Finding The Way Read online

  Finding the Way

  By Wayne Ng

  ISBN-13: 978-988-8422-80-7

  © 2018 Wayne Ng

  Cover design: Jason Wong

  FICTION / Historical

  EB099

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in material form, by any means, whether graphic, electronic, mechanical or other, including photocopying or information storage, in whole or in part. May not be used to prepare other publications without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information contact [email protected]

  Published by Earnshaw Books Ltd. (Hong Kong)

  To Trish, for showing me the way.

  The Warring States circa Fifth Century BC

  Historical Note

  The founder of Taoism, China’s only indigenous religion and a philosophical cornerstone of Chinese culture for over two thousand years, is reputed to have been Lao Tzu. The historical records are inexact, but it is said that he worked in the Royal Archives of the court of the Zhou dynasty and that he and Confucius crossed paths there. It is conceivable that they met during the reign of King Jing (544-520 B.C), who supposedly had two sons, Prince Meng and Prince Chao, one of whom, according to the stories handed down, killed the other.

  In the first century B.C., the historian Sima Qian referred to Lao Tzu as being disillusioned towards the end of his life. He told of how Lao Tzu mounted a water buffalo and set off to die, traveling at least as far as the Han Gu Pass, where he was stopped by a border guard named Yin Xi. This work of fiction picks up the legend from that moment.

  1

  Han Gu Pass

  Shielding his eyes from a blinding sandstorm, Captain Yin Xi spied a figure approaching from the east. He instinctively tightened his grip on his sword and sought a better vantage point, climbing atop the ramparts of the crumbling fort which secured the Han Gu Pass.

  A break in the wind allowed him to adjust his gaze east into the Royal territory he was tasked with guarding. Because of the distance he could not be certain, but as the figure approached, he was able to discern the outline of what appeared to be a man astride a water buffalo, lurching from side to side.

  He imagined that both the beast and the man would be parched and exhausted as they navigated through the dry, rocky wasteland interspersed with the scattered bones of soldiers from the many states that had once been brothers under the Zhou dynasty. Not long before, it had offered a contrast to the western bleakness—lush with fertile soil, bountiful farms, meandering streams and prosperous villages. Now, it mattered little which way the Captain’s eyes turned. Swaths of barrenness stretched in all directions. Unending war had ravaged the land and dispersed its people. It seemed as if Nature herself had turned on the inhabitants who had shown her such contempt.

  As the lone figure edged closer, the Captain saw the man’s mane of white hair flailing in the wind. His appearance contrasted with the soldiers of the neighboring states of Jin or Chu, or worse still, marauding bandits, both of whom often strayed into Royal territory. He was thankful that his lonely outpost had seen no such threat in several months as his platoon was composed of newly-recruited peasants, barely older than children. Most had only ever unsheathed their swords to trim back bushes. He understood they were nothing more than glorified gatekeepers. Yet they were the frontline fodder of King Yuan’s pitiful army, an army that had once, generations ago, protected most of the civilized world.

  Now, few were left who could resist the major states such as Jin, Qin, Qi, Wu and Chu. The neighboring realms made no secret of their desire to control not only the territory of the Zhou capital, but also all the central states together, as well as the lesser states within them. An edict today from one state declaring another to be a sworn enemy could be replaced tomorrow with a new edict declaring them to be blood brothers. Such was life in a world starved for peace yet too fretful to contemplate it. A world that had witnessed profound military and economic changes, but also a golden age of great thinkers with timeless ideas who had entwined themselves with the nobility and the ambitions of governments. A world that the Captain was aware of, but felt he had missed out on.

  Yin knew from the fire of the sun that it was midday. As the sandstorm subsided further, he could now plainly see there was indeed an old man on the buffalo. He loosened his grip on his weapon and shouted down from the tower to alert his lieutenant, more for the exercise than out of any real sense of danger. Each step the beast took appeared as though it could be its last, and the man riding it looked ready to accompany the beast to its death.

