The Golden Drum

By Seb Cielens

The survival of two kingdoms rests in their hands...

After the betrayal in King Sunjo's court, Yun-li and Kyetsu are forced onto a ship heading for Hong Kong. There they discover Cheng and a world darker and more sinister than anything they had imagined. With the help of new allies as well as a growing inner strength they work to thwart those plotting against them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NewLink Publishing
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781948266604

Seb Cielens

Seb Cielens is a South Australian writer and teacher who has immersed himself in Asian culture and history since he was a child. His stories recount the turmoil of life in late imperial Korea and China, weaving hundreds of hours of historical research into vivid and inspiring fictional tales. After training in Chinese, Japanese and Korean martial arts for much of his life, Seb began putting it together with his passion for writing.Seb holds a Master of Arts in Writing and Literature and a Bachelor of Education. White Lotus is his first novel, with The Golden Drum and Three Thousand Realms coming soon to complete The Tripitaka Chronicles.

Book preview

A woodblock inscribed with a mysterious message is unearthed near a Korean temple. The monk Kyetsu is sent north on a mission to deliver it to the king. He encounters great adversity along the way and is on the brink of death when he stumbles upon a village in the mountains. Here, the great warrior Hyo Tae-Young lives in hiding with his wife and daughter, Yun-li. The girl has just passed a gruelling test to earn her black belt, but her world is torn apart when her father decides to accompany Kyetsu.

Hyo trains Kyetsu in the deadly martial arts style practiced by the White Lotus, a secret society of warriors. But the young monk learns far more than self-defence under Hyo’s wing. Kyetsu’s eyes are opened to a struggle engulfing two kingdoms, one in which he will become embroiled, even as he yearns to return to his monastic life.

When the pair arrive in the capital, Hyo sets his student the baffling task of cleaning the grounds of an old inn. Kyetsu befriends Gi and Kwan, a brother and sister living as urchins. His vow to deliver the message to the king unravels when Hyo mysteriously disappears. Powerful forces are working against the White Lotus Society. Alone in a strange city, a vulnerable Kyetsu is compelled to trust Gi and her fellow orphans, taking refuge in an abandoned brewery. He is shocked to be reunited with Yun-li, who has traveled north with the orphan Nari after their village is burned and Yun-li’s mother is killed.

A contingent of White Lotus warriors arrive from the Qing Empire, intent on helping Kyetsu deliver the woodblock to the child-king Sunjo—newly crowned after the death of his father. After many struggles and a great battle, Kyetsu finally has his audience with the young monarch. However, a palace coup orchestrated by war minister Gwon Sang-Ha is set in motion. Kyetsu’s mission, and the lives of those pledged to help him, are in great danger.

In the aftermath of the successful coup, the White Lotus scatter, only to be drawn closer to the sinister hand behind the maleficence, the Hong Kong pirate turned triad boss, Cheng I. It is not only the stability of Joseon at stake. Everything hangs in the balance.

The Golden Drum

The Tripitaka Chronicles

Book Two

CHAPTER ONE

Hong Kong

The smell of rotting waste invaded Mei’s nostrils as she pushed her way through the crowded streets. Her youthful elegance looked out of place amidst the coarse women and toothless men who cursed and shoved one another as they went about their business. She struggled with a basket of freshly laundered towels. They obscured her view, causing her to bump into a brawny man in her path.

Watch where you’re going, he said, his tone like a growl.

Drunken fool, Mei said, without looking back.

Hey, come here, the man shouted.

Mei ignored the sensation of his eyes burning into her and carried on. At sixteen years, she was tall for her age with long limbs and fine straight hair that hung just below the shoulders. Though she had a face slender and refined, Mei’s story was like many of Hong Kong’s orphans. At the age of five, she had been given food and shelter by the madam of a brothel and set to work washing dishes. Most of the girls became prostitutes at twelve or thirteen, but this is where her story departed from the others. Mei was Madam Ting’s favorite and had been spared from this path—until now.

I am saving you for someone special, Madam Ting had told her on many occasions.

As pleased as she was to have enjoyed a sheltered life, a tiny part of her looked forward to the day that came for all of Madam Ting’s girls. Mei leapt out of the path of a rickshaw hurtling down the street, almost losing her grip on the basket. She might be the madam’s favorite, but that would not be enough to spare her the woman’s wrath if she were to drop the towels on the filthy street. As owner of one of the most reputable brothels in Hong Kong, Ting had a reputation to uphold.

