The Emperor's Tomb

Pain did not matter. Only his oath mattered. The bond. The brothers. They meant everything to him. His teacher had introduced him to the Ba and now, after several years of study, he would become a part. What would his mother and father say? They’d be mortified. But they were visionless nothings. Tools to be used as a shovel or a rake, discarded when either broken or no longer needed. He did not want to be one of those.

He wanted to command.

The specialist nodded and he adjusted his posture on the chair, spreading his legs wider. Two brothers clamped both limbs in place. To speak, to acknowledge the coming pain, would be a show of weakness, and no brother could be weak.

Only the strong were allowed.

He saw the knife, small and curved.

“Hou huei pu hou huei?” he was asked.

He slowly shook his head. He would never regret it.

It happened fast. Two swipes, and his severed scrotum and penis were displayed.

He waited for the pain. He felt blood seeping from the wound, the skin burning, his legs shaking. But no pain.

He watched as the organs were laid on a silver tray, blood encircling the flesh like some presentation at a restaurant.

Then the pain arrived. Sharp. Bitter. Excruciating.

His brain exploded in agony. His body trembled.

The two men maintained strong grips. He kept his mouth closed. Tears welled in his eyes but he bit his tongue to steady his control.

Silence was the only acceptable response

.

One day he would lead the brothers, and he wanted them to say that he’d accepted his initiation with courage.

Tang thought back to that day thirty-six years ago. He’d lain still while the wound had been wrapped in wet paper, layer upon layer, until the bleeding stopped. He’d fought the shock that swept through his nerves, keeping a loose hold on reality. The three days that followed tested him further with agony from thirst and the inability to urinate. He recalled hoping that liquid would flow on the fourth day.

And it had.

He stood in the quiet trailer, remembering, readying himself to leave the drill site. He seldom thought of that day anymore, but tonight was special.

His satellite phone rang.

He found the unit and noted the number displayed. Overseas. A Belgian country code. He knew the number well.

Pau Wen’s residence.

“I did exactly as you instructed,” he said as he answered. “I ordered the strike on Ni Yong, while he was there at your residence.”

“And I thwarted that strike, just as planned. Minister Ni was most grateful and now believes me to be his ally.”

“Where is Ni?”

“He will shortly be on his way back to China. With the lamp.”

“The lamp was to be mine.”

“It matters not anymore,” Pau said. “The oil is gone. Burned away.”

“You assured me the lamp would be safeguarded.” His voice had risen. “You told me that it would be turned over to me, intact, once Ni left Belgium.”

“And you were not to disturb Cassiopeia Vitt,” Pau said. “She was to bring the lamp to you.”

“She couldn’t be trusted.”

“So you stole her away and hoped to win your prize by force?”

“I did what I thought best.”

“And you were only to attack Ni Yong,” Pau calmly said. “Not kill me.”

He steadied himself.

“We killed three of the men you sent,” Pau said. “And captured the fourth. I questioned him. He was most uncooperative, but finally told me that he and the others were ordered to kill Minister Ni and myself. No one was to be left alive at my residence. He said your orders on that were clear. Of course, he was not a brother. Only paid to do a job, which he failed to do.”

The moment had come.