WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE (2)
"I'm sorry—what?"
Du Ban-rim, who kept a modest village school in Heuksan County, heard himself echo before he could stop it.
Even to his own ears it was an absurdly foolish reply, but what could a man do about something that shot out of him like a spinal reflex, wholly beyond his will?
He could only pray the visitor was hard of hearing — yet the officials standing before him were so painfully young that such hope was clearly wasted.
"You didn't catch it? Then I shall say it again."
"Du Lisan of old was a native of Heuksan, a man of honest and upright nature who for a time gave his body over to a dark and turbid road. But consider the state of the age — Western barbarians churning the seas, savages stirring on every side — in such a world it is all too easy for the innocent common folk to sink into ruin. Thus His Merciful Majesty the Emperor deigns to grant yet another chance."
"General Shengjing, following the grand will of His Majesty, intends to entrust Du Lisan with the command of cavalry. Let him sin no more, and instead devote his martial talent to the fullest."
"Kkuheuk."
"Huk, heuhek! Such imperial grace — grace beyond measure!"
Prostrated before the officials in their official robes, Du Ban-rim wept openly, tears streaming down his face.
Who would have imagined such a day would ever come? Ever since his half-witted son had kicked open the front gate and run off, the wrinkles on his face had done nothing but multiply, for there had been nothing to smile about — and now, at long last, a rope had been lowered to him from heaven itself.
"General Shengjing also wishes you to come as an honored guest of the Xinminbu. I shall return in two days — have yourself ready by then."
"Manse! Manse! Manse!"
"Isn't this a little flimsy?"
"What is?"
"Well — he's no fool, so would he really fall for a trick this cheap?"
Jeom-san, clearly uncomfortable in the riotously colorful robe peculiar to Qing officialdom, kept grumbling as he spoke.
"If the Horse Emperor Du Lisan were the sort of man who'd swallow a scheme this shallow, he'd never have built a force that size in the first place, wouldn't you say?"
"Trust me on this one, punk. Short of outright gibberish, people will talk themselves into believing whatever they want to believe, little by little."
"So what you're saying is the Horse Emperor is somehow lacking, and that's why he'd want to be government troops?"
"Didn't you see that old gentleman earlier?"
"Sir?"
"You could size him up at a glance."
From the way he blinked blankly, he genuinely had no idea.
"A village schoolteacher in some backwater Manchurian town."
"I know that much."
"He had to welcome officials sent in the Emperor's name, so he'd naturally have come out in the most formal clothes he owned. And what did he come out in? A battered old official's robe — the kind handed to men who'd passed the provincial examinations back when the exam system still existed."
What was more, it had been patched so many times that the knees and elbows — the spots that wear through first — stood out in a completely different color from the rest of the fabric.
"A man whose life's mission is still drilling children on 'Confucius said, Mencius said,' and who has cherished a souvenir robe from an exam he passed decades ago — rotting it, patching it, sewing it back together, treasuring it purely because the Emperor once awarded it — would you not call him a Confucian among Confucians?"
"W-well, I suppose so?"
"Then let's reason it through. The Shengjing General. The Xinminbu branch. And what the Battalion Commander told us — that Du Lisan mailed a letter to the Forbidden City begging for an official post of his own."
"Yes, that's right."
"Why would Du Lisan send a letter like that, asking to be handed a title? The man's already living fat off the land. He grew up under a father like that, so no matter how hard he pretends otherwise, the finest life that man can imagine is serving in government."
"...Do you really think so? It might simply have been meant to mock the officials. The government itself, even."
"Hard to say."
I changed into something comfortable and swung back into the saddle.
"People, you see — no matter how old they grow, they're shaped by the world they knew as children."
"...Aren't you younger than I am, my lord?"
Me? If you add my past life together I'm nearly forty, you whelp!
Did I spend my past life diligently stashing away money — ISAs, retirement funds, savings accounts — for nothing? It was all because of the bitter humiliation of being poor at the orphanage.
My daughter shall never go without, forced to snack on tap water instead of chicken. Never.
"Either way, if he takes the bait it's a jackpot, and if he doesn't, everything stays exactly where it was. Nothing changes. There's no reason not to try."
"Understood. Shall I send word to the Battalion Commander to prepare at once?"
I gave a nod.
A few days later.