  The Captain’s guards shook off their lethargy and emerged from the shadows of the gate. Their armor of small, overlapping stitched leather plates was caked in dust and brittle from re-use by generations of conscripts.

  Lieutenant Zhang gripped his lance with the untamed nerves of youth. The Captain suspected from the anticipation in his eyes that Zhang thirsted for something thrilling such as uncovering smuggled contraband or spies, instead of the usual searches through wagons of cabbage and onions.

  The hunched figure’s wild, matted white hair obscured his face, but his long, tattered robe could not conceal his shrunken body. Even so, the Captain felt there was something different about him, perhaps an effortless grace, almost a poetic cadence in his movements.

  “Halt!” Lieutenant Zhang said. “Old man, you are either lost or on the run. Which is it?”

  Captain Yin chuckled along with the others, then sighed, recalling the days when the King’s soldiers were disciplined professionals, able to match the Qin or Chu in skill if not in number. They would never have laughed and been so dismissive.

  The old man’s head tilted up. “Neither,” he said.

  “Can you not see you are addressing soldiers of the King?” Zhang shouted. “Bow, you fool!” He noticed a rolled bundle slung over the buffalo’s back, and pointed his halberd with its glistening curved blade at it. “What is that?”

  The old man’s weary eyes searched around, as a poet would for the correct phrase.

  “It is all that I require. But if you could be so kind as to fill an old man’s water sachet, I would be most grateful.”

  He gingerly slid off the beast.

  “Do we look like servants?” Lieutenant Zhang barked. With one swift thrust of his halberd, he ripped off the old man’s pack, and knocked him hard to the ground. The other guards broke out in laughter. Lieutenant Zhang’s foot lay on the old man’s chest. A dog under a master’s slipper would have fared better.

  The Captain descended from the tower for a closer look. Even beneath layers of mud and dirt, he recognized the patterns and symbols on the old man’s robe.

  “Zhang, enough!” he ordered.

  “But sir, we have orders to search everyone. Bandits and spies come in all guises.”

  Captain Yin nudged Zhang back. “True, but not in garments worn by officials of old King Jing’s court, however ragged they may now be.”

  He knelt down and lifted the old man’s head, then offered a water skin. “I am Captain Yin. Yin Xi.”

  The old man heaved a dry cough, caught his breath and stood up.

  “My buffalo drinks first,” he said. “He has earned it.”

  Captain Yin recalled his father telling him, ‘A man who respects all living beings like brothers lives a life without walls.’ This was no bandit or spy in disguise. Yin obliged the old man’s request before returning to him.

  “Sir,” Captain Yin said, “you are a long way from home.”

  The traveler gulped at some water. “Perhaps. But I am closer to where I am going.” He
returned the water skin to the Captain. “An old man thanks you for your kindness.”

  Yin nodded towards the gate. “Surely you cannot be thinking of passing through? The prefect has warned of bandits and barbarians beyond this gate, never mind the Qin soldiers who would like nothing more than to slit your throat for a few coins.”

  The old man shrugged. “No one would find much on these old bones.”

  Yin studied him as he filled his water sachet. “The Zhou empire shattered like a broken vase, but it prospered for a time under King Jing. Yet you show none of those riches.”

  The old man’s silence and everything about him indicated that riches were of little consequence. Yin had to know more. “What is your name?”

  The old man glanced away. “It is no longer of importance to anyone.”

  “Do not decide for me what is important,” Yin replied, to the delight of the other guards.

  “Lao Tzu,” the traveler whispered.

  Yin’s face dropped. “Lao Tzu?”

  His father had spoken of the man Lao Tzu as though he were a mythical legend. He had supposedly worked in the Royal Archives before King Jing’s death, some forty-years ago.

  “That would make you almost ninety years old,” he said. “That cannot be.”

  “Indeed,” replied the old man. “Ninety-five spring festivals have passed in my lifetime.”

