The Dragon and the Pearl

by Jeannie Lin

  He blushed furiously at that and couldn’t look at her for the rest of the walk to the garden.

  They emerged through the circled archway and her attention centred on to Li Tao. He stood beneath the shade of the cedarwood pavilion. Stood rather than sat. He never paced, never made any unnecessary movements. He turned and studied her as she approached. His feral side was held in restraint; at least she hoped so. Her pulse quickened. ‘Lady Ling.’

  He invited her to sit with an outstretched hand, but she stopped short of the pavilion and refused to come any closer. Jun stood by her side, looking confused.

  ‘It is difficult to be gracious when you held a knife to me the last time we met.’

  Li Tao’s steely expression transformed into a frown. He dismissed Jun with a wave of his hand and the boy backed away, kneeling to some task behind the shrubbery.

  ‘I frightened you,’ Li Tao said. ‘I apologise. Please sit.’

  His façade of civility didn’t reassure her. She ascended the wooden steps into the pavilion and noticed the faint shadow over his jaw as she glanced up at him. He looked unkempt, as if he’d just come from the road. She moved past him to take her seat on the stone bench.

  It wasn’t only fear that caused her heart to race. His nearness stirred her blood, urging her to tempt fate. That made him more dangerous than Gao and all of the other interlopers who had ever plotted against her. When he seated himself across the table, she was grateful for the barrier between them.

  ‘Ru Shan is away,’ he said. ‘I will need to assign another guardsman to your care.’

  She smoothed out her sleeves and folded her hands together on the surface of the table, using the casual gesture to mask her nervousness. She knew exactly why Ru Shan was away. He had used the ruse of visiting his ailing father.

  ‘Are you afraid I’ll escape, Governor Li? I would lose myself in this bamboo sea before I found the road.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be left alone. Not after what happened.’

  What happened? ‘I wasn’t in any danger from anyone besides you.’

  He didn’t answer for a long stretch; she was afraid she’d been too bold.

  ‘Accept a peace offering, then,’ he said finally.

  He lifted a bundle wrapped in canvas on to the table. She stared at him in surprise as he beckoned for her to open it. Theirs was the oddest of acquaintances. She couldn’t decipher what Li Tao was to her. Adversary, protector, companion. Madman.

  Perhaps she was mad as well. Why else would she be tempted to accept the tainted protection he offered? She could hide away in the cover of the bamboo forest.

  Her message to the Emperor was already travelling toward the capital. Even if Li Tao wasn’t so unpredictable, she couldn’t stay. When Emperor Shen came for him, she could be implicated as a co-conspirator even though she had been brought there against her will. Or worse, they would come with swords and arrows with no pause to sort out who was who.

  She reached for the bindings, but hesitated, remembering another package she’d opened in his presence.

  ‘It’s not a trap,’ he replied when she looked to him.

  The image of the fifteen daggers haunted her. She was afraid to ask about the strange delivery, as if the mystery would hold her captive if she uncovered it.

  She untied the knots while Li Tao leaned back to watch her. His offering was somewhat awkward given the circumstances, yet oddly earnest because of it. The canvas peeled away to reveal a lacquered case inlaid with abalone shell. She gasped when she lifted the lid and saw the musical instrument inside. The arrangement of the silk strings over wooden bridges sent a flutter of delight through her. She’d left her qin by the river with the rest of her abandoned belongings.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘The instrument maker told me this was his finest work,’ Li Tao said. ‘But I have no eye for such things.’

  She ran her fingers over the polished surface board, teasing the strings. The clear notes rose in the air with a sense of freedom.

  ‘You’re glowing.’ His tone held its own hint of pleasure.

  She looked to him and wished that she hadn’t seen the quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He was focused on her. Always on her.

  ‘Did you ever hear me play, Governor?’

  ‘I never had that honour.’

  ‘Madame Ling taught me. She taught me everything.’ She lifted the instrument from its case and set it carefully on to the carved legs. ‘In Luoyang, I would play in the front room for an hour each night,’ she said, bubbling with excitement as she adjusted the tuning knobs. ‘Only one hour, nothing more. I would close my eyes and play and all of those men would fall madly in love with me.’

  His mouth curved the tiniest bit upwards. ‘Every single one?’

  ‘Every single one.’

  In the entertainment district of Luoyang, she would sit behind a sheer curtain to build an aura of mystery. Wealthy patrons struggled to catch a glimpse of her through the gauze. Some would offer to pay for just a look.

  Unless the offer was exorbitantly high, Madame usually refused, laughing at her own cleverness. ‘The picture of you they have formed in their minds is more beautiful than you could ever be.’

