Undercover - In China - Book 7

Part 28 - Strategy Thirty Six

The noise of horses woke us early the next morning. Outside, in the half light of a windy dawn, we watched Lord Guan tie a leather scabbard to the saddle of his great horse. Nearby, Zhang Fei tightened the saddle straps on a horse that looked far too small for his bulk. Lord Guan saw me admiring the beautifully decorated leather and pulled out what looked like an impossibly heavy sword on the end of a long pole.

Zhang Fei said something and Lord Guan responded by spinning the crescent-shaped blade in a circle to stop, touching Zhang Fei's belly. Zhang Fei guffawed. 

 Licia said, 'Zhang Fei warned us not to get too close, because Lord Guan is getting old and slow. He might drop it. Lord Guan told him if he got any fatter, his belt buckle would get in the way of his halberd. Then Zhang Fei laughed and replied that his double-headed serpent spear would shave Lord Guan's beard first.'

Their banter was interrupted as Xuande arrived with a squadron of cavalry and, after an exchange of ribald insults, they all trotted away. 

 Kongming sent us to the market to buy stuffed buns and sticky-rice so we set off with a necklace of wu zhu, cute little bronze five zhu coins with square holes in the middle. When we got back, our baskets heavy with food, Kongming and Dr Zhang were puzzling over a map. 

 Kongming helped himself to a bun as Dr Zhang translated. 'Kongming plans to delay Cho Cho with another fire trap but I think it is too complicated. He asks your opinion.'

'Didn't he use fire to ambush the vanguard?' I asked. 'Will Cho Cho fall for a fire trap again?' 

 Licia looked at the map. 'Fire burns paper. Paper wraps stone.'

Miguel finished off. 'Stone holds water. Water quenches fire.'

With Dr Zhang translating, Kongming mused. 'Water, stone,' I wonder . . .' 

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 The town had a festive atmosphere as soldiers and citizens prepared a great feast. In the city streets and in the halls and courtyards, army cooks set up field kitchens with tables, cast iron pots and cooking fires. Old ladies prepared heaps of vegetables and everyone seemed to be contributing food or advice. 

 In one street, a group of ladies sat around a steaming cauldron, fishing dead chickens out of the boiling water and rapidly plucking the feathers. Army cooks argued with elderly ladies about the correct way to prepare each dish while butchers quickly chopped whole pigs and chickens into bite size pieces of meats with cleavers that looked like short-handled axes. When I examined a pile of coconut-sized roots, a cook put a huge knife in my hand and grunted cheerfully. 

 Licia said, 'He needs thirty wu tao chopped up.' 

 I prodded the root with the razor-sharp knife apprehensively. 'Mom would never let me use anything this lethal.' 

 An elderly lady, chopping on the floor beside us, sprang to her feet, and demonstrated how to slice off the hairy skin and cut the root into small chunks. Miguel and Licia picked up knives and we found space on the corner of a table. 'What are these things?' I asked, as Miguel piled another armful of roots on the table.

'You remember those delicious wu tao go cakes we ate yesterday,' Licia explained. 'In Cantonese these roots are called wu tao. The baby ones are called wu jia. 

 'In English they're taro roots,' Miguel added as one of them rolled off the table and dropped onto my toe. 

 'In the Caribbean the small ones are called eddoes.' Licia added unnecessarily. 'They're quite heavy.' 

 I was too busy hopping on one leg and trying not to scream to retort. The lady squatting beside us giggled. We had each chopped up twelve taro roots when chief cook Mao Ying arrived. He was so impressed with our work that he took us on a tour of inspection. He joked with a group of people making dumplings - pastry balls filled with meat, herbs and vegetables. Small children arranged them in shallow cylindrical mesh trays which were stacked into tall cylinders and then set on pots to steam over small charcoal fires. A group of elderly men were rolling thin dough around rolling pins while keeping up a continuous banter of jokes, riddles, poems and songs. I couldn't figure out what they were making until they slid the rolling pin out of the pastry rolls and rapidly sliced them into long flat noodles.