  Lieutenant Zhang stared at his Captain, barely concealing his anger. “Sir, he takes us for fools. Tying him to a post in this wind and heat will no doubt teach him respect.”

  Yin held his Lieutenant back, preferring a less primitive interrogation. “Was Confucius not one of your pupils?”

  The old man snorted. “Neither Confucius nor I would find comfort in anyone believing that. But yes, he once visited me. He, like many other scholars, traveled from court to court, dispensing theories and counsel. Confucius had already made a name for himself when he first came to see me. For him, the world was still a dream unfolding. He had positioned himself to believe that the chaos of wars, corruption, hunger and greed that surrounds us all would end if leaders exercised their mandate from heaven to rule justly. Those were heady days, full of promise. For some.”

  “If you are who you claim to be, then answer me this.” Yin squared his body to Lao Tzu. “Which of the twin Princes almost drowned while playing in his father’s garden?”

  The old man shrugged. “When a river’s sorrow swallows our homes, does it matter how cold the water is?”

  He tied his hair into a tight topknot and bowed to the Captain before re-mounting his beast. “May Nature reward your generosity,” he said. “I thank you.”

  He stroked his water buffalo, signaling forward movement.

  Lao Tzu’s quiet defiance annoyed Yin. It was as though he had been toyed with. He was about to let Zhang loose on him when the old man looked back towards him.

  “The twin Princes were already young men when I arrived. But it was whispered that our Son of Heaven’s wife had the gardens in their inner courtyard drained after she gave birth to them. She forbade anything that would reflect her loss of beauty.”

  Yin’s stomach tightened. “Wait!” he shouted. The urgency of his tone startled his men. “But how can this be? How is it that you have come to be here?”

  The old man’s eyes betrayed nothing as Yin caught up with him. “It has been a journey no less meandering than a mountain stream which exhausts itself many li later as a dry river bed. I have spent two normal lifetimes wandering the earth, reliving lost opportunities, berating myself and repenting my errors.”

  It was not bitterness that Yin heard from the old man, nor disappointment, but rather a tired sense of acceptance.

  “Old Master,” he said. “Passing through into Qin territory will mean certain death. I will not allow that. So long as your mind speaks, you still have much to offer.”

  Lao Tzu looked down at Yin. “I have learned that it is better to leave a vessel unfilled than to attempt to carry it when it is full. When one’s work is done, and one’s name is distinguished, to withdraw into obscurity is the way of heaven.”

  Yin stepped in front of the buffalo and bowed. “Old Master. You are Lao Tzu. This is a remarkable coincidence. It would be a great honor for a humble Captain to share a pot of tea with you.”

  The Lieutenant grimaced.

  Lao Tzu motioned Yin to stand at ease. “In the manner of the Way, there are few coincidences,” he said. “I prefer to see them as gnarled branches arriving from unexpected paths. But tell me, how is it that a lowly frontier Captain knows enough of the former King Jing’s inner court to pose a riddle of the Princes that few could decipher today?”

  “My grandfather was once a Royal Guardsmen in King Jing’s court,” Yin replied. “I was a little boy when he died, but I still remember him clearly, how big he was. He used to bounce me on his stomach. I loved how he carefully polished his halberd, and marveled at the steel tip, and the curved blade that I imagined he used to chop the heads off barbarians. Yet there was also a calm about him. My father said that Grandfather lived his life in harmony after he left the Guard. My father called this harmony ‘the Way’.”

  Lao Tzu flinched. “What do you know of the Way?”

  “Little. But I wish to know more, and of the time from which it originated.”

  “There is…” Lao Tzu stared off into the distance, “There is little appetite for it any more.”

  “That is not for you to say.”

  Yin suddenly became aware of the ears of his platoon. The wind at that moment started up again and in an instant everyone was shielding their eyes from the onslaught of the sand. Yin took Lao Tzu and his beast and guided them into a cool shelter.

