Free The Mandate of Heaven by Tim Murgatroyd

and tumbled, cutting his knee. When he looked up she had gone, never to be seen again, yet always there, forever in midnight corners, sighing in the wind.
    Tears pricked his eyes. Hsiung appeared at the bottom of the hill and Teng ran forward to meet him. ‘Hsiung! Here I am! I’ve waited all day for you!’
    The older boy cast him a troubled glance and strode past up the hill, vanishing through the gatehouse of Deng Mansions. The pain in Teng’s chest tightened.

    After a meal with Lady Lu Si, during which she twittered about sutras and divine blessings in Cloud Abode Monastery, Teng withdrew to his study for calligraphy practice. Only then did heaviness lift from his soul. Taking a sheet of cheap paper, he painted the character shadow , bordered by swirling infinities of cloud. To give balance, three tiny birds formed an arrowhead, skimming towards distant, snow-capped mountains. He also painted pine, bamboo and plum trees laden with blossom. By the time he finished, the light was fading quickly. Teng became aware of someone watching.
    ‘Hsiung!’
    The tall boy leaned forward, apparently fascinated by the painting.
    ‘How can you do that?’ he murmured. Then he stiffened. ‘It doesn’t matter. My ancestors were all famous soldiers! I shall paint my way to glory with a sword! A sword always crushes a mere brush.’
    Though Teng knew the history of the Empire disproved such a notion, he did not want to argue, secretly relieved to have been sought out by his old companion. Hsiung hovered by the doorpost.
    ‘I will only enter if you swear an oath of secrecy,’ he said, fiercely. ‘A soldier’s oath!’
    ‘I’m not a soldier,’ said Teng, ‘neither are you.’
    ‘So you refuse to swear!’
    ‘I did not say that … Why are you angry? What is wrong, Hsiung?’
    ‘Swear!’
    ‘Very well, I will … but not by mere soldiers . I swear by my noble ancestor, Yueh Fei. So there!’
    ‘Oh, and General Yueh Fei wasn’t a soldier, was he?’ demanded Hsiung, triumphantly.
    Hsiung’s agitation lessened. He glanced up the corridor then slipped inside, sliding the door shut behind him with great difficulty for the wooden frame was swollen by rot.
    ‘Teng,’ he whispered, ‘I went to see Sergeant P’ao today. I owed him hundreds of cash – oh, do not ask how!’
    Teng nodded reassuringly.
    ‘When I got to Salt Minister Gui’s residence, I found Sergeant P’ao and his men packing their belongings. They sail for the Salt Pans tomorrow! Gui has been posted there!’
    ‘Good riddance,’ muttered Teng.
    ‘It is not so simple!’ said Hsiung.
    At times faltering, sometimes rushing forward, he told the same tale their fat visitor had related the previous evening. Teng listened intently. Gone was the cynical, angry boy who had tormented him so often. Tears were in Hsiung’s eyes, smeared by a rubbing fist as he vowed: ‘I will save my father, Teng! Just you see! I will break his chains or die!’
    A long silence followed this terrible oath. Teng felt an urge to giggle nervously. Yet he recognised the vow as sacred, its implications frightening – if taken seriously.
    ‘You really mean to accompany Sergeant P’ao to the Salt Pans?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    Teng shook his head. ‘Then I will never see you again. He will sell you as a slave.’
    The two boys sat with bowed heads. In a far away voice, Hsiung said, ‘When I visited Sergeant P’ao, guess who else I met? Yun Shu. She was sweeping the courtyard with the maids. She wouldn’t look at me. But her feet were as big as ever.’
    ‘Sweeping?’ said Teng. ‘That is a common servant’s work.’
    Realising the implication of his words took a moment. Hsiung’s reaction, however, was instantaneous. ‘Like me?’ he asked, coldly.
    ‘No, not you, I meant …’
    Their thread of intimacy snapped.
    ‘Remember your promise,’ said Hsiung, dragging open the swollen door with an agonising creak and groan. ‘Only, please tell Master … Honourable Deng