all is decreed by fate
[ Home ]Sunlight streamed between the lush green leaves of the trees outside the bustling town in the middle of the nowhere, surrounded by looming mountains. Sweaty, tanned men streamed in and out of the town gates, carrying bundles of fresh produce and crates of goods, while chit-chatting women in old yet vibrant Chinese gowns roamed around with grocery baskets. Raucous voices called out, advertising their wares and trinkets. Smells of freshly prepared food from the various vendors of noodles, buns and stews floated around, enticing and savoury. The man clad in dusty Taoist robes gazed silently from outside the town. He pinched his fingers together, calculating.
After a long time, he sighed. Picking up his Taoist banner, he arranged his clothes and slowly, wearily made his way into the town, as though burdened by the weight of the skies. “Forgive me, my descendants, for my sins against you.” A tear slipped down and dropped into the dust.
Changsha, 1790
The hearty wails of a baby echoed throughout the dim courtyard. A middle-aged man sat on the steps outside the room; his wife had just given birth to their first son. “Qishan… Qishan…” he whispers, as the baby quietened down. He raises his head - in front of him stood hundreds of strangers, restlessly churning shadows of men, women and children, all looking at him coldly. One by one, hands outstretched, they stepped nearer to the man, identical expressions of anger, anguish, even despair, plastered on their faces. Unfaltering, he stood up, squaring his shoulders. “Let the Zhang blood running through me lay witness that I have chosen to walk away. Farewell, my ancestors.” Suddenly a fierce gust of wind blew through the courtyard, extinguishing the candles, plunging the surroundings into complete darkness. The man closed his eyes. When he opened them, the strange silhouettes were gone. Only a single piece of tattered silk, tainted with streaks of blood and rust, rustled on the ground. The man picked it up; Qiongqi. He understood. The baby cried again.
Northeast China, January 23rd 1912
The branches of the plum tree in the Qi courtyard trembled in the sudden breeze, blossoms scattering far and wide. The moon hung low over the horizon, light bright and cold in the winter sky. Lao Qi sharply looked up from his books. “The heavens have spoken, their will imparted. One thousand changes and ten thousand transformations, yet all is decreed by fate. Once creature of fortune, now a beast of disaster.” Lao-Qi pours out the cold tea in his teacup into a flowerpot, gently setting it on the wooden table strewn with papers and half-completed talismans. He takes out another teacup from a nearby drawer, sets it beside his own, and pours warm, fresh wine into them. “It is a pity, but please, a drink for the future.” The bespectacled man then continued scribbling into his books, no longer paying attention to his surroundings.
Changsha, January 23rd 1912
Madam Qi lounged in a rocking chair under the plum tree, cuddling a ruddy-faced baby swaddled in soft blankets. She hummed beneath her breath, “Away from your mum’s heart, where would you find happiness?” The child dozed peacefully, his chubby fingers curled around her forefinger. Madam Qi’s gaze softened. “Xiaohuan, I won’t be there to see you grow into a big, big man. Please, don’t get angry with us? The threads of life are flimsy, and yours especially so.” As she spoke, Lao-Qi stepped stealthily into compound and walked over to stand beside the chair, watching his wife playing with their only son with a resigned smile. “Wife, don’t be too hasty. We still have so many years to enjoy together.” Madam Qi giggled and leaned towards into her husband’s touch. “Don’t mind me, it’s only a mother’s ramblings!”
Changsha, 1914
Aspiring military officer Zhang Qishan was amused listening to the bespectacled man’s words. So this is Qi Ba-ye, how quaint. “I don’t believe in fate, but how can I not be flattered by your words?” A strong bearing, handsome face and excellent look, all signs of success and victory, the fortune-teller had said. Qishan rummaged in his pocket for several copper coins, and pushed them towards him. To his surprise, Qi Ba-ye chuckled lightly, exposing his tiger teeth, and gently pushed the coins back. “I believe you will be taking care of me in the future, therefore please accept this calculation as my greeting gift to you.” Zhang Qishan smiled. “Thank you, it’s a pleasure.” I’ve never believed in destiny, but for once, I will trust your words, fortune-teller.
