“Aiya!” he said, getting up and staggering across. But it was too late. Even as he got there, Shang Mu spasmed and lay still. Chen looked up, meeting Hannah’s eyes, seeing the shock there, the total disbelief. “No . . .” she said, her voice tiny, frightened. “No . . .” But it was done. Her father had been killed. And Rheinhardt— Rheinhardt just stared, a cold certainty in his face, and nodded.
“cousin, what brings you here? This is a most unexpected delight!” An Sheng came halfway up the cruisers ramp to greet Fei Yen’s father, embracing Yin Tsu, then stood back, holding him at arm’s length, a broad grin on his face.
Yin Tsu tried to return his smile, but found he couldn’t. He looked down, dismayed.
“What is it?” An Sheng asked quietly, his eyes concerned. “Your children are all well, I hope?”
Yin Tsu nodded vaguely. “Inside . . .” he said. “I have to talk to you, An Sheng. Something has happened. . . .”
An Sheng considered, then nodded. “Come,” he said, turning, taking Yin Tsu’s arm in his own. “We’ll go to my private rooms. I’ll have Mo Shan bring us drinks.”
Inside, in a large room overlooking an ornamental pond and garden, Yin Tsu sat on a long couch piled with cushions, while An Sheng stood nearby, one foot resting on the kang.
“So?” he said. “What has happened?”
Yin Tsu sighed, not knowing how to begin. Our sons must die, he thought, and found himself recalling Fei Yen’s words about a deal. But no deals could be made with traitors. Foolishness it might be, but it was a deadly foolishness and threatened them all. There was no alternative. He looked up, meeting his cousin’s eyes. “Your son and mine are traitors, An Sheng. They met... at my summer palace . . . and talked of rebellion ... of killing the Seven.”
An Sheng laughed, astonished, then frowned deeply. “You must be mistaken, Yin Tsu. Our sons?”
Yin Tsu nodded. “Yin Chan and An Hsi. Oh, there were others, too, but those were the ringleaders.”
An Sheng came and stood over him, looking down, his expression somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “You must be wrong, Yin Tsu. An Hsi is a good son and loyal to the Seven. And your Chan—“ He shook his head. “No. I won’t believe it!”
Yin Tsu’s face was bleak. “Our sons must die, An Sheng. We must go to Li Yuan and tell him what happened.”
“Tell him?” An Sheng shouted angrily.
Yin Tsu looked up, surprised. “Naturally ...” An Sheng glared at him, then turned away. One fist was bunched now. “You have proof, Yin Tsu?”
“My daughter, Fei Yen ... she overheard them.” “Your daughter]” An Sheng laughed scathingly. “Your fine and precious daughter . . . the T’ang’s wife!”
Yin Tsu looked up, stung by the acidity of the remark. “She would not lie to me. ...”
An Sheng turned back and leaned over him, his face ugly now. “No? And I suppose she never sleeps with grooms and serving boys either!” He turned away, making a sound of disgust. “If that’s all the evidence you have, Yin Tsu . . .”
“Cousin, why do you insult me like this?”
An Sheng turned, his eyes blazing. “Cousin, why do you insult me this
way?”
“I”—Yin Tsu stood—“I think I had better go.” “Go?” An Sheng shook his head. “No, Yin Tsu. You come here full of rumor and the tittle-tattle of your whorish daughter and you expect me to offer up my son for such a pack of nothings? No, Yin Tsu.” He drew his knife and took a step toward the older man. “You will apologize, or I will have your blood!”
Yin Tsu stared at the knife in horror. “Cousin, I—“
An Sheng grasped the front of the old man’s silks and held the knife against his throat. His face was fierce now, uncompromising. “Damn you, old man, apologize! Apologize!”
Yin Tsu groaned, his eyes wide with fear. “Cousin . . . remember who we are—“ But An Sheng seemed beyond all reason. With a savage movement he jabbed the knife into the old man’s neck, and then again. Yin Tsu shrieked, then collapsed onto his knees, coughing, choking on the blood that filled his throat.
An Sheng stood back, watching him, then let the knife fall from his hand.
“Damn you, old man. . . .” he said softly. “Damn you to hell!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T’ieh Pi Pu Kai
The giant hologram stood between the dragon pillars, hands on its hips, staring down at the thousands of prisoners who knelt, naked, their hands tightly bound, in the body of the Great Hall. When it spoke its voice boomed, and when it moved, the air rustled, as if a great sail had been caught by the wind.
At first its face had been that of Li Yuan, but slowly it changed, until it was that of Tsu Ma. And as the face changed, so the body underwent a slow transformation, a broadening of the shoulders and chest, a thickening of leg and thigh. What did not alter was the sense of great dignity, of authority and power, that emanated from the huge figure. Li Yuan’s opening address had set the tone; now Tsu Ma filled in the substance of the declaration. The Ministry was disbanded, as was the Guild. Security was to be purged, and the great web of connections between them and the Minor Families investigated. Finally, all servants of the Ministry were to be held pending trial, and those already known to have been actively involved in the coup attempt were to be executed.
There was a low murmur of fear among the prisoners. For many their first knowledge of this had been when they’d been dragged from their beds. A few of those looked up, yet hopeful that something might be saved, but for others who had some inkling of events—who had glimpsed the vague shadow of the plot, if not its details—there was no hope and they hung their heads abjectly. They knew this was the end and that only death awaited them, whatever the formalities.
For once, the Seven had struck back at their enemies quickly and effectively. They had hit the central Ministry building two hours after dawn, taking away all its records and killing any who resisted. At the same time other forces had hit the regional offices. All Security officers with known Ministry connections had been disarmed and arrested, and all those members of the Minor Families known to be involved had been incarcerated. The swiftness of their action had, it seemed, preempted any real chance of a coup, yet the First Dragon himself, and many other important conspirators, remained at large, and while they did the Seven were unlikely to relax their vigilance.
As Tsu Ma concluded, he raised a fist larger than a man and brought it down like a hammer upon the air.
“T’ieh pi pu kai!”
For three thousand years government proclamations had ended with those words, yet for once they seemed momentous, ominous. The iron pen changes not. . . .
Iron ... it was the symbol of firmness and strength, of determination, integrity, and justice. Yes, and the means of execution. Tsu Ma stepped back, folding his arms into the silk of his sleeves, the yellow cloth glistening like the sun; then slowly, slowly, he faded, until there was only darkness between the great dragon pillars. From the far end of the hall came the sound of a scuffle, as guards grabbed two men by the hair and dragged them toward the doorway. The beheadings had begun.
nan ho studied the list, then looked back at the man who sat across from him.
An Sheng seemed relaxed, almost unconcerned by the accusations. He had denied them, of course, and claimed that his killing of Yin Tsu had been an act of blind passion resulting from a natural indignation, but Nan Ho did not believe him, And the list? . . . well, he denied any knowledge of it, naturally. The list, taken from the dead Shang Mu’s possession, was not in An Sheng’s hand—the scribe who had copied it was in all probability long dead—yet Nan Ho had no doubt it had been compiled at An Sheng’s instigation. Ever since that confrontation with Li Yuan in the Hall of the Seven Ancestors over the Willow Plum Sickness, An Sheng had been waiting to get back at the young T’ang, planning for the day when he might avenge his humiliation, and this— this sweeping obliteration not merely of Li Yuan but of all those who had stood by him—would have been the perfect vengeance.