Courage and Cowardice - Chapter 17

"Eventually, as the city grows larger, the reputation grows greater, and more people come to live in it, the energy takes a tangible form. It’s a place, but a person.”

It is a universal truth that the empire, long divided, must unite. And the empire, long united, must divide. As it has been, so it shall be, forever and eternity.

-Romance of the Three Kingdoms

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“‘Now Crexina,’ Yashoda scolded her son. ‘Do not lie to me. I know you have been eating dirt.’”

The crowd around the charan listened in rapt attention, for he was of that most respected and admired caste, the storytellers. And though the tale had been told a thousand times before, the charan told it just as dutifully as the first day he assumed his duties.

“‘Mother, I have not eaten dirt, they lie,’ Crexina protested. ‘See here, if you do not believe me, then open my mouth and peer inside. You shall see the truth for yourself.’

“And so Yashoda peered inside her son’s open mouth. But in it she saw not dirt, but the whole of the universe. The heavens, the sky, the earth and all its lands. The wind, the lightning, the moon and all the stars. The fire, water, earth, and space itself. The senses, the mind, the elements, and the three strands of matter. She saw herself, clutching her child’s cheeks and gazing into his open mouth, and in that mouth she saw all the universe folded back and repeated again and again, for all eternity.”

---

Father Matteo opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. The sun was setting, another day on this tiny factory. Some days the sun was hidden behind the clouds, or lost in the typhoon that plagued the delta where Santama lay every year. On those days Matteo grew dour or fearful, praying for one more glimpse of Augusta before he died. He had been born in that land. It had been his home before he had packed up his bags and left on his mission to the West. But some days the sun was bright and shining. The air was warm, and Matteo could see the whole of Santama on those days. The buildings, the people, the boats and the bustle of trade, Matteo could see it all, and it was on those days that he was content and remembering. Home was not a land of birth, but a place of peace. Home was wherever one chose to make it. And on those days Matteo knew that Santama was his home. Here was the church he had built. Here were the books he had written. Here were the friends and congregation he had made. Without them, Santama would be just two barren rocks. But with them, Matteo felt at home.

Seeing his ward making his way to the table where he sat, Matteo held up the bottle in curiosity. But a polite smile and shaking of the head declined the offer, and the old father hobbled up to make a cup of tea instead.

“It’s quite alright,” Chen laughed as he sat down at the table. “I don’t need anything to drink.”

“Nonsense,” Matteo said. “I can’t be drinking on my own, can I?”

“Well, if there’s the moon and your shadow, you’re never drinking alone,” Chen grinned.

Matteo had to chuckle at that. The familiar quotation brought back memories of his first days in Santama, and the phrase that had given him his Jianghese name. He had felt so alone, when first he had stepped foot on the shores of this factory. But the local bishop had taught him that phrase, the night of his arrival, and a name was drawn from it: Jyut Jing, Moonshadow. However, Chen called him by a different name entirely.

“Thank you, Yingzi,” Chen quietly accepted the tea once it had been made. Chen was not one for formality, but he insisted on calling Master Shadow by a proper name. The father had been the one to take him in, after all, so many years ago. Chen still had not told the old man what he had done to warrant fleeing the mainland authorities, but the priest had never pried. He had simply opened the doors of the church to Chen when he had first stumbled in, bloodied and broken, and hidden the fugitive when the mainland authorities had arrived. Eventually the Santaman authorities had come, and a squabbling match had started over who would take the fugitive, should they find him. Santama was still technically an independent enclave, if only by the charity of the Jianghese crown, and there was no extradition agreement between the two governments. But as the argument had continued, Father Matteo had intervened.

In your land, if a man should flee to a monastery or other place of worship to atone, you would accept that holy place’s jurisdiction, would you not? Father Matteo had asked, and after some discussion, the authorities had at last agreed. Whatever Chen’s crime had been, the Jianghese crown would not have wept to see him disappear into a religious institution. And so, from that day onward, Chen had resided in the church.

Chen had not formally converted to the Yeshuan faith, but he was an avid learner and able helper at the church. Matteo enjoyed having the company and another pair of hands, especially when his own joints had grown so stiff as of late. Matteo knew that what Chen sought was peace and redemption, and so he never made his ward feel unwelcome. Like a father, Matteo remained patient and kind, waiting until the day Chen was willing to tell his story.

