THE OMEN
Lu Buwei, Lord Wen Xin, ex-prime minister of the realm, and birthfather of the king rested on a large silk cushion in the ornate pavilion. His eyes glanced unseeing over his surroundings. The pavilion sat on the small island in the middle of a large gourd-shaped lily pond. His chosen site afforded a serene vista of the manicured flower garden, the small manmade hill and the rippling waters of the coy filled pond. Peace reigned in the placid setting, a sharp contrast to his inner turmoil.
The idyllic scenery used to provide relief from rigors of governing the state, now it became a cruel reminder of his past glory. But what was he to do? For a man used to being the ruler a great kingdom, whose mere sneer sent men trembling in fear, he was bored to the edge of insanity. He wanted to remain significant, to be in charge, and to feel the sensations of power and influence. He tried to manage his own household, but soon found the irrelevant issues of the manor artless and mundane. Besides, the household staff did a superior job without him getting underfoot.
He missed the excitement, the heart-pounding rush of a major political coup; surprisingly, he even missed the skullduggery, back stabbings of court intrigue, and the white knuckle setbacks. If only there was a possibility of a recall to the court, he would be on his knees begging for the opportunity; but he knew the king jealously guarded his power, and would not willingly summon him, the Royal Uncle, to return to the court. Because, the malicious rumor regarding the king’s lineage would be sure to resurface to threaten his authority. Nevertheless, while one lived there always was hope.
A shadow flew overhead, Lord We Xin brought his head up in time to spy a giant white crane swoop down and scoop away one of his precious golden black-and-red carps. The sight of the elegant bird made his heart soar. It brought back memories of days gone by. Could it be an omen for the things to come? Did he not see a great crane in the sky that fateful day two dozen years ago when he made the fateful pact with the late king, who was then but a down trodden pauper prince? That whimsical pact which transformed the prince into a king, and himself from a lowly merchant to a great lord and the Prime Minister of the most powerful kingdom under Heaven.
Shuffling footsteps interrupted his revelry. A servant trundled across the stone bridge and climbed the gravel stone paved path to the pavilion. “Master, an envoy from the royal palace is here.”
Lu Buwei’s head spun and his heart raced, could this be the good news that he had been awaiting for? Was it a summons to the court, as foretold by the omen of the great white crane he had just seen? “Who is it? Do you recognize him?”
“It’s the Prime Minister, Master.”
“Bring him to the study.” Let’s do it right this time, Lord Wen Xin told himself and rose to cross the small bridge in lengthy strides. He was eager to meet Li Shi—a house guest of the times past, later a subordinate, then a former colleague and ally, now a potential future political rival in the days to come. Lu’s head swam at the veritable possibilities of a return to power in the king’s court.
In the study, surrounded by the scrolls that were his legacy, he was ready to resume the mantle of authority. He rose as the visitor entered the room. The Prime Minister formally bowed to his former patron and benefactor, “Lord Wen Xin, please excuse my unannounced arrival. Our master the King commanded me to deliver this message to you in person.”
Lu returned the bow but was taken aback by the somber formality of the visitor. “Bring tea,” the host temporized as he gave the order to the servant. After a moment of silence, he inquired, “What is the message?”
Li Shi reached into his sleeve and brought out a golden silk scroll, tied with a white silk ribbon and presented it two handed to the host. The gold colored scroll represented the authority of the king, but the white ribbon had the bloodless connotation of bereavement. Lord Wen Xin reached with hesitant hands to accept the silk scroll then pulled on the butterfly knot of the ribbon.
You had offended and betrayed your King by introducing the traitor Lao Ay into the royal court. You are hereby sentenced to death.
In view of your past service to my honored father, you shall be permitted to die with your body intact.
The Prime Minister Li Shi will officiate over your execution.
The edict concluded with single word—Zheng, and the large red square royal seal stamped below the name at the lower left corner. Lu recognized the thick bold strokes that decreed his doom, the very same writing style he had tutored his flesh and blood son. The boy must have written the edict himself in private. He slowly rolled up the scroll, retrieved the ribbon and tied it neatly then laid it on the low table. After a momentary hesitation he nodded, “Yes, that is the king’s personal handwriting. I recognize and accept the decree.”
Li Shi dipped his head in a slight nod to convey his sorrowful sentiment then reached into his sleeve a second time and withdrew a small black wooden box. He placed the box on the table and slid it forward to be next to the scroll.
