two
The Man of Jade was going to war, going to reclaim his empire, and even the dragon had turned out to see him sail.
So it seemed, at least: a parade unimaginably honored, an enterprise blessed before its launch. With such an omen, such tribute in the sky above him, it was inconceivable that he should fail.
ALL DAY the dragon coursed the strait, spotted time and again by the watchers on Taishu. Now she patrolled the island’s coastline, as though she mapped every bay and headland, every crag and jetty, every kink; now she lifted high above the silent monument of the Forge, a bare dot in the scrubbed pale blue, an eagle in possession, wherever her eye fell or her shadow touched; now she came to Taishu-port itself, hung in the air above the docks and peered down at wharves and shipping. She seemed intrigued by the many boats crowded stem to stern, so close that an agile and carefree child might run and leap—as many had, in defiance of anger and solemnity and import, prognostication, in defiance of it all—from one harborside to the other, as though the sea itself were wooden now and bridged itself.
If it would, if it could only do that, the army might march to Santung and save these boats, this journey.
Not save itself the peril, under the dragon’s eye; but boats were perilous in themselves, the sea was a threat on its own and the weather too. The typhoon—the dragon’s wind, they called it: and some swore that they had seen her aloft at its height, rejoicing, dancing in it—had blown for too long, weeks, till the sky itself was exhausted. Now there was a tug in air and sea that promised handy sailing, but no one trusted it. Not with the dragon so very present, ready to whip up the storm again.
Trust the Li-goddess, the old man said, though he said it bleakly. The old man was the emperor’s touchstone these days, the man to whom the emperor himself would trust himself; and where the emperor trusted, who would dare to doubt?
Besides, there were the children. Gifts of the goddess, like living charms: they could charm the dragon, charm the storm, charm the wind and water.
With the emperor to lead and the old man to guide, with the goddess to bless, with the children to ward away all harm: then, yes, even the dragon could be seen as a luck-token, a sign of fortune, a promise from the immortal realms.
AND SO, all day, fleets had assembled and men had boarded while the dragon watched.
Last of all, the emperor had come down with his people, his guards and company, his council of the wise. There had been priests and blessings and formalities, good omens and bold oaths.
His woman, his girl, his concubine: she had come down separately, with just a eunuch for her servant and an elderly man for companion, a man from the jade quarter with dust under his skin. They had made the emperor a presentation, no part of his plan. His mother had appeared on a balcony to watch, and he hadn’t been looking for her either.
It was strange to see the emperor surprised and then surprised again, more than surprised by what his girl gave him. It was a wonder, a marvel of man and nature and the gods all hand in hand: a shirt of jade, an armor and more, a statement; more, a proclamation: this is the empire, it said, this is the Jade Throne, I am the imperium itself.
He stripped off his imperial yellow there and then, before his people; stripped down to his trousers and donned that stone shirt slowly, formally, in full sight of crowded decks and wharves and streets. The Man of Jade dressed in a shirt of jade, stone on skin, and there was a shout that might have split the sky if the dragon hadn’t been up there to stitch it all together, weaving and weaving through the air.