Hundred Beam Bridge: The Lions and the Pixius

By Ted Marr

When does ambition to attain a noble goal demand too high a price - risking everything -- family, clan and even life?

Such is the tale of Hasan Arslan: a captivating and turbulent saga set in 11th-century China's Song Dynasty. Hasan, a Gelolu Uyghur and master bow maker, strives to ascend the upper echelons of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allsym Publishers
• Release date: Sep 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988936503

Ted Marr

Ted Marr, an American of Chinese descent, is passionate about his heritage and its history. His astonishing discovery of a 1000-page genealogy, which detailed the lives of four thousand ancestors, and traced his lineage to Uyghur ancestry during the Song Dynasty 1000 years ago, inspired him to write Hundred Beam Bridge. Ted holds multiple Doctor and Master's degrees in Physics, Theology, and Business and works as a Silicon Valley Executive and Entrepreneur in IT. He has taught at several universities worldwide, including the University of Virginia, the Chinese University of Hong Kong, and Portland State University, George Fox University, Claremont College, CGST Hong Kong.

Book preview

1. HASAN, 1075 CE

On a moonless night, on the third day of the fourth Moon of the sixth-year in the reign of Emperor Shenzong of the Song Dynasty of the Middle Kingdom (1075 CE), two shadowy black figures, both holding large curved swords with cloud-shaped heads, weaved swiftly through the streets along the Bian River. Soon, they came upon a large house a short distance outside Bianjing, the capital of the largest Empire in Asia, the Song Dynasty. The immense house was surrounded by a high wall measuring two persons’ height. They perked up their ears and listened intently.

    Gong! Gong! A long pause. Gong! Gong!  Another pause.  Gong! Gong! The two-gong rhythm continued ringing through the streets. By the pitch, the men could tell they were approaching the source of the sound. They stopped, crouched, and gazed intently in the direction the sound was coming from.

"Two gongs already. It is the tiger shichen," the man with an unusually round head hissed. He pulled on his thick beard that framed and obscured deep scars hidden behind his beard. He and his companion knew well the custom throughout the Empire; local town guards patrolling the streets at night served as time announcers to bang out a different gonging sequence every two-hour shichen. Each shichen is represented by one of the twelve zodiac animal signs. Tonight, just as every night, the town guard carrying a lantern and a wooden gong would bang out two, three or four gongs as prescribed in the table of shichens.

They listened intently to the higher-pitched two-gonging sound that gradually became lower-pitched as the town guard passed them. There was not much time left to complete their mission this dark, moonless night as the two-gong tiger shichen arrived at 3 a.m.

The men wore soft cloth shoes; each had a nine-ring sword slung to his back in addition to the cloud-head sword in his right hand. They were cautious where they stepped so as not to leave footprints on the packed sandy ground. They scaled the high wall surrounding the compound easily; once over, they peeked through the azalea bushes, which had just started to show their annual spring blossoms. Carefully, they moved behind the bushes, knocking a few tender buds from the young shoots. Squatting silently, the two shadows surveyed the compound. One of them accidentally stepped too close to an azalea bush and cursed under his breath as he pulled his foot from the soft mud at its base.

Dozens of lanterns were placed strategically around the compound of the big house. Flickering light from the two most enormous lanterns at the front gate cast a quiet shadow of a guard nodding off while leaning on the gates. The intruders could see at least three more guards standing or stooping in various degrees of alert. There could be others stationed in darker crevices around the buildings, as well.

Compared to most houses in Bianjing, this was a very large structure, even without its two wings that stretched to the east and west. The courtyard was grand, much larger than that of an average home. What struck the uninvited guests most was the path walks; they were not only well paved with hard-packed sand and immaculately clean, but the paths around the perimeter of the courtyard were lined with a dozen bulls-eye shooting targets, as if an archery contest had just taken place.

In the damp darkness, a sea of mist clung to the wet ground. With the lantern lights, the buildings seemed to float in a cloud. It had been a cold winter in the Central Plains of the Empire, long and hard, with heavy snow. The spring rains had been coming down steadily for the past ten days, and the trees were beginning to bud. The temperature was finally on the rise, though, and soon hot summer would arrive.