As the two men sipped their drinks and chatted pleasantly, they were surprised by the hurried hammering they heard at the entrance door. Who was that, knocking so desperately at this hour?

When Father Matteo opened the door, he found a tired and ragged wolf standing before him. Ulisses Lobo had spent the day drinking and thinking, wracked with anger and doubt. How could his son throw away everything he had built for him? It made no sense. He had to show his son the idiocy of his mistake, return the boy to reason. But who in this factory had an authority his son would respect? After many hours of fuming and fussing, Ulisses at last had seen the answer. The wolf himself had never put much stock in the church, but he knew his son to be more observant. Surely the word of a respected priest would bring the pup to his senses. And so his search had begun, to end at last at this church, where a Father Matteo was supposed to reside.

“You!” the wolf barked when he saw the priest. “Are you Father Matteo?”

“Y-yes,” Matteo did not know the man who stood in his doorway, but he motioned for him to enter all the same. “Please, come in.”

The wolf strode in quickly, tossing his bag on the floor before he began pacing furiously.

“Er, Chen,” Matteo called to the youth, still at the table. “Would you pour our guest another glass of tea?”

“Tea?” the wolf snarled. “No! No foreign drink. Something Augustine. Wine, have you any?”

“Y-yes…” Matteo observed the wolf’s flushed face. “However, I think you have had quite a lot to drink already. Please, kind sir, the tea will clear your head, and from your appearance I think a clear head is what you require.”

Pah, another milksop, Ulisses thought to himself. These priests were all polite smiles and gentle suggestions, and it made him sick. Still, the father did have a point. He had been drinking quite heavily.

“Fine,” the wolf grunted. “Very well. I’ll drink your accursed tea.”

“Very good, sir,” Matteo smiled, as the wolf plopped down on a seat.

“So do you have a name, or what?” Chen grunted as he set the teacup by the wolf.

“Excuse me?” Ulisses stared at the uppity Cathayan, before grunting to Matteo, “You ought to teach this houseboy manners.”

“Houseboy!?” Chen bristled.

“Ah! K-kind sir, please,” Matteo knew Chen had a nasty temper, and quickly sought to defuse the situation. “Chen is not a houseboy. He is my ward, and I should ask you to defer the same respect to him as you would to me.”

The wolf stared at the priest blankly. Was this whole factory mad? First his son, now a priest of all people! So effete and deferential, did they forget who ruled these factories? Whose empire they lived in? If he had not needed the priest’s help, the wolf would have laughed at such nonsense. As it was though, Ulisses simply grunted and shrugged, before suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something that took his breath away.

“That…” Ulisses whipped his head around to gaze head-on at the painting in the room. “Who is that?”

“That?” Matteo could not make heads or tails of the man’s behavior. Evidently the matter of his visit was one of urgency, and yet the unnamed visitor had done nothing but bark orders at him, treat his ward poorly, and bombard him with questions. It was enough to try anyone’s patience. Still, as Matteo sighed, he could tell the man’s question was important to him, if for no other reason than the way he stared at the painting.

The wolf’s hackles were raised, as his widened eyes gaped at the painting. He could not tell if the woman was Cathayan or Augustine, her features seemed to be a mixture of the two continents. But her skin was a shining white, the color of holy light. Her black hair tied tightly and demurely; her glimmering face was the picture of modesty. And her robes, though simple and neat, flowed across her body like gentle, lapping waves. She wore a sparing set of jewelry, with only the occasional set of beads to add glamor to her appearance. But the most compelling aspect of all was the veil she wore. A translucent white sheet wrapped itself around her brow, to drape itself upon her shoulders. And on her crown, a lofty cap sat, with a drapery of beads coming down to her eyelashes.

It was her, the wolf hissed to himself. The woman I saw in the storm! What in Yehovah’s name was she doing in that painting?

“That’s Amaria,” Chen grunted. “Haven’t you seen her before?”

“Er, Chen, please,” Matteo hobbled over to the visibly shaken guest. “I, er, I take it you are a newcomer to Santama?”