  Her parents had forfeited her in name and body, thinking she would be betrothed to some merchant. They hadn’t known the well-dressed servants were actually kidnappers who supplied the entertainment quarters. Her den mother, Madame Ling, had given her the surname that would later become known throughout the empire.

  Li Tao settled comfortably in his seat as she positioned her fingers over the strings. Suyin attached the ivory guards over her fingers and plucked out three notes, letting herself sink into the sound and vibration.

  ‘What song would you like to hear?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know any.’

  The way he watched her made her heart ache with anticipation. He folded his hands before him, his demeanor relaxed and indulgent for once. The intimacy of the moment struck her—to be playing for him for pleasure with nothing between them. No curtain and none of the artifice of Luoyang.

  Except there would always be deception between them. She was plotting her escape and he was looking for some way to use her.

  ‘You’ll like this one,’ she promised. She looked down to the strings as if that was enough hide the lies. ‘It’s about a battle.’

  Lady Ling had the most exquisite hands. They moved in waves over the strings, one hand pulling at the silk strings to test them, the other adjusting the wooden bridges. The scattered notes floated through the air, not yet forming music. Her expression took on a tranquil look. She tilted her head to listen to nuances of tone that were beyond his ears. Maybe that was how she read people so well, catching the subtle meanings hidden in voice and inflection.

  Finally she straightened her shoulders and poised her fingers over the span of the strings. She inhaled, gathering herself, and began to play.

  The legend was that Ling Guifei had charmed the August Emperor with her music. She commanded the universe when she played, the trees and the stars. That part was poetic nonsense, but the music pulled at him inside and out. The rhythm sent his blood rushing through his veins.

  She played with her eyes closed. He closed his own eyes, joining her in the darkness. She had said the song depicted a battle, but nothing of the sort came to mind, no lofty images of horses and banners waving or battalions clashing over hills. Only darkness and a pure sound that filled him, creeping into spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

  Desire flooded his body, the dull throb building to an acute pain that would not let go. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair.

  Ling Suyin was exactly the sort of person Lao Sou would have recruited: talented, resourceful and cunning. He wanted her regardless—the warmth of her skin, the reluctant willingness of her mouth. He even wanted her detachment and her defiance. Would the Old Man have predicted that as well?

  As the final notes struck, he opened his eyes.

 
; ‘Did you enjoy it?’ She played on. The second song flowed over his mind like cool water, but did nothing to ease the ache in his body.

  ‘You play well.’

  ‘Such ardent praise,’ she reprimanded lightly. Her fingers continued to walk along the strings gently.

  ‘Don’t you tire of compliments? Look at Jun over there. He won’t blink for fear of losing the sight of you.’

  She laughed and the sound puffed up his chest. At the other end of the courtyard, Jun slinked further behind the shrubbery, realising he had been caught. Li Tao couldn’t fault the boy. Greater men had found themselves helpless at this woman’s feet. The music lulled him into the first sense of peace he had allowed himself in long time. He wanted to sink into the dream and accept where it took him.

  ‘Where do you go every day?’ she asked in a tone of disinterest.

  ‘Nowhere you would find entertaining.’

  This must be how she was able to pry secrets from the most powerful men in the empire. He had no skill for filling silence with conversation, but he found himself wanting to do so. To reciprocate the moment she had created.

  ‘I received another imperial summons to appear before Emperor Shen in Changan,’ he stated. Nothing secret about that, it being an imperial proclamation.

  The gentle music faltered before continuing. The notes took on a hint of shrillness beneath the soft warmth.

  ‘Then you must go and make peace with Emperor Shen.’ Suyin stared down at the instrument.

  Was that concern he detected?

  ‘Once they have me in Changan, it’ll be the death of me.’

  ‘If you don’t go, they’ll hang you as a traitor.’

  ‘They behead traitors, Ling Guifei,’ he replied mildly.

  She flattened the strings with her hand to stop the sound. ‘Why do you insist on calling me that?’

  ‘To remind myself that you are not mine.’

  Silence hung between them.

  ‘But you don’t want me,’ she said, her tone cutting. ‘Other than for one night.’

  ‘One night can last a very long time.’

  The blush in her cheeks caught him off guard. He had assumed such flirtation was second nature to a seasoned courtesan.

  ‘I don’t wish to see you hanged…or beheaded.’

  ‘Not without a fight,’ he promised.

  ‘War and death. That’s all men like you know.’ She pushed the instrument aside and sank back as if it no longer held any joy for her.

  ‘This summons is an ambush. The imperial court has all the power in Changan. I’ll face whoever comes for me here, on my own terms.’

  Suyin fell silent. She tapped her fingertips thoughtfully against the tabletop as she struggled with her next words.

  ‘Please reconsider,’ she said finally.

