The Boat of a Million Years

II. The Peaches of Forever

To Yen Ting-kuo, subprefect of the Tumbling Brook district, came an inspector from QTang-an, on an errand for the very Emperor. A courier arrived beforehand, giving the household time to prepare a suitable welcome. Next noontide the party appeared, first a dust cloud on the eastern road, then a troop of mounted men, servants and soldiers, attendant on a carriage drawn by four white horses.

Pennons aloft, metal aflash, they made a brave sight. Yen Ting-kuo appreciated it the more against the serenity of the landscape. From his hilltop compound, the view swept down to Millstone Village, earthen walls, roofs of tile or thatch, huddled together along lanes where pigs and peasants fared, but not unsightly—an outgrowth, a part of the yellow-brown loess soil from which men drew their lives. Beyond reached the land. This was early summer, barley and millet intensely green on their terraces, dotted with blue-clad human forms at work. Farmhouses nestled tiny, strewn across distances. Orchards here and there were done flowering, but fruit was set and leaves full of sunlight. Willows along irrigation canals shivered pale beneath a breeze that smelled warmly of growth. Pine and cypress on farther ridges gave dark dignity. Right and left were heights used for pasture, whose contours stood bold out of shadow.

West of the village those hills steepened rapidly and forest covered much of them. The journey remained long and ever more difficult to yonder frontier, to the realms of the Tibetans and Mongols and other barbarians, but already here civilization began thinning out and one treasured it as perhaps no one quite could in its heartland.

but broke the old poem off and went back through the gate. Ordinarily he would have continued to his house and waited inside. To receive an Imperial envoy he placed himself and his sons, robed in their best, on the porch. Servants flanked me direct way to it across the outer court; elsewhere shrubs made a kind of maze conducting attention to a goldfish pond. Women, children, and menial workers were tucked away in other buildings of the compound.

Stamp, rattle, and clang announced the advent. An equerry did so more formally, dismounting and entering, to be met halfway by the subprefect’s chamberlain. They exchanged bows and necessary words. Thereafter the inspector appeared. The servants prostrated themselves, and Yen Ting-kuo gave him the reverence due from a nobleman of lesser rank.

Ts’ai Li responded courteously. He was not of the most impressive, being a short man and rather young for one of such stature, whereas the subprefect was tall and gray. Even die emblems the inspector had donned upon leaving his vehicle showed signs of hard travel. However, many generations of closeness to the throne lived on in his quiet self-assurance. It was to be seen that host and guest took a quick liking to each other.

Presently they could talk alone. Ts’ai Li had been conducted to his quarters, helped to a bath and a change of raiment. Meanwhile arrangements were made for his entourage, assistants and attendants quartered according to rank in the compound, soldiers among the villagers. Savory odors drifted about, a banquet in preparation, spices, herbs, roasting meats—fowl, suckling pig, puppy, turtle—and liquors gently warmed. Sometimes a twang of zither or chime of bell came audibly loud from the house where singers and dancing girls rehearsed.

The inspector had intimated that before thus meeting local officials he wished a confidential talk. It took place in a chamber almost bare except for two screens, fresh straw mats, arm rests, a low table whereon waited wine and rice cakes from the South. Still, the room was bright and airy, its proportions pleasant; the paintings, of bamboo and of a mountain scene, and the calligraphy on the screens were exquisite. Ts’ai Li expressed proper admiration, sufficient to show he appreciated, not enough to require they be given him.

“My lord’s slave returns humble thanks,” Yen Ting-kuo said. “I fear he will find us a somewhat poor and uncultivated lot in these remote parts.”

“Not at all,” replied Ts’ai Li. Long, polished fingernails gleamed as he brought cup to lips. “Indeed, here seems to be a haven of peace and order. Alas, even near the capital bandits and malcontents are rife, while elsewhere there is actual rebellion and doubtless the Hsiung-nu beyond the Wall look hungrily our way once more. Thus I must perforce have my escort of soldiers.” His tone registered his scorn for that lowliest of the free classes. “By the favor of Heaven, no need for them arose. The astrologers had indeed found a propitious day for my departure.”

“The presence of the soldiers may have helped,” said Yen Ting-kuo dryly.

Ts’ai Li smiled. “So speaks the bluff old baron. I gather your family has provided this district with its leaders for a goodly time?”

“Since the Emperor Wu-ti appointed my honored ancestor Yen Chi after his service against the Northern barbarians.”

“Ah, those were the glorious days.” Ts’ai Li breathed forth the least of sighs. “We impoverished heirs of them can only strive against a rising flood of troubles.”