Mei ducked into a narrow laneway running between high wooden walls. She stopped before the body of a young man sprawled in the gutter. His skeletal frame looked more dead than alive, but she knew better. He was just one of the multitudes of men wasting away in a euphoric haze in the city’s streets and opium dens. It had not always been this way, as Madam Ting had explained. When the madam was a child, the drug had only been used for healing purposes. With the coming of the barbarian ships, opium exploded onto the streets, wreaking havoc in almost every city and town across the Qing Empire. This had started long before Mei was born. She knew no other world.

The unconscious man looked only slightly older than her, though in his gaunt and broken state, the difference could be decades. Nearly naked, his ribs protruded like that of a fish carcass washed up on the sand. Mei placed the basket down in order to move the young man into a more comfortable position. Even in his cadaverous state it was no easy task. She strained just to roll him onto his side. She took a towel from the top of the stack and draped it across his upper body.

It was autumn, and the temperature would drop overnight. Morning would reveal a new batch of corpses littering the streets. Where is your mother? Mei’s heart went out to the boy. Does she even know you are alive?

Turning left at the end of the building, Mei entered through the back door of the brothel. Kung sat on a low stool just inside the doorway, sweat glistening on the rolls of fat under his chin. It never ceased to amaze her that someone could sweat so much while hardly moving a muscle all day except to lift his tobacco pipe. He leered at her in his usual, repulsive manner and tapped ash from his pipe onto a huge gray mound on the floor beside him.

Little plum, he said in a raspy voice, reaching out with his swollen lump of a hand to paw her backside. Far too quick for the filthy wretch, she dodged out of his reach. You won’t keep away forever, he jeered. Kung was apparently meant to act as security for the brothel and the girls, but he was so decrepit, Mei did not consider him capable of hurting a fly.

She darted through the next doorway and into the hot kitchen. A young girl was washing dishes in a large wooden tub, while another stood heating a pot of water on the huge stovetop. She placed the basket on a long table just inside the door and sighed with relief before rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck one way and then the other. Mei was about to head into the main parlor when another girl came through the doorway carrying a tray with an ornate porcelain teapot and two delicate cups.

Thank heavens you’re back, Hualing said, placing the tea tray on the table beside the towels.

Mei studied the open book of her friend’s face. What is the matter?

Hualing was a short, plain girl, one year older than Mei. What she lacked in beauty, she more than made up for in grace. She already had a patron, a wealthy businessman in his thirties who had fallen hard the moment she opened her mouth to sing for him. Since then, the businessman visited two or sometimes three times a week. Hualing was off-limits to all other patrons.

Madam Ting has been waiting for you, Hualing said, and there is someone with her.

Waiting for me? She was not used to seeing Hualing so flustered. Who is it?

I was not introduced, but he looks important.

And handsome, one of the other girls chimed. This set everyone giggling except Mei.

"And madam wants me?" Mei’s pulse quickened, her breath shallow.

Hualing nodded.

This could be the day. Her ears hummed and her vision wavered. In the next room, a dozen paces from where she now stood, her first patron surely sat in wait. A wave of nausea overcame her. She had to place a hand on the table to steady herself.

What does he look like?

You really should not keep him waiting, Hualing said. Mei knew her friend was right. The last thing she wanted was to upset Madam Ting or cause her to lose face. She took a deep, calming breath and smoothed her dress to straighten out imaginary creases. On her way to the parlor door, Hualing put a hand on her shoulder and forced a smile.

Good luck.

Mei pouted and softened her eyes, hoping to mimic that dreamy look that never failed to drive men crazy.

Ah, here is little plum, Madam Ting said, her voice rising as if proclaiming the coming of spring. Though she is not so little anymore.

The parlor was by far the most luxurious room in the house. The ceiling was high and decorated panels adorned the walls. An eggplant-colored sandalwood cupboard with intricate carvings on the doors towered on one side. In the center of the room stood a tea table with two chairs made of flowering pear wood. Madam Ting sat perched on one of them, the patron on the other. While the girls’ description of the man was not incorrect, it did not quite do justice. Magnificently handsome, she decided, was much more accurate.

It would have been rude to stare or make eye-contact, though Mei, like the other girls in the house, had mastered the art of soaking up a man’s features down to the tiniest detail with just a momentary glance. Even as he sat at the table, she could tell he was supremely tall and muscular. He had a strong, square jaw and his eyes were cloaked in shadow. Even the scar running from his left brow to just below his cheek bone looked as if it had been painted on by an artist. Most of the patrons who frequented the house were plump businessmen acquainted with a life of plenty. This man, however, was unmistakably a warrior.