Changsha, 1934
" Fo-ye, I thank you for the introduction,
unfortunately the Qi family forbids all involvement in politics or with the army.
Qi Tiezui lives by seeking destiny from God from spring to autumn,
therefore Tiezui is unwilling to discuss this matter any further.
If forced, this humble fortune-teller shall leave Changsha to never return.
I sincerely hope you will give up, and drink in the future. "
Zhang Qishan chuckles lightly, as he purposely pulls his gaze away from the shifty-eyed beggars sitting under the shade of a nearby tea-shop’s awnings. “Truly, our objective is not harmonious. Come! Leave the wine on the fortune-teller’s table; alas, it is not for us to enjoy together.” The young boy by his side casts a doubtful glance over the tiny divination stall before quickening his pace to match Qishan’s, who was already striding away.
“Ba-ye, wah, how are you so clever! Managed to deceive such a man!” Seeing the two men leaving, the beggars immediately turned to one in the middle, who slowly wiped his face clean from sweat and dust. The dishevelled man stood up and walked to the stall, picking up the wine bottle. Passing it to the beggars, “Here, each a mouthful, not more.” Ba-ye watched as they greedily drank, sighing. “Who did I deceive? Did you not realize he has been looking at us ever since he came?” He waved his hands helplessly at their disbelief.
“He was not willing to force me, and that is something I am grateful for.” He took off the ragged shirt he was wearing, returning it to one of the beggars, and dusted the dirt of his long gown. Ba-ye then returned to his seat behind the stall, shooing off the beggars, promising each of them a meal later for helping him. As he wipes his spectacles, he glances at the road Zhang Qishan had passed through a while ago.
“From here onwards, there will be no turning back. Fo-ye, although I am clear about those matters, it is a pity I can never go against the heavens nor change the tide. Please, forgive me for my crime of not speaking up, and good luck all the way!”
Changsha, 1934
The sight greeting Zhang Qishan in the Mutuo’s hall; a half-unconscious Qi Tiezui hanging from the rafters, labouredly breathing, blood dripping from his forehead, his tied hands and his broken legs. A slow fire had been burning in the depths of his heart since he received the news of Ba-ye’s kidnapping, and seeing the gentle, solemn fortune-teller in such pain sent the fire into a raging blaze. He stared at the Japanese in front of him piercingly, hate and disgust concentrated. They shall suffer.
-
Qi Tiezui had not even entertained the notion of someone saving him; the relationships between the Laojiumen were only of fear, jealousy and greed, dog-eats-dog. The strong eats the weak after all. He is simply a fortune-teller with no brute strength, neither followers nor infinite gold, it is a miracle how he survived for so long. At fifteen years old, both of his parents had left him to fend for himself, and to protect the Qi’s status as Eighth Lord of Changsha. At that time, he had just returned from roaming the Jianghu with his father, a master of divination and Taoism himself. Now at 22 years old, he can barely remember their faces anymore, but the words they said on their deathbed, with their dying breath.
“Remember to abide by the Qi family’s taboos. Do not involve yourself with foreigners, supernatural phenomena, nor with those with the Qilin tattoo.”
But as he idly counts the moments to his death, he swears he sees the doors of the hall swinging open, and the familiar silhouette of the upstart Zhang Qishan striding in. Or is he hallucinating? He smiles at the Fo-ye-like spectre below. Ah, I feel safe now. He falls in a trance again.
The smell of freshly spilled blood permeates the hall.
Changsha, 1936
A shudder ran down Qi Tiezui’s spine as he stared at the dark, rusty train, silent and ominous. Horror flitted across his face, anxiety filling his eyes. “This is too scary, too scary, I refuse to be involved! Please, tell Fo-ye I have urgent matters to attend at home.” Speaking to a nearby soldier, he then hurriedly turned to leave, but a commanding voice stopped him in his tracks. “Ba-ye, the immortal lives alone. Where are there any family matters?” The mischievous smile on Adjutant Zhang’s young face got on Ba-ye’s already frayed nerves. “Y-you! No, this time I-! “
“Ba-ye, Fo-ye orders the fortune-teller to be shot if he refuses to comply.”
