Rise of the Tiger, Chapter 3, by Daniel Moir (Danier Mai De Nu) Copyright 2022. This sample is a work in progress and may not represent the final product.
Chapter 3:
Hung Tsi Kwan stirred as rapping at the gate which kept the wagon closed
up got louder. He hadn’t slept much on this trip, and the last thing he wanted
was to wake up right now. He had been dreaming of sitting under his favorite tea
leaf tree with Liu Yingchun, his beautiful betrothed. He was running his
fingers through her silky raven hair when the knocking got too loud to ignore.
He snapped upright. “What?” He called. Though his heart burned like white-hot
fire, his tone was bereft of emotion. He knew he had to mind his manners,
especially since the wagon had stopped, and he knew that this likely meant that
he had arrived at his destination. The gate to the wagon opened, Kwan winced as
the morning light hit his eyes causing his pupils to immediately constrict. He
tried to block the light by tucking his eyes into his elbow.
“We’re here, Kwan,” the voice of the old man sounded. “I need your help
to get set up. Come along.”
Kwan wiped the sleep from his eyes, then forced his way out of the wagon
before realizing he was not wearing his shirt. He clasped the stripe-shaped
burn scars on his left arm, then turned back toward the wagon and reached for
the shirt he had discarded before going to sleep. He threw the long sleeve clothing
on, then turned toward the old man. “Okay, I am ready Liu Huo Hou. Let’s make
some money.”
The teenage Hung Tsi Kwan worked alongside his guardian, the elderly Liu
Huo Hou, to open up the wagon, and set up their traveling tea shop. Thousands
of different varieties of leaves and flavors filled a large shelf which swung
out from the wagon and settled on the ground. Kwan was tall, lean, and dark.
Although his birth family had been wealthy, he was never the sort to let the
Hung family employees do all the work for him. He worked outside, he was
extraordinarily fit. His white, long-sleeved shirt fit very loose against his
frame, and his black pants fit snuggly around his waist, but were otherwise
fairly loose as well, allowing his movement to flow like water. He was able to
work quickly while his guardian, however, was severely aged and overweight. Huo
Hou focused on getting the signs set up to lure in the farmers who they had
hoped would buy from them today. He wore
a blue Magua and a black cap that covered the balding head, though he had far
too little hair to sport the queue, as young Kwan did. The two worked well
together, as though they knew which cog they were in a machine, and how each of
their roles would impact the other. Within a few minutes, the wagon had been
transformed into a small tea stand, ready to serve its products to the farmers
who would normally not have access to goods such as this.
Huo Hou took a step back and placed his hands on his hip as he inspected
their stand. “One day my boy, we will own several wagons that can go all over
China selling the Hung family tea to places that have been out of reach. The
kind of money we will make by expanding beyond Quanzhou will be…”
Kwan positioned himself next to the old man, “… what?”
The old man smiled and slapped the young man on the shoulder, “More than
you can imagine, that’s for sure!” He laughed hard, “we’ll be so rich the
Manchu could never take it all. Your parents will be proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And my Granddaughter can marry you never having to worry about
finances.” He paused and let out a deep breath, then turned towards Kwan.
“There’s just one thing,” the smile on his face vanished. “No matter what, do
not let people know who you really are. While we’re here, you will go by Jyu.”
Kwan head snapped backward, then he turned to face his guardian. “Why?”
“This,” Huo Hou replied, while gesturing to the farmlands before them,
“is the home of the famous Leung Bok-Chau, and his wife, Yim Wing Chun.”
“Really?” Kwan’s eyes widened in delight. “Wing Chun?”
“Yes,“ said the other, “they are members of the Red Lotus Society, and
the Heaven and Earth Society… Hung men. If they know who you are, they will try
to rope you into their war against the Manchus. That would put you in serious
danger, and I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise to your father.”
The young man nodded.
“They would want you because you are a descendant of Emperor Chongzhen,
the last Ming Emperor.”
Kwan shook his head, “So they say. Yet my father served in the Manchu
government, and always told me to obey the law. Why wouldn’t he have told me if
we were meant to be more than the tea merchants we’ve always been?”
Huo Hou shrugged, “Who can say? The Ming Dynasty fell a long time ago.
Personally, I think we tend to romanticize the past when we ought to look to
the future.” He smiled brightly again. “One day the Han will rule China again,
but until then, we may as well make loads and loads of cash.”
Kwan smiled and began moving towards the display they had set up in
front of the wagon. There were only four shelves, but it had a large number of
slots for the various flavors of tea they had brought with them. The young man stepped
around the wagon to the back and gripped a latch on the bed, lifting up a wide,
green board and opening a compartment where they kept their merchandise. The
young man began fishing through the various bags filled with ground tea. “Why
they think I would want to lead a rebellion is beyond me.” He lifted several
bags and moved back toward the display. They were smaller bags, several days’
worth in each one. He began organizing them on the shelf while his guardian
supervised him.
“The Manchu fear your claim to the throne. The Hung Men want you to lead
them. In either case, you would become involved with the rebellion, and that is
something that your father simply couldn’t tolerate if he were…” Huo Hou
frowned. His brow furrowed slightly before relaxing. The old man smiled
brightly again and slapped young Kwan on the back, “let’s not worry so much
about the past. Securing a rich and bright future for you is the best way to
honor your father’s memory.”