Bathed and ritually cleansed, Du Ban-rim followed the young officials toward the Xinminbu in Fengtian.
"Wait here a moment."
"Wait? For whom, may I—"
"Elder!"
"Well, if it isn't Zuolin himself?"
"Oh, come now! Where are your manners before the Battalion Commander!"
Ah.
At the officials' sharp barking, Du Ban-rim hurriedly squared his hands and bowed.
But then—
"You dolts! I told you to attend to my Elder with the utmost respect — what insolence is this!"
"B-but Battalion Commander, sir—"
"Ah-ah, I don't want to hear it!"
Zhang Zuolin, dressed in his military uniform, strode right up to the shabbily dressed old man and delivered a full soldier's salute.
"To see the Elder here of all places — this Zuolin's heart could take wing!"
"Ba-Battalion Commander. How does a man of your standing lower his speech to a country old-timer like me?"
At that, Zhang Zuolin blinked once or twice before bursting out laughing.
"Hahaha! Though this half-wit Zuolin may wear a uniform and have clawed his way up to field rank, how could I ever dare look down on a scholar such as yourself? Come along now, this way!"
"Uh, uhh—"
The instant that "uhh" left his mouth, Zhang Zuolin hoisted the old man bodily onto his back and marched off at a brisk clip.
"Z-Zuolin! I said stop this! What indecency is this supposed to be? What will your men think of you, I ask!"
"Ah, the boss must have something good coming to him today!"
Wrong on every count. The man simply would not listen.
What in the world had him so worked up? Skipping and swaying with delight as he carried Du Ban-rim along, Zhang Zuolin finally set the old man down before a conspicuously stately house.
"This is... where, exactly?"
"The guest quarters provided for the Shengjing General's guests. That means you, Elder!"
"F-for me?"
"That's right! You must be hungry? I sent word ahead to have a meal prepared — let's eat and talk!"
Another "uhh" — and a banquet fit to snap the table legs appeared before him.
Just as his bewilderment at all this extravagance was reaching its peak, Zhang Zuolin, who had been gulping down liquor with abandon, grinned with a flushed face.
"Hehe. Elder! Eat, eat! Only when you've eaten your fill can this Zuolin enjoy that meat with an easy conscience, no?"
"My good man, will you please explain yourself now? Why all of this??"
"Why, you ask!"
Ripping into a braised chicken leg and taking an enormous bite, Zhang Zuolin spoke with the drumstick brandished in one hand like a conductor's baton.
"Do you know what office the Shengjing General means to bestow upon your son?"
"...No, I do not."
"Well, of course you don't. Even I only found out when I arrived today!"
He drained a full bowl of liquor before carrying on. The drink that never made it past his lips trickled down beside his mouth, but he paid it no mind.
"Regiment commander!"
"Re-regiment commander?"
"Do you have any idea how many years of backbreaking toil it took for this Zuolin to finally scrape together the rank of Battalion Commander? And your boy starts as a regiment commander!"
For some reason, as he kept knocking back drink after drink, a faint note of irritation had crept into his voice.
"Elder, I am green with envy! A regiment commander sits practically at the general's right hand — why, in the old days that would be a xiaowei or a zhonglangjiang!"
"My friend, do put down the drink—"
THUD!
Face scarlet, Zhang Zuolin planted his forehead square on the table and let the curses fly, one after another.
"Fuck — some of us had to work for it, sawing off bandit bastards' heads and licking their asses clean while we were at it, and others get a regiment commander's seat with one little snap of the fingers—"
"Zuolin? Are you quite all right?"
"If I had! gotten that post through the Elder! I wouldn't! be like this!? You understand!? But they hand it to that Du Lisan bastard? Those dog-and-pig sons of bitches in Beijing—"
In the end, the subordinates in uniform filed in and hauled Zhang Zuolin out bodily.
The youngest of them — though his rank was visibly the highest — stepped forward and delivered a crisp salute.
"Forgive the shameful display, Elder. I am Lee Tae-oh, serving under Battalion Commander Zhang."
"I-it's quite all right. More to the point — will Zuolin be well?"
"He has merely overindulged. There is no cause for great concern."
The young man glanced around the room, then spoke again.
"The hour is late, and continuing the gathering would be difficult — why not bathe, rest, and let the day's weariness drain away? I will show you to your chamber myself."
