder. Near him stood three young men, as simply garbed as himself.
“Ah, ha, little one!” the man laughed, and chucked the girl under the chin.
“Would you have a ride on your old horsey? Shameless beggar wench.” She squirmed and giggled.
“Bless her, master,” asked the mother.
“Why, what she is, that is the blessing,” replied the man. “She is still near the Fountainhead of Quietness to which wise men hope they may return. Not that that forbids your desiring a sweetmeat, eh, Mei-mei?”
“Can childhood, then, be better than age?” quavered one whose wispy beard fell white from a head bent forward.
“You would have me teach, when my poor throat is choked by the dust of my faring?” responded the man genially. “No, please, first a cup or three of wine. Nothing in excess, including self-denial.”
“Make way!” cried the equerry. “Make way for the lord Ts’ai Li, Imperial legate from Ch’ang-an, and for the lord of the district, Yen Ting-kuo!”
Voices halted. People scrambled aside. Frightened, the girl whimpered and reached for her mother. The man gave her to the woman and bowed, politely if not abjectly, as the two robed forms neared him.
“Here is our sage Tu Shan, Sir Inspector,” said the sub-prefect.
“Off with you!” the equerry bade the commoners. “This is a matter of state.”
“They may listen if they wish,” said Ts’ai Li mildly.
“Their smell should not offend my lord’s nostrils,” declared the equerry, and the crowd did shuffle some distance away, to stand in bunches and gape.
“Let us seek back to the house,” Yen Ting-kuo proposed. “This day you receive a great honor, Tu Shan.”
“I thank my lord most profoundly,” the newcomer answered, “but we are shabby and unwashed and altogether unfit for your home.” His voice was deep, lacking a cultivated accent though not quite lowly-sounding either. A chuckle seemed to run within it and flicker behind his eyes. “May I take the liberty of presenting my disciples Ch’i, Wei, and Ma?” The three youths abased themselves until he gave them an unobtrusive signal to rise.
“They can join us.” Yen Ting-kuo failed to hide his distaste entirely.
Did Tu Shan perceive that? He addressed Ts’ai Li: “Perhaps my lord would care to state his business at once. Then we shall know whether or not pursuing it would waste his time.”
The inspector smiled. “I hope not, Sir Sage, for I have already expended a great deal of that,” he said. To the baron, the secretary, and the rest who had heard and were shocked: “Tu Shan is right. He has certainly spared me a doubtless difficult trail to his hermitage.”
“Happenstance,” said the man spoken of. “Nor does it take supernatural insight for me to guess your errand.”
“Rejoice,” Ts’ai Li told him. “Word of you has reached the august ears of the Emperor himself. He bade me seek you out and bring you to Ch’ang-an, that the realm have the benefit of your wisdom.”
The disciples gasped before recovering a measure of steadiness. Tu Shan stayed imperturbable. “Surely the Son of Heaven has councillors beyond counting,” he said.
“He does, but they are insufficient. As the proverb goes, a thousand mice do not equal a single tiger.”
“Perhaps my lord is a bit unfair to the advisors and ministers. They have huge tasks, beyond my poor wits to understand.”
“Your modesty is commendable. It reveals your character.”
Tu Shan shook his head. “No, I am just a fool, and ignorant. How could I dare so much as see the Imperial throne?”
“You defame yourself,” said Ts’ai Li on a slight note of impatience. “None can have lived as long as you without being intelligent and without gaining experience. Moreover, you have pondered what you have observed and drawn valuable lessons from it.”
Tu Shan smiled wryly, as though at an equal. “If I have learned anything, it is that intelligence and knowledge are worth little by themselves. Failing the enlightenment that goes beyond words and the world, they serve mainly to provide us with wonderful reasons for doing what we intend to do regardless.”
