help the emperor if he would help the people of China. The emperor agreed, promising the monks of Shao Lin he would return to the path of righteousness.”
Hong set his hands on either side of the urn as he continued.
“One hundred monks defeated ten times their number in battle, defeating the rebellion and returning the emperor to power. Then the monks returned to their monastery, reminding the emperor before they left of the promise he had made. But the emperor did not keep his word. Instead, he declared the monks a threat to the kingdom because of their superior military skills. He ordered that their monastery be destroyed. So while the monks slept, agents of the emperor sealed the entrance and burned the monastery to the ground.”
Hong moved his hands to the front of the urn and slid his fingers under the edge of the lid. “Only five monks managed to escape. They were the original five ancestors, vowing to avenge their brethren and fight the corruption of government for generations to come.”
Sally shifted in her seat but said nothing. She had no illusions about the business of the Triads and doubted Hong did, either. Yet all their ritual and history characterized the members as rebels, not thieves. Men are always brave in the stories they tell each other.
“But the five ancestors did not escape so easily,” said Hong, his eyes fixed on the urn. “The emperor sent soldiers to capture or kill the monks. The soldiers chased them to the ocean, where the monks found themselves surrounded, outnumbered, and with no means of escape.”
Hong looked over the urn at Sally, his eyes bright.
“All was lost,” he said, pausing dramatically, “until a three-legged incense burner appeared on the beach before the five monks. Within the incense burner, the monks found something that gave them strength beyond their numbers. Something that made them invincible in any contest.” As Sally and Xan looked on, Hong slowly lifted the lid.
“That something,” said Hong, “was this.” As his hands cleared the lid, Sally gasped.
At first she thought it was a human heart, with the same asymmetrical curves and roughly the same size, mottled green and blood red in patches. But in the next instant she saw it as a dragon, the scales so precisely carved and the eyes so clear she could have sworn it just emerged from an egg. As Hong moved it between his hands, the dragon seemed to glow faintly, as if it were breathing.
“This is the heart of the dragon,” said Hong proudly. “Passed on from the original five ancestors. It has kept our house strong for generations. It is, quite simply, our most valuable possession.”
Sally stared at the object for several seconds before speaking.
“What is it made of?”
Hong smiled. “Everyone asks that,” he said. “Bloodstone and jade, with some other elements mixed in-the blood of our ancestors, to be sure. Do you want to hold it?”
Sally hesitated for a moment before reaching across the desk, then stood as she took the object in both hands. It was heavier than she expected but even more compact, no bigger than her own fist. The dragon stared back at her with blazing red eyes, the trick of light making the stone seem to glow from within. And it was warm-there was no denying it-but whether from Hong’s touch or the rock itself, she couldn’t say.
Xan cleared his throat behind her, and Sally realized she’d been holding the object for a while. Tearing her eyes away from it, she carefully handed it back to Hong.
“It’s lovely,” she said respectfully. “But why show it to me?”
Hong nodded as he set the heart back inside the incense burner, closing the lid with both hands. “Why indeed?” he asked. “Because you are one of us, a direct descendant of our five ancestors, the monks of Shao Lin. You are stronger, smarter, and more formidable than our opponents. And you, too, have the heart of a dragon.”
Sally bowed her head respectfully but said nothing.
“And one day,” continued Hong, “someone else will be sitting in this chair. So I wanted you to understand your connection to the clan. To the Triads. To your own place in history, and the history we will make together.”
Sally nodded again, forcing a smile. She was moved and intrigued by Hong’s words but also trained to mistrust flattery in all forms. She heard a slight scraping on the rice paper and sensed Xan shifting his weight. Xan didn’t like where this was going.
“I am an old man,” said Hong, lifting the incense burner and returning it to the cabinet. “And one day will leave this middle kingdom for the next journey. But they say a man lives on through his sons, and I have two.”
Xan’s feet shifted again on the rice paper. This time Sally heard a slight tear.
“I want you to meet them,” said Hong. “So that you will recognize them, when they call upon you as I have.”
Hong moved his right hand under the desk as if pushing a button, and Sally heard movement at the far corner of the room. From behind the wooden screen two men approached, both in their thirties, the paper under their feet tearing with every step.
The man in front had the blackest eyes Sally had ever seen, pools of ink that seemed to draw light from the air around him and cast the rest of his face in shadow. He was clean-shaven, his hair slicked back from his forehead, his body trim in an expensive suit. He walked directly up to the desk, obscuring Sally’s view of his brother. His cold gaze moved past Sally and landed on Xan, where it held for a long minute before turning back toward his father.
“This is Hui, my eldest,” said Hong proudly. “He is our White Paper Fan.”
Sally nodded in greeting, thinking Hui didn’t look much like an accountant.
“And this,” said Hong, gesturing behind Hui, “is Wen. He is the Grass Sandal.”
Public relations, thought Sally. Bribing reporters, threatening editors, then smiling for the cameras. A man with two faces-I wonder what he looks like?
As Hong finished his introduction, the younger brother stepped to the side, moving past Hui into Sally’s line of sight. She breathed in sharply as he looked back at her, his expression one of polite disinterest. He had longish hair and slightly hunched shoulders, and Sally had seen him before.
In Tokyo, standing on a bridge, talking fast and moving his hands as he berated the man next to him, a yakuza. She was sent to Tokyo to find a traitor, and she had found him. And now he stood before her, untouched. Sally realized that the film she took in Tokyo hadn’t been ruined, after all.
It had been buried, along with the truth.