Yen Ting-kuo shifted on his heels, cleared his throat, looked straight across the table, and said, “My lord is surely at the forefront in that effort, having made such a long and arduous journey. In what may we help further his righteous purposes?”

“Largely I require information, and perhaps a guide. Word has reached the capital of a sage, a veritable holy man, in your domain.”

Yen Ting-kuo bunked. “What?”

“Travelers’ tales, but we have questioned several such men at length, and the stories agree. He preaches the Tao, and his virtue appears to have brought him great longevity.” Ts’ai Li hesitated. “Actual immortality? What can you tell me, Sir Subprefect?”

“Oh.” Yen Ting-kuo scowled. “I understand. The person who names himself Tu Shan.”

“You are skeptical, then?”

“He does not fit my idea of a holy man, Sir Inspector,” Yen Ting-kuo growled. “We get no few who claim to be. Simple countryfolk are all too ready to listen, especially in unsettled times tike these. Masterless wanderers, who do no useful work but beg or wheedle their way along. They claim tremendous powers. Peasants swear they have seen such a one cure the sick, exorcise demons, raise the dead, or what have you. I’ve looked into some cases and found no real proof of anything. Except that often the drifter has availed himself of men’s purses and women’s bodies, convincing them that is the Way, before moving elsewhere.”

Ts’ai Li narrowed his eyes. “We know about charlatans,” he said. “We also know about ordinary wu, folk magicians, honest enough but illiterate and superstitious. Indeed, their beliefs and practices have seeped into the once pure teachings of Lao-tzu. This is unfortunate.”

“Does not the court follow, instead, the precepts of the great K’ung Fu-tze?”

“Certainly. Yet—wisdom and strength grow scarce, Sir Subprefect. We must seek them where they are to be found. What we have heard of this Tu Shan has led the One Man himself to think that his will be a desirable voice among the Imperial councillors.”

Yen Ting-kuo stared down into his cup as if to seek a comforting revelation therein. “It is not for the tikes of me to question the Son of Heaven,” he said at length. “And I daresay that fellow can do no serious harm.” He laughed. “Perhaps his advice will prove no worse than some.”

Ts’ai Li regarded him for a silent while before murmuring, “Do you imply, Sir Subprefect, that the Emperor has occasionally been misled in the past?”

Yen Ting-kuo paled a little, then flushed and almost snapped, “I speak no disrespectful word, Sir Mandarin.”

“Of course not. Understood,” said Ts’ai Li smoothly. “Although, between us, the implication is quite correct.”

Yen Ting-kuo gave him a startled stare.

Ts’ai Li’s tone grew earnest. “Please consider. It is now ten years since glorious Wang Mang received the Mandate of Heaven. He has decreed many reforms and sought in every way to better the lot of his people. Yet unrest waxes. So, be it said, do poverty at home and barbarian arrogance abroad.” He left unspoken: There are those, ever more of them, who declare that the Hsin is not a new dynasty at all but only a usurpation, a product of palace intrigue, and the time is overpast to restore the Han to that power which is rightfully theirs. “Clearly, better counsel is much needed. Intelligence and virtue often dwell beneath a lowly roof.”

“The situation must be desperate, if you were sent this far to track down a mere rumor,” Yen Ting-kuo blurted. He made haste to add, “Of course, we are honored and delighted by your exalted presence, my lord.”

“You are most gracious, Sir Subprefect.” Ts’ai Li’s voice sharpened. “But what can you tell me about Tu Shan?”

Yen Ting-kuo looked away, frowned, tugged his beard, and spoke slowly. “I cannot in honesty call him a rogue. I investigate everything questionable that I hear of, and have no report of him defrauding anyone, or doing any other evil. It is only ... he is not my idea of a holy man.”

“The seekers of the Tao are apt to be, ah, somewhat eccentric.”

“I know. Still— But let me tell you. He appeared among us five years ago, having passed through communities to the north and east, sojourning a while in some. With him traveled a single disciple, a young man of the farmer class. Since then he has acquired two more, and declined others. For he has settled down in .a cave three or four hours’ walk from here, in the forest upland by a waterfall. There he meditates, or so he claims. I have gone there, and the cave has been turned into a rather comfortable little abode. Not luxurious, but no hardship to inhabit. The disciples have made themselves a hut nearby. They cultivate a bit of grain, catch a few fish, gather nuts and berries and roots. Folk bring other things as gifts, including money. They make the walk in order to hear whatever words he cares to give them, unburden themselves of their woes—he has a sympathetic ear—and receive his blessing, or simply spend a while in his silent presence. From time to time he comes down here for a day or two. Then it is the same, except that he drinks and eats well at our one inn and disports himself in our one joy house. I hear he is a mighty lover. Well, I have not heard of him seducing any man’s wife or daughter. Nevertheless, his conduct scarcely seems pious to me, nor do such preachments of his as I have heard make much sense.”