“What?” Ulisses turned his gaze to the priest as though in a dream, before regaining his composure. “I, er, y-yes. I only just arrived here today. I… Amaria you said?”

Matteo and Chen exchanged glances, before the father sighed and motioned for the wolf to follow him.

“Come with me,” Matteo said. “It’s better if I have my books to show you.”

“I… o-of course,” Ulisses could hardly believe his deference to the priest, but as he remembered what the sea-captain had told him, and how he had failed to ask Yann about the woman he’d seen, fresh anger came to him. This factory was a land of nightmares! But perhaps, the wolf mulled, this priest held an answer that could make sense of these nightmares.

---

“Here we go,” Chen leapt down from the ladder and set the book down on the candlelit table.

“Thank you, Chen,” Matteo smiled warmly. It had been many years since he himself had been able to leap so vigorously. However, he took pride in the knowledge of his fingers remaining just as nimble as ever, as he quickly flipped to the appropriate page, and traced his fingers across the passage.

“Here we are,” Matteo stroked his beard as he read. “Yes, the first Lusians came to this land in search of glory and riches. Tales of the great Khan and his Xanadu had captured the heart of many an Augustine traveler, and when the Lusians first began their exploration of the waves, they soon made their way to Jianghu.

“When the first Lusian vessel to make it there crept along the northern Jianghese coast though, it fell prey to the typhoon, the great wind. All was darkness and dismay as the boat was rocked and tossed along the waves, and the crew prayed, for they were certain their death was imminent.

“But then, just as all hope was lost, a shining light broke through the darkness, and the sailors spied a figure glowing in the distance. They knew at once, as they felt the calm, holy light wash upon them, that this could only be the light of the Holy Virgin, Maria. With all the speed they could command, the men followed the guiding light, until at last the storm cleared, and the ship came upon the calm and blue-skyed shore of the city of Canton.

“All at once the Lusians sank to their knees and gave praise to Yehovah, and when the crew was greeted at the docks, they asked how the blessed Maria had come to this foreign city. The local Jianghese did not recognize the strange, alien name, but they directed the Lusians to the local temple of A-Ma, the goddess of the sea. A-Ma, Maria, though the names were not a perfect match, the Lusians could see that the figure in the temple was indeed the woman that had guided them.

“And there, upon the twin rocks where the first Lusian vessel had landed, a factory was built, and as it spread in size and influence, trade and commerce abounded between the two great empires. But Lusia grew proud and drunk on her wealth, and a new industry attracted the eye of unscrupulous merchants. In Canton, poor families could sell their children as servants and slaves to the wealthy. And so it was that Lusian merchants began to snatch up children, like hungry wolves eager to feed. The demand was so great, the merchants soon took to kidnapping, and even stole away the babes of lords and dignitaries.

“Upon news of this, the Emperor of Jianghu swore holy vengeance upon these foreign devils, and he sent a division of his finest junks to drive out every last Lusian from the Cantonese shore. The combined might of the Lusian Empire was but a speck to the power of these warships, and the battle swiftly became a massacre. Soon the Lusians were driven back to the twin rocks where they had first landed, to flee to the sea or await their deaths.

“But then, just as the Jianghese admiral directed his cannons towards the final resting place of the Lusians, a figure appeared in the distance. A shining, holy figure, the familiar woman raised her hand, and stayed the admiral’s wrath. Upon sight of the goddess, the Jianghese navy halted its course, before the admiral came to a decision at last.

“The Lusians would remain in Jianghu, but only if they remained confined to the rocks where they had first found A-Ma. It was her mercy that had first led them to Canton, and it would be by her mercy that they could stay. But should the emperor ever have cause to frown upon their presence again, he would not hesitate to drive them from even that place.

“‘Remember to give thanks to the one who saved you this day,’ the admiral said as he departed. ‘And never trade in that barbarous practice of slavery again. For it is A-Ma and A-Ma alone who protects you.’

“And from that day, the factory was given a new chance, a new life, and a new name, from Santa Maria to Santama, in honor of the shing wong who watched over the Lusians’ city.”

The wolf could only listen dumbly as the incredible tale was told. The Lusian Empire, weakened and nearly defeated? It was impossible! And to be saved by this… this…

“What… did you call her?” Ulisses did not understand the term the priest used to describe the woman.

