Meandering River, Ardent Flame, Page 3

  Chapter 2: Lian Jiang

  The horizon was still dark. The gong, though it struck early in the morning, had yet to be rung. Neither had the wooden boards, which precluded it, been clapped. Nineteen-year old Jiang noticed her ma bu . She looked down. Her knees were now past the prescribed approximate ninety degrees and she noted critically that her feet had began turning outwards. Jiang often started out with her feet parallel, but after some time, they began to splay out as she began to lose control of her legs.

  There was padding in the hall near her novice's cell. Jiang could hear it through the entrance. She stared rigidly at the earthen wall in front of her, attempting to ignore the noise. But the shuffling came closer. Jiang tore her gaze from a particularly odd dab of earth on the wall. Her writing desk, a wooden slat on two blocks, sat low in the entranceway, where she'd moved it for space to exercise. She glanced anxiously at the hall. Hopefully, no one would be entering and tripping over it. Her mind went over the Diamond Sutra, and she wondered if they would chant it this morning. Perhaps they would chant parts from one of the Platform Sutras. She thought of the one of the Sixth Patriach and fixed her stance. Self-cultivation of the body is virtue, she thought, as a toe threatened to cramp.

  An abrupt thump and Flame tripped through the entrance, lamp in hand.

  “That wasn't there before.”

  Jiang felt her chi even before she relaxed her core slightly to speak. The muscles of her calf threatened to lock. Her younger sister placed the lamp on the desk and looked at her.

  “My apologies,” Jiang murmured.

  Her calf cramped.

  Lips pursed slightly, and taking care not to show a grimace, Jiang retracted her stance carefully. It had almost been an hour, anyhow. In the future, perhaps, she would achieve an hour.

  “I dreamed things again,” said Flame, straight to the point, “and Ma was telling me to remember something.”

  “Was it to live virtuously?” Flame shook her head.

  “It was an idea.”

  “Related to family, then? Though one likely dreams of more fanciful things.”

  Flame brightened. “Remember to keep family honour!”

  Jiang knotted her brows. “That doesn't sound like Ma.” Their mother had went against her family to marry their father.

  “I'm sure it was,” protested Flame, looking upset. “Li taunted us with our family name.”

  Jiang was confused.“Why would Magistrate Li do that?”

  “It was in my dream,” said Flame, growing increasingly more impatient.

  “And what else occurred in this dream?”

  “Li murdered Ma with a steel sword and tried to murder me too,” said Flame. “He said that Ba had done something and he could prove it, and that Ba broke his promise besides. There was supposed to be your wedding and everything, and you weren't there—” Jiang automatically felt guilty—“and neither was Ba, and no one else was there, only Li, his dogs and crows and wolves besides. I threw a book at Li, but it was no good and there was blood everywhere and our house was burned on your wedding day.”

  Jiang's leg locked. Trying not to let it show, she slowly knelt in front of her desk. Her sister didn't seem to notice. Surreptitiously, she massaged the offending calf behind her back.

  “I hate Li! I hope his generation dies out,” Flame finished, as she sat down on a mat by the desk. Jiang winced internally. Her sister was never reluctant to speak her mind, so Jiang should have been used to it, but generational elimination was extreme.

  “I wouldn't wish that on anyone.”

  “Well, I would. If he knew what it felt like...”

  Jiang watched silently as Flame trailed off. This line of thought couldn't go anywhere. Killing only brought more death, not life. Staying here in the monastery, far from the magistrate's home county and isolated among mountains, was life. If Magistrate Li even knew about them, surely he would have to leave them be. They would take their vows and sever all familial ties, so lianzuo wouldn't hold.

  “It's safe within the monastery,” said Jiang, trying to reassure. “In all likelihood, Magistrate Li has forgotten us.”

  “Forgotten you, most like. Just like you're forgetting him.”

  Jiang recognized the anger building as her sister began to make less sense. She watched as Flame pulled her knees up and hugged them tightly.

  “I won't forget. Ever. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have to be in a monastery. Everything is his fault!” Tears trickled weakly from her eyes. Jiang averted her own eyes and searched for a handkerchief. Procuring one, she handed it over silently and moved to sit beside her sister.

  “Aren't you able to forget him? When you forget him and forgo your hatred, you may come several steps at once closer to...closure.” Jiang would have said nirvana, but she presumed that secularism would appeal more to her sister's practical nature. She might have also suggested forgiveness; however as it stood, her sister was more likely to offer the magistrate a slap than forgiveness.

  “I won't forget,” repeated Flame, as if to confirm her thoughts. “Ma won't let me forget. Neither will Pa. Remember family, they say.”