The men continued to survey the area. With decades of training, they could easily snake up the giant oak tree to the east to access the tiled roof. Still, the slightest sound could alarm the guards. And, for that matter, there could be guards on the roof.

Curse these cowards! So many guards complained the man with the moon-shaped head. Pausing momentarily and turning his round head to the right, he gasped, And look, someone just lit a candle on the west side of the main house!

Quiet, you stupid ass. Where? Roundhead, I don’t see anything. Peering through the leaves, the second man, bulging with muscles, face full of scars from cheek to cheek, and taller, struggled to see.

There! He pointed to the section connecting the main house to the more prominent buildings to the west. Scarface, you are more blind than my grandmother! The light came from the room where we are supposed to check out the cabinet. Scarface scowled. His eyesight had begun to fail him this past year. He also hated that his subordinate, Roundhead, was besting him these days.

While these two ill-intentioned thugs were pondering what to do, more flickering candles lit up in the room, casting the shadow of a burly man on the paper-lattice windows. Though the paper was sturdy enough to withstand wind and rain, through its translucent surface, the thugs could clearly see the shadow making deliberate movements as if its source were doing warm-up exercises.

Damn the turtle egg! Roundhead cursed as he could not hold back his anger. Guards everywhere, and some idiot is getting up early to practice kung fu.

We must tell the Master that a raid is impossible tonight, Scarface, staring intently at the window, conceded.

The Master won’t accept that, while holding back his contempt, whispered the round faced thug companion. You know our order: Take the treasure, kill the foreign devil. Now, we can’t get inside, and we will get a beating for our incompetence. Buddha, help us!

Scarface spat on the ground. Let’s go. Stop praying to Buddha. It is none of his business. We’ll return later and smash these turtle eggs. He flashed a glare at his cocky subordinate. I am the boss on this raid. I will decide.

Roundhead grunted and spat again in defiance, smearing an azalea blossom. He fidgeted with his sword handle and finally gave a nod. But this is not over. I will inform the Master that I want us to accomplish today's mission. We are supposed to kill this foreign pig and steal his treasure.

Scarface hated that his subordinate was trying to sabotage his leadership, but he knew Roundface was correct. After what felt to them both like an eternity of dead silence, Scarface, staring at the figure in the window, reconsidered. "I have an idea. Even if we cannot get the treasure, we can still kill him later today. Do not tell anyone of our failure tonight. Shut your trap. If I catch you telling anyone, I will chop your round head off and roll it to the guards to play cuju."

His companion scowled, said nothing and nodded. The two intruders deftly scaled the high wall and disappeared into the darkness of the misty night.

As if by instinct, just after the two men slipped away, the shadow on the paper-lattice window stopped its kung fu routine midstream, and the well-built man who’d been casting the shadow opened one of the windows. He peered long and hard into the early morning mist. He saw nothing.

At twenty-nine, he already had years of working with crossbows, which gave him a broad-shouldered, muscular build. He was quite handsome at almost six feet, with a strong, squarish face and a high forehead. Three facial features set him apart from the Han Chinese of the Song Dynasty: piercing green eyes, a large, long, but perfectly centered nose, and light brownish hair. His green eyes were also unique among his fellow Gelolus. His family had inherited them from some unknown foreign invaders of his homeland hundreds of years ago. 

After lighting two more oil lamps, he resumed his warm-up kung fu exercises. Soon, his body woke up as well. In less than a shichen, he would have completed his daily routine. He loved his Shaolin kung fu because, for him, it was not only a form of physical exercise and a tool to defend himself; it was also a spiritual discipline. A meticulous person, he exercised every morning to sharpen his already keen mind. Shaolin kung fu was an odd art for a Muslim to practice, originally founded by the Indian monk Bodhidharma, but this had never troubled him. He found the exercises rewarding. Several years ago, he had even visited the Shaolin Monastery on Mount Song, the most revered and sacred place for Shaolin Kung Fu, to sharpen his skills. But his thoughts were unfocused this morning, which made him uneasy.

As he went through his Shaolin kung fu stances, his thoughts fluttered like a restless night moth between a thesis he’d been developing about a flaw in the Yuanli, the Song Dynasty Imperial Calendar, and an unrelated tantalizing idea for improving the design of his crossbows.