“A chenghuang-shen,” Chen said. “A Guardian Angel.”

“Yes, yes,” Matteo clarified. “Down south, in Tienking, that’s the capital you see, they say chenghuang-shen. But north, here in Canton, we use the term shing wong. A matter of semantics, but there you have it.”

“What is a cheng… shing…” Ulisses struggled with the foreign words.

“Well, when a city is built, it creates a sort of energy,” Matteo explained eagerly. “A life of its own. Eventually, as the city grows larger, the reputation grows greater, and more people come to live in it, the energy takes a tangible form. It’s a place, but a person.”

“A personification of a place,” Chen grinned, wryly noting the wolf’s flinching at his use of such educated vocabulary.

“And… A-Ma… she is this factory’s…”

“Not A-Ma,” Matteo corrected him. “Or Maria. Rather, Amaria.”

“What?” the wolf furrowed his brow. That was the name the coolie boy had used before, wasn’t it?

“Our factory is neither Lusia nor Jianghu, though we carry the customs and languages of both,” Matteo grew wistful as he remembered all that he had witnessed in his time in Santama. “And the embodiment of our city is the embodiment of this duality.”

“Duality…” the wolf began to growl. “You… is this what the Lusian crown fought for?”

“I’m sorry?” Matteo was confused.

“Why don’t you spread out, again?” Ulisses asked. “You have the wealth, the power, even in my short time here I’ve seen it. And I know enough of Lusian blood to know it is not a weak and craven sort, unless diluted. The Jianghese navy retreated! You should have learned from that how to handle them the next time, should they ever stick their nose in Lusian affairs again.”

“There wouldn’t have been a ‘next time’,” Chen scoffed. “You heard what a division of junks could do to Santama. How about the whole fleet?”

“No navy in the world could stand against the full might of Lusia,” the wolf held firm. “We conquered the very océans themselves. Our rule was built by naval power. If we couldn’t even keep our businesses protected, we would hardly be an empire at all.”

“The Lusian Empire is quite impressive,” Matteo conceded. “But it would be foolish to challenge the authority of a nation such as Jianghu.”

“So you would have us weak and bowing to the whims of a foreign power?” the wolf snarled. “You sniveling welp!”

“You don’t talk to Yingzi like that!” Chen snapped.

“No! Shut up you coolie!” the wolf howled. “This whole factory ought to be burned to the ground! Its very existence is a betrayal of our empire! What business does an emperor have in curtailing free trade and free seas? The true Lusian would rather die than submit to such injustice!”

“One does not always need to confront head-on to win,” Matteo remained calm. “Sometimes simply to live is a victory in itself.”

“That’s a coward’s talk!” the wolf remembered the slobbering face of the lion, his claws and fangs ready to tear the cabin boy to shreds. “The strong must fight to maintain their strength!”

“I can’t believe this!” Chen laughed, and the wolf was truly taken aback by the genuine mirth with which the young man howled. “You, you know, you sound just like those intendants in the royal court. Those scholar-officials, who preen and flatter the emperor. We’re the greatest nation in the world. Our blood is pure, our rule is just, our power is eternal. But it’s all nonsense! They talk about how they fought back the Tartar horde, expelled the foreign barbarians, but their capital, their language, everything about them comes from those same foreigners they rail against. There’s nothing special or unique about your blood. It’s just arrogance.”

“Then why is it that my kind rules while your kind sweeps our floors?” the wolf sneered. “Are you one of those bleeding hearts who whines about how unfair empire is?”

“My heart bleeds just as red as yours,” Chen whispered icily.

“So does the heart of an idiot. Or a common, mongrel dog. Blood’s the only place where color doesn’t matter. Everyone knows that.”

“G-gentlemen, please…” Matteo could see the situation was getting out of hand.

“Shut up!” the wolf would not be lectured by some milksop priest.

“What did I tell you?” Chen moved to strike the wolf.

The wolf was quick. Age and drink may have dulled him, but his limbs still surged with fighting prowess. And as Chen moved to punch Ulisses, the wolf weaved away and prepared a mighty hook. That would wipe the arrogant expression off that coolie’s face.

