Chapter Ninety-Three: Voice Change

I was trading theories with Kaleidoscope here, ranging from the Image and Judgment of the Book of Changes to the Classic of Lianshan and the Classic of Guicang, and before I knew it we had talked for more than half an hour. The team’s self-styled chief illiterate, Ghost-Face Zhang, finally lost his patience and told us to get to the point. I looked over and saw that he had already ground out seven or eight cigarette butts at his feet. If we kept talking, the stash in his pocket would surely not last much longer.

Seeing that Ghost-Face Zhang was done indulging us, Kaleidoscope scratched his head and gave an awkward laugh. “Ah, Third Brother, I got so carried away I forgot all about the time. My apologies, truly.” With that, he waved a hand.

Ghost-Face Zhang let out a cold snort and frowned. “Make it quick. Once we figure out this mechanism, we can get out of this miserable place. What are you two still babbling for?”

“All right, all right, Third Brother, I hear you. I’ll reveal the answer right now,” Kaleidoscope said at once, half joking as he picked up the three masks. “The pattern isn’t hard to spot. There are only three combinations. Three-two-nine-six, two-nine-three-seven, two-six-one-six. Written in Arabic numerals, it comes out like this.” He borrowed a sheet of paper and a pen from Mengya, then wrote out the three sets of numbers as 329.6, 293.7, and 261.6.

“What does that mean?” Ghost-Face Zhang asked, his brows knitted tight. The rest of us were equally bewildered.

Kaleidoscope smiled faintly. “It’s simple. As everyone knows, the most accurate musical pitch is A equals 440 to 445 hertz. So 329.6 represents the palace mode, 293.7 the merchant mode, and 261.6 the horn mode. I already told Qiutong that these three masks record the order in which the ancient score is to be played. We just need to determine the pitches of these three pipes.”

At that, my mind spun into chaos. A equals 440 hertz to 445 hertz? Equal to this, equal to that—I understood none of it at all.

Ghost-Face Zhang had just finished listening to his rambling and was equally stunned. He gave a cold laugh. “Enough nonsense. None of us can make head or tail of what you’re saying. It’s all a load of crap. Just tell us how to strike the pipes.”

Realizing his explanation had been like playing the lute to an ox, Kaleidoscope gave an embarrassed smile. “Uh... I already explained the sequence of the hexagrams and the masks to Qiutong just now. I’ll write the score out on paper.”

With that, he took up a marker and began to set down the numbered notation.

I thought it through in silence. The first mask to be played should be the Kan hexagram mask, representing water. The writing on it was: 3296 2616 2937. The second mask was the Xun hexagram mask, representing wind. The writing on it was: 3296 2937 2616. And the final mask was the Kun hexagram mask, representing earth. The writing on it was: 2937 3296 3296. If arranged in this way, the complete clues to the score should be: 3296 2616 2937 3296 2937 2616 2937 3296 3296. The final score would then be: 132123211.

As it turned out, while I was still making that guess, Kaleidoscope finished writing the score, precisely the ancient tune I had just inferred: 132123211. But the moment he completed it, I noticed a problem—the modulation into the Rui-bin mode that had been mentioned earlier. The horn mode appears twice in the score, and in Rui-bin mode, that horn note, the third mi of the seven-note scale, must be raised by half a step. So first we had to determine which iron pipe was the palace mode, which was the merchant mode, and which was the horn mode, and then find a way to raise the horn note by a semitone.

Clearly, as soon as he had finished notating the tune, Kaleidoscope thought of that half-step issue. He frowned and looked at the three iron pipes, seeming quite troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Ghost-Face Zhang asked with a hint of mockery. “You’ve finished writing that phone number of yours, and now you’re wilted like leftovers?”

Kaleidoscope only gave an awkward smile and said nothing. He walked up to the three pipes, each with a mouth as wide as a bowl, cupped his hands around one of them, and listened the way a child listens to the hollow echo of a seashell. He never actually touched the iron; he simply closed his eyes and listened carefully to the resonance within, as if he were some thief trying to crack a safe. It was enough to make me laugh.

He listened first to the Kan hexagram pipe, which faced due south and was decorated with a water pattern. He nodded slightly, then went to the Kun hexagram pipe facing northeast, marked with a single line. Again he listened in the same way for a while and nodded. Finally he stood before the Xun hexagram pipe facing northwest, decorated with a swirling pattern. Using the same method, he listened to the echo inside. This time he gave us an "okay" sign and came back over, smiling as he said, "The owner of this tomb was truly an extraordinary man. He used iron pipes as the sounding mouths of a clay flute. These must have been the instruments used to play the soul-calling music when the coffin was interred. What a spectacle. After so many years, the pitch is still not off by a hair. One can only admire the tuning skill and craftsmanship of the ancients. Compared to that, even a piano today will be worn out after a century or two at best, and it still needs tuning from time to time."

"Cut the crap. Tell us the result," Ghost-Face Zhang said coldly, clearly not finding any of this appealing.

Kaleidoscope seemed to look down on that, though he did not show it. No wonder. Among the Nine Gates of Beijing, he was one of the few true scholars. How could he be expected to be measured against a pack of brutes? Besides, since ancient times, the sour temper and lofty pride of Chinese men of letters had come as naturally as breathing. Toward those without learning or culture, it was already generous enough if they did not launch into harsh and biting sarcasm.

"Third Brother, no need to rush. I’m about to say it," he replied, pointing at the three iron pipes beside him. "The do is this Kan hexagram pipe standing due south. The re is the Xun hexagram pipe in the northwest. The mi is the Kun hexagram pipe."

"Master uncle, wait a moment."

Just as Kaleidoscope had finished confirming the directions, I cut in.

"Master uncle, we discussed this just now as well. You know that in Rui-bin mode, the mi has to be raised by half a step. I imagine you didn’t overlook that?"

At my question, Kaleidoscope gave a mysterious smile. "Nephew, just watch."

He glanced at Ghost-Face Zhang and smiled. "Third Brother, I’ll have to borrow your prized weapon for a moment."

Ghost-Face Zhang blinked. "You’re going to strike the iron pipes with my blade?"

"Well," Kaleidoscope said with a teasing laugh, "I’m not eager to die, am I? If those pipes were smeared with some deadly poison, would I not be throwing myself into the sea like a dragon returning home if I struck them with my bare hands?"

Ghost-Face Zhang seemed to think that made sense, but he could not bear to lend his treasured weapon to Kaleidoscope for hammering at iron pipes. After a moment’s hesitation, he looked back at Iron-Crutch Liu, who was sitting on the ground and dozing off a little. He walked over and nudged him with his boot. "Lend him your dual-handed prying weapon."

Perhaps because he was rather old, Iron-Crutch Liu yawned and rubbed his eyes, apparently not hearing clearly. He mumbled, "What?"

Before he could react, Ghost-Face Zhang bent down, snatched the dual-handed prying weapon from his hands, and tossed it to Kaleidoscope. Iron-Crutch Liu could only shake his head in helpless resignation.

Kaleidoscope laughed at him, then stepped up to the three iron pipes and slowly drew out the dual-handed prying weapon from its bamboo shaft. He aimed straight for the center of the swirling pattern on the Xun hexagram pipe and stabbed.

Though the dual-handed prying weapon was nothing more than a great awl, its steel was no less fine than Ghost-Face Zhang’s treasured blade. With a sharp crack, the exact center of the spiral ornament set into the iron pipe was pierced clean through.

Crash, crash, crash, crash...

The instant the center of that swirling pattern was pierced, the sound of gears and mechanisms, from somewhere unknown, suddenly echoed in our ears. Some hidden device seemed to have been triggered by that single strike.