  ‘There’s nothing to consider. Gao has the court in his palm,’ he said.

  She made an impatient sound. ‘I told Auntie you wouldn’t listen to anyone.’

  That left them at a standstill, staring at each other across the field of battle. But she wasn’t quite the enemy. He traced the shape of her mouth and the curve of her throat. Suyin’s breathing quickened in response. No one else dared to suggest that he back down. Certainly no one had counselled him regarding his own welfare.

  She was beautiful.

  She was complicated.

  There wasn’t a thread of trust between them, yet he still wanted her. Discipline and caution meant nothing when she was near.

  ‘Tell me one thing,’ she said. ‘What does the dagger mean?’

  ‘It’s a reminder.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Shibao.’

  ‘The siege against Tibet.’

  Of course she knew the history. She had been Emperor Li Ming’s consort for fifteen years. She’d shared the sovereign’s bed. Resentment flowed like poison through Li Tao’s veins. Jealous of a dead man. There wasn’t a more worthless emotion.

  ‘One of the worst defeats of the empire,’ he said.

  ‘But you were commended for your bravery. Everyone knew your name after that battle.’

  ‘It was undeserved.’ He wasn’t being humble. If she meant to appeal to his sense of honour and duty, it didn’t exist. ‘In the end, all debts must be paid. The message of the dagger is that no one can be careful for ever.’

  If only she knew the truth behind the legends. He was no hero. He was tempted to tell her everything, but with the old empire falling to ruin around them, it made no difference any longer.

  Chapter Six

  Shibao, Tibet—AD 745

  14 years earlier

  Facing death on the battlefield was different from facing death in the dingy corners of the city. In battle, the sheer crush of bodies made survival unpredictable. Skill meant nothing in the thick of it. Planning, valour, strength…nothing. That was what made this task all the more challenging. He could come out alive or he could succeed in his mission. One or the other, but not both.

  By now, Li Tao knew what the eve of battle felt like, knew the taste of it in the air. He’d been inserted into the growing forces of the imperial army for the last five years. In his first battle, he hadn’t even been issued a sword, but the Emperor’s continued excursions into foreign lands to gain territory had given Li Tao plenty of opportunity to climb the ranks. Today, he lined up shoulder to shoulder among the first battalion, stationed near the dragon banner on the fields of Shibao. In the distance, the flags of the Tibetan kingdom waved in challenge.

  The August Emperor himself walked the line. This was no fattened monarch who watched over the battle from a hilltop in the distance. The Emperor would ride where the battle was thickest, urging men forwards with his will. To all who witnessed it, he was truly invincible, the Son of Heaven.

  Li Tao had to admit the Emperor was a natural leader of men. He was at his best amidst the stamp of horses’ hooves and the clash of swords. His detractors scorned that he was far more comfortable on a saddle than on the throne. Several attempts on his life had been made in the imperial palace, but all had failed. His death today would be a kindness, a warrior’s death.

  Like every other man, Li Tao bowed low as the Emperor passed by. Inexplicably, the Emperor halted. His face displayed weary lines from sleeping in the same tents as his men and eating by the same cooking fires. The studded bands of his armour were dulled with dust and blood.

  ‘What is your name, swordsman?’

  He straightened. ‘Li Tao, Imperial Majesty.’

  This seemed to please the Emperor. ‘We share our family name. Perhaps a hundred years ago, our ancestors were kinsmen.’

  Li Tao raised his fist humbly to his chest. ‘This soldier can only hope to bring honour to our name today.’

  As he expected, the corners of the Emperor’s eyes creased in a rare moment of good humour before battle. The ruling classes were slaves to lofty ideals of honour and glory. He could spout empty words and lure them like gulls.

  Li Tao wasn’t even his true name.

  ‘May you wield your blade with honour today.’

  The Emperor spoke the blessing and reached over to grip Li Tao’s shoulder. His fingers tightened briefly. With a nod, the Emperor continued down the line.

  Li Tao followed the view of the Emperor’s back until the sovereign disappeared in a sea of leather and steel. An ill-fated twinge settled in his chest. The unwelcome gesture had been almost fatherly.

  AD 759—Present day

  Li Tao emerged through the pass with his sentry at his flank. In the shadow of the ridge, the bamboo stalks shot up through the loamy earth to form a corridor. The drift of the green canopy beckoned his return.

  The bamboo sea had cloaked the troops he had amassed and trained over the years. This hidden army could very well be seen as a sign of treason, though the other jiedushi had done the same. They could anticipate the unrest that would follow the fall of a great Emperor. Men like Gao Shiming sought to capitalise on the instability to gain power while Li T
ao fought to maintain order, even if he had to defy Changan.

  Cool forest air surrounded him like a long, drawn-