Wilting visibly, Qi Tiezui bitterly scolded the Zhang’s ancestors from the depths of his heart, reluctantly stepping onto the train. To calm himself, he pinched his fingers, closing his eyes. The adjutant stared at him doubtfully, certain that the man in front of him will needlessly panic again. Unexpectedly, Ba-ye chuckled and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Ba-ye, is there something funny?” asked the adjutant.
Qi Tiezui waved his hands vaguely. “The will of the heavens are finally set in motion; regrettably, it has begun.” He then sauntered forward towards the waiting Zhang Qishan, leaving the adjutant behind to puzzle over his words.
Changsha, 1939
Zhang Qishan always likes to remind Ba-ye of his disgust and disbelief in anything regarding fate, destiny or all that rubbish, just to see the fortune-teller exasperated. However, deep in his heart, he knows that Qi Tiezui knows more than he shows. “Zhang Dafo-ye, all taboos are off!” he exclaims with a toothy smile, but Zhang Qishan sees a murky sadness behind the bespectacled eyes every time. In the end, regardless of his own beliefs, Fo-ye gladly entrusts his whole life into Ba-ye’s hands. But he still won’t listen to his nagging anyway.
“Fo-ye, we really shouldn’t go down the tomb… Let me count it with a copper coin, wait, wait-!”
“The copper coin tells me Ba-ye definitely will come with me.”
“Ah, Fo-ye!!!!!!!!”
Changsha, 1939
Qi Tiezui observed the backs of Yin Xinyue, the daughter of Xinyue Hotel, leaving the dining-car with Madam Hong from his seat while listlessly stirring his porridge, gone cold after they interrupted him halfway through his meal. “To be born and faced with this fate… May ancestors in the heavens bless this humble descendant. Fo-ye, Zhang Qishan, I wish to assist you with all my strength, but the price is my life. I can only encourage this marriage with the noblewoman even if it will bring you sadness in the future, to save you, the Jiumen, and to allow me to live a little longer.” He turns away, and silently watches the sceneries flash by.
Beiping-Changsha train, 1939
Qi Tiezui remembers everything. His memory is average, but all regarding that person, he can remember. Qi Tiezui also keeps secrets well - he carries the burden of the Qi family with a smile. He is cautious, careful, afraid of pain, hardship and death. For him to lay down his life, his wealth and his energy, all in the name of Zhang Qishan, honestly, it was shocking. His brother, Er Yuehong, can only look on with worry; his closest friends Wu Laogou and Xie Jiuye often discussed his affairs over tea with hushed voices, uneasy.
Qi Tiezui knows all this, but he isn’t bothered. He knows more than he should, after all. The adjutant said it too. “Fo-ye said, Ba-ye can see through the hearts of people.” He had set foot in the old Zhang house, and what he had seen affirmed his thoughts. There is truly nowhere else to run, only to keep on with this façade.
Dragon veins had been revealed, what is your fate, fortune-teller, as you count for others?
Changsha, 1939
What is truly painful, is hard to pass, but it will definitely pass.
Xiangxi, 1940
Ba-ye pinched the sobbing Xiaoman’s cheeks. “What is this behaviour? Such a big boy, still crying like a baby? I’m only ordering you to return to your family!” Hearing this, the Xiangtang clerk cried even louder. “Ba-ye, y-you’re abandoning me… I’ve promised to take care of you as long as I can… who will cook and clean for you? You’re l-leaving to a foreign country!!!”
