by Jeannie Lin
“Who’s your brother?”
“Bai Huang.”
“Ah, the flower prince himself!” Yijin gushed. He staggered forward to slap her on the back. The two guardsmen straightened, coming to attention. Huang had warned her about how watchful they were.
“The flower prince,” she echoed. “That sounds like my brother.”
“What’s your name, friend?”
“Bai Chang-min,” she replied, using her younger brother’s name. She hoped his reputation was still intact when it was his turn to frequent the Pingkang li.
Yijin hooked an arm around her neck to drag her close. “It’s fate that we should meet like this.”
She staggered as he hung his full weight on her. Gao moved to separate her from his grasp which made Lin Yijin’s guards start forward. She shot Gao a look to urge him back.
“That wolf would steal all the girls with that face of his,” Yijin recalled with a laugh. “You know, you’re even prettier than him—”
Even in his less than flattering drunken state, the young nobleman was startlingly handsome. So much that Wei-wei found him uncomfortable to look at. It was impossible not to stare. She found it even more uncomfortable that the young man was draped around her while Gao stood beside them. Gao's expression darkened with each passing moment.
Yijin pressed his face so close that he became one large eye in her field of view. “So, what did you come here to tell me?”
She was at a loss. “You invited us over—”
“Come now, don’t be like this. What’s the message?”
One of the bodyguards had tolerated Lin Yijin’s antics for long enough. He came forward, and wedged a leather-clad arm between the two of them. “You! Stand back!”
Wei-wei stumbled backward into Gao. His hands tightened over her shoulders to steady her, and she could feel the tension coiled within him, ready to spring.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted, bracing against Gao to hold him back.
He froze as their bodies pressed close. Wei-wei’s heart was suddenly beating too hard, too fast.
“Don’t be such a grouch to our new friends,” Lin Yijin complained to the bodyguard. “Here, peace offering.”
He reached for a cup and held it out to her, sloshing half of the contents out as he did so. Wei-wei took it warily. This caper had gotten completely out of hand. Was this the sort of crowd her brother had consorted with in his student days?
Lin grabbed another cup and was about to drink before he saw how Gao was empty-handed. With a great show of generosity, the general’s son handed over his own cup, presenting it to Gao with two hands. He then searched through the crowd to procure another one.
“All in!” he toasted, raising his cup.
Wei-wei looked to Gao. He met her gaze before draining the spirits in one swallow. She went through the motions, but opted to toss the remainder of the drink over her shoulder. She wasn’t going to drink some unknown liquor just because it had been handed to her.
Lin Yijin downed his drink, then started gesturing dramatically with the empty cup. “What is freedom, but a dream? These walls? A cage…”
Gao stared at him as if the young man had gone mad. “What is he doing?” Gao asked out of the corner of his mouth.
Wei-wei backed them up a few steps so Yijin wouldn’t overhear.
“He’s composing poetry,” she said, cringing.
Gao pressed a hand to his face. “This is what rich people do?”
This was, indeed, what rich people did.
She tried to explain. “At some point someone is supposed to take over and compose the next verse. It’s like a…a competition.”
“Every breath, a price!” Lin Yijin lamented.
Over Lin’s shoulder, Wei-wei caught sight of a tall gray-haired figure emerging from the stairway.
“The death of me,” she muttered.
She spun away and hastily buried herself behind a pink curtain. Maybe Chief Censor Zheng hadn’t seen her.
Someone approached while she flattened herself against the wall. She peered through the opening in the gauze to see Gao watching her.
“I can’t fit behind that, Lord Bai,” he said dryly.
She hushed him. “Don’t use my name.”
“I assume the man who just entered is someone we need to avoid.”
“He’s an imperial censor. I can’t let him see me. Do you think he’s seen me?”
“No, which is quite remarkable—” he looked her up and down through the part of the curtain “—considering.”
“Where is Zheng?” she asked, feeling something akin to panic.
“At the other side of the room and paying attention to the banquet.”
The chief censor must have come to investigate Lin Yijin after Wei-wei had cast suspicion on his father.
“Walk to the stairs,” she instructed Gao. “I’ll stay close and hide behind you.”
Gao did so with an easy stride and a sense of calm that she envied. She, on the other hand, scurried beside him while using Gao as a shield. They reached the stairs, and she descended quickly, holding her breath until she was clear of the pleasure house. The night air surrounded them.
“Strange night,” Gao remarked.
How did he stay so calm? His face didn’t register any sign of fear or even worry. Nothing fazed him, while her entire body shook from the nerves. She dragged Gao into the nearest alleyway.
“Very strange night,” he repeated, his voice catching.
She glanced up at him to see him watching her, his look dark and unreadable. The sky overhead glowed with the pale light of the moon, and the silent lane was a soothing contrast to the noise lanterns of the pleasure house. They were alone, cocooned in darkness. A wave swelled up inside her, lifting her.
Rising onto her toes, she reached for Gao, her hands finding purchase against his shoulders. He was solid and unyielding as she leaned against him. For just a moment, fear pierced into her thoughts, but she fought past it. With her heart pounding hard, she pressed her lips to his.
