room. Youngest Son suddenly lifts his cup and cries out: ‘To the health of His Highness, General An-Shu!’
His officers roar approval. I raise my cup thoughtfully, meeting the older officer’s watchful eyes. Clearly something is expected of me, a declaration of loyalty, perhaps.
‘The General’s boldness will pass into legend!’ I call out.
They murmur approvingly.
‘He dares where other men only dream,’ I add.
Thumping of tables, so the dishes vibrate.
‘We hear little news in our poor valley,’ I say. ‘Youngest Son, be so kind as to share your deeds! We have much to learn.’
Youngest Son laughs harshly. He is drunker than the wine I have served warrants. Clearly he started before he got here.
‘Where do I begin? Our glorious regiment (more thumping of tables) has earned its name of Winged Tigers!
At Chu Ford we attacked across the water and drove back a whole battalion of our enemies. Do you see this scar, Father? The man who gave it to me floated away face down!’
His officers cheer. Beside me, Eldest Son is decidedly uncomfortable.
‘I trust the wound causes no discomfort?’ I ask.
‘None at all! And when His Highness made a tactical retreat to Lu Pass, my company beat off three times its number.’
‘So all goes well,’ I say.
‘Exceedingly! Even now we are gathering a force to march south all the way to the Dragon Throne itself.
Many titles will be granted on that splendid day.’
He says this with the utmost significance. Is he referring to my own title?
‘I am pleased Youngest Son is happy.’
‘How could I be otherwise! Lieutenant Mah-Fu, what did you make of the Pretender’s forces?’
The officer, barely more than a boy, frowns with concentration.
‘Well, I’ll answer for you,’ continues Youngest Son. ‘They lack the will to fight. That gives us a decisive advantage.’
Another officer breaks in, the one with a habitual sneer.
‘Sir, you hit the target exactly! They have no stomach for their cause.’
Youngest Son frowns to be interrupted.
‘Precisely. That’s what I said. More wine! The servants have grown slow since I was away.’
I sigh, as if to concede we are simple folk.
‘Glorious times!’ he toasts. ‘Already ambassadors have arrived in Chunming from one of the Western tribes, offering a host of mounted archers.’
‘Barbarians are offering to serve the General?’ I ask, surprised.
‘Of course! His Highness is busy from dawn until dusk with homage. Who would have thought it in such a dull town as Chunming, eh?’
Who indeed? The idea is outlandish.
‘A new dynasty is forming,’ declares Youngest Son, tipsily. ‘Mark my words!’
I grow pale to hear such treason uttered in my own house, and rage inwardly at the danger in which he places us. Yet I must be calm.
‘Clearly great events,’ I say. ‘Here we think only of the harvest. And the early crop has been disappointing.’
‘Never mind that, Father,’ chides Youngest Son.
Such rudeness and disrespect to a parent is a kind of treason in itself. If his mother could hear it, she would weep with shame. He turns fiercely to Eldest Son. This is the moment I have dreaded.
‘Brother! Why don’t you join us? With my influence, an honourable position could be found for you. Look at the kind of men you’d be serving alongside! Doesn’t that make you long for honour?’
His officers exclaim appreciatively. The room falls silent. Every eye is on Eldest Son. He seems troubled, spreads his hands helplessly.
‘Someone must ensure the peasants tend the fields,’ he says. ‘Otherwise, how will the General’s troops be fed?’
The youngest officer titters, yet I could hug Eldest Son for so obtuse a reply. Youngest Son seems nonplussed.
‘True, true, but there’s no glory in it.’
‘Tell me again how you came by your scar,’ I say. ‘That is what we really want to know.’
For the next few minutes Youngest Son explains, blow by blow, and the crisis passes. More wine is
His officers roar approval. I raise my cup thoughtfully, meeting the older officer’s watchful eyes. Clearly something is expected of me, a declaration of loyalty, perhaps.
‘The General’s boldness will pass into legend!’ I call out.
They murmur approvingly.
‘He dares where other men only dream,’ I add.
Thumping of tables, so the dishes vibrate.
‘We hear little news in our poor valley,’ I say. ‘Youngest Son, be so kind as to share your deeds! We have much to learn.’
Youngest Son laughs harshly. He is drunker than the wine I have served warrants. Clearly he started before he got here.
‘Where do I begin? Our glorious regiment (more thumping of tables) has earned its name of Winged Tigers!
At Chu Ford we attacked across the water and drove back a whole battalion of our enemies. Do you see this scar, Father? The man who gave it to me floated away face down!’
His officers cheer. Beside me, Eldest Son is decidedly uncomfortable.
‘I trust the wound causes no discomfort?’ I ask.
‘None at all! And when His Highness made a tactical retreat to Lu Pass, my company beat off three times its number.’
‘So all goes well,’ I say.
‘Exceedingly! Even now we are gathering a force to march south all the way to the Dragon Throne itself.
Many titles will be granted on that splendid day.’
He says this with the utmost significance. Is he referring to my own title?
‘I am pleased Youngest Son is happy.’
‘How could I be otherwise! Lieutenant Mah-Fu, what did you make of the Pretender’s forces?’
The officer, barely more than a boy, frowns with concentration.
‘Well, I’ll answer for you,’ continues Youngest Son. ‘They lack the will to fight. That gives us a decisive advantage.’
Another officer breaks in, the one with a habitual sneer.
‘Sir, you hit the target exactly! They have no stomach for their cause.’
Youngest Son frowns to be interrupted.
‘Precisely. That’s what I said. More wine! The servants have grown slow since I was away.’
I sigh, as if to concede we are simple folk.
‘Glorious times!’ he toasts. ‘Already ambassadors have arrived in Chunming from one of the Western tribes, offering a host of mounted archers.’
‘Barbarians are offering to serve the General?’ I ask, surprised.
‘Of course! His Highness is busy from dawn until dusk with homage. Who would have thought it in such a dull town as Chunming, eh?’
Who indeed? The idea is outlandish.
‘A new dynasty is forming,’ declares Youngest Son, tipsily. ‘Mark my words!’
I grow pale to hear such treason uttered in my own house, and rage inwardly at the danger in which he places us. Yet I must be calm.
‘Clearly great events,’ I say. ‘Here we think only of the harvest. And the early crop has been disappointing.’
‘Never mind that, Father,’ chides Youngest Son.
Such rudeness and disrespect to a parent is a kind of treason in itself. If his mother could hear it, she would weep with shame. He turns fiercely to Eldest Son. This is the moment I have dreaded.
‘Brother! Why don’t you join us? With my influence, an honourable position could be found for you. Look at the kind of men you’d be serving alongside! Doesn’t that make you long for honour?’
His officers exclaim appreciatively. The room falls silent. Every eye is on Eldest Son. He seems troubled, spreads his hands helplessly.
‘Someone must ensure the peasants tend the fields,’ he says. ‘Otherwise, how will the General’s troops be fed?’
The youngest officer titters, yet I could hug Eldest Son for so obtuse a reply. Youngest Son seems nonplussed.
‘True, true, but there’s no glory in it.’
‘Tell me again how you came by your scar,’ I say. ‘That is what we really want to know.’
For the next few minutes Youngest Son explains, blow by blow, and the crisis passes. More wine is
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