nodded. ‘Then I choose to be your
son, if that’s all right?’
Hal smiled and reached out to take his good hand. ‘That’s all I ever wanted.’
PART 9 ICE AND FIRE
SUMMER 2201
‘War is the highest form of struggle for resolving contradictions, when they have
developed to a certain stage, between classes, nations, states, or political groups,
and it has existed ever since the emergence of private property and of classes.’
—Mao Tse Tung,
Problems Of Strategy in China’s Revolutionary War
(December 1936)
‘It is our historical duty to eradicate all opposition to change. To cauterize the
cancers that create division. The future cannot come into being until the past is
dead. Chung Kuo cannot live until the world of petty nation states, of factions and
religions, is dead and buried beneath the ice. Let us have no pity then. Our choice
is made. Ice and fire. The fire to cauterize, the ice to cover over. Only by such
means will the world be freed from enmity.’
—Tsao Ch’un,
Address to his Ministers
, (May 2068)
Chapter 38
THE SADDLE
T he old T’ang backed away, his hands raised before him, his face rigid with fear.
‘Put down the knife,
erh tzu
! For pity’s sake!’
A moment before there had been laughter; now the tension in the room seemed unendurable.
Only the hiss and wheeze of Tsu Tiao’s laboured breathing broke the awful silence.
In the narrow space between the pillars, Tsu Ma circled his father slowly, knife in
hand, his face set, determined. On all sides T’ang and courtier alike – all Han, all
Family
– were crowded close, looking on, their faces tense, unreadable. Only one, a boy of
eight, false whiskered and rouged up, his clothes identical to those of the old T’ang,
showed any
fear. He stood there, wide-eyed, one hand gripping the arm of the taller boy beside
him.
‘
Erh Tzu!
’ the old man pleaded, falling to his knees.
My son!
He bowed his head, humbling himself. ‘I beg you, Tsu Ma! Have mercy on an old man!’
All eyes were on Tsu Ma now. All saw the shudder that rippled through the big man
like a wave; the way his chin jutted forward and his face contorted in agony as he
steeled himself to strike.
Then it was done and the old man slumped forward, the knife buried deep in his chest.
There was a sigh like the soughing of the wind, then Tsu Ma was surrounded. Hands
clapped his back or held his hand or touched his shoulder briefly. ‘Well done, Tsu
Ma,’ each said
before moving on, expecting no answer; seeing how he stood there, his arms limp at
his sides, his broad chest heaving, his eyes locked on the fallen figure on the floor
beneath him.
Slowly the great room emptied until only Tsu Ma, the six T’ang and the two young boys
remained.
Li Shai Tung stood before him, staring into his face, a faint smile of sadness mixed
with satisfaction on his lips. He spoke softly, ‘Well done, Tsu Ma. It’s hard, I know.
The
hardest thing a man can do…’
Slowly Tsu Ma’s eyes focused on him. He swallowed deeply and another great shudder
racked his body. Pain flickered like lightning across the broad, strong features of
his face, and then he
spoke, his voice curiously small, like a child’s. ‘Yes… but it was
so
hard to do, Shai Tung. It… it was just like him.’
Li Shai Tung shivered but kept himself perfectly still, his face empty of what he
was feeling. He ached to reach out and hold Tsu Ma close, to comfort him, but knew
it would be wrong. It was
hard, as Tsu Ma now realized, but it was also necessary.
Since the time of Tsao Ch’un it had been so. To become T’ang the son must kill the
father. Must become his own man. Only then would he be free to offer his father the
respect he owed
him.
‘Will you come through, Tsu Ma?’
Tsu Ma’s eyes had never left Li Shai Tung’s face, yet they had not been seeing him.
Now they focused again. He gave the barest nod, then, with one last,
son, if that’s all right?’
Hal smiled and reached out to take his good hand. ‘That’s all I ever wanted.’
PART 9 ICE AND FIRE
SUMMER 2201
‘War is the highest form of struggle for resolving contradictions, when they have
developed to a certain stage, between classes, nations, states, or political groups,
and it has existed ever since the emergence of private property and of classes.’
—Mao Tse Tung,
Problems Of Strategy in China’s Revolutionary War
(December 1936)
‘It is our historical duty to eradicate all opposition to change. To cauterize the
cancers that create division. The future cannot come into being until the past is
dead. Chung Kuo cannot live until the world of petty nation states, of factions and
religions, is dead and buried beneath the ice. Let us have no pity then. Our choice
is made. Ice and fire. The fire to cauterize, the ice to cover over. Only by such
means will the world be freed from enmity.’
—Tsao Ch’un,
Address to his Ministers
, (May 2068)
Chapter 38
THE SADDLE
T he old T’ang backed away, his hands raised before him, his face rigid with fear.
‘Put down the knife,
erh tzu
! For pity’s sake!’
A moment before there had been laughter; now the tension in the room seemed unendurable.
Only the hiss and wheeze of Tsu Tiao’s laboured breathing broke the awful silence.
In the narrow space between the pillars, Tsu Ma circled his father slowly, knife in
hand, his face set, determined. On all sides T’ang and courtier alike – all Han, all
Family
– were crowded close, looking on, their faces tense, unreadable. Only one, a boy of
eight, false whiskered and rouged up, his clothes identical to those of the old T’ang,
showed any
fear. He stood there, wide-eyed, one hand gripping the arm of the taller boy beside
him.
‘
Erh Tzu!
’ the old man pleaded, falling to his knees.
My son!
He bowed his head, humbling himself. ‘I beg you, Tsu Ma! Have mercy on an old man!’
All eyes were on Tsu Ma now. All saw the shudder that rippled through the big man
like a wave; the way his chin jutted forward and his face contorted in agony as he
steeled himself to strike.
Then it was done and the old man slumped forward, the knife buried deep in his chest.
There was a sigh like the soughing of the wind, then Tsu Ma was surrounded. Hands
clapped his back or held his hand or touched his shoulder briefly. ‘Well done, Tsu
Ma,’ each said
before moving on, expecting no answer; seeing how he stood there, his arms limp at
his sides, his broad chest heaving, his eyes locked on the fallen figure on the floor
beneath him.
Slowly the great room emptied until only Tsu Ma, the six T’ang and the two young boys
remained.
Li Shai Tung stood before him, staring into his face, a faint smile of sadness mixed
with satisfaction on his lips. He spoke softly, ‘Well done, Tsu Ma. It’s hard, I know.
The
hardest thing a man can do…’
Slowly Tsu Ma’s eyes focused on him. He swallowed deeply and another great shudder
racked his body. Pain flickered like lightning across the broad, strong features of
his face, and then he
spoke, his voice curiously small, like a child’s. ‘Yes… but it was
so
hard to do, Shai Tung. It… it was just like him.’
Li Shai Tung shivered but kept himself perfectly still, his face empty of what he
was feeling. He ached to reach out and hold Tsu Ma close, to comfort him, but knew
it would be wrong. It was
hard, as Tsu Ma now realized, but it was also necessary.
Since the time of Tsao Ch’un it had been so. To become T’ang the son must kill the
father. Must become his own man. Only then would he be free to offer his father the
respect he owed
him.
‘Will you come through, Tsu Ma?’
Tsu Ma’s eyes had never left Li Shai Tung’s face, yet they had not been seeing him.
Now they focused again. He gave the barest nod, then, with one last,
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