To the wolf’s surprise though, Chen instantly noticed the weave and delivered a kick to Ulisses’ stomach. The wolf halted for only a second, caught off-guard, but that was all Chen needed to chop the back of Ulisses’ neck, and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

“You-!” Ulisses growled, struggling. But Chen was too quick, and before the wolf could wriggle free, he had already landed several heavy punches to Ulisses’ gut. Ulisses vomited the wine he had glutted himself with, and as he stared into the howling, enraged face of Chen, Ulisses felt a tremor of fear.

“Stop!” Matteo cried. “Chen!”

Chen’s eyes were wide, and his breathing heavy. His fist, which had dealt such fearsome strikes to the wolf, was shaking with fury. But at a word from the father, a flicker of awareness came over the young man, and he suddenly looked upon Ulisses with newfound horror. Swiftly he released his grip on the wolf’s collar, and Ulisses fell to the ground with a thud.

“Get out,” Chen had turned, not daring to even look at the old man on the floor. But though his face was awash with shame and self-loathing, his voice remained commanding and sure, and Ulisses, mumbling some excuse or other, obeyed.

“Chen,” Matteo placed a hand on the young man’s shuddering shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yingzi…” Chen murmured as though he could not believe the priest was even there. “I…”

And then the young man burst into tears, and crouched down to the floor, huddling in the priest’s arms.

“I killed someone!” Chen confessed. “In Jianghu, I killed… so many people. They killed my master. The man who took me in after my parents died. And I… I wanted revenge! But I just… it didn’t change anything. And I swore never to fight again after that, but tonight, that man, I just…”

“I know,” Matteo knelt down to the sobbing youth. “I knew from the day you arrived.”

Chen stared, flabbergasted, at the priest. “You knew? But… how…?”

“Because I was once just like you,” Matteo said. “I had killed, and I fled the law. No court could judge me guiltier than my own conscience, but I would not suffer fetters and imprisonment. So I fled, and became a vagabond wandering the roads and streets. None would take me in or hide me, or show me the simplest of kindnesses.

“Until… one night, I awoke to see that someone had made a fire beside me. I thought it was bandits, but all I saw was a lone figure idly sitting and strumming a lute. I can still see his face. He glowed in the firelight, a brilliant gold, like the sun. When he saw me awake, he offered me food. I couldn’t understand why, but he was kind to me, something no-one had been in a long time. And I saw that he held no weapons, and meant me no harm, and I felt safe beside him.

“When I fell back to sleep, I dreamed. I dreamt I was in a land of gold, walking through amber fields, beneath a gentle, lapping sun. It was like joy, everything warm and kind in this world, it was wrapped into a place, that land of dreams. And, for the first time in so long, I felt at peace.

“I woke up the next morning and he was gone, leaving only a pouch of food and some coins in my pocket. But I knew, as I remembered his face, I knew he was the dreamland I had walked in that night.”

“A chenghuang-shen?” Chen asked.

“Something like that,” Matteo said. “But I think… instead of a city, he was a dream, a place people go to when they fall asleep. And he had shown me kindness, when I had thought it no longer existed.

“After that, I gave myself to the church. I repented for my sins, and sought to make a new life for myself, and help others as he helped me.”

“So… when I came here…”

“How could I ever face that land again if I did not follow his example?” Matteo said. “How could I live up to my title if I did not show kindness?”

Chen stared silently at the father. He had given Chen so much, and never asked for anything in return. With him, Chen had slowly begun to heal, and return to the land of the living. But he knew then that his wounds ran deep, his sin remained great. There was still much atonement for him to earn. But even so, he was not alone. Father Matteo was with him.

That man, who had barged into the church that night, Chen saw that he was alone. He had built his life with his own two hands, but he had no-one left to share that life with, no home to go back to. It only existed in his mind, some illusive, imaginary empire. Was there no-one who could comfort and soothe him, or the hatred that so visibly ran through his heart? Or would he regard the need for comfort as a weakness, a failure to be denied? Chen did not know, but he did not envy the wolf. He was alone, and in many ways pitiable.

“Yingzi… did you ever see it again? That dreamland?” Chen asked.

Matteo sighed. “Not yet. But someday… I only hope to see it one last time, before I die.”

Chen nodded, before whispering “Thank you. For everything.”

And at that, the father and youth were content to remain together in silence.