Still in a daze, Lord Wen Xin at first did not recognize the box. His right hand reflexively reached out and picked up the box and slid the lid off via its grooved guides with the thumb. Inside, cushioned in a golden silk lined well, was a porcelain bottle painted with an elegant red-crowned white crane design. Finally, it registered—the Red Crown of the Crane, the most deadly potion of the land. He’d dispatched many of his spies with the very same potion for use in foreign lands in the past.
Dittoed again by the dastardly digit of destiny, he thought and felt the fickle touch of the gods. Lu smiled wistfully. So, it appeared that he had misread the omen of the white crane earlier. He was not the elegant god-messenger bird, but the unfortunate carp that got scooped up by the predator bird. Then he remembered, the god-messenger crane he saw so many years ago wore black, the color of majestic greatness, whereas the crane he saw earlier at the pond was bloodless white, the emissary of death.
Li Shi’s eyes widened at his predecessor’s facial expression. The man must be mad, or very brave. To be able to face imminent death with a smile. This is a man to be emulated.
Lu shifted his eyes away from the instrument of his own death to face his guest, “I am sure you realize the hazardous and addictive nature of our profession. A good many of us do not die a peaceful death. Just look at our predecessors. The Duke Sang Yang, who established the political and military system that made the Ch’in the powerful nation of today was drawn and quartered by his king.
“Bai Chi, the Duke Wu An, the Butcher, and the hero at Chang-Ping. He destroyed armies, killed over a million foes, tripled the size of this kingdom then was forced to commit suicide by his master the king.
“As did my predecessor Fan Sui, then you saw what happened to Lao Ay, my rival, and Arbe Wilkins, the Chief Eunuch, and now me. Every one of us was killed or will die in the hands of our master the king. Chances are you, too, will not escape a violent death.
“I could have retired and gone home, but one always held on to the hope of returning to power. And now…”
Lord Wen Xin fell silent and his eyes acquired a faraway look. His mind went back to that fateful day two dozen years ago when he saw that black crane which foreshadowed the compact with the then Prince Ei Ren. Images of the sensuous Zhao Ghi, loyal Chang Chung, toothy Old Han, pompous Gong-Sun Chien and the lovely Madam Li floated through his mind. Of those half-dozen souls, only Zhao Ghi, his erstwhile lowly concubine, survived. Who could ever have foreseen that the weakest and most insignificant member in the entire cast of characters would end up as the big winner, the lone survivor and queen-mother of the realm?
He weighted his losses against the gains and smiled again at the returns on his bargain with Prince Ei Ren. With a handful of gold, he’d propped the prince onto the dragon throne, and in doing so reaped riches, power, and a legacy that all the Lu ancestors would be proud of, not to mention a line of heirs to rule the most powerful kingdom under Heaven. Even his impending demise was a testament to his success. He had produced an heir that could be ruthless when required. Did he not teach the young man to watch for and eliminate potential threats to power? Emotional sentiment should never interfere with the ultimate goal—to survive, to defeat one’s foes and persevere. Yes, the boy had grown into a man. All things considered, it was a most profitable business deal, even if it would ultimately cost him his life.
Li Shi’s eyes watered at the host’s stoic smile. Lu Buwei was his mentor, benefactor, and the sponsor for Li Shi’s entry into the royal court. Now the Lord Wen Xin was giving a final lesson on the proper etiquette in facing death. He reached with a steady left hand to pick-up the porcelain bottle from the box. He laid the box on the table and lifted the red crown of the bottle with his right hand then, in one smooth motion, drained the contents into his throat. With his broad sleeve, he dabbed away a residual drop of the lethal liquid, replaced the top of the bottle and returned it into the wooden box then slid closed the lid.
“Please tell the king, I have obeyed the decree of the Son of Heaven.” With those final words, the lowly merchant of Yang-Yi, the ex-Lord Wen Xin, the former Prime Minister of the great Ch’in kingdom, and birthfather of the King of Ch’in, made a final payment on the greatest business deal under Heaven.
*Author’s note: King Zheng went on to conquer the other kingdoms of the land then proclaimed himself as the First Emperor of the Imperial Ch’in Empire. In time the fame of the Ch’in Empire reached the west, whereby the name Ch’in was bastardized into China.
