Chapter 2 #2
‘Normal is a construct of comfort,’ Lord Vermilion says. ‘We each are unique in our own ways. What is normal for one person may well be extraordinary for another.’
‘Ah, well, what I mean is . . .’ I say.
‘Are we going to play or spout nonsense all day?’ Lord Bai snaps.
‘Also, you misunderstand déjà vu,’ Lord Vermilion continues calmly, ignoring his brother. ‘It means seeing something that has already happened, not seeing something that is about to happen. The Cosmos contains multitudes.’
‘Multitudes,’ Lord Black echoes, joining the conversation again.
‘But I saw something that was about to happen. Isn’t that seeing the future?’
Lord Vermilion tuts gently. ‘Do not look forward thinking you can look back. Do not look back thinking you can look forward. However, be mindful that looking back and looking forward are but two sides of the same coin.’
Just as Lord Black and Lord Vermilion are two sides of the same nonsensical coin. I press my lips together to keep those words from spilling out, and incline my head demurely.
Finally done with his inspection of the pearl, now the size of a walnut, Lord Black says, ‘The pearl needs an infusion of Meimei’s qi to set it right. I’m visiting her after the Council, so if you don’t mind, Lady Jing, I’ll keep it for now.’
‘Abundant gratitude, Lord Black,’ I say, relieved I don’t have to explain how I was goaded into a drunken game of marbles and nearly lost all my best pieces to a cheating scumbag. Luckily, I figured out in time how they were cheating, then used my dragon pearl to win everything back.
‘What’s wrong with it, Ming?’ Lord Vermilion asks.
‘Seems to be some kind of imbalance in the pearl,’ Lord Black says. ‘As if it’s been knocked by something hard. Like a marble.’ His gaze slides to me, eyes sparkling.
The rotted dragon can read my thoughts!
My mahjong face must slip because Lord Black laughs. ‘Oh! You are too amusing, Lady Jing.’
Clearing my throat, I channel Lady Gi when she’s wearing her game face: a steel blade wrapped in coquettish charm. With a cheery, conspiratorial tone, I lean towards Lord Bai, and say, ‘Too much talking, too little playing, am I right, venerable Lord Bai?’
With that, I take a tile and start our round, focusing my every thought on my tiles and absolutely not giving any space in my mind to marbles or dragon pearls.
It doesn’t take more than three turns to discover playing mahjong with the dragon uncles is as frustrating as talking with them.
Lord Black discards every tile he picks up without even looking, so his original hand never changes.
Lord Vermilion does the same. Neither brother ever dwells on the tiles in their hand, their turns over in seconds.
I am perplexed by their game strategy. Are they using their dragon sight to reveal the future?
Or perhaps they can see the tiles coming up?
But that can’t be right since Lord Bai takes an absolute age to decide whether to discard the tile he’s just picked or a tile from his wall. If he could see the future, he would not be such a terrible strategist. Perhaps I should have let Lord Aengus play after all.
‘Now now, Lady Jing. Surprise is the spice of life,’ Lord Black says as he tosses his tile back on the table.
‘Is that why you play the way you do? Without looking?’
‘What fun is there if all you do is look?’
‘But you’re not looking at all,’ I say.
‘Am I not?’ Lord Black asks. ‘As you know, I see much, both far and near.’
‘Dragon sight,’ I mutter, trying to anchor the conversation in logic.
‘The Cosmos guides us; we are aware of many things.’
‘Yes, I remember. Logic and order. You said I do not possess the skill to see, yet.’
Lord Black claps his hands. ‘Impressive memory! We embrace the Cosmos in order to become embraced. We nurture the Cosmos in order to become nurtured. We accept the Cosmos in order to become accepted. This is the Way of the Cosmos. Awareness and sight are but the same thing. In time and with practice, you may understand.’
I’ve heard this mumbo jumbo before. There’s no point engaging as it will only amuse Lord Black and irritate me. So I choose the path of benevolence, or rather intentional ignorance. I nod and smile.
Scrutinising his hand, Lord Bai drawls, ‘Your mahjong skills are underwhelming, Lady Jing. I had heard you were a fearsome player’ – his face is a picture of smug satisfaction as he tosses a tile onto the table – ‘but the rumours are clearly exaggerated.’
‘Venerable Lord Bai,’ Lord Aengus pipes up. ‘I have heard your skills in mahjong are prodigious. It is an honour to witness you play.’
What a bunch of steamed farts. I nearly say the thought out loud, but grit my teeth at the last minute.