“The Tao is not expressible in words.”

“I know. Just the same—well, just the same.”

“And as for making love, I have heard from those learned in the Tao state that by so doing, especially if he prolongs the act as much as possible, a man comes nearer balancing his Yang with the Yin. At least, this is one school of thought. Others disagree, I am told. But we can hardly expect conventional respectability of a person whose goal in fife is enlightenment.”

Yen Ting-kuo achieved a sour smile. “My lord is more tolerant than me, it seems.”

“No, I merely thought I should seek to prepare myself /before setting out, that I might hope to understand whatever I may find.” Ts’ai Li paused. “What of Tu Shan’s earlier life? How much truth is in his claim to great age? I hear he has the aspect of a young man.”

“He does, together with the vigor and all else. Should a sage not be, rather, of reverend appearance?” Yen Ting-kuo drew breath. “Well, but I have made inquiries about those claims of his. Not that he asserts them loudly. In fact, he never mentions the matter unless he must for some reason, as to explain how long-dead Chou P’eng could have been his teacher. But neither has he tried to cover his tracks. I have been able to question people and to visit a few sites myself, when business has taken me in those directions.”

“Please tell me what you have ascertained, that I may compare my own information.”

“Well, it is evidently true, he was born more than a hundred years ago. That was in the Three Great Rocks district, and his class was merely artisan. He followed his father’s trade, a blacksmith, married, had children, nothing unusual aside from his not growing old in body. That did gradually make him a neighborhood marvel, but he does not seem to have taken much if any advantage of it. Instead, when his children were married off and his wife had died, he announced he would seek wisdom, the reason for his strange condition and for all else in the world. He set forth, and was not heard of again until he became a disciple of Chou P’eng. When that old sage died in turn, Tu Shan fared onward, teaching and practicing the Tao as he understood it. I do not know how close that is to what Chou P’eng taught. Nor do I know how long Tu Shan proposes to stay here. Perhaps he himself does not. I have asked him, but such people are always skilled in evading questions they do not wish to answer.”

“Thank you. It confirms the reports given me. Now a man of your perspicacity, Sir Subprefect, must see that such a life indicates extraordinary powers of some kind, and—”

A deferential presence appeared in the doorway. “Enter and speak,” said Yen Ting-kuo.

Ts’ai Li’s secretary took a step into the room, bowed low, and announced: “This underling begs pardon for disturbing his superiors. However, word has just come to him which may have a certain interest and perhaps urgency. The sage Tu Shan is on the western road bound for the village. Has my lord any commands?”

“Well, well,” murmured’ the subprefect. “What an interesting coincidence.”

“If it is a coincidence,” answered Ts’ai Li.

Yen Ting-kuo lifted his heavy brows. “Has he foreseen my lord’s arrival and purpose?”

“It need not be a matter of occult abilities. The Tao works to bring events together in harmony.”

“Shall I summon him here, or bid him wait upon my lord’s convenience?”

“Neither. I will go to him—much though it pains me to interrupt this fascinating conversation.” At his host’s look of surprise, Ts’ai Li added, “After all, otherwise I would have sought him out in his retreat. If he is worthy of respect, let him be shown respect,”

With a rustle of silk and brocade, he rose from his cushion and started forth. Yen Ting-kuo followed. The inspector’s equerry hastened to summon a decent minimum of attendants and bring them after the magnates. They went through the gate and down the hill at a suitably dignified pace.

A wind had arisen. It boomed from the north, cooling the air, driving clouds before it whose shadows went like sickles across the land. Dust whirled yellow off fields and the road. A flock of crows winged past. Their cawing cut through the babble underneath. Folk had clustered at the village well. They were those whose work was not out amidst the crops: tradesmen, artisans, their women and children, the aged and infirm. Soldiers from the envoy’s escort crowded roughly in among them, curious.

All were gathered about a man who had stopped at the wellside. His frame, big and broad, wore the same plain blue, quilted jacket and trousers as any peasant’s. His feet were bare, thick with calluses. Also bare was his head; stray black locks fluttered free below a topknot. His face was wide, rather flat-nosed, weatherbeaten. He had leaned a staff against the coping and taken a small girl child onto his shoulder. Near him stood three young men, as simply garbed as himself.

