“At risk for what?” Xan had looked at her with an expression much like the one she had just given him, letting her know that she was still young and very naive. “Not all our enemies are outside these walls,” he said simply. Sally tried to ask questions, but Xan cut her off, saying, “Remember that, little dragon.”
Sally jumped as the phone rang, her thoughts snapping back to the prospect of meeting the head of the clan. Xan picked up the receiver and listened for a few seconds before nodding and hanging up.
“Time to go upstairs,” he said.
The room was large and square, maybe thirty feet on a side. Banners with family crests and carefully drawn characters hung on the walls-dragons, fish, flowers, and an occasional phoenix staring out from the yellowed fabric. In the far corner of the room was a folded wooden screen with a painted battle scene, one of thousands of images throughout the school of Chinese warriors fighting the Mongol hordes.
In the exact center of the room was a dark wooden desk set adjacent to a short cabinet of matching wood with two chairs set before them. As Sally entered the room behind Xan, she noticed the hardwood floor was entirely covered by rice paper, its beige surface torn in some places but otherwise undisturbed. A primitive security system recording the comings and goings in this room. Xan’s feet left small wrinkles and tears that belied his weight. Looking back at Sally for an instant, he nodded once in satisfaction at the unbroken paper in her wake. A team of forensic experts would never know she had stepped into this or any other room.
“Welcome, Master Xan.”
The man behind the desk gestured toward them without standing up. Sally noticed his eyes first, luminous black suns that surprised her with their warmth as they tracked her progress across the paper. His face was long and elegant, his hair slicked back from a high forehead. Only the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes betrayed his age, which Sally guessed to be around sixty. He smiled as she came to a stop before the desk.
“Sixty-eight,” he said, his voice deep and resonant.
Sally remained silent but her eyes widened.
“You were guessing my age,” the man said pleasantly. “Everyone does, you know.”
“You look younger, shan chu,” replied Sally, bowing her head slightly.
“Ah, but I feel older,” came the reply. “What do you make of that?”
“The weight of your office must be a heavy burden,” said Sally.
The man nodded. “One I am tired of carrying by myself,” he said, moving his gaze toward Xan, who stared back at him in silence, a neutral expression on his face.
Both men let the moment pass as the Dragon Head turned his attention back to Sally.
“My name is Zhang Hong,” he said simply. “Did you know that?”
Sally shook her head.
Hong sighed and shifted in his chair. “My loyal friend Xan does not always approve, but I get bored with the protocol of this office. So before you called me Master of the Mountain again, I wanted to let you know that I, too, am just a man.”
Sally could tell his phrasing was deliberate and assumed he’d been listening to her conversation with Xan. For some reason it neither surprised nor offended her. It seemed somehow…consistent with her surroundings. She looked back at Hong and nodded in acknowledgement, careful to look him in the eye when she spoke.
“We all have our shortcomings, shan chu.”
Xan coughed uncomfortably as Hong barked out a laugh, slapping his hand on the desk.
“She is indeed formidable, Xan,” he said, chuckling softly. “With that tongue alone she could start a war with another clan.”
Xan looked at Sally with vague disapproval before responding. “We can only soften the steel so much as we forge the weapon, shan chu.”
Hong nodded, still smiling, and gestured toward the two chairs.
“Sit down, Sally,” he said. “Master Xan has told me of your accomplishments.”
Accomplishments, thought Sally. Field trips. I live in a world of male euphemisms.
“Did you know I recommended you for the assignment in Tokyo?” asked Hong.
Sally’s eyes snapped into focus. “Thank you,” she said simply.
Hong waved his hand distractedly. “It was unfortunate the film was ruined,” he said, frowning. “That was an important lead. But you distinguished yourself in other ways, as you have over the past few months.”
Sally wanted to look over at Xan and ask what had happened to the pictures she’d taken. She had tested the camera in Tokyo with another roll of film before she went after Kano. But there would be time later to ask her teacher. For now she kept her attention on the man sitting behind the desk, the man-she suddenly realized-who controlled her fate.
Hong glanced idly at the cabinet next to the desk before continuing.
“You have defended the society’s honor bravely,” he said. “So I wanted to show you something.” Hong reached under his collar and pulled a gold chain from around his neck, on the end of which dangled a black key. Leaning over to the cabinet, he inserted the key and turned it two revolutions to the right before twisting it again to the left.
“This cabinet is really a safe, bolted to the floor,” said Hong, turning the key one more time. “This key allows me to turn a combination lock. If the wrong combination is dialed more than once, it automatically triggers an alarm.” Hong used his free hand to gesture toward the ceiling. “The alarm sounds in my personal quarters, and poison darts shoot from holes in the wooden beams overhead.” He paused as a loud click sounded somewhere inside the cabinet. “A single dart would kill a man instantly.”
“How many are there?” asked Sally.
“Two hundred.” Hong looked up at her, amusement in his eyes. “There is a cloud of death, ten feet in diameter, hovering directly over this desk. A comforting thought for someone in my position.”
Sally watched as Hong lifted the top of the cabinet toward her and Xan-the back obviously hinged-and reached inside with both hands. The object Hong placed upon the desk met Sally’s gaze with a dozen eyes of its own.
It was a three-legged bronze urn standing almost a foot high with a hinged lid and two ornately carved handles. But what commanded Sally’s attention were the eyes, deep-set and fierce, intricately carved into the faces of dragons adorning every square inch of bronze. The three legs of the urn emerged from dragons’ mouths, the legs themselves smaller dragons twisting their way toward the clawed feet of a larger dragon visible from above. The lid was a swirling cloud of dragons, some holding glowing suns in their talons, others swallowing their own tails. Everywhere Sally looked, another dragon looked back at her.
“You know something of our history,” said Hong, smiling across the desk, his own eyes betraying his excitement. “Surely you have studied the origins of the Triads in your classes.”
Sally nodded. “The five ancestors,” she replied by rote.
Hong nodded. “Exactly. It was the sixteenth century, although some say it was the fifteenth. The throne of China had been stolen by a Manchu warlord. He neglected the people and the land. He had forfeited the mandate of heaven.”
Sally remained silent. She knew the story but suspected it might have a new ending.
“But he was still the emperor,” continued Hong. “So one day, when a rebellion occurred, the emperor turned to the monks at the Shao Lin monastery, who were trained in the martial arts. The monks agreed to