As he arrived at the last kung fu movement, dropping his hands to the side and unbending his knees, a young man quietly entered with his usual impeccable timing. Carrying a washbasin of cold water and a clean towel and dressed in the typical clean, well-pressed grey and purple hanfu of the Song Dynasty commoner, he smiled broadly and said in a cheerful voice, Master Hasan Arslan. Good morning. I trust you had a perfect Kung Fu workout. Here are your towels and a washbasin of cold water.

Hasan turned, smiling equally broadly at his most trusted assistant, and softly replied, Thank you, Xiao Hu. You are always on time. I wonder—did you hear anyone moving about in the yard outside of this room?

No, Master Arslan, I did not. Xiao Hu had entered his service with the Arslan family when he was very young, so he was small, or xiao. Hu was his family name, so he was named Xiao Hu. Xiao Hu was always respectful and fiercely loyal to the Arslan family, especially to Hasan.

As Hu also rhymes with the Chinese word for tiger, Small Tiger had become a nickname he’d worn proudly over the years. After a decade with the Arslan family, this small tiger, now seventeen, had gained the trust of Hasan with his intelligence and diligence. He obeyed Hasan Arslan to a fault and never suspected his Master’s words.

But this question from his Master was a bit odd. He shrugged it off, thinking it must be the sixth sense of the Uyghurs in action, and left his Master to continue his morning routine.

After a quick and refreshing wipe-down with the cold water, Hasan strode into his roomy workshop, situated between the main house and the much larger bow and arrow factory to the west.

As was his custom on the third day of each Moon, he reached for the bottom drawer of the mahogany cabinet on the south side. Pulling open the drawer revealed a black mahogany chest that measured slightly longer than half the length of his arm and twice the height of his palm. He was always surprised to find that the chest was heavier than it appeared. Over the last four years, each time he lifted it from the drawer, it seemed to have increased in weight.

Rising from the chest cover, part of the same mahogany block, was a statue about half of the size of the chest. It was a mythical animal, the Pixiu, a winged lion with a dragon’s head whose single horn showed it to be the male Pixiu. Its mouth held a gold coin. Its extended claws gave it an even more fierce look, and his belly bulged with bumps, indicating he was full of gold coins.

In the front of the chest was a lock with four tumblers, each set with ten or twelve Chinese characters. Starting from the rightmost tumbler, carefully turning each tumbler to the correct character, Hasan unlocked the chest. Instead of using the Pixiu as a handle to open the cover, he placed his two thumbs on the front of the chest to open it. Careful not to touch the Pixiu, he slowly opened the chest. There were two very clear markings where his thumbs had pressed against the chest countless times. His father had instructed him never to touch the Pixiu, or it would stop spitting gold, thereby terminating its magical power to increase his family’s wealth.

The chest contained two items: a green silk-covered box and a yellow silk pouch. As always, Hasan ritualistically opened the green box first. After more than eighty years, the worn, thinning silk fabric showed its age. Still, it was clearly an exquisite box, patterned with a mixture of Islamic squares, rectangles, and Taoist yin-yang symbols. He untied its bright red silk ribbon and slowly opened the lid. Hasan had done this a hundred times before, but each time was like the first for him.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled out a jade pendant. With awe and amazement, his piercing green eyes gazed at the sculptured jade pendant strung on a braided gold chain that, like the statue on the mahogany chest, was carved in the shape of a crouching Pixiu, just like the one on the cover of the box. It was so delicately crafted that Hasan could easily see the muscles that rippled on its legs. Unlike most precious jade carvings, this jade was translucent. Shining a light through it, one could see the inside of the jade easily.

Both the Pixius on top of the box and this jade pendant had one horn, a male Pixiu, the Tianlu, signifying wealth from Heaven. It had a dragon head and lion body with a long tail and a pair of feathered wings. Its dragon head had a single horn, a mane of hair, and large bulging round eyes. Its teeth were sharp. Its tail was bifurcated like a fork. It had no orifices. The Pixiu’s ability to bring wealth was legendary: the wings bring wealth and good fortune from everywhere, and without orifices, it cannot excrete; no wealth can escape the Pixiu’s owner.

Careful not to touch the pendant directly, Hasan lifted it by its chain and held it to the flickering candlelight. Gazing at the Pixiu, Hasan felt its strength flowing throughout his entire body.

