Taming Poison Dragons Read Online Free

road stays empty. Our valley is remote, after all, and poor. Many of the peasants have barely enough, even during fat years. Such objections mean nothing to great men like the General or his advisers. To them we are merely ink on a map, and our feelings are stones to be trodden into the mud. We are simplified.
    Either useful or not useful. Our best hope is that the General decides to march south again soon, that way we might be left in peace.
    Always the shadowy figure of Youngest Son haunts me, strutting among General An-Shu’s regiments, perhaps thinking of us. I dare not assume his thoughts are fond.
    In the hour before dusk I sit in the garden beside the highest building of Three-Step-House. My grandsons chase round ornamental rocks in the fading light, casting words and a wooden ball between them. Little Sparrow flashes me a grateful look. For a moment the vastness of the mountains reassure me, root my strength. If only I possessed the courage to act! Send a servant to Chunming, gather definite news of P’ei Ti’s fate. Instead I sit with lowered head and watch the sun inch behind the peaks.
    That night I dream of days when I was strong and never doubted my ability to endure, as young pines mock the fiercest winds of winter. Then the dream shifts. I see my wife’s plump, reproachful face, and that of our daughter, Little Peony, and I wake to sorrow. Yet thoughts of hungry ghosts have given me an idea.
    Sometimes what is obvious eludes us, whether through ignorance or neglect of truth. At last I see a way. A way which should have occurred to me earlier. It might even help P’ei Ti, if he still lives and is susceptible to good fortune.
    I begin by summoning a geomancer to confirm that the day is propitious. He listens to my plan carefully, nodding approval when I voice my fears concerning unlucky orientations.
    ‘Lord Yun Cai must proceed from west to east, not the other way around,’ he concludes. ‘Otherwise the spirits lack a means of escape and their fear may turn into anger.’
    Wise notions I ponder for some time. I am determined to be more like Father, paying attention to every detail.
    I send letters sealed five times with yellow wax to monasteries situated in a neighbouring valley; one Daoist, the other dedicated to the service of the Buddha. Letters written beneath a cloud of incense, in case demons peer over my shoulder. A small risk, given that I have warned the gate gods against intruders by whispering in their ears.
    I tell Eldest Son nothing of my plans. Surprise is worth an army of sorcerers in such a battle.
    On the appointed day three travellers converge on Three-Step-House, each well-known to me.
    Xia-Dong is a monk of thirty years standing, his organs unsullied by meat or fish of any kind, save for a fly he once swallowed accidentally. The other, Devout Lakshi, is blessed with innumerable secrets of the Dao.
    Nevertheless, Xia-Dong’s companion astonishes me.
    None other than Thousand- li -drunk!
    The learned monk informs me that, contrary to his usual custom, Thousand- li -drunk has spent the weeks since his visit to Wei in the monastery, from where he wanders as far as Chunming. This is a puzzle, yet in all other respects he stays true to his nature: still drunk, still dining on insects, and still unwilling to proceed further into my house than the gate. Xia-Dong assures me that his presence can only be beneficial.
    ‘Madmen are often the incarnations of Immortals,’ he advises.
    Thousand- li -drunk watches my movements through bloodshot, cunning eyes, occasionally calling out strange riddles.
    At dawn the next day I summon Eldest Son, Headman Wudi, and the rest of the household. For a moment I feel like Father, stern in his chair, quelling their murmurs with a fierce stare.
    ‘These are bad times,’ I announce. ‘There is war in Chunming, and evil deeds blow across the valley like black seeds. I have decided that we must avert disaster.’
    Eldest Son exchanges a glance with