Sandalwood Death: A Novel (Chinese Literature Today Book Series)

and down, like a fish on dry land, until his stalwart body began to levitate, light as a feather, attaining a height of three feet or more before settling firmly back to earth. Well acquainted with Sun Bing, the locals knew him as an outdoor opera actor, a man who was breathless after a couple of somersaults on stage. Seeing him perform so expertly now left them speechless and secretly amazed. In the blazing flames of the bonfire, they saw strange lights in Sun Bing’s eyes and a vivid expression sweep across his red face, one that struck everyone who saw it as intimate and unfamiliar at the same time. Normally they knew what to expect when he spoke, but this time they heard things they could not believe were coming from his mouth. An unfamiliar modulation rang with majestic power and proclaimed a noble, stern, indomitable spirit:
    “I am the heroic general of the Great Song Dynasty, Yue Fei, known as Pengju, a resident of Tangyin in Henan Province.”
    The people’s hearts seemed suddenly and precariously suspended, like red apples hanging heavily from supple branches, swaying in a breeze before snapping off and falling with a metallic thud to the ground.
    “It’s the great General Yue!”
    “It’s the spirit of the martyred Yue Fei!”
    Someone in the crowd fell to his knees; others followed, until no one was left standing. Sun Bing, now the transformed spirit of General Yue Fei, circled the area with flying kicks, light and nimble on his feet, all with remarkable poise and skill. As his body rose and fell, the commanding flags behind his back fluttered in the wind. Waves of light glinted off the scales of his silver armor. At this moment, Sun Bing was no longer a man, he was a mythical dragon among men. After the dance, he clutched his date-wood club and whirled it like a silver spear, stabbing left and parrying right, thrusting upward, thwarting below, like a strange python, a coiled snake. The people were dazzled as they watched him—he had won their hearts. One by one, they fell to their knees and kowtowed. Now that his club display had ended, he raised his golden voice:
    The hateful twelve edicts have doomed the nation, the three armies howl in protest, as waves on the Yellow River in rage implore. Alas, the aged suffer. Alas, the Imperial carriage does not return to the palace. When will dust from barbarian hordes be swept from the northern shore? My fury at treacherous court officials will not easily be appeased. To whom can I vent the grief and indignation in my heart? I look to heaven, sword in hand, and roar.
    I am Yue Fei, Yue Pengju. I have descended onto the divine altar and taken possession of the body of Sun Bing by Imperial Demand. I shall transmit my martial skills to you who will engage the foreign devils in a life-or-death struggle. Wukong, heed my command .
    The general who had taken on the appearance of Wukong took a step forward and knelt on one knee.
    “Your servant is here!” he replied in a childish voice.
    “I command you to demonstrate for this crowd the eighteen stages of cudgel fighting.”
    “As you command!”
    Sun Wukong adjusted the apron around his waist, raised one hand, and brushed it across his face. When the hand fell away, it was as if a mask had been put in place. It was now a lively, vigorous face, like that of a monkey—nose twitching, eyes winking. The crowd nearly laughed at this strange simian behavior, but dared not. After demonstrating the range of facial expressions, he uttered a peculiar cry, grabbed his cudgel with both hands, and executed a perfect somersault. The crowd roared its approval. He responded to the acclamation with a more impressively spirited performance: flinging his cudgel high into the air, he sprang up after it, made two complete flips, and landed solidly on his feet, where he steadily, silently, confidently reached up and caught the falling cudgel before it hit the ground. Every move, every maneuver, was accomplished with perfection, and the crowd reacted with frenzied applause; the Monkey King performed his cudgel artistry in the light of the bonfire: he became a coiled dragon, his cudgel a swimming dragon. Jab, strike, brush, sweep, pound, press, block, draw, mix, poke, every move done with precision, each maneuver a sight to behold. The cudgel whistled like the wind as it flew through the air. The demonstration came to an end when he flung it to the ground, where it stood on end like a stake. He leaped into the air, landed with one