I’ve already had to kowtow in apology once today, surely I can make it through the day without humiliating myself a second time?
My confidence holds for a few seconds, then wavers as reality rudely intrudes.
I have never been successful in keeping my temper in check.
Might as well give in. I fantasise about horking a big phlegmy gob of spit at Lord Bai. My mood instantly lifts.
Lord Black makes a noise suspiciously like a laugh followed by a cough. Very loudly and intentionally I think at him: Lord Black, are you reading my mind?
Lord Black’s mahjong face is exceptional and he shows no sign of hearing me. In fact, for the first time since we began playing, he actually scrutinises his tiles.
Lord Bai’s thorny glare presses against my forehead while Lord Aengus mouth-breathes at my back, telegraphing his reaction to my every tile.
I reconsider spitting in the envoy’s face, but this time, it’s Horsey’s nasally drawl that floats uninvited into my head: Equilibrium is the foundation of Tian, Lady Jing.
I groan inwardly at the unwelcome intrusion.
For the past month I’ve been forced to endure Horsey’s daily lectures on the rules of the Ministerial Mahjong Council.
What is permitted, the ke, and what is prohibited, the wu.
To prepare me, he said. More like annoy me to death. I can’t embarrass anyone if I’m dead.
Spitting at or towards or within the vicinity of any minister, even annoying ones, is a massive wu.
Winning at mahjong is also, surprisingly, another big wu, especially against ministers of higher rank.
Creating equilibrium between the ministries and maintaining harmony underpins the entire Mahjong Council.
Given the dragon kings are the highest ranking, and most revered, deities in all of Tian, it would not do to offend them. Huge flashing neon sign levels of wu.
I recite Horsey’s words like a mantra: Equilibrium is the foundation of Tian. Harmony is the way of Tian.
In belated response to Lord Bai disparaging my mahjong skills, I force my lips into the shape of a pleasant smile and toss my tile onto the table. Keeping my tone light, I say, ‘What goes in one ear comes out many mouths, Lord Bai. I wouldn’t pay much heed to rumours.’
Lord Bai tsks with a condescending shake of his head. A low level buzzing in my ears drowns out Horsey’s careful lessons, I pour everyone more Maotai to buy some time, hoping to curb my impulses, but it’s no use. When Lord Vermilion discards his tile, I pounce.
‘Gang,’ I say, taking his tile to create a set of four. Which conveniently skips Lord Bai.
The muscle in Lord Bai’s jaw twitches. Lord Black and Lord Vermilion snigger.
On the next round, when Lord Vermilion discards, I smile sweetly and say, ‘Pong,’ taking his tile to create a set of three. Which, oh my, conveniently skips Lord Bai again. Take that, you overgrown lizard.
Lord Black has completely stopped any pretensions of actually playing the game, all he does is waggle his eyebrows at Lord Vermilion whenever Lord Bai clenches his jaw, sniffs, or huffs. It dawns on me that they’re baiting Lord Bai.
On the heels of that thought, my vision blurs. I’m no longer in the Hall of Harmony, but standing by the edge of a sparkling lake where birdsong and chirping insects accompany the gentle lapping of waves against a pebbled shore.
Four boys rush here and there, searching the ground.
Their pale blue robes sport double layered jiaoling cross-collars – a deep blue inner robe beneath a crisp white outer lapel embroidered with silver dragons.
A high bun secured by a gold hair coronet shows off each boy’s sharp widows peak and distinctive aquiline nose.
These must be the four dragon uncles as children.
The boys gather in the shade of a nearby tree and show each other their finds. The first boy holds up four dull grey stones, each with a big hole worn right through the middle. He places the rings on his thumb, so high the fourth ring completely hides his thumb, and gently blows on them.
Luminous flames, the crisp, clear blue of a cloudless spring sky, engulf the rings, turning the once dull stones lustrous and translucent.
The boys whoop in delight as each stone flashes a different colour: sky blue, inky black, vermilion, and snow white.
The second brother holds up his hand, cradling a single lustrous stone, pitch black, round as a pearl, big as a fist. The boys nod in appreciation.
The third boy waves a blood bright stone resembling a gnarled old branch, full of interesting hollows and holes, which garners a wave of giggles.
The fourth boy looks down at the pristine white stone in his hands, luminous and smooth, but compared to his brothers’ finds, rather unexceptional. His mouth twists with dissatisfaction.
‘I am the eldest,’ he says. Given the pompous manner, I’d wager the child to be Lord Bai. ‘Therefore I’m the most important. You will give me your stones.’