Qi Tiezui shushed him, looking around. There was nobody in his courtyard, the wooden gates locked, the incense hall quiet, but he was still apprehensive. The Jiumen’s ears and eyes were everywhere, especially Zhang Dafo-ye’s. If ever word leaked out he’s abandoning his Eighth Lord post…
“Xiaoman, I’ve accepted this destiny a long time ago. I just hope I have a place in the heavens beside my ancestors though, with all the demerits I’ve accumulated. Did you know I accidentally saw the Zhang family’s dragon vein drawing? The horror, the horror! I’ll definitely die a violent death, ah.” He rambled, finally managing to extract a laugh out of the sniffling boy.
“Ba-ye… won’t you be lonely in Europe? Won’t you miss us all? My food? Your tortoises? Er-ye’s opera? Wu Laogou’s dogs? Jiu-ye’s sweets? Won’t you miss Zhang Dafo-ye?” The barrage of questions struck Qi Tiezui silent. He contemplated for a while, before smiling contentedly. “Xiaoman, silly boy, I’ve enjoyed my life here to the utmost. Of course, once I’ve seen the ocean, no water can compare. But what is such a loss?”
Xiaoman, return home, and run. Stay far away from Changsha, away from all the troubles that will come. May you stay safe and healthy to the end of your life. I can never say this aloud, but thank you for accompanying me through my lonely life.
That evening, as Qi Tiezui boarded the cruise ship headed towards Europe, he didn’t look back. There was nobody at the port to see him off anyway. Goodbye, he mouthed, tossing a copper coin into the sea.
Changsha, 1941
“Fo-ye, Xiangtang is closed, there are no signs of Ba-ye. His clerk had also reportedly returned to his hometown in Shensi.” It has been a week since Zhang Qishan last called the fortune-teller over to his office. He felt slightly uncomfortable, a tiny voice calling out to him repeatedly from the recesses of his mind, the fortune-teller is gone, gone for good. But he didn’t want to believe it.
“Prepare the car, head over to Ba-ye’s place immediately.” Saluting, the adjutant hurried out, leaving Zhang QIshan to his thoughts. A few minutes later, he was inside the elegant, black Rolls Royce, slowly making his way through the busy market lane to Qi Tiezui’s closed hall.
Upon arrival, Fo-ye checked on the tiny tortoises he knew the fortune-teller were particularly fond of. Contrary to expectations, both of them were not inside the miniature fountain pot. A foreboding shadow crept unto his heart. Suddenly the girl from the tea-stall across came sprinting over. “Zhang Dafo-ye, Zhang Dafo-ye!”
Taken aback, Zhang Qishan smoothed his expression and politely smiled. “May I be of assistance, young lady?” The girl emphatically shook her head. “No, no, I was entrusted by Qi Ba-ye to pass on this letter to you if you ever come over to Xiangtang, looking for him after he left.”
Zhang Qishan frowned. “What?”
The girl tilted her head puzzledly. “Eh, Fo-ye, you didn’t know? Qi Ba-Ye has already left Changsha.”
Forever.
Changsha, 1941
"Fo-ye, the green mountains do not change, the clear water flows eternally.
Fate has decreed us meet, and fate has decreed us part.
Please do not be angry with me, Fo-ye.
I will always treasure your life-grace to me, but I intend to repay it in full.
May your journey be blessed and your future bright.
Qi Tiezui, your devoted follower.
Changsha, 1941
December, 1941, the Japanese attacked Changsha again. The battle ended with Chinese victory, but heavy losses were incurred throughout the city. The city was heavily wrought with fire and disasters, and the locals heavily wounded. Qiu Dekao had returned to America, but not without leaving a gift for Zhang Qishan and the Jiumen.
1942, the Jiumen was purged.
Liu Ye was gunned to death by the Red Guards. San-ye died at the hands of bandits. Wu Laogou’s family was exterminated – he escaped to Hangzhou. Er Yuehong followed Xie Jiuye to Beiping, hiding behind Xinyue Hotel’s influence. He took in Jiuye’s adopted grandson, Xie Yuchen, as his apprentice. Huo Xiangu took over as head of the Huo, also moving to Beiping. Chen Pi vanished into the mountains.
The Jiumen was a shadow of itself, all glory stripped.
March 5th, 1977, Wu Xie was born.
The story had finally begun.