Free Breaking Bamboo by Tim Murgatroyd Page A

while they stood in the crowd.
    Guang furiously twisted the stubborn spear blade from the end of his bamboo pole. Taking a small pot from his bag he smeared thick black paste on the sharp tip. Whatever happened tonight, he would not meet the Infernal Judges alone. Father must not fall into Bayke’s hands. If the need arose, he would protect the old man from further shame – forever.
    An hour later there was a gentle tap on the door. Guang stepped to one side of the entrance, balancing on the balls of his feet, spear ready to stab.
    ‘Enter!’ he called.
    The actor playing the role of Chang Xi stepped inside, looking round eagerly. When he noticed the poisoned spear point hovering beside his throat he went very still and licked his lips.
    ‘Close the door, my friend,’ said Guang. ‘But softly.’
    ‘I recognised you, sir,’ said the actor with a gulp. Thick make-up caked his plump young face. Guang moved the spear tip a fraction closer to the actor’s fluttering windpipe.
    ‘Let me introduce myself,’ gasped the man.
    ‘Please do,’ said Guang.
    A fanciful tale followed, throughout which the spear did not waver. The actor was a good talker. He claimed to be in the occupied lands on a delicate mission and that his real name was Chen Song.
    ‘I am a scholar,’ he said. ‘But that is not why I helped you.’
    Still Guang kept silent. Chen Song spoke in an eager rush:
    ‘Many have heard the tale of how you rescued Lord Yun! And killed a dozen of Khan Bayke’s men! Such filial piety! When I see Lord Yun’s – how can I put it – unfortunate condition, I honour you all the more! Of course, I felt obliged to help. You see, we have met before, though you do not recognise me.’
    ‘When was that?’ demanded Guang.
    Yet as he examined the fellow’s face in the soft lamplight, there was certainly a likeness to one he had known.
    ‘Do you not remember my brother, Chen Su, your comrade at the Western Military Academy, who you stood beside at the Battle of Lu Shan? He perished in the last campaign, before the Traitor’s Peace. I saw you together when I was just a boy.
    My brother often told me how you saved his life.’
    ‘He would have done the same for me,’ said Guang.
    Then he lowered his weapon and settled heavily in a chair.
    He was exhausted beyond further precaution.
    ‘Father has not eaten for a whole day,’ he said. ‘And neither have I.’
    Chen Song took the hint at once, ordering a banquet of five grains, five meats, and five wets to honour the fugitives. It seemed he could not do enough for them.
    *
    Two days passed in the small room. Chen Song visited briefly but he was busy with performances all round the city, including the Mongol governor’s residence.
    Guang ensured Lord Yun did not venture out even to relieve himself. No one disturbed them, except to bring large meals twice a day and replace the chamber pots. Beyond the bamboo curtain, which he dared not lift, rain murmured and splashed.
    Father slumped on the bed, occasionally sighing or chuckling.
    Sometimes Guang tried to engage Lord Yun in conversation but every word felt strained and false. Perhaps Abbot Jian was right – Father’s two souls, his hun and po , had been possessed by demons and there the matter ended. Yet one might find amulets or spells to oppose even the strongest devils. Shih would know what to do. Above all, they must keep Father’s condition secret. Otherwise shame would taint the family name.
    ‘Father,’ he said. ‘I must learn more about this Khan Bayke.
    He is our deepest enemy now. Tell me what happened when the Mongols first came to Wei. Did no one fight?’
    He recognised the unspoken accusation in his voice and added more softly: ‘Tell me, please.’
    The old man turned to meet his eye. For once the steady wind of his madness slackened.
    ‘I was never in good health like you,’ said the old man, full of self-pity. ‘My essential breaths were afflicted by the women.
    They drain one’s life