“Ah, ha, little one!” the man laughed, and chucked the girl under the chin.

“Would you have a ride on your old horsey? Shameless beggar wench.” She squirmed and giggled.

“Bless her, master,” asked the mother.

“Why, what she is, that is the blessing,” replied the man. “She is still near the Fountainhead of Quietness to which wise men hope they may return. Not that that forbids your desiring a sweetmeat, eh, Mei-mei?”

“Can childhood, then, be better than age?” quavered one whose wispy beard fell white from a head bent forward.

“You would have me teach, when my poor throat is choked by the dust of my faring?” responded the man genially. “No, please, first a cup or three of wine. Nothing in excess, including self-denial.”

“Make way!” cried the equerry. “Make way for the lord Ts’ai Li, Imperial legate from Ch’ang-an, and for the lord of the district, Yen Ting-kuo!”

Voices halted. People scrambled aside. Frightened, the girl whimpered and reached for her mother. The man gave her to the woman and bowed, politely if not abjectly, as the two robed forms neared him.

“Here is our sage Tu Shan, Sir Inspector,” said the sub-prefect.

“Off with you!” the equerry bade the commoners. “This is a matter of state.”

“They may listen if they wish,” said Ts’ai Li mildly.

“Their smell should not offend my lord’s nostrils,” declared the equerry, and the crowd did shuffle some distance away, to stand in bunches and gape.

“Let us seek back to the house,” Yen Ting-kuo proposed. “This day you receive a great honor, Tu Shan.”

“I thank my lord most profoundly,” the newcomer answered, “but we are shabby and unwashed and altogether unfit for your home.” His voice was deep, lacking a cultivated accent though not quite lowly-sounding either. A chuckle seemed to run within it and flicker behind his eyes. “May I take the liberty of presenting my disciples Ch’i, Wei, and Ma?” The three youths abased themselves until he gave them an unobtrusive signal to rise.

“They can join us.” Yen Ting-kuo failed to hide his distaste entirely.

Did Tu Shan perceive that? He addressed Ts’ai Li: “Perhaps my lord would care to state his business at once. Then we shall know whether or not pursuing it would waste his time.”

The inspector smiled. “I hope not, Sir Sage, for I have already expended a great deal of that,” he said. To the baron, the secretary, and the rest who had heard and were shocked: “Tu Shan is right. He has certainly spared me a doubtless difficult trail to his hermitage.”

“Happenstance,” said the man spoken of. “Nor does it take supernatural insight for me to guess your errand.”

“Rejoice,” Ts’ai Li told him. “Word of you has reached the august ears of the Emperor himself. He bade me seek you out and bring you to Ch’ang-an, that the realm have the benefit of your wisdom.”

The disciples gasped before recovering a measure of steadiness. Tu Shan stayed imperturbable. “Surely the Son of Heaven has councillors beyond counting,” he said.

“He does, but they are insufficient. As the proverb goes, a thousand mice do not equal a single tiger.”

“Perhaps my lord is a bit unfair to the advisors and ministers. They have huge tasks, beyond my poor wits to understand.”

“Your modesty is commendable. It reveals your character.”

Tu Shan shook his head. “No, I am just a fool, and ignorant. How could I dare so much as see the Imperial throne?”

“You defame yourself,” said Ts’ai Li on a slight note of impatience. “None can have lived as long as you without being intelligent and without gaining experience. Moreover, you have pondered what you have observed and drawn valuable lessons from it.”

Tu Shan smiled wryly, as though at an equal. “If I have learned anything, it is that intelligence and knowledge are worth little by themselves. Failing the enlightenment that goes beyond words and the world, they serve mainly to provide us with wonderful reasons for doing what we intend to do regardless.”

Yen Tuig-Kuo could not forbear to interject, “Come, come. You are no ascetic. The Emperor rewards, with Imperial generosity, those who serve him well.”

Tu Shad’s manner shifted subtly. It hinted at a schoolmaster with a pupil somewhat slow. “I have visited Ch’ang-an in my wanderings. Though of course I could not go into the palace grounds, I was in mansions. My lords, there are too many walls there. Every ward is closed off from every other, and when the drums sound from the towers at dusk, their gates are barred to all but the nobility. In the mountains one may go freely beneath the stars.”

“To him who walks in the Way, all places should be alike,” said Ts’ai Li.