  “This storm could last minutes, hours or even days,” he said. “Afterwards, you shall pass with full provisions and an escort as far as the river’s bend. But I cannot allow a sage’s teachings to be lost forever. I will first record your memories of the Royal Court before you can proceed.”

  Lao Tzu’s eyes bore into Yin. “To record my memories is to know the Way. And to know the Way is to discover one’s own rhythms within the natural world. Tell me, is soldiering natural? Is war natural?”

  Yin looked at his men, who had also shuffled into the shelter. Except for Zhang, every one of them would have preferred to be with their families, working their farms, tending to their animals. They were no more soldiers than he was a prince.

  “Soldiering and war are the failures of peace,” Yin replied.

  “Indeed, but also the failure of rulers,” Lao Tzu said. “Who was your grandfather, that he could speak to you of the court?”

  “Yin Lu. Did you know him?”

  Lao Tzu seemed to twitch, but it happened so quickly Yin could not be sure.

  “Yin Lu, you say? I came to know many in my travels. But know this: to understand the Way is to understand the failures of our Kings. Is this what you desire?”

  “Old Master,” Yin whispered. “Uttering those words is an offense punishable by death.” He glanced at his men. Several including Zhang, who had also just entered the shelter, listened carefully.

  Lao Tzu stared at him. “I have been uttering such words for almost seventy springs.” He unrolled his sleeping mat and lay down. “You are wise about the storm. Please wake me when the tea is prepared.”

  Within seconds, he had curled into a ball and was snoring so heavily that he nearly drowned out the fury of the wind, leaving the Captain and his men speechless.

  2

  Father’s Way

  The following morning, Captain Yin found Lao Tzu sitting facing the sun with his eyes closed. He was about to turn away so as not to disturb the old master when Lao Tzu spoke.

  “For a dry, inhospitable area, I can hear a great many birds here, Captain.”

  Lao Tzu’s eyes were open.

  “
Yes, I ensure that water and some seeds are at hand for them,” the Captain replied. “There is much beauty here if one cares to look.”

  “Indeed. Life affords us many small pleasures. Tell me, what else do you remember of your grandfather? There was a longing in your voice earlier, a hunger almost.”

  Yin hesitated. “Much of it is a blur to me now. He was a quiet man, a giant I thought, although everybody seems enormous when one is a child. My father said that Grandfather was an expert swordsman who spent hours training every day. He had been a Guardsman, so he knew the court well and had special duties related to the Princes. Father never went into details, but I believe they were significant. Eventually Grandfather grew tired of the court and just before Father was born, he departed for a quieter life with my grandmother. I know little else about my grandfather and, quite truthfully, there is also little I know of my parents’ families. Hence my desire to learn more.”

  Lao Tzu was silent.

  Since Yin joined the Royal Army, he had learned that the Royal Guardsmen had once been its most prestigious arm. They were assigned to protect the Royal City and the King, and to carry out special assignments at the court’s request. Only the most skilled and trusted men were included. As such, they were amply rewarded and well fed. Long-serving members were given freedom, official posts, land and wives. Long after the regular army had dwindled to a ceremonial and feeble fighting force, the Guardsmen retained their status. It was rare for one to relinquish such a station, a fact that fueled Yin’s curiosity.

  “I sensed from what he said that the court was a dangerous place and that King Jing had become…” Yin looked around and dropped his voice to a whisper, “...quite mad. I even heard he once boiled a messenger alive, and served his body to his unsuspecting enemies.”

  Lao Tzu stirred. “That story is false,” he said. “At least partly so. The King could be ruthless, but he was no barbarian. The messenger had dropped dead of fear in front of the King. He was then boiled with pigs’ feet and was fed to enslaved traitors awaiting execution who retched their insides out upon learning of what they had consumed. Regardless, the Son of Heaven was in many ways not unlike others without the Way. The Royal Court was all kinds. To call it dangerous would be merely to say that water is wet.”