"What else could I have meant?"
Wei Feng's ancient features were suddenly unyielding. "It's obvious, surely, Cousin? We must take measures to crush these revolutionaries. Enforce a curfew in the lower levels. Undertake level-by-level searches. Offer rewards for information on these bastards."
Li Shai Tung looked down. That was not what he meant. The solution was not so simple. The dragon of Change had many heads—cut off one and two more grew in its place. No, they had to be far more radical than that. They had to go to the source of the problem. Right down to the root.
"Forgive me, cousin Feng, but I have already taken such measures as you suggest. I have already authorized young Ebert to strike back at the Ping Tiao. But that will do nothing to assuage the problem I was talking of earlier. We must act before this trickle of revolutionary activity becomes a flood."
Wu Shih was nodding. "I understand what you are saying, Shai Tung, but don't you think that your cure might prove more drastic than the disease? After all, there is nothing more sacred than a man's right to have children. Threaten that and you might alienate not just the revolutionary elements but the whole of Chung Kuo."
"And yet there are precedents."
Wei Feng snorted. "You mean the Ko Ming emperors? And where did that end? What did that achieve?"
It was true. Under Mao Tse Tung the Ko Ming had tried to solve this problem more than two hundred years before, but their attempt to create the one-child family had had only limited success. It had worked in the towns, but in the countryside the peasants had continued having six, often a dozen children. And though the situations were far from parallel, the basic underlying attitude was unchanged. Chung Kuo was a society embedded in the concept of the Family, and in the right to have sons. Such a change would need to be enforced.
He looked back at Wu Shih. "There would be trouble, I agree. A great deal of trouble. But nothing like what must ultimately come about if we continue to ignore this problem." He looked about him, his voice raised momentarily, passionate in its belief. "Don't you see it, any of you? We must do this! We have no choice!"
"You wish to put this to a vote, Shai Tung?" Wei Feng asked, watching him through narrowed eyes.
A vote? He had not expected that. All he had wanted was for them to carry the idea forward—to agree to bring the concept into the realm of their discussions. To take the first step. A vote at this stage could prevent all that, could remove the idea from the agenda for good.
He began to shake his head, but Wang Sau-leyan spoke up, taking up Wei Feng's challenge.
"I think a vote would be a good idea, cousins. It would clarify how we feel on this matter. As Shai Tung says, the facts are clear, the problem real. We cannot simply ignore it. I for one support Shai Tung's proposal. Though we must think carefully how and when we introduce such measures, there is no denying the need for their introduction."
Li Shai Tung looked up, astonished. Wang Sau-leyan—supporting him! He looked across at Tsu Ma, then to Wu Shih. Then perhaps . . .
Wei Feng turned in his chair, facing him. "I take it you support your own proposal, Shai Tung?"
"I do."
"Then that is two for the proposal."
He looked at Wu Shih. The T'ang of North America looked across at Li Shai Tung, then slowly shook his head.
"And one against."
Tsu Ma was next. He hesitated, then nodded his agreement.
"Three for, one against."
Next was Chi Hsing, T'ang of the Australias. "No," he said, looking to Li Shai Tung apologetically. "Forgive me, Shai Tung, but I think Wu Shih is right."
Three for, two against.
On the other side of Wang Sau-leyan sat Hou Tung-po, T'ang of South America, his smooth, unbearded cheeks making him seem even younger than his friend, Wang. Li Shai Tung studied him, wondering if, in this as in most things, he would follow Wang's line.
"Well, Tung-po?" Wei Feng asked. "You have two children now. Two sons.
Would you have one of them not exist?"
Li Shai Tung sat forward angrily. "That is unfair, Wei Feng!"
Wei Feng lifted his chin. "Is it? You mean that the Seven would be exceptions to the general rule?"
Li Shai Tung hesitated. He had not considered this. He had thought of it only in general terms.
"Don't you see where all this leads us, Shai Tung?" Wei Feng asked, his voice suddenly much softer, his whole manner conciliatory. "Can't you see the great depth of bitterness such a policy would bring in its wake? You talk of the end of Chung Kuo, of having no alternative; yet in this we truly have no alternative. The freedom to have children—that must be sacrosanct. And we must find other solutions, Shai Tung. As we always have. Isn't that the very reason for our existence? Isn't that the purpose of the Seven—to keep the balance?" "And if the balance is already lost?"
Wei Feng looked back at him, a deep sadness in his eyes, then turned, looking back at Hou Tung-po. "Well, Tung-po?"
The young T'ang glanced at Li Shai Tung, then shook his head. Three for. Three against. And there was no doubt which way Wei Feng would vote. Li Shai Tung shivered. Then the nightmare must come. As sure as he saw it in his dreams, the City falling beneath a great tidal wave of blood. And afterward? He thought of the dream his son Li Yuan had had, so long ago. The dream of a great white mountain of bones, filling the plain where the City had once stood. He thought of it and shuddered.
"And you, Wei Feng?" he asked, meeting his old friend's eyes, his own lacking all hope.
"I say no, Li Shai Tung. I say no."
OUTSIDE, in the great entrance hall, Tsu Ma drew Li Shai Tung aside, leaning close to whisper to him.
"I wish a word with you, Shai Tung. In private, where no one can overhear us."
Li Shai Tung frowned. This was unlike Tsu Ma. "What is it?"
"In private, please, Cousin."
They went into one of the small adjoining rooms and closed the door behind them.
"Well, Tsu Ma? What is it?"
Tsu Ma came and stood very close, keeping his voice low, the movements of his lips hidden from the view of any overseeing cameras.
"I must warn you, Shai Tung. There is a spy in your household. Someone very close to you."
"A spy?" He shook his head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean just that. A spy. How else do you think Wang Sau-leyan has been able to anticipate you? He knew what you were going to say to the Council. Why else do you think he supported you? Because he knew he could afford to. Because he had briefed those two puppets of his to vote with Wei Feng."
Li Shai Tung stared back at Tsu Ma, astonished not merely at this revelation, but by the clear disrespect he was showing to his fellow T'ang, Hou Tung-po and Chi Hsing.
"How do you know?" he asked, his own voice a hoarse whisper now. It was unheard of. Unthinkable.
Tsu Ma laughed softly, and leaned even closer. "I have my own spies, Shai Tung. That's how I know."
Li Shai Tung nodded vaguely, but inside he felt a numbness, a real shock, at the implications of what Tsu Ma was saying. For it meant that the Seven could no longer trust each other. Were no longer, in effect, Seven, but merely seven men, pretending to act as one. He shuddered. This was an ill day. He shook his head. "And what—?"
He stopped, turning, as someone began knocking on the door.
"Come in!" said Tsu Ma, stepping back from him.
It was Wei Feng's Chancellor, Ch'in Tao Fan. He bowed low.
"Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but my master asks if you would kindly return. Urgent news has come in. Something he feels you both should see."
They followed Ch'in into Wei Feng's study, finding the other five T'ang gathered before a huge wallscreen. The picture was frozen. It showed a shaven-headed Han, kneeling, a knife held before him.