Li Yuan stood there, breathing deeply, staring down at Wang Sau-leyan, forcing him to meet his eyes.
"Well? Do you still want appeasement?" Wang nodded.
"And who else?" He looked at Hou Tung-po, then across to Chi Hsing. Both nodded, though neither met his eyes.
"And you, Wei Feng? What do you counsel?" He turned, facing the aged T'ang of East Asia. "You, surely, know the depths of this problem." "You speak as if I had the casting vote, Li Yuan."
"You have." It was Tsu Ma who answered for Li Yuan. Beside him Wu Shih looked across, bowing his head in assent.
Wei Feng sighed and looked down. "You know what I feel," he began, his low, toneless voice picking out each word slowly, meticulously. "You know my dislikes, my prejudices." He looked up at Li Yuan. "You must know, then, that what you did pleased me greatly." He smiled sourly. "However, that is not what is at issue here. What is at issue is our manner of conducting ourselves, Li Yuan. Not the action itself—with which I basically agree and for which I would support you at any other time—but the way in which you acted. As Wang Sau-leyan says, you acted without consulting us."
He paused, considering, then spoke again. "We are Seven, Li Yuan. Not One, but Seven. In that lies our strength. For seven generations now, our strength and the reason for peace in the world. For the strength of our society. Break that cohesion and you break it all."
"You defer then, Wei Feng?"
Wei Feng nodded. "I say free the young men. Then do as Wang says. Make the best of a bad lot and seek conciliation."
For a moment longer Li Yuan stood there, then he shrugged. "So be it," he said, looking across at Wang. "I will hand my prisoners over to you, Cousin, to do with as you will."
He looked away, leaving it there, but in his head the words resounded. Not One, but Seven. In that Ues our strength. He had never questioned it before, but now, standing there amidst his peers, he asked himself if it were really so.
He glanced at Wu Shih, seeing how the T'ang of North America was looking down, his anger unexpressed, and he had his answer. The days of unanimity were gone, and what had made the Seven such a force had gone with them. What Wei Feng had said, that had been true once, back in his father's time, but now?
Seven . . . the word was hollow now, the Great Wheel broken. It had died with his father. Four against three—that was the new reality. He looked across at Wang Sau-leyan, seeing the gleam of triumph in his eyes and knew. It was finished. Here, today, it had ended. And now they must find another path, another way of governing themselves. That was the truth. But the truth could not be spoken. Not yet, anyway, and certainly not here, in Council.
He smiled, suddenly relaxing as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders, and turned his head, meeting Tsu Ma's eyes, seeing the light of understanding there.
"Shall we move on?" he said, looking about the circle of his fellow T'ang. "Time presses and there's much to do."
Yes, he thought; but none of it matters now. From now on this is merely play, a mask to hide our real intentions. For all the real decisions will henceforth be made in secret.
Out in the open. He laughed, recognizing finally the full irony of what he had said earlier, then turned, looking at Tsu Ma, and smiled, seeing his smile returned strongly. Yes. So it would be from now on. In the open . . .
IT HAD been summer in Rio. In Tongjiang it was winter.
Li Yuan stood on the terrace, looking out over the frozen lake. He wore furs and gloves and thick leather boots, but his head was bare, snowflakes settling in his fine, dark hair. Below him the slope was deep in snow, while on the far shore the trees of the orchard formed stark, tangled shapes against the white.
He looked up past the gentle slopes toward the distant mountains. Vast, sharp-edged escarpments of rock speared the colorless sky. He shivered and turned away, finding the bleakness of the view too close to his present mood.
He looked across at the palace, the stables beyond. His men were waiting on the verandah, talking among themselves beneath the great, shuttered windows. They did not like it here, he knew. This openness appalled them. They felt exposed, naked to all the primal things the City shut out behind its walls, but for him only this was real. The rest was but a game.
He had expected to find her here, or at least the memory of her, but there was nothing. Only the place itself remained, robbed of its scents, its vivid greenness, all human presence gone. As if all that had happened here had never been.
He shivered and looked down at his feet. A leaf clung to the ankle of his right boot. He removed his glove, stooped to pluck the wet and blackened leaf, then straightened up, feeling the icy cold against his flesh, the wetness in his palm. What did it all mean? He brushed the leaf away and pulled his glove back on, turning to walk back to the palace and the waiting transit.
Nothing, he decided. It meant nothing.
He flew southwest, over unbroken whiteness. Not snow this time but the endless City, three thousand U without a break, until they reached Kuang Chou, ancient Canton, at the mouth of the Pei River. Then, for a while, there was the blue of the South China Sea, before Hong Kong and to its southeast, the island of T'ai Yueh Shan, where Yin Tsu had his estate.
He had put this off too long. But now it was time to see the child. To bestow his gift upon his past-wife's son.
Coded signals passed between the ship and the estate's defense system; then they came down, Yin Tsu greeting him in the hangar. He was kneeling, his forehead pressed to the cold metal of the grid as Li Yuan stepped down.
Li Yuan had changed clothes on the flight down, shedding his furs and gloves and heavy boots in favor of thin satins of a fiery orange and slippers of the finest kid. Approaching the old man he stopped, lifting his foot.
Yin Tsu took the offered foot with care and kissed it once, then once more before releasing it.
"Yin Tsu, once-father, please." He reached down and took the old man's hand, helping him up. Only then did Yin Tsu look at him.
"I am honored by your visit, Chieh Hsia. Wnat may I do for you?"
"Fei Yen ... Is she still here with you?"
The old man nodded, his thin lips forming i'r ; faintest of smiles. "Yes, Chieh Hsia. She is here. And the child."
"Good. Good." He hesitated a moment, feeling awkward, then spoke again. "I'd like to see her. And . . . the child too. If she would see me."
"Please. Come through." Yin Tsu led the way, half turned toward Li Yuan in courtesy as he walked, bowed low, his hands held out but pressed together in an attitude of the deepest respect.
While he waited for her, he thought of what he would say. He had not seen her since the day he had insisted on the tests. Had she forgiven him for that?
He gritted his teeth, thinking on it, then turned to find her standing there. She was wearing a pale lemon-colored dress, her dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders. The child was not with her.
"I—" he began, but the sight of her struck him dumb. She seemed more beautiful than ever, her face stronger, her breasts much fuller than he remembered them. As he had turned to face her, she had bowed and now rested on one knee, her head lowered, awaiting his command.
"Fei Yen," he said, but the words came out so softly that she did not hear them. He went across and touched her gently on the crown of her head, wanting to kiss her there, his cheek muscle twitching with the tension he felt this close to her. He stepped back, straightening up. "Get up, Fei Yen. Please . . ."