The Fourth Wall - Chapter 31 preview

Autumn rains became winter snow, travel growing more difficult. Rather than aggravate Wu Ying’s injuries further, the pair chose to join a trade caravan as it headed north and east. Seated in a comfortable carriage - or as comfortable as such a contraption could be with rutted roads and uneven snow packs - the pair studied, argued, spoke and rested.

At each stop, Yang Mu would make her way to pre-arranged meetings with merchants and trading houses. Gifts and goods of spirit herbs and ores would be exchanged as items on her ever expanding list were located or passed down from the far reaches of her contact base. 

More than once, she would be met by wandering cultivators, individuals contracted to reacquire goods waylaid by bandits and other, less savory sorts. Every town, every city and trading post saw her network expand, the web of connections that she grew expanding. Always, always, she seemed to know where her people, her goods might be.

Each moment, her dao and understanding expanding. 

Yet, though she gained in scope and strength, Wu Ying worried. For though she broadened her reach, the depth of her understanding continued to lag the breadth of her connections. As the Immortal had mentioned, the dao she sought was broad. Perhaps too broad, for any one mortal to fully grasp.

Yet, if her ambitions reached the heavens and beyond, who was he to criticize her? Certainly not him, for she had not a sickened and injured soul, aggravated by twisted body. Though even he knew he was being a little dramatic, describing his state in that manner.

For that, he blamed his current companions. A wandering troupe of opera players, traversing their usual route and intent on negotiating passage with their caravan. Normally such matters would have been left with the mortal merchant who had organised their transportation and defense, but these individuals were special.

“Friend Long, you cannot mean that. If we do not practise, how are we to improve? Surely another cultivator - and one who has mastered an art too! - can understand our needs!” Li Chun Fu the opera troupe leader said. He was still wearing the white paint and a massive hat as he implored Wu Ying, the pair seated beside one another near the parked wagons in the merchant groups compound. 

“You can practise, if you promise to protect the caravan against any attacks,” Wu Ying said firmly. “If you expect us to protect you when you wield your chi and play your instruments in the middle of the wilds, you are mistaken.”

“We are but poor artistes! We are no strapping martial cultivator.” A hand came up, rested on Wu Ying’s upper arm. The hand lingered there, given a squeeze as the other man dropped his voice a little, growing huskier. “Surely you cannot expect us to protect ourselves?”

“Surely I can,” Wu Ying said, coldly. “Especially when you’re a peak Core Formation cultivator and two others are in the same realm. The kind of trouble you would bring-”

“Is nothing to the famed Verdant Gatherer.” Changing tack again, Chun Fu continued. “Did you know, that we are working on a new play? One that features the fall of that dastardly King of Cai? With his death, his kingdom has broken up, his generals doing battle with one another and the conquered kingdoms.” A desparing shake of the head. “So much death and tragedy, and all because of one man.”

“Yes, a pity.” 

“Well, the play will be glorious. It is an important topic these days. Much in demand. We could, if you wish, emphasize yours and the Golden Merchant’s roles...” Eyes battered again. “We just need you to speak of it, more.”

Or at all, Wu Ying thought. Once already, last night when the couple had been out for dinner, Chun Fu had attempted to acquire their tale. He had started, at least, by buying their dinner and sending over ever more elaborate dishes and wine, till the pair had felt obliged to ask him to join them.

After that, they had declined to detail the story. Even as Chun Fu continued to try to get it out of them that night, they had declined. Or, Yang Mu had, since Wu Ying had chosen after a while to silence himself and ignore the man. She, at least, had been willing to engage, intent on digging further information from the man. After all, a troupe that traveled were a good source of information over the surroundings.

“I’d rather not be mentioned.”

“That could be arranged,” Chun Fu said leadingly. Then, he shook his head. “But it would not matter. The story will be told, and from all that I’ve heard, your role and hers will come out. The man who killed the Tyrant of the East, who vanquished the threat to unity will have his day.”

Wu Ying glowered at Chun Fu, but had to grudgingly admit that at least the man was truthful. It was one of the few endearing qualities the singer had and one of the reasons Wu Ying had not just forced an end to the discussion. Still, enough was enough.

“No chi. No music, not unless you confirm it with me beforehand.” He tapped the table to punctuate his point. “Your agreement with the caravan master stands. If we are attacked, I expect you to protect your people and the merchants. You may stay on the defensive, but you will defend them.”

“Very well.” Chun Fu inclined his head in agreement. “It shall be a pleasure to travel with such illustrious companions.”

***

Three days later, the caravan had come to a stop at the small village that marked the mid-point between their destination cities. The village itself had little to offer, managing to eke out an existence via farming and being conveniently located on the large, well kept trade route. A constant rotation of army personnel patrolled out of the garrison and fixed the passage, ensuring that the flow of commerce could continue without interruption. 

If the village had a singular point of interest, it was the presence of their sulphureous hot springs. Housing for travelers built into the side of the minor clay cliff faces hosted the rich and influential, attendants flitting in and out with perfumed oils and bath pearls.

Exiting his own bathing chambers, Wu Ying tied off his robe as ascended cleaning fish tore into the dirtied water of his bath, cleansing it of his sheddings and other detritus. He made a note to purchase such creatures, if possible, and then blinked.

Touched his finger, where a ring was missing. Realisation rushing in a rapid riot of regretful recollections. No, he would not be purchasing these cleaner fish. He had no where to store them, no ring to host such creatures or allow them to progress.

“Ah Ying?” Yang Mu called from where she sat beside the dresser applying her makeup after her own bath. She stared at him through the silver mirror, his figure distorted a little by the burnished silver. 

“I am well,” he replied, pushing aside the wave of grief and walking over. He dropped a hand on her shoulder, gave it a squeeze. Felt the comforting weight and warmth of her own fingers land on his and returned her smile. “Just a memory.”

“How was the bath?” she said, changing the subject as she sensed he needed.

“Invigorating.” A mocking smile replaced the flicker of grief as he added. “Agonizing.”

“It is not that bad, is it?” 

“It is nothing I cannot handle,” Wu Ying said. Truth enough, though the herbs he had added to the bath had pulled and stripped away old wounds, helped promote further growth. A good thing, if not for the fact that such rapid healing promoted an itching throughout body and soul. Lacking a method to scratch at his own soul, it layered another irritation to his ongoing test of patience.

“Good.” A hand brushed across a letter, a flicker of a pensive expression. It smoothed out, before Wu Ying could ask. “Then why are you still not dressed?” Her hand continued moving to pluck a piece of red paper. She placed the paper between her lips and kissed it, impressing the colour on her lips. “Go! You’ll make us late.”

“We’ll get a chance to see them again, I’m sure…” He grumbled good naturedly but then regretted the words moments later. Something in her gaze, in the way she held herself told him she was in no mood for such amorous attention. Instead, he hesitated. “We could stay in. Skip the play.”

“For what?” she asked, acidly. “No, I will not miss their first performance. It is good to see if they are good as they say.”

“Of course.” He bowed his head, backed off to get dressed.

By the time they arrived and were escorted to seats near the front, the small open air theatre was nearly filled. Entertainment in the form of a full opera troupe was not to be missed, especially in the last few years when life had grown harder. Joy, taken where it occurred, was common wisdom.

A pity then, that it was not commonly accepted.

“Welcome! This evening, we offer not one, but two plays. The first, a classic that many will recognize – the Ruse of the Empty City (15). The second, an original work by our very own, humble, scribe.” Chun Fu intoned out loud before bowing low to the group. Without further ado, he stepped back, the spirit lights at the edge of the newly built stage darkening for a moment. When it brightened once again, Chun Fu was gone, leaving the stage empty.

“Oh, I had hoped for the Generals of Yang Family (16)…” Yang Mu murmured to Wu Ying. At the look he gave her, she scoffed. “They’re not related, but maybe because they are similarly named, my mother often told us stories of them while we were growing up.”

“Strange bedtimes stories…” Wu Ying said. “Mine involved the monkey king and the three kingdoms.”

“Of course they did.” 

Behind them, a self-important child leaned forward and shushed the pair. Mortified parents drew the child back, only for Wu Ying and Yang Mu to wave the matter aside. After all, the first play had begun.

It was, overall, a good choice. Many famous works were tragedies, works where women and men perished. Often with honor, but tragic endings to dramatic moments. Yet, these last few years had seen enough tragedy, and sensing the crowds mood, Chun Fu had chosen something more light-hearted.

In fact, the entire play was adjusted, minor variations to increase the humor in the situation and the cleverness and resourcefulness of the hero. Everything from the first notice of the oncoming army that would overtake the empty city to Zhuge Liang’s dilemma and eventually, the open doors to invite the army within; daring them to risk it all in the empty city.

Oh, how the enemy generals argued. Back and forth, fear and worry dominating the conversation music and martial arts on display. Minor battles, loud songs and beautiful dances, all conveying the drama and, eventually, the victory as the enemy army retreated.

Leaving an empty city and a relieved advisor behind.

Enraptured, the crowd watched and listened. Reveled in a story, altered by the actors and singers to suit the mood. A scholar might complain about the accuracy of the work, a critic the lack of polish in the altered verses and additions.

For the villagers, for the child seated behind Wu Ying, none of that mattered.

Nor were they any less accepting for the next play, a story that Wu Ying knew all too well. It was a small part, a dramatic retelling of the final, much fictionalized. Yet, Yang Mu’s hand found his own, clutching it tight as Meng De on the stage defeated one after the other of the heroes.

Once again, he could taste the blood in his mouth, smell the desperation on his own skin, feel the pounding waves of chi and that ravening hunger tugging at soul and body. Once more, he was there, watching friend after friend give it all.

Just to get him there, before his opponent.

A hand raised, a ring offered, freely.

Funny, that the play contained none of that. None of the truth of the events, and yet managed to tell a truer tale of desperate actions and final sacrifices.

A mirror, reflecting a warped truth, but still reflecting the truth behind it all.

Sometimes, a careful lie was easier to digest than the unvarnished truth.


Footnotes: 
15 -  This is the middle part of a common play set around the Romance of the Three Kingdoms that is featured in the Beijing Opera repertoire. The play is broken into three (long) parts and feature different, famous, storylines from the classic.
16 - Another famous play for the Beijing opera, it features a historical account of the women of the Yang family during the Song Dynasty (960 – 1279AD). Widows of generals, they gather together and lead the army in battle against invaders, eventually winning and saving the kingdom.