It was comforting for him to connect emotionally with the Pixiu, the mythical lion-dragon. After all, Arslan meant lion in his native language. There could not be a clearer message here: the pendant was and would always be part of the Arslan family.

As Hasan held the jade Pixiu up, he could see at the base of the jade piece was the chop seal of Emperor Taizong. Each time he saw the seal, he trembled. Holding it to the candlelight, he could see a second, darker green Pixiu lion deep inside the translucent jade. This Pixiu was leaping into the air as if it were pouncing on its prey. This inner Pixiu, unlike the sculptured jade Pixiu, had two horns rather than one, indicating that she was the Bixie, the female Pixiu, which offers protection from bad omens. It was very comforting to Hasan that the male Pixiu, Tianlu, provided gold and wealth from Heaven, and the female Pixiu, Bixie, offered protection.

No matter how many times Hasan looked at the pendant, the leaping jade Pixiu, as well as the darker one inside the pendant, with their fierce-looking dragon heads, aroused fear in him alongside the comfort of protection. Bixie and Tianlu each held a golden coin. Today, he almost couldn’t believe his eyes when for a flicker of a moment, he thought he saw the Bixie’s gold coin move. Like in a dream, the gold coin slipped further out of its mouth a bit, then receded back again. Then out again, then in. Hasan, in his amazement, lost count of how many times the gold coin moved. Hasan wondered if the coin spitting could be foretelling that there would be more wealth from the new bow design which he had been working on.

Suddenly, the spell was gone. He shook his head and came back to reality. He must have been dreaming. Hasan carefully put the pendant back into its green silk box and opened the yellow silk pouch. He slowly pulled out a scroll made of seven bamboo slates sewn together with cowhide string. The last slate was carved with the Imperial seal of Emperor Taizong, the second Emperor of the Song Dynasty, who had ruled in his grandfather’s time from 976 to 997 CE.

As he had done countless times before, Hasan intently read the contents. He never tired of reading the key lines: On this auspicious occasion, Emperor Taizong awarded the Arslan Clan (Shi) of the Gelolus the perpetual privilege to serve the Song Empire as the Bowyer Master of the Imperial Guard. This decree is authenticated with this royal Pixiu pendant.

Emperor Taizong had deliberately penned the family name as Arslan, its version in its native Gelolu, Uyghur tongue, and also as the Chinese Shi. Both words meant lion. Taizong wished to acknowledge the family equally as Gelolu, one of the largest sub-groups of Uyghur and Han Chinese—a touching act to Hasan.

The young Master of the House of Arslan carefully replaced both the pendant and the bamboo-slate decree in the mahogany chest. His father had deeply ingrained in him that the decree must always be authenticated by the pendant, which served as a kind of royal seal. The pendant’s gold-coin forecast of wealth was likewise tied to the decree establishing the Arslans as the royal bowyer. The pendant and decree would always be interdependent.

After Hasan locked the chest and returned it to its hiding place, he slipped on his traditional Muslim thawb, a white ankle-length tunic with long sleeves, and a white crocheted taqiyah, a short, brimless, rounded skullcap Muslims wore to emulate Mohammad. Then he walked to the granite-paved inner courtyard of the main house. The mild temperature and clear dawn sky promised sunshine and warmth. Hasan should have been looking forward to a fine day; instead, he was troubled by a new bow design he was working on.

Hasan was not only a Master bowyer but also an innovator and engineer. The greatest challenge facing bow-makers of the time was the struggle to design a crossbow powerful enough to send an arrow a great distance and accurate enough to hit a target at that distance. Hasan had methodically studied the physics describing how a bow’s firing mechanism warped the arrow’s flight. Over many Moons, he had made and tested bow after bow, searching for any improvement. Hasan believed that if he successfully invented such a bow, he could be rewarded with a position in the Imperial Court. More than anything, Hasan coveted earning the rank of an Imperial Officer. Though it would be unprecedented for a Gelolu to attain this position, Hasan was sure it was not impossible. He had pondered several means by which he might reach this lofty goal, but he knew this bow design would be his best chance.

