The Wandering God

1 Make Up and Go on Stage

粉墨登场
Fěn mò dēng chǎng
Powder, pigment, ascend, stage.
To embark on a career, especially in politics or crime.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Despite the activity around me, I was bored.

The night market was in full swing. The smell of grilled chicken twisted teasingly to me through the night air. It was early in the burning season. The setting of the sun had brought cooler temperatures, so that it was not unpleasant to be outside.

In fact, it seemed the whole town was out, winding their way along streets narrowed by booths that had been set up for the night market. Friends and relatives stopped to gossip in the street, blocking the flow of people, while children ran around their legs, knocking into their elders and everything else.

Vendors called out their offerings. "Cold, fresh fruit! Southern vine wine! Steamed meat buns! Grilled chicken!" Red lanterns, strung from roof to roof, cast a strange red glow over everything: children playing, old people reminiscing, lovers flirting. In the red light it seemed as though the town below was not of this world. A strange red land where people laughed and joked and ate and cared little for tomorrow.

I lay on my back high above the night market, along the roof ridge of Nan'ye's granary building. The ceramic roof tiles had soaked up the heat of the day, and radiated that warmth up through the thin linen of my shirt and trousers in a relaxing way that made me pleasantly drowsy.

A traveling opera had set up on the steps leading up to the town hall across the square. My mind wandered as I disinterestedly watched the opera. It was a rendition of The Golden Emperor's Love and a rather bad one at that. The singer for the part of the Rain Goddess was horrendous, trilling out her part like a strangled bird, and the Golden God looked old enough to be her grandfather. His long beard, an essential for any male character in an opera, seemed to be filled with bits of food, and I wondered whether it was his real beard or he simply didn't bother to remove it when he ate and drank.

The Red Duke and the Green King were notably absent, and the White Queen was played by a potbellied old woman, which made me chuckle. The actress portraying her shook the long metal claws on her fingers at the Rain Goddess as she accused her of treachery, and her formidable belly shook as well.

The only one who was somewhat good looking was the man playing the Northern Lord, and he appeared to be drunk. I chuckled again as he attempted a pose and tripped over his own beard, tearing it from his face.

I looked away from the terrible rendition and at the night sky instead. The last light had faded to a thin band of ocher along the western hills. The first stars were coming out, and I idly traced a line between them with one finger, connecting constellation to constellation. As I did so, the rings on each of my fingers caught the light of the town below and sparkled or shined, as though they wished to compete with the stars in the sky.

The wind shifted, wafting delicious smells my way. I could smell chicken. Chicken dipped in soy sauce and honey, chicken with ginger and vinegar, and chicken with....sniff sniff, was that lime and pepper?

"Lieutenant!" I barked, sitting up and snapping my fingers at a little boy sitting further along the roof ridge. He looked to be about 7 or 8 (I hadn't bothered asking) with long bangs that hung in his eyes and dirt streaked in various places across his skin. His elbows were on his knees, chin in hands as he watched the opera across the square in rapture. His eyes glittered whenever the Golden God swung across the stage, hand on his over-sized stage sword.

He ignored me, and I snapped my fingers again, the many rings on them clinking softly as they slid past each other. "Lieutenant, go get me some of that lime pepper chicken over by the blacksmiths. Now!" The boy continued watching the play through his overly long bangs. "Lieutenant that's an order!"