"I'd be much obliged."
"This way, then."
True to its purpose as a guesthouse for the Xinminbu branch and the Shengjing General's honored guests, the facilities were the height of luxury. Water drawn at precisely the right warmth, and a bed soft enough to sink into.
Faced with comforts he had never once tasted in his life, Du Ban-rim went on marveling right up to the moment his head touched the pillow.
"So it is true. Our Lisan has truly been summoned."
The courtesies heaped upon him, Zhang Zuolin's envious outburst, and now this extravagant treatment — layered one atop another, the last flicker of doubt smoldering in Du Ban-rim's breast finally fluttered away like ash on the wind.
There was no time to waste. His boy had to crawl out of that reeking bandit den and come receive treatment like this.
Rising from the bed, he lit the oil lamp and began to grind ink.
"Ugh, I'm dying."
"Are you all right, sir?"
"Sipping it is one thing, but trying to pour the whole thing down in a single stretch has the room spinning."
I handed him a cup of cold water, and Zhang Zuolin snatched it and chugged to the very last drop without pausing for breath.
Why overact like that, you old fool.
What am I supposed to do if you send yourself into acute alcohol poisoning?
"Whew, now I feel alive again. This acting business is no joke, I tell you. Next time a Beijing opera troupe comes through, I'll have to toss them an extra coin or two."
"So the bait took well, I take it?"
"You punk. How many years do you think I've run with that old man? I can read him with my eyes shut. By now he's probably pressing tear stains into his reply letter."
"Then all the better."
So all that remained now was for the prey to walk into the trap on its own feet.
"Ha, you know — come to think of it, this Zhang Zuolin isn't exactly hard on the eyes, is he? Maybe I should quit the army and try my hand at acting in Shanghai?"
"...I believe you are still drunk, sir."
"What? You punk, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Then do rest well."
I snuffed the lamp and left Zhang Zuolin's room.
Tending to drunks was not in my job description.
A heavy stillness hung over Du Lisan's stockade at the Qingma outpost of Yuzhong County.
"...Chief?"
"What."
"You're not seriously thinking of going, are you?"
When Du Lisan answered only with silence, his men were driven half out of their minds.
"Chief! Anyone with eyes can see it's a trap! Why are you wavering — you're the most lettered man in the whole outfit!?"
"...I am not wavering."
"Don't lie to us, sir. Every man here just watched you bow—"
"...Well. It could be genuine, couldn't it?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake. By any common sense, that's impossible."
"And when, pray tell, has common sense ever held sway in Manchuria?"
"This is genuinely going to drive me insane."
Perhaps to cool the overheated air, Du Lisan chose to steer the talk elsewhere.
"Zhang Zuolin going from a hired gun to holding high office — that isn't exactly within the bounds of common sense either, is it?"
"Chief, that man at least came up strutting with some self-defense militia or other. We're bandits. Bandits! Granted, following that demon Jeon Ok-bon, we never made a habit of fleecing honest farmers, but our hands aren't exactly spotless either, are they?"
"Damn it all. Not one of you is on my side."
He clamped his long-stemmed pipe between his teeth, struck a light, and drew in a deep lungful of smoke.
"Listen up."
""Yes, Chief.""
"You all have fathers. So do I. A prodigy who passed the provincial examinations in his day. Unlike some people."
Haah. Damn it.
They knew they ought not hear any more of this — but cutting off their chief mid-sentence never ended pleasantly, and so the men meekly held their tongues and listened.
"Such a father has sent me a letter."
From inside his breast he drew out the missive, its pages spread with his father's elegant hand, and held it up where all could see.
"Lisan. It is your father."
So it began — page upon page of greeting and worry, admonition and encouragement, a letter verging on five thousand seven hundred characters in all. And toward its end:
"...Therefore, bands of wandering knights who roam from place to place hiring out their swords are not a calling that will last, and the life of a vagabond is still less one to pursue. If you will surrender yourself now to the Xinminbu, you shall raise high the name of our family, restore our house, and bring honor to your ancestors."
"You're certain it's your father's hand?"
"If that isn't my father's writing, I'll cut my own throat out of sheer shame. I've made up my mind. I'm going to Fengtian."
The father he remembered was never a man soft enough to be taken in by tricks of any kind.