Mingmei Yip - Song of the Silk Road

Master Soaring Crane picked up his cup and extended his hand toward my direction. “Please use tea,” he said, then took a long, noisy sip.

I lifted the cup and let the hot steam give my face a much-needed minisauna.

The master said in his sonorous voice, “Even as a child, Ah Hung was very naughty and curious. He likes to gossip, but no harm is done.”

Continuing to enjoy my tea facial, I studied the enigmatic mask across from me. Ah Hung already looked pretty old, maybe in his mid or late sixties, so how old was this Soaring Crane? Eighty? Ninety? Or a hundred, even older than this temple? He could be a temple antique, or a moving mummy!

The master spoke again. “Ah Hung was an orphan; I single-handedly raised him in this temple.”

Not sure how to react, I said, “Sorry to hear that. Master, do you know who his parents are?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” He paused to sip more tea, then said, “I was never married, so I raised and educated him as my own child. He was a gift from heaven, and we feel deeply connected with each other.”

“How did you adopt him?” I was sure there was nothing like an adoption agency in this remote part of China.

The fortune-teller tilted his head and laughed, his dark glasses reflecting a goddess, then a fierce-looking god on the wall. Too bad he was blind. Without his dark glasses I might have some idea of what was on his mind.

“It was Ah Hung who came to me.”

“As a baby? How?” Did he crawl here on four limbs? I almost chuckled.

“One cold evening he was left at this temple’s entrance. I had just finished with my last client and gone to the kitchen to cook myself dinner when I heard a cry. It was so loud and urgent that I immediately knew it was a call from above. The cry seemed to be shaking loose heaven and earth while stirring up mountainous waves in the ocean. So I dropped everything and dashed out. On the ground outside the temple entrance was a soggy, squirming bundle.

“From that moment on, I knew our fates were linked. The temple monks and I taught him everything—reading, writing, Chinese aphorisms, and philosophy. He never went to school.”

“Because no school would take him?”

The master laughed his bell-like laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, no, because little Ah Hung just wouldn’t leave me or this temple. I once sent him to a nearby village school, but he caused so much trouble that finally both the school and I gave up. He just wanted to stay with me here and play with the Daoist monks. As a child, he followed me everywhere: when I performed rituals, doing Subtle Purple Calculus, even on trips out of the temple to the houses of rich clients. What he found here in the temple were his toys—cushions, statues, vases, musical instruments, brushes, ink stones. Although a very naughty child, he never broke anything or bothered the monks.”

Soaring Crane paused a moment, then continued, “I was very grateful for the monks who let me work here and raise him.”

“But you also attract huge donations for them.”

He “looked” at me through his dark glasses. “Miss Lin, never think of how you help others, only how you’re being helped. Heaven will know when or when not to reward.”

I sipped my tea, digesting every word uttered through the master’s wrinkled lips. “So, Master, how long have you been here?”

“Like Ah Hung, I was an orphan left at this temple door and picked up by my master, a Daoist monk who taught me to read people’s destinies.”

“How cruel that parents actually abandon their children.”

The master studied me for a while. “This has nothing to do with the parents, but in what place the child’s stars shine. Maybe to their parents they are worthless burdens, but to this temple, they are gifts from heaven.”

“Master, both you and the temple are very compassionate.”

“Compassion and generosity are the two virtues that keep this world from falling apart.” A long pause, then he suddenly changed the subject of our conversation. “Miss Lin, did someone send you to me?”

I stared at my own pale reflection in his glasses and felt a shiver. Instead of answering his question, I asked, “Master Soaring Crane, since I haven’t made an appointment, how did you know that you had a visitor and that I’m a woman?”

He laughed. “Miss Lin, I’ve been waiting for you for ten years.”

“How…?”

“Let me make it real simple. Ten years ago my Subtle Purple Calculus told me that I would have a woman visitor today, exactly ten years later.”

“Oh… excuse my ignorance, Master. How can this be possible, and what exactly is this Subtle Purple Calculus?”

“A thousand-year-old Chinese astrology,” he said. “So, did someone send you to me?”

“Hmm… yes and no, Master.”

He counted his fingers while muttering something in a strangely appealing manner. “Ten years ago, a very special woman came for my consultation. I believe she’s related to you.”

Wow. How could he tell?

I blurted out, “Yes, she’s my aunt.”

I bit my lips. Damn! Didn’t Mindy Madison instruct me to tell him nothing but lies?

The master went on. “I’ll never forget this woman because of her constantly transforming qi . In half an hour, it kept changing from being very full and strong to the opposite. Because of this extreme qi swing, I could tell she’d lead an unusual, dangerous life.”

“Master, I think… she’s already dead.” This time I remembered to lie.

The old man tilted his head and sniffed the air. “Dead? No. But in between.”

“What do you mean?”

“She is now hanging on a thin thread between life and death.”

“Why would that be? Because she’s a bad person?”

“She’s neither good nor bad.”

“What do you mean? That she’s neutral?”

He shook his head. “It all depends who’s judging her.”

I digested his words for seconds, then I lied again. “I think she’s in a very dire financial situation.” Of course, since my aunt had three million dollars to give me, she couldn’t possibly be poor. Could she?

This time the master shook his head emphatically. “No, she’s rich. But not for long.”

Why did this fortune-teller always contradict what I said?

He took a long sip of his tea. “Miss Lin, tell me your date of birth and the exact time when you were born. Then I will show you the map of your life.”

This was the first time I’d encountered a fortune-teller who did not need to see my face, read my palm, or examine my handwriting to give predictions.

Once, years ago when I was a child in Hong Kong, my mother took me to a fortune-teller. I remembered his small face was comically covered by his oversized, chopping-block-thick glasses. He held my small hand in his big one and exclaimed to Mother, “Ah, what an unusual child you have, with all these intricate ‘energy lines’ criss-crossing her palm. Ma’am, your daughter will be rich and have an adventurous life. This is already engraved on her palm like a map!”

Would the blind Master Soaring Crane predict the same thing as the near-blind master in Hong Kong?

After I told Soaring Crane my date and time of birth, he meditated, counted on his fingers, muttered to himself, then picked up his brush and swept it across the rice paper with swift, bold movements, leaving elegant calligraphic strokes. I was amazed at how well he formed the characters, even though completely blind. After he repeated the process three times, he put the papers into three small red silk pouches, dropped his brush, and “stared” at me.

Although he couldn’t see me (or could he?), the intense scrutiny was nevertheless nerve-racking. I could feel the strong qi from his small frame overwhelming my already-weakening one.