Tu Shan inclined his head. “My lord is well versed in the Book of the Way and Its Virtue. But as for me, I am a blunderer, half blind, who would be forever stumbling against those walls.”

Ts’ai Li stiffened. “I think you make excuses to avoid a duty you would find onerous. Why do you preach to the people, if you care too little about them to lend your thoughts in aid of them?”

“They cannot be aided thus.” Low, Tu Shan’s words nonetheless cut through the wind. “Only they themselves’ can cope with their troubles, just as every man can only find the Tap by himself.”

Ts’ai Li’s voice slid quietly as a dagger: “Do you deny the Emperor’s beneficence?”

“Many Emperors have come and gone. Many more shall.” Tu Shan gestured. “Behold the flying dust. Once it, too, lived. The Tao alone abides.”

“You risk ... punishment, Sir Sage.” Sudden laughter pealed. Tu Shan shipped his thigh. “How can a head removed from its neck give counsel?” He calmed as fast. “My lord, I meant no disrespect. I say only that I am not fit for the task you have in mind, and unworthy of it. Take me with you, and this will soon be clear. Better that you spare the priceless time of the One Man.”

Ts’ai Li sighed. Yen Ting-kuo, watching the inspector, eased a bit. “You rascal,” Ts’ai Li said, rueful, “you use the Book—what is the line?—‘Like water, soft and yielding, that wears away the hardest stone—’ ”

Tu Shan bowed. “Should we not say, rather, that the stream flows on to its destiny while the stupid rock stays where it was?”

Now Ts’ai Li spoke as to an equal. “If you will not go, so be it. Forgive me when I report that you proved ... a disappointment.”

Tu Shan nearly grinned. “How shrewdly you put it.” He bowed to Yen Ting-kuo. “See, my lord, there is no reason for me to track dirt across your beautiful mats. Best my disciples and I take ourselves from your presence at once.”

“Correct,” said the subprefect coldly. The inspector cast him a disapproving glance, turned again to Tu Shan, and said, in a voice slightly less than level, “Yet you, Sir Sage, have lived longer than almost any other man, and show no sign of age. Can you at least tell me how this is?”

Tu Shan became grave. Some might say he spoke in pity. “I am forever asked that.”

“Well?”

“I never give a dear answer, for I am unable.”

“Surely you know.”

“I have said I do not, but men insist, eh?” Tu Shan appeared to dismiss sadness. “The story goes,” he said, “that in the garden of Hsi Wang Mu, Mother of the West, grow certain peaches, and that he whom she allows to eat of these is made immortal.”

Ts’ai Li looked long at him before answering, well-nigh too softly to hear, “As you wish, Sir Sage.” The watching people drew breath, glanced about, one by one retreated. The inspector bowed. “I depart in awe.”

Tu Shan bowed likewise. “Greet the Emperor. He too deserves compassion.”

Yen Ting-kuo cleared his throat, hesitated, then at a gesture followed Ts’ai Li out of the village, back up the hill to the manor house. Their attendants trailed after them. The common folk made reverence, bent above folded hands, and slipped away to the shelter of their homes. Tu Shan and his disciples stood alone by the well. The wind blustered through silence. Shadows came and went. _ Tu Shan took his staff. “Come,” he said.

“Where, master?” Ch’i ventured.

“To our retreat. Afterward—“ For an instant, pain crossed the face of Tu Shan. “I do not know. Elsewhere. West into the mountains, I think.”

“Do you fear reprisal, master?” asked Wei.

“No, no, I trust the word of yonder lord. But it is well to be gone. This wind smells of trouble.”

“The master can tell,” said brash Ma. “He must have caught that scent often in his many years. Did you indeed taste those peaches?”

Tu Shan laughed a little. “I had to tell the man something. Doubtless the story will spread, and tales will arise of others who have done the same. Well, we shall be afar.”

He began walking. “I have warned you aplenty, lads,” he continued, “and I will warn you again. I have no inspiration, no secrets to impart. I am the most ordinary of persons, except that somehow, for some reason, my body has stayed young. So I searched for understanding, and discovered that this is the only livelihood open to such as I. If you care to listen to me, do. If not, leave with my blessing. Meanwhile, let us see a brisker pace.”

“Why, you said we have nothing to fear, master,” protested Ma.

“No, I did not.” Tu Shan’s voice harshened. “I fear witnessing what will most likely happen to these people, whom I, helplessly, love. The times are evil. We must seek a place apart, and the Tao.”

They walked onward through the wind.