Dragon Bones by Lisa See Page B

winged dragon to help cut rivers to drain the land of floods, marrying a fox spirit with tiny hoofed feet, creating nine provinces, which he then memorialized in the tripods.” Catherine put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on one of her palms so she could face David at a pretty angle. Hulan had no doubt that Catherine’s thigh was now resting against his, and she found this thought strangely titillating. “Lily will do anything to find that submerged tripod.” Then, without shifting her gaze from David, she asked the Englishwoman, “Who are you going to send to a watery grave this time, Lily? Professor Schmidt or Dr. Strong?”
    “That’s not funny!” Lily practically yelped.
    The others laughed uproariously.
    “It always comes down to power and the symbols we use to portray it,” Professor Schmidt said. “You heard Dr. Ma. In China power is granted to those who hold the Mandate of Heaven.”
    “That was a feudal idea,” Hulan corrected. “Only emperors were believed to be sons of Heaven.”
    “Only emperors? What about Mao?” Stuart challenged. “You have to admit that Mao was in the game for the power. And what about that fellow from the All-Patriotic Society? He clearly cares about power.”
    “The All-Patriotic Society is a cult—”
    “And you’ve never heard of the Cult of Mao?” Stuart inquired. “But Mao was mortal, and I presume Xiao Da is too. Still, they’re both very much about power. How do you show your power to your people and to the world? With a sword? A nuclear arsenal? A scepter in the West or a ruyi or gui in ancient China? All of these are symbols of power.”
    “You should see his collection,” Lily said in obvious admiration, but Stuart was on a roll.
    “Power can be found in something as mundane as bricks and mortar if they’re put together the right way,” he continued. “Consider your Great Wall and Three Gorges Dam. Wouldn’t you say they’re both international symbols of China’s power?”
    Hulan cut him off suddenly, her tone brittle. “All of this is very interesting, but I’m not here to talk about symbols. I’m here to investigate the murder of Brian McCarthy.”
    “What do you mean murder ?” Hearing the tremor in her voice, Lily put a hand to her throat. “Brian’s death was an accident.” She turned to Ma. “That’s what you told us. You said it was an accident.”
    Ma spoke reassuringly. “Of course it was. Our foreign friends must remember that our ways are sometimes different.” He paused, then added, “And very crude. You must think of our legal system as you might a jar of stinking tofu. Best to keep a lid on it.”
    In another time, in another place, these might have been the last words that the director of the dig would have spoken in public. Hulan needed to see his dangan to understand who he was and why his words ran so freely.
    A representative from one of the provincial museums was the first to speak. In Chinese he said, “I thought you were here to investigate corruption.”
    “Often where there’s murder there’s also corruption,” Hulan crackled back in Mandarin.
    The other museum representatives shifted in their seats. The foreigners—all apparently fluent in Mandarin—picked up on their colleagues’ sudden nervousness.
    “I’m interested in whatever will lead me to a murderer,” Hulan continued in English. “If this Yu will lead me to Brian’s killer, then I’ll follow that path.”
    “Are we in any danger?” Annabel Quinby asked.
    Before Hulan could respond, Dr. Ma jumped in. “You are all perfectly safe.” He next addressed Hulan. “Almost everyone at this table helped search for Brian when he disappeared. We’ve come to accept that he fell in the river and drowned, and we’ve all taken extra precautions to be careful whenever we’re near the shore. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll show you what I think happened.”
    “I wouldn’t be here, Dr. Ma, if the facts supported whatever accidental