Kwan couldn’t hold back his smile. He loved his father, and he was taken
from him far, far too early. Still, Ting Man Hung, was already a wealthy tea
merchant, but the government confiscated much of the family wealth when his
father was accused of being the criminal, the Red Dragon. The evidence against
his father had not been scant. Much to his family’s dismay, when their home was
raided, the uniform, the broadsword, and a collection of confiscated flying
guillotines had been enough to cement the accusations. Kwan now lost his smile,
as he remembered his father screaming for his wife as her throat was slit right
in front of them. He closed his eyes as his recollection turned red, and he
remembered leaping toward one of the guards with his hands clawed as his father
had taught him. Then he felt a shaking at his shoulder. He opened his eyes and
turned his head towards his guardian.
“Are you okay, boy?” Huo Hou asked.
Kwan shifted his gaze towards the necklace he wore around his neck. It
was leather and held a piece of jade with the Hung family emblem carved
delicately into its surface so that the diamond shape and the characters within
were raised. The characters simply read, Hung Family. It was the last
gift his father had given him before he was taken away. Kwan frowned, pushing
the memories to the back of his mind as he heard the distant voice of his
father screaming, once more, for his mother. But it was in the past now, and
there was nothing that could be done now, but to keep moving forward. To be as
a stone, rolling down the hill, as his father would say, never looking back,
and never allowing anything to get in his way. He closed his eyes, then tucked
the jade medallion under his shirt. “Okay,” he said to his guardian, “I am
ready.”
Huo Hou let out a rich belly laugh, “then let’s get going!” He took a
deep breath, but then clutched the left side of his chest. He paused and rubbed
his left pectoral gently.
“You okay?” Kwan asked as he began stocking the shelf with their
product.
“I’m fine,” The old man laughed. “Just gassy, I am old, after all.”
“I’ll be sure not to stand downwind.”
The two laughed as their first customer approached. She was a tall, lean
woman, dressed in a blue top, and loose-fitting matching pants, clothing more
like what one would expect a man to wear. Her gate was narrow, her form
willowy, and she moved like flowing water. Graceful, delicate. Yet her face was
darkened by exposure to the sun. Her lips were hardened, her gaze unbreaking.
Her hair was not tied up the way that women were supposed to, but rather pulled
back into an unbraided ponytail. Atop her hair, she wore a simple white-colored
headband with the knot tied below her ears, rather than behind them. It kept her
sweat from her eyes, and she was very sweaty. She approached Kwan’s guardian,
then covered her right fist with her left palm. “Liu Huo Hou,” She said, her
voice surprisingly deep for a woman, “I see you received our invitation. Thank
you for coming.”
Huo Hou returned the bow, “Shifu Yim Wing Chun, I am honored to serve.”
Kwan’s eyes widened as his gaze snapped back to the woman before them.
This was the legendary Yim Wing Chun? Somehow the young Hung Tsi Kwan had
always envisioned a more imposing form for someone who was so legendary a Ming
Patriot, and anti-Manchu rebel. He had thought she’d be ten feet tall, so
muscular she would be indistinguishable from a man, so powerful her gaze alone
would cause Manchu soldiers and bandits to melt into puddles of jelly she would
then feed to the dogs. Yet the real woman before him was clearly very feminine.
Her delicate figure was clouded only by the loose-fitting men’s clothing she
wore, likely because it was easier to work the farm dressed this way, than if
she had adorned more traditional women’s attire. Her hardened face was only due
to the intense labor she engaged in, which belied a softness to her that almost
worked in contradiction to her appearance. She was at one, soft as thread, and
hard as iron. She was beautiful, but not someone Kwan would want angry at him.
Yim Wing Chun looked the young man over, then bowed slightly, without
her hand in prayer position, “Good morning,” she offered. Kwan returned her
greeting but before he could get her order she turned to his guardian. “Is this
him?”
Huo Hou’s face soured. “Wing Chun,” his voice was low and measured, “I
told you I promised the father we would not involve him. You have to
understand, the Hung Family is being watched very closely…”
“He looks like Hung Ting Man, is this his son or not?” She pushed. There
was a long silence as the three exchanged glances, each not knowing how to
answer the question, or be satisfied with any answer that might be given.
“I’m called Jyu,” Kwan lied, “We have all kinds of flavors of tea for
you to sample. What would you like?”
Wing Chun nodded, “very well,” she placed her index finger on her chin
and studied the stock the two tea merchants had brought.
“We have plenty of Green and red and…” Kwan started his sales pitch, but
the old man clutched his right breast again and groaned.
Yim Wing Chun rushed to Huo Hou’s side and caught him as he started to
fall, leaning him against the wagon, and guiding him slowly to the ground,
resting his back against the wheel. The horses began to whinny as if they
sensed something was wrong, Wing Chun gestured for the young man to calm them
down, but several of the bean farmers that were to be their customers
approached him and started to list off their orders. Kwan felt his own heart started
to race, the horses had been hitched to a post, but that post was starting to
shake as if it would not hold, if the animals were not calmed. Meanwhile, his
guardian was losing consciousness, and their host was now shouting for help.
Several of the customers rushed to Yim Wing Chun’s side, reaching for
Huo Hou and lifting him off the ground. As they began to carry the old man
away, Kwan saw that his eyes had rolled to the back of his head, and saliva was
running from his mouth. He heard a gurgling from his guardian’s throat, and
then it seemed that most of the sound around him became muted. He may have
heard orders for radix astragali, or maybe something like notoginseng… he had
ginseng root, they used it in their teas, so he grabbed that from the wagon,
and placed his hand on his bay-colored Datong mare, Hua Nu, calming her. Once
she calmed down, Huo Hou mare calmed in turn, though Kwan was not sure he was
going to be able to calm himself. He let out a deep breath, then turned towards
Wing Chun and her helpers and followed after them.
