The Forgotten Words

Summer in the Central Plains was certainly not the same as Summer anywhere else.  This thought, Jin Wu Cheng, imperial prince and Duke of Jin’an, pushed to the far back of his mind as he urged his warhorse forward in a gentle canter, not minding the townsfolk suddenly halting their activities by the roadside. His friend and erstwhile second-in-command, Wu Yinfeng, smiled patronizingly at the people lining the road and even threw a bit of coin once in a while, not in the least interested who took what. “It wouldn’t hurt to look more amiable and a little less murderous, Wu Cheng,” Yunfeng whispered sideways, unable to see the imperial duke’s noble countenance because of their war helmet but for the rigid seat on his horse. “After all, we are on our way to war, which could threaten their livelihoods, if not their very lives…” Wu Cheng continued to ignore Yinfeng and everyone else, his eyes straight forward as an arrow intended for a specific target. Speaking of targets… The only reason why he and Yinfeng were on their way to the northernmost borders of the empire was to secure the north and gain a holding close to the Khitan border, thereby gaining access to that inaccessible land…and all the treasures and benefits that came along with it. By sudden imperial decree, he was summoned from his small palace in Jin’an to go to war. He knew it was through the machinations of the Crown Prince that he was, once again, being sent to “give glory to the empire” by acquiring land that did not belong to them. Though very much irked at his older brother’s continued mission of making him “die”, Wu Cheng could not possibly say “no” to their imperial father. Of course, his discovery of a “northern spy” in his own household also helped in lending evidence to the “absolute necessity” of “keeping the north in check”. As to why there was even a northern spy in his highly secure courtyard and why he was specifically targeted, Wu Cheng had his own theories. That was more than a month ago but the memory of that discovery and the subsequent events somehow continued to haunt him. The spy, a young man possibly close to his own age, was a country bumpkin, unable to read or write, and very simple-minded. He had been working for him as a gardener for close to five winters, tending to the gardens in the courtyards day in and day out. So much so that his own palace had started to rival the imperial palaces of his brothers and his own father in terms of beauty and natural splendor. It naturally brought the women of the empire to his doorstep, much to his annoyance. But even he had to admit that the man’s work was something worthy of imperial patronage. The empress had even requested to have the man given to her as a birthday gift. Wu Cheng refused. In retrospect, he wondered what would have happened if he acceded to the Empress’ wishes. Would that spy have become a spy against the emperor himself? Or would he have begged to be allowed to stay in Wu Cheng’s palace, to pretend to care for his gardens while reporting back to his master? As for the identity of his master, Wu Cheng never discovered it. His men tortured the gardener so much that the man just died without saying a word or admitting to anything. Before he died, though, he was able to speak something: “I have forgotten to water the peonies, to plant the seeds of the lotus, to put some hibiscus on your table. Wake me tomorrow, good sir, lest I forget.” Whether the young man was talking to him directly or was simply rambling nonsense after the beatings, Wu Cheng did not figure it out. But the words stayed with him. Well, tomorrow came and his gardener was dead. For some reason, after the man was--by his express orders--still given a decent burial in a small field surrounded by chrysanthemums behind his palace in Jin’an, Wu Cheng interrogated the assistant gardener and was told that the peonies had already been watered, new lotus seedlings have been planted, and that there was always a vase of fresh hibiscus on his study desk—something his deceased predecessor always maintained and taught this humble assistant to do. Only, when Wu Cheng went to his study, the vase there held instead a clump of wilted flowers. While the assistant-now-head gardener kowtowed to the floor as self-punishment until his forehead bled, Wu Cheng could only stare at that sorry handful of dead things and felt a disturbance in his soul he could not explain. Now, he was on his way to the north, with a procession of some hundred thousand troops and warhorses taken from his own army and that of his personal allies, leaving behind home, peace, and his lush gardens… A warm summer wind swept across the procession, bringing with it the scent of something so familiar. A phantom numbness came over Wu Cheng as he suddenly halted his horse and turned his head every which way, shocking Wu Yinfeng. The procession ground to a halt, alarming the people watching and causing them to scramble back into their shops and homes. At the same time, another kind of procession arrived from the opposite direction, a carriage with its bead curtains wide open, allowing anyone a view of the inside. A young and beautiful maiden sat within, dressed in the finery of the wealthy clans of the north. Jin Wu Cheng met her eyes. She smiled tentatively. The wind blew across the gap between them and there it was again. The scent of Wu Cheng’s gardens. The scent of home.