Chapter I The House of Wen-chi
Li Chang, who was destined to become the Mandarin of Crime in the teeming
Shanghai of the 1880's, had been an orphan. He grew up in the streets,
surviving as a pickpocket and petty thief until the fateful day when he
attempted to pilfer the coin purse of a very old gentleman who was strolling
along the riverfront. The gentleman, who had seemed such an easy mark because
of his advanced age, reacted swiftly however, and caught the boy of fifteen in a
surprisingly firm grip, preventing his escape.
"Come with me, young one," said the septuagenarian sharply, his eyes bright
with anger that this boy of the streets should dare to accost him. He held the
weak and hungry boy tightly by the arm and marched him off. Li could only
imagine that he was about to be dragged before one of the justices of the city,
who were notorious for their corruption, and that a lengthy term in prison
awaited him. On the pair trudged, wordlessly, for a mile or so, through the old
quarter of the city until at last the twosome stood before a house. A house the
likes of which Li had never dreamed.
The spacious pagoda-like structure was ringed with gardens bedecked with
flowers of every color of the rainbow. As they entered the house Li could only
look on with wonder as they passed from room to room, admiring the furniture,
the wall-hangings, the miniature paintings and sculptures that enhanced the
beauty of every inlaid table, every hand-carved cabinet, every graceful lamp.
Once they were in the salon, the old gentleman, whose bearded countenance
reminded the lad of an image he had once seen of the ancient sage Confucius,
gestured to the nervous boy to take a seat. Li, still dazzled by his
surroundings, studied the shrine, apparently dedicated to the old man's
ancestors, that filled one corner of the rooom. Li could not imagine why he
had been brought to this house, so familiarly Chinese, yet as alien to his
desperate struggle for existence on the streets, as if it had been on another
planet.
The withered old man spent a moment or two in silence in front of the
well-kept shrine before approaching the boy and taking his own seat amid the
rich silk fabrics. He stared at the boy searchingly for a long moment and then,
at last, the venerable figure broke his silence. "Why would you steal from an
old man?" he asked. The moment before the shrine seemed to have sapped the
sharpness from his voice, and to have dulled the anger in his eyes.
"To get money so that I can buy food, sir. I have no parents, no home."
The old gentleman nodded sadly. "Well, my young friend, there are thieves
enough in Shanghai without you. You don't look like such a bad sort, and you
speak well. Perhaps you can stay here with my grand-daughter and me."
At that, the old gentleman clapped his hands, and a slender young girl,
perhaps twelve or thirteen, with the face of an angel, entered the room bringing
tea, and a selection of edibles. Li drained the cup of tea in a flash, and
reached for the delicacies that Liu, for that was her name, had offered on the
tray.
The old man watched with amusement as Li quickly finished off the dozen or
so morsels of dim sum that Liu had set before them. As the girl poured a second
cup of green tea, the old man spoke again. "Well, I see we shall have to teach
you some manners, but there is plenty of time for that. What is your name,
boy?"
"Li Chang, sir"
"Li Chang, eh?" said the ancient gentleman as he stroked his pale, pointed
beard. "I think the world will hear more of you, one day, Li Chang. My name is
Wen-chi. Welcome to my home."