As he puzzled over the problem of the bow, Hasan continued with his morning routine. He had a breakfast of rice porridge and two white steamed buns called mantou, and then the sun began to rise, signaling the time for Hasan’s early-morning Salat al-Fajr prayer. With his prayer rug facing Mecca, he recited his Fajr prayer in Arabic, a language that he only partially understood. Hasan’s mother tongue was Sogdian, the language of the Gelolus, but he mostly spoke Hanyu, the language of Han Chinese. Every day, when he prayed, he was reminded of how much he desired to fulfill his Hajj vow to visit the holy city of Mecca. But deep down, he suspected it would never happen.

Hasan’s mixture of Gelolu, Muslim, and Han rituals was well-suited for an inhabitant of Bianjing, a relatively open-minded metropolis of 600,000 souls. Hasan kept the Muslim faith and the cultural heritage handed down by his ancestors, but he lived otherwise like his Han neighbors. And, Bianjing was an excellent environment for his life’s work, making the finest bows and arrows for the Song army. Of course, some of the Han people in Bianjing distrusted foreigners. Hasan had persevered through many expressions of suspicion and hate from the Han Chinese, who considered all Gelolus foreigners and barbarians, though many of his Han neighbors were accepting.  Still, he was not prepared for the visit he was about to receive.

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2. QIN LAI, THE TAX COLLECTOR, 1075 CE

By the Song Dynasty, public time announcements spanned three centuries since its Tang Dynasty inception. Using up to four gongs for twelve shichens, a measured count repetition was needed. A morning pattern emerged: three gongs followed by two, twice. This repetition, in nocturnal and early hours, was clear. People effortlessly discerned these instances. The use of the twelve zodiac animals as time markers also helped Song citizens.

Just then, two gongs sounded the second time that day, announcing the dragon shichen of 7 a.m. This morning, one of Hasan’s closest friends, Master Wu, who made bows and arrows for civilian customers, would be arriving at his workshop to introduce a Court official named Qin Lai, a man of Hasan’s age who came from a prominent family of Court officials. Qin Lai, knowing Wu and Hasan were close friends, had asked Wu if he could visit the House of Arslan Armory. Proud of his friend’s success, Wu was happy to oblige. Hasan consented to the visit because he wanted to meet an Imperial Court Officer—this might open the door to joining their ranks. Wu wanted to introduce Hasan to Qin Lai early, so he could still be on time to open his shop located over one shichen away near the Bian River.

Hasan and Xiao Hu walked briskly to the front gate of the house, where Master Wu and his entourage were promptly entering the grand main gate of the House of Arslan Armory. Master Wu, when he saw Hasan, brought the palms of his hands together, fingers straight and pointing upwards, and bowed his head while keeping his eyes focused on Hasan, showing great respect. Hasan responded with the same baili gesture and bowed even deeper to show his humility to his good friend. Xiao Hu equally did the same baili, bowing still lower. Then Wu said affably, Master Hasan, let me introduce you to Officer Qin Lai of the Tax Collection section of the Imperial Treasury. He is eager to learn how you so efficiently manage such a large bow and arrow manufacturing operation.

Qin was aloof, just slightly nodding as if to assert his superiority immediately. Then, he waved his hand to the two men behind him and, in a gruff voice, said, "These are my genbans." The two genbans, ordinary servants who do any bidding necessary, scowled impolitely at Hasan. Hasan observed that these were unusual genbans, muscular, a shorter one whose thick beard was streaked with webs of scars and another with an almost perfectly circular moon face. Hasan sensed immediately that Qin Lai’s visit was not friendly. Genban, or ordinary servants, generally were not so powerful and fierce-looking.

Hasan was careful not to betray his feelings, but he knew something was amiss. "Genban?" he thought. "He can’t fool me. These are bodyguards. Why did he bring them with him? What is his real reason for being here? I better be very careful."

He politely led Master Wu, Qin Lai, and the supposed genban across the vast front courtyard of his complex. Hasan had grown his family’s business greatly since moving to Bianjing, and the wealth he had already accumulated at a young age left an impression on most visitors. They entered Hasan's private workshop. Earlier, Hasan had considered showing Wu his newest prototype, Crossbow #25. But with Qin Lai’s suspicious bearing and ominous entourage, Hasan thought better of it. As they entered the spacious room lined with tools and workbenches, Wu noticed shelves of books along one section of the wall—a very unusual setting for an Armory. Books were for scholars, not for bow-and-arrow makers.

Master Hasan, you are a learned man! Wu enthused.

Ah, yes, the ancient philosophers inspire my thinking when I need to solve a technical problem. Hasan, now relaxed by Wu’s friendly conversation, answered with a smile.

Qin Lai, not so impressed, thought, "This foreign Arslan cannot be trusted. A bowyer with a scholarly library? He could be a spy."  But noticing the mahogany cabinet on the south side of the room, his focus shifted. This must be the cabinet where he keeps his rumored Pixiu treasure. Qin eye-signaled to his genban that this was the cabinet they’d been after hours earlier. They both scrutinized it, regretting their failure.

Hasan continued his presentation. This is the room where I spend most of my time developing and researching new ideas. I leave the routine manufacturing operation to my trusted assistant, Xiao Hu and his management group. Hasan waved his arm toward Hu. As he spoke, Qin and his men helped themselves to Hasan’s workbench, unceremoniously handling and examining some of his tools. Immediately, Hasan regretted being so open about his work and decided he definitely would speak nothing of Crossbow #25 today. He led the group out of the room and led them straight to the larger structure to the west of the main building. Qin’s two henchmen kept lingering behind the group. Hasan eyed them with suspicion, then noticed the moon-faced man’s muddy right shoe.

Finally, Hasan successfully herded the group into the large manufacturing site. Once inside, he quickly walked them through the area where the men were preparing the essential material to make bows and arrows. The workers were skilled and efficient, neatly piling all the construction materials, wood, rattan, bamboo, and other sundry items into stacks.

Wu noted how Hasan’s men worked quietly together rather than in the raucous manner in which Wu's own team tended to operate. He could not suppress his admiration. Hasan, I am already impressed with your operation. So clean and so disciplined.

Thank you, Master Wu. You are being kind. Let me show you how we assemble the bows. Hasan led the group to the next section, where the more senior staff supervised this especially complicated process. But, as they entered the area, a rope blocked their access. Hanging on the rope were the words: Do Not Enter without Permission of Master Hasan Arslan.

Hasan stopped in front of the rope and went no further, then turned to the group. The team to the right is working on softening the wood for ease of bending...

Qin Lai interrupted Hasan, barking, Will we not go any closer? Why the rope?

My apologies, Officer Qin. I am afraid our bowyer technique is a trade secret. I will explain what we do here from this spot, but not any closer. Hasan spoke courteously but matter-of-factly.

In an annoying tone, Qin's face reddened, hissed, What is the meaning of this? I thought we were here as a guest of Master Wu, and we aren’t allowed in? This is extremely rude to say nothing of the disrespect you show a member of the Song Court!

I apologize. This is the rule handed down by my ancestors. I cannot change it. Hasan in an even tone replied.

Your ancestors? How long have you been making your lousy bows? Qin continued in an even harsher tone.

We have been manufacturing bows and arrows for the Imperial Court ever since the reign of Emperor Taizong nearly one hundred years. Hasan, typically calm, could fill his pulse quickening.

Qin stared contemptuously at his host. How is it that you, a Gelolu, are permitted to manufacture military equipment? Qin continued with a hostile voice.

Hasan was taken aback but again spoke calmly. I am a loyal subject of the Song Empire, Officer Qin, as my family has ever been. I desire only to serve the Emperor.

Military equipment should not be manufactured by foreigners, Qin snarled. Barbarians have no place in the great Song Empire, least of all at the Imperial Court!

Hasan knew he had to speak carefully. Qin Lai and his family were powerful and not to be disregarded. I’m sorry you feel that way, Officer Qin, but the Emperor does not agree, he managed, recomposing himself.

How can you prove that you are loyal to our Emperor? Qin pressed. Why should we trust you?

My family has been making bows and arrows for the Song Emperors for one hundred years. These bows and arrows are the finest in the Empire. All the Emperors trust in us, and their trust has been well rewarded. Hasan again replied in a calm voice.

Qin poked himself in the chest for emphasis. My family makes the finest bows in the Empire, he shouted. You have obviously bribed the Imperial Court, or everyone would admit the Qin bowyer is the best under Heaven.

Hasan, who wasn’t about to let Qin push him around anymore, leveled his gaze at the officer. In a calm but stern voice, he said. That’s a very serious charge.

Qin retorted even louder, Is the Emperor aware of how you feel? And are you prepared to prove that your weapons are better than mine? Let us have an archery contest of our bows against yours! He raised his voice, his face growing redder, shouting while frantically waving his arm and yelling agitatedly. Let’s have a real archery contest! At the same time, Roundhead and Scarface stepped forward, flanking Hasan and Xiao Hu.

Dismayed by the rapidly deteriorating situation, Wu quickly stepped in between the two groups. My good friends, said Wu evenly. This is not the time. Let’s discuss the matter later. Officer Qin Lai, you told me you just want to see how Master Arslan runs his manufacturing plant smoothly. I believe he has shown you that.

The Court will not allow me to arm the Imperial Guard, declared Qin, finally revealing the true reason for his outrage and his request to visit Arslan’s facilities. I demand to know why!

Officer Qin, the Arslan family has an Imperial Decree that gives them that right, informed Wu. As Hasan said, his family has demonstrated that the Gelolu bowyers are a welcome asset to the Song Empire in our fight against the barbarians.

As Wu spoke, Qin, unmoved, did not take his eyes off Hasan. He yelled, An Imperial Decree?

Yes. Absolutely. Emperor Taizong’s decree with his own seal. And I have the original decree! Hasan, goaded to defend himself, instantly regretted his words.

Then show it to me. I think you are a lying foreign devil! Qin demanded.

Hasan managed not to wince when he realized his blunder. Returning to his controlled self, he said calmly I am very sorry, Officer Qin, but I will not show it to you. There is no reason that I need to prove it to you. That will never happen. The decree need only be shown to the Emperor when required. No one else has the right to see it.

Hand it over! barked Qin. Hailing from a long line of Court officials of the Song Dynasty, Qin Lai was not about to let Hasan get away with this impudence. He took a step towards Hasan, who shifted imperceptibly into a defensive Kung Fu stance. Qin Lai’s lowered his voice to a menacing rasp and bore into Hasan’s eyes. If you don't show me this so-called decree from Emperor Taizong, I will see to it that you and your family are punished beyond your wildest dream. Do you understand me? Hasan did not reply, and Qin’s voice rose again to a shrill outcry. Do you understand me?

Wu looked on in horror—this was all his fault for bringing Qin Lai to Hasan. He must do something drastic immediately. Master Qin! Perhaps we can arrange a more private showing later, he said in an even tone. But now I, too, am pressed for time. We must go. Hasan, thank you very much for showing us your factory. I apologize that we can’t stay longer, but I have another important engagement to attend. Turning to Qin, he said resolutely, Remember, we were to discuss setting up some arrow factories. There will be a lot of profit in arrow manufacturing. Let’s do that while we go on our way. He hastily led Qin out of the factory.

Hasan was badly unnerved. His family depended on his contract with the Court. If Qin or some other Han were to blackball him, Hasan didn’t know how he would manage. What a disaster! Here, he thought he could leverage Wu’s relationship with Qin Lai to gain favor to become an Imperial Officer. Instead, he had stumbled into a wasp nest of persecution. Was Qin Lai angry that Hasan was Gelolu, or was he angry that Hasan had business he wanted for himself? It was probably both—or maybe it didn’t matter at all. Either way, Hasan now had a major problem to deal with.

Hasan knew there was no use in worrying about what he couldn’t control, and he did his best to push these bad thoughts behind him. He returned to his daily routine.

Shaking his head, he changed into his Han work clothing, a short tunic and a pair of trousers, both made of gray cotton. The tunic was a simple one that opened in the front, wrapped from left to right and tied at the waist. Under the tunic, he wore a short undershirt. The trousers were loose through the legs but tight around his ankles. Then he pulled on a pair of black leather boots. But, he kept his taqiyah skullcap, a marker of his Gelolu heritage.

Hasan was most content inside his workshop, a sanctuary where he could concentrate on his life’s work. Work tables were pressed against the north and east walls of the room. His hammers, saws, hand drills, and planers of all sizes were laid out in