Daylight on Iron Mountain Read Online Free PDF

Chinese character
San
– three – embroidered in black on a pale cream background in a big square of silk in the middle of his chest.
    ‘Number Three’ bowed low to Jiang Lei, smiling an obsequious smile.
    ‘General Jiang… I am Ts’ao P’i. Our Master has asked me to show you to your quarters.’
    Ts’ao P’i
… Jiang almost smiled at that. Ts’ao P’i, otherwise known as Emperor Wen of the Wei dynasty, had been a famous poet. Indeed, he was a better poet than a governor, if the ancient histories could be trusted.
    Jiang followed, walking alongside Ts’ao P’i. Ho trailed a little way behind, struggling to carry Jiang’s things, his head bowed so deeply that his chin almost touched his chest.
    After a while Jiang noticed it. He stopped. ‘Ho… walk straight. Lift your chin. Ts’ao P’i understands that he has your respect.’
    And with this, Jiang looked to Ts’ao P’i and gave him the barest nod of his head, as if to thank him for indulging his servant.
    But Ts’ao P’i’s expression had changed. ‘Forgive me, General,’ he began hesitantly, ‘but out of kindness I should warn you. The court has changed since you were last here, and such formalities as existed then have been greatly extended. It is… how should I put it… a matter of great sensitivity.’
    ‘Are we are talking of a man’s status, Ts’ao P’i? Of his face?’
    Ts’ao P’i nodded, his face stern now.
    ‘Precisely. Speaking for myself, it does not trouble me should your servantnot show me his respect, but there are others who… well, let us say that to forget the outward signs of respect might be to tempt fate, even to win oneself enemies.’
    Jiang took this in, then bowed to the other man. ‘I thank you deeply for your advice, Ts’ao P’i.’
    He turned to Steward Ho, who had witnessed this exchange about himself with open-mouthed astonishment, and smiled. ‘I am afraid, Steward Ho, that you must be as you were.’
    ‘Master…’
    Ho’s chin went down again.
    Jiang Lei turned, looking back to his guide. ‘Lead on, Ts’ao P’i. And thank you. I’ll not forget your kindness.’
    But before the other man looked away, Jiang saw in his eyes; the calculation there behind the smile. He wondered what deeper game Ts’ao P’i was playing and who, out of all his possible friends and enemies, he reported back to.
    Court intrigues
, he thought, walking on swiftly, half distracted by the beauty of the ancient architecture through which he walked.
It makes such exile as I’ve suffered seem almost welcome.
    At last the officials had departed.
    Jiang sprawled out in the chair and summoned his steward.
    ‘Ho! A cup of wine! Quick now!’
    He let out a deep, heartfelt groan of anguish. Was this what it had all come down to? This ghastly pretence, this hellish puppet show?
    Jiang Lei shook his head exaggeratedly. He would do it all. Of course he would. What choice had he? But just what was the point?
    When they had said in his orders that he would be tutored in court rituals, he had thought it a small matter of which etiquettes to follow. But this…
    How to stand, what to say, who to look at and bow to, who
not
to look at, when to speak, when not to speak, which way to face, how often to bow, when to prostrate oneself…
    Thinking about it, Jiang Lei laughed. It was like joining a theatrical troupe. And maybe that was not so poor an analogy. Maybe he would write a poem, ostensibly about such a troupe, whereas in fact…
    ‘Master?’ Ho stood there, head bowed, holding out a silver bowl filled to the brim with Jiang’s favourite red sorghum wine.
    Jiang stood and, taking the cup from Ho, took a long sip from it. Setting it down, he looked to Ho with a mischievous grin on his face, turned and gave a bow. Then a deeper bow. Then put his hand to his mouth, as if he’d spoken when he ought not to have.
    Ho, terrified, feeling his Master must have lost his mind, grimaced and pointed to the camera.
    ‘But Master…’
    The