  “They're dreams,” said Jiang gently. “I dream too.”

  Flame looked up sharply. “Of Ma and Pa?”

  That, and more, thought Jiang, but she didn't answer.

  “I dream of them all the time. Of how Ma died. Sometimes of Pa too, even though I wasn't there. I can never do anything for them, though I always try.” Flame blew into the handkerchief. “Ma dies, Pa dies, and they tell me to be a dutiful daughter. Or something. Then expressionless Li shows up, ordering things and waving a sword, and I wonder how I could make him die.” Jiang winced visibly. She wondered how they had transitioned from family honour to killing the magistrate.

  “Won't you forgive him as I have?” Jiang could no longer hold back her consternation; the words escaped her mouth even as her mind told her it was useless. Flame flared.

  “I can't! I can't forgive him if I can't forget! Almost every week I dream of how he slashed Ma, demanded Ba's head, and slandered our family in public, all while threatening me in his bloody judge's robes! Sometimes he even bothers me during meditation!” Flame drew an angry breath.

  “You might forgive him, but it's easy to forgive what you've forgotten, and it's even easier to forget what you didn't see!”

  Jiang wished that were true, but she said nothing. Her eyes suddenly wanted rubbing and blurred. She stared fixedly for a few seconds at the ceiling until her impulse to rub them had passed. The beams were locked by square pegs, appreciated Jiang, transferring their weight straight down the walls without disturbing them and to the ground. This transfer helped keep the walls in place as well, although the role of the beams in this wasn't evident to the casual observer. Jiang admired the inconspicuousness of such a vital support. Her eyes cleared slowly. Flame was too absorbed in her rant to notice.

  “He always has his watery steel sword, and I only get a burning book or something. Then he kills Ma the way he did for real, and I'm always powerless to touch him, the way it was then. I always regret that.”

  Regret. Jiang had to squint at the ceiling. Some of the wooden locks were ornately carved with swirls that looked like water or clouds. Jiang stared silently for a few more moments as Flame expounded on how if Li died, everything would be fine and their parents would leave her sleep alone.

  “Flame, please. It's much better to look forwards than back,” said Jiang as her sister finished. The words felt strangely hypocritical, but she pushed back the feeling momentarily. She stood up. “I'll sit next to you during meditation, is that fine? Maybe you'll feel better.”

  Flame got up wringing the wet handkerchief, and asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Mmm. Not really.” Jiang directed the handkerchief back as Flame held it out. “You may keep it. It's Ma's.”

  “Thank you, Elder Sister.” Flame left, taking her ghosts with her.

  After her sister left, Jiang recalled another time
after arguing with Flame, when she'd asked her father about their names.

  “Why are Flame and me opposites?” Her father looked up from his accounts, piles of paper threatening to engulf him.

  “What do you mean?,” he asked, looking intently at her as she rubbed her eyes and sniffed heavily.

  “Flame is named for fire. I'm named River, a bunch of water.”

  “A body of water, you mean. Have you been arguing with meimei again?” When Jiang nodded tremulously, her father sighed and waved for her to sit down.

  “Auntie May next door is always saying we're meant to argue because of our names,” said Jiang, curling her feet on the mat. Her father looked amused.

  “If I believed things like that, I wouldn't have married your Ma. My family name used to mean horse. Your Ma's meant flower. Does that mean I would have trampled your mother?” Jiang smiled at that. Her father continued, “Your grandmother insisted on the names. I think it was her idea of revenge.”

  Jiang remembered how her father had left his family for her mother, and taken a new family name in the process. Her grandmother still refused to visit, and her father periodically recounted that Grandma had ordered all of his brothers to hold a funeral for him, the eldest.

  “But they're not bad names. And if you'll recall, water begets wood, which feeds fire. So you can think of yourself as your sister's enabler. When your Ba's gone—” Jiang noised in protest.

  “Now! That's part of life. But when I'm gone, and if you still haven't married—”

  “I'm never getting married. I'm staying right here with you and Ma.”

  Her father sighed in mock exasperation.

  “We should have given you a proper girl's name.” He hung up his ink brush. “When we've left, you and Flame are looking after one another. You're Family Lian, always together, right?” When Jiang nodded, her father affectionately patted her head. “Good. Now go find your mei and both of you make up. The elder sister should care for the younger.”

  Jiang didn't know why she was thinking of all this. Maybe because she was tired. Attempting to comfort her sister always made her feel burned out. But then again, she couldn't blame her sister. Restoring her desk to its place, she tried to push the thoughts from her head. Two more months and she might be a nun, which would mean truly cutting off all ties to her previous life. Her eyes felt itchy.