“I will go personally,” he said, sitting upright, his presence rocklike in the tall-backed chair, “to present them with our proposals and to impress upon them the urgency of the situation.”
“And if they do not listen?”
The First Dragon turned, meeting the eyes of his brother, the Minister for West Asia, then looked about him at the other Ministers seated around the table.
“Then so be it. Our role was defined a hundred and fifty years ago, in Tsao Ch’un’s time, when Chung Kuo was first forged from the chaos of the thousand nations. To us was entrusted the task of keeping Chung Kuo strong, its levels unpolluted. To us was given the power of life and death over those who strayed from the Great Path. It would be hard for us to neglect our historical duty and bow meekly before the Seven Ills, yet if the Seven reject our entreaties, if they refuse to accept what must be done to safeguard Chung Kuo from those forces which threaten to tear it apart, then”—he spread his hands in a gesture of resignation—“well, we must do as they say. It is not for us to determine policy, merely to carry it out.”
In the stillness that followed there was a tension that was almost palpable.
“And the other matter, I Lung? The old man?” The First Dragon turned, facing the new speaker. He was quiet for a moment, as if considering the question. When he finally spoke his voice was heavy with regret.
“I knew Yin Shu. Many of us here did. He was a good servant, a trusted man who had attained high office in the Ministry. It saddens me greatly to find him a victim of such corrupting influences. And yet it illuminates the problem, neh? When such a man can be swayed by these ideas, then what chance has old hundred names? No, if anything it confirms my worst fears. We must search out this new disease and uproot it, before the garden is choked with such weeds.”
The First Dragon looked about him, raising his voice so that all could hear him clearly.
“True History, that’s what Yin Shu called this new movement. You heard it yourselves. True History. . . .”He shook his head slowly, then spread his gloved hands before him on the obsidian table. “Well, we all know what that is, neh? A lie. An attempt to undermine all that we believe in and live for. But they will not succeed. We will not let them succeed. From this moment on I pledge to wage an unending war against those who adhere to the doctrine of True History, to crush them without mercy, whoever they might be and at whatever height we find them. To do otherwise would be to betray the sacred purpose of our Ministry.” There was a deep murmur of assent.
“Good. Then we are agreed, ch’un tzul”
All about the table the masked heads nodded sternly. Satisfied, the First Dragon stood and raised a hand, dismissing the shadowy figures on the balconies and between the pillars. The meeting was over.
afterward , in a smaller, brighter room just off the great hall, they met again, the doors locked and guarded, all masks discarded. On the far wall, beyond a massive desk, hung a large map of Chung Kuo, the seven Cities marked in pale gold, a thousand black-headed pins indicating the position of the Ministry’s field operatives—their “thousand eyes” among the masses. Beneath this map now stood the First Dragon, his broad Han face shining waxily as he looked about him at his fellow Ministers. “You have prepared the list, brother Fan?” he asked, meeting his fifth brother’s eyes.
“I have done as you asked,” the Minister for West Asia replied, handing his eldest brother the handwritten list.
“Good.” The First Dragon scanned the list with interest, then looked up again. “This is all of them?”
Fan nodded, looking about him at the knowing faces of the other Dragons.
“You want me to act on all of those names?” “At once. Then see if you can arrange a meeting with An Sheng. I understand the great man is restless, that he has been heard to speak—in private, naturally—of taking matters into his own hands.” “That is so, brother. And there are others among the Minor Families who feel the same. Would you meet with them all?” The First Dragon shook his head fastidiously. “No. An Sheng is the key. If he commits himself, the rest will follow. But in the company of his peers he might feel. . . constrained.”
Fan’s smile broadened, understanding.
“Good. Then go at once. See to these names. In the meantime I shall contact Tsu Ma and beg audience. It is time the Seven understood what depth of feeling they have unleashed.”
shang mu waited in the corridor beside the broad, central pillar, his head bowed low, as the six Dragons came from the room. Then, at a signal from the Chief Steward, he went inside, guards pulling the huge, studded doors closed behind him.
“Excellency,” he said, bowing low, his silks whispering against the tiled floor.
The First Dragon stood at the far end of the chamber, in front of a massive desk that, in its dark solidity, was reminiscent of a funerary slab. To his right stood a’ small, bearded Han with severe features and prematurely gray hair. The bright orange and mauve of his silks were a stark contrast to the severe black of the First Dragon’s formal attire. Shang Mu knew him well. His name was Hsia and he was a Wu, the First Dragon’s personal diviner. Seeing him there gave Shang Mu pause for thought. If Hsia was here, the matter was a serious one. “Shang Mu,” the First Dragon said, summoning him with his left hand, leaving the hand extended as Shang knelt and kissed the ring. Shang straightened up, but kept his eyes averted. “You summoned me, I Lung?”
The First Dragon hesitated, then, turning away, began to speak, his left hand stroking his chin as he paced.
“Yin Shu was a good man. A trusted servant. Only a week ago I would have said that no more loyal man existed in the Ministry. But appearances can be deceptive, neh? It seems that True History is like a disease that hollows a man long before its mark is seen on the flesh. One cannot tell until it is far too late.”
Shang Mu lowered his head an inch or two, his stomach tight with fear. Had someone accused him? Was that what this was about? He felt the urge to ask, but checked himself, knowing that to interrupt the First Dragon would only incur the great man’s anger.
The First Dragon looked to the Wu and nodded, then came across, standing directly in front of Shang.
“And then there’s you, Shang Mu. No Hung Mao has ever risen as high as you in the Ministry. No one, it seems, has worked harder to fulfill the Ministry’s sacred cause. And yet I look at you now and I wonder to myself whether I can trust you. Whether you, too, might not have been infected with the same disease. You knew Yin Shu, neh? He was a good friend of yours?”
Shang Mu swallowed. “That is so, Excellency.”
“And you suspected nothing?”
“Nothing, Excellency. To the end he seemed a good man, a trusted friend.” The First Dragon nodded; then, unexpectedly, he placed his hand gently on Shang’s arm. “Fear not, Shang Mu. I am not accusing you. Yet you must understand my caution. What I have to say . . .” He moved away slightly, then lifted a finger, summoning Shang Mu to come with him across to the great desk.
The Wu had laid a cloth upon the dark surface—a faded, ancient cloth of white silk. At the center of the square of cloth was drawn a circle an arm’s length in diameter. Within the circle, at the eight points of the compass, were painted the eight trigrams of Heaven, Wind, Water, The Mountain, Earth, Thunder, Fire, and The Lake. Outside the circle the trigrams were repeated, their arrangement fitting the “Sequence of Earlier Heaven”: Heaven to Fire, Wind to Earth, and so forth. Close by lay the ancient oracle itself, unopened as yet, its plain black cover embossed with the great symbol of the Tao.