It was both a second and an eternity before Gao returned her kiss. She sank against him, surrendering herself.
She’d lost her first kiss to him and now her second. She would gladly lose all the kisses if this was how it would feel each time. It wasn’t merely the touching of lips, of mouths. Inside she was soaring. A hundred years swept by in seconds.
Suddenly she remembered she was wearing men’s clothes. She plucked at the robe. “Does this feel very strange?”
“No.” They were kissing again, his hands circling the small of her back.
Wei-wei was unschooled when it came to matters between men and women. She wouldn’t have believed there could be anything more than this, anything better until Gao urged her lips apart with his own. And then his tongue was inside her mouth, hungry. A tendril of pleasure snaked down to the pit of her stomach. She could taste him too, and the sharp bite of liquor from an ancient well.
Her knees trembled, but Gao held her. She was vibrating. So restless, like she would jump out of her skin and the only thing that could keep her together was Gao’s arms around her. Holding onto her as tight as he could.
“How can you be like this yet say things like Li and I are well-matched for one another?” she asked desperately. Just echoing his words sent pain to her heart.
“Because our bodies are made to do this.” He pressed closer. “This is meant to confuse you.”
Her shoulder blades came up against the wall as Gao pinned himself to her. She knew this was impossible. Because of birth and class. Who she was and who he wasn’t. Wei-wei wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him there and she kissed him again, hungry. It wouldn’t be like this with anyone else, her heart insisted. Not Li Chen, not anyone.
Gao sensed the rising urgency within her and groaned, a low sound deep in his throat.
He broke away. “Wei-wei.” His voice was strained. “Look at where we are.”
She could only look up at him. In the
darkness, he was pure shape and shadow. She would know the angled contours of his face anywhere.
“Are you confused about this?” she challenged.
He didn’t answer. Only shook his head once, not looking at her.
“Then why do you insist I am?”
If he said because she was young, because she was a woman, because she was innocent, she didn’t know what she’d do. Maybe hit him. As if never kissing someone made one suddenly so innocent. And she wasn’t that young anymore either.
He didn’t say any of those things. His arms tightened around her for a long time before he pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead.
“Please let me see you home,” he said.
She did let him. Gao so rarely asked her for anything.
Chapter 12
Gao rode with her back to her ward. The horse was strong enough to carry both of them at a slow, steady gait. Wei-wei rode behind him in the saddle, her ear pressed against his back. His voice sounded deep, vibrating through her as he spoke. He told her more about his life. He’d grown up near the wall of the East Market. His family had lived in a decent house with five rooms and a small courtyard. Then his crooked father had been arrested for taking bribes. The magistrate had handed down the harshest sentence, stripping Gao’s father of his appointment and banishing him from the capital. And that had been the end of everything.
“Another magistrate, of course. Not the Magistrate Li we know.”
At the mention of Li Chen, gloom fell over her.
It was as if Gao was trying to tell her—see, see how bad I am, from bad blood? But she was so hungry to know more about him. Was she truly so good? Or from good blood?
They spoke of other things too, taking their time as the horse carried them back to the mansions of the northeastern section.
They reached the gate of the Bai mansion while it was still dark. The city was under mandatory curfew, and she’d asked him where he’d go, where’d he’d sleep. He told her not to worry. Among all the other things they could talk about during the ride back, it seemed a waste to go on about particulars. So she’d listened to him, and didn’t worry.
Gao wished her farewell at the gate, fingers grazing hers before slipping into the night. There was no way for him to return to Pingkang until the morning.
After Wei-wei returned the horse to the stable, she snuck back in through the side entrance and slipped into bed. All was still and silent.
She’d fallen asleep thinking of Gao. She’d always known she didn’t quite fit in her world. He didn’t quite fit in his, but that didn’t mean they fit together.
In this world, servants married servants. Lords married lords. Her brother had caused a scandal by marrying Yue-ying, but he had survived. Their name had provided enough armor to protect him.
She was all but begging scandal to come for her, which was reckless. A broken reputation was irreparable for a woman. Thankfully, she hadn’t been caught.
At least she had assumed so until she woke up to a new day and wandered into the study. Instead of her younger brother waiting there for lessons, it was her elder brother.
“Huang, you’re home!”
Her excitement faded when she saw the log book that he was flipping through. It wasn’t one of the books from their library.
“Wei-wei,” he said with a sigh. “You know there’s a record of everything that happens in Chang’an.”
Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be—
“A log is entered every time someone comes or goes through the gate after curfew.” Huang turned the page. “It appears you’ve been coming and going quite a bit. Or rather, our younger brother has been coming and going.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She supposed it wouldn’t help to point out that she had only gone out at night the one time since the baby was born. Huang already knew about the other times before that.
“Have you told Mother?” she asked.
“I don’t need to tell Mother,” he scoffed. “We’re not children anymore.”
Wei-wei opened her eyes. She could handle Huang.
“If we’re to speak of misbehavior in this family.”
Her brother shot to his feet. “Not another word.” He could anticipate where she was going. “That was all in the past. And I had a purpose for many of those ‘misbehaviors’.”
Their younger brother Chang-min did show up then, peeking his head into the library.
“Out!” Huang chased him away with a pointed finger. Chang-min disappeared as quickly as he came.
She and Huang were far from done.
“What noble purpose did all your adventures serve?” Wei-wei demanded.
“There is no comparison between you and I—”
“All the drinking and the gambling and getting stabbed in an alleyway?”
It was the sharpest, most jagged weapon Wei-wei could brandish. She had been backed into a corner. The threat of losing her freedom to an arranged marriage, Gao and the new feelings he brought forth, then the threat of losing even that small glimmer of light, for however long she could have it.
Huang stared at her, livid. Wei-wei regretted bringing up their family’s darkest moment immediately. Years ago, her brother had incurred too much debt at the gambling dens and was too ashamed to go to Father to resolve it. The den boss had sent someone to collect payment and had left him bleeding in the streets when he refused.
At first, they’d been afraid of losing Huang, but once he survived, what happened afterward was even more difficult. Father had wanted to disown Huang for the disgrace he’d brought upon their family. Mother had pleaded with him. Wei-wei had pleaded. It had taken years for Huang to repair the damage with their father. They rarely spoke of that time, until Wei-wei had torn the wound apart just now.
Huang’s jaw was locked so tight, he looked ready to explode. But he didn’t yell or raise his voice. He looked so much like Father then, this quiet, overly calm anger. It chilled her to the bone.
Huang walked back to the log book and turned to the last entry.
“Someone accompanied you back to our ward last night.”
Wei-wei fell silent. The guards had taken both of their names and she hadn’t thought twice of it.
“Did you ever wonder who it was that stabbed me in that alleyway?” her brother asked.
Her heart stopped. No.
He pointed to a single character on the page where Gao’s name was written.
“That’s impossible.”
But she knew. All the threads started to untangle. All the troubling questions about Gao she’d recklessly dismissed. Everyone had warned her about Gao. He and her brother were long time associates of some questionable nature. Gao worked for the gambling den boss. Gao was feared in the Pingkang li.
Her brother had owed money and Gao was some sort of enforcer. It had to have been Gao.
And she’d been foolishly drawn to him for all the wrong reasons.
Gao had remained awake for the rest of the night wandering the streets and avoiding the patrols in Wei-wei’s wealthy neighborhood. Here the streets were wide and empty of the night markets and street vendors that cluttered the lower wards. The houses were walled and gated. Individual wealthy families dwelt with a handful of servants in the same amount of space where, in other parts of the city, hundreds of laborers would be packed on top of one another in the tenements.
The contrast between this ward and Pingkang where palpable. Even the air tasted different.
Dawn came after a few hours and the ward gates opened to let him out for the long walk back to Pingkang. Then he was down for a scant hour of sleep before it was time to rise again.
Magistrate Li was to release the precious witnesses today at noon. The night soil collectors had spent two comfortable days as guests of the magistrate’s, well-fed and well-rested. Magistrate Li had probably given them a cursory interrogation, but their true value wasn’t in what they had witnessed. It was in what someone thought they had witnessed.
Gao j
oined the constables’ wagon in front of the yamen. He hadn’t exactly been invited, even though it had originally been his plan. Head Constable Ma had called for volunteers to assist in the arrest. Sending in his constables first thing would have drawn too much attention.
Given the bounty was still a hundred taels of silver, there were plenty of would-be thief-catchers who showed up. Gao spotted Fu-Lin at the far end of the wagon as he climbed onto it. The boy squeezed through to the back.
“Change our lives, right?” Fu-Lin said, bright-eyed.
Gao managed a nod. He hadn’t yet recovered from his long, strange night wandering from the pleasure houses to the mansions.
The head constable started relaying instructions in a booming voice. The wagon would take them just outside the stakeout area where they were told to scatter. They would be there an hour before the witnesses were released. Their aim was to blend in and watch for anyone who approached the night soil men.
“Detain anyone who comes to talk to them,” the head constable instructed. “Then the constables will come in to make the arrest.”
“What if it’s just someone passing by?” someone asked.
“They’re night soil men. They stink. No one’s coming by just for friendly talk. Twenty coppers for a capture today—if we take them in.”
The wagon started to move. The ramshackle crew all jostled together as the wheels rolled over the dirt road.
“A lot of people to catch one criminal,” Fu remarked.
He’d brought a bamboo rod as a weapon. Fu Lin was so short in stature Gao doubted he’d be able to hold anyone down, but maybe the boy had hidden talents.
Gao gave the lot in the wagon another look. Why did the magistrate need so many hands to apprehend a suspect? When they’d gone to apprehend the night soil collector, it had been staged. They wanted the spectacle, but in this situation, it was arguably more effective to go out with a small, more concealable crew. One that could hide easily to stake out the area.
The magistrate was anticipating a greater need for force. Why? The victim had been a lone nobleman, shot in the back with an arrow before falling, or being pushed, into the river. Unless Magistrate Li suspected more than one killer was involved. Maybe a gang of thieves, attacking in a pack.