This is Admiral Lu Zhang, Madam Ting said.

It is an honor. Mei bowed low. Lu remained seated.

Madam Ting’s eyes danced. What do you think?

She is every bit as beautiful as the accounts, the patron said, his voice as fine as royal silk.

Beauty does not stop at her lithe body, Madam Ting added. "She has many talents."

Mei swooned, fighting to remain upright. She managed to keep her eyes fixed on the glistening floorboards. Performing was usually so effortless, but in front of this man, she wondered if she had it in her.

Recite a poem for our esteemed patron, Ting instructed.

Mei detected a faltering note in the madam’s voice, one she had never heard before. She was always so confident and charming. Madam Ting is more nervous than I. Mei sifted through her repertoire, trying to decide which poem to recite. A poor choice now could be disastrous. But this was not the time for doubt, nor for disgracing Madam Ting. She readied her most delicate and seductive voice.

The porcelain moon, swathed by clouds. Watching, listening to the magpie robin’s lonesome song; caged but still free, a beating heart, softly echoes; there is no more light, only shadows of the past. Mei bowed. She dared not look up.

The patron remained silent for some time, while a dreadful feeling took hold inside Mei. That was certainly the wrong poem. She chided herself. How could she have possibly chosen something so melancholy?

And who is the poet? the silvery voice said.

She hesitated for a moment. I am, master.

A poet, too. The admiral sounded impressed. And what a lovely voice.

Mei felt her jaw relax ever so slightly. Perhaps she had not disgraced herself—not yet at least. She chanced a look at Madam Ting’s face, it shone like the full moon at sea.

It would be an honor if your master could visit us.

Mei’s mind whirled. What does madam mean by ‘your master’? The man did not look like anyone’s servant.

I think that can be arranged, Lu said.

In fact, it would be our most humble pleasure to hold a feast in honor of your master.

I will pass on your invitation. He is away on business but will return before the Qingming Festival. In the meantime, please accept his gift.

Lu reached inside his robe to retrieve a small, lavender box tied with a purple ribbon. Bowing dramatically, he offered the box to Madam Ting.

The madam waved her hands. I cannot accept the gift. Your visit is honor enough.

My master insists. The patron tried once more to bequeath the box.

We are not worthy of such generosity, Ting said, protesting.

Master will be displeased if I return with the gift in my possession.

Madam Ting shook her head and tut-tutted, as would a befuddled grandmother. It would be wrong to cause offence. I accept his gift most humbly and gratefully. She bowed her head and accepted the box.

It will suit little plum nicely, Lu added.

Mei jumped despite herself. What did he just say? It will suit…me?

Undoubtedly, Ting agreed.

I must go now. Your hospitality has been second to none.

You are always welcome here as our guest. We have many fine girls, if you should be so inclined.

This was not what Mei was hoping to hear. The admiral made his way out, bowing to both Mei and Madam Ting, respectively. After his departure, the room was silent for a good while. It was never proper to talk about a patron after they had only just departed, but he left her with a strange, empty feeling she could not quite put her finger on. When the truth finally dawned, she felt confused, maybe even a little hurt. With her looks and charm, she was accustomed to being fawned over by every man that entered Madam Ting’s, but the admiral had hardly looked at her.

Who was that? If she was being discourteous, Mei could not help herself.

Who? Madam Ting said. Evidently, she had been drifting in her own thoughts. Never mind who he is. You should be asking who his master is.

Mei was too taken with the admiral to worry about his master, but she had to be respectful of Madam Ting.

Of course, madam.

His name is Cheng I.

The name fell like a hammer on an anvil. Mei smiled politely, but she was too shocked to speak. Everyone in Hong Kong knew the name Cheng I, though none dared speak it aloud except in the most private and trusted company. It was a well-known fact that Cheng did not simply own Hong Kong, he was Hong Kong. He was the boss of the triads, but his veins coursed with low pirate blood. His name invoked fear from the richest to the poorest quarters of the island and across much of the mainland. Surely, he will not be my patron.

Is something wrong, child? Madam Ting’s brow furrowed. You look as if you have been visited by a ghost.

I… Mei fumbled for words, am not worthy.

The glow returned to Madam Ting’s face. Of course you are worthy, little plum. Everybody knows you are the prettiest girl on the island.

Mei blushed at the compliment, though she had to agree. She knew she was exquisite, like a rare bird. The rest of the girls were, well…common.

I have never had a patron before, she said. Cheng struck fear in her heart, but Lu fired her imagination.

You would never be fit for Cheng if you lacked purity.

What am I supposed to do?

You will know what to do when the time comes. I have been preparing you for this since you were a tiny flower bud on a sweet spring morning.

I do not know what to say.

Then say you are honored. Madam Ting’s sunny disposition suddenly vanished. Say thank you for the opportunity to repay your kind madam’s generosity.

Thank you.

That’s better. Now, see about preparing my bath.

Mei set off to work in a daze.

Word spread quickly amongst the girls at Madam Ting’s. They treated her with even more deference than usual. It was as if her status in the household had risen the moment the admiral left. Only Hualing seemed to act the same toward her.

How do you feel? her friend whispered when they finally settled down on their sleeping mats. Thirteen girls including Mei shared the quarters. They ranged in age from ten to twenty-three, though most were of similar age to her.

She paused. The question was not so simple. A girl’s status in the house was measured by the power of her patron. Serving Cheng would undoubtedly bring great esteem and even wealth. On the other hand, this new arrangement created expectations she was not entirely sure she wanted.

Good…I think.

You are so lucky, Hualing said.

I suppose.

Just imagine the kind of gifts you will be showered with.

Mei thought of the box Lu had given Madam Ting that was apparently for her. What precious bauble is nestled inside?

I am so tired, Mei said, more to end the conversation. In truth, she did not feel tired at all. Her mind raced with so many thoughts she could not keep up. Hualing was her friend, and it was true she had experience with a patron. But she was no older than Mei, and the two saw the world very differently more often than not. There was one person whose opinion Mei trusted more than any other. It was not Hualing or Madam Ting. The seamstress Suyin was both kind and wise. Mei resolved to find a way to visit her as soon as possible.

You will feel better about it all in the morning, Hualing said, pulling the blanket over her head.

Mei finally succumbed to sleep deep in the night. She was far from refreshed when she awoke with the other girls just before dawn to begin work. By mid-morning, she was ready to execute her plan to visit the seamstress. It involved a blue skirt adorned with gold ribbons and an unfortunate act of clumsiness. Madam Ting reprimanded her for the hole that had appeared, somehow, in the fabric. As predicted, she was sent off at once to the seamstress to have it repaired.

Under an overcast sky with humid air, she set off, the skirt carefully folded inside a cloth bag. The young man whom she had helped the day before was nowhere to be seen. She wondered for a moment whether that was a good thing or bad. Even if he had survived the night, it was likely there would not be many more ahead for him. Suyin’s shop was only a few blocks away, but Mei savored every moment of her time outside the house.

Suyin’s shop was on an old, winding street, tucked between a dingy tea house and a salt trader. Three doors down, an opium den did a steady, dismal business. The sweet scent of oblivion could be detected day and night inside Suyin’s shop. A stream of wasted men, young and old, begged for money or garments they could sell to fuel their addiction. To these men, Suyin was unceasingly patient and generous, often at great expense. On the odd occasion one of the denizens tried to steal from Suyin, the retribution exacted by other addicts was swift and merciless. The message was clear to all. Begging from the seamstress was one thing, but stealing was something else altogether.

Why are you looking at me like that? Mei asked the seamstress after recounting the events of the previous day. Suyin’s expression had started out bright and sunny but had transformed as soon as Mei uttered Cheng’s name. Suyin’s face had turned pale.

You don’t know this man, the seamstress pointed out.

Of course I don’t know him, Mei said. What has that to do with anything?

You could run away.

Mei looked at her in disbelief. She had come here expecting congratulations, perhaps some womanly advice. After all, Suyin had been in her shoes once upon a time. You of all people should know. Anger welled within.

How can you say that? Mei glanced toward the door, as if someone might be listening. What do you think would happen to Madam Ting if I did?

Suyin threaded the needle through the skirt. Her deft fingers worked with assurance. She hardly had to look at the garment. Despite the cramped interior, the workshop was orderly and spotless. The seamstress sat on a stool behind a table that took up almost half of the shop. Behind her, a warren of cubby holes climbed to the low ceiling. The square compartments housed rolls of fabric in all colors and weaves, as well as boxes filled with spools of thread, precious pins, and other assorted haberdashery. In front of the table rested a single stool, where Mei sat sipping tea.

And what about when he has finished with you?

He is the wealthiest man in Hong Kong. I will be taken care of for the rest of my life.

You are too young.

Too young? Mei had heard enough. She got up, tears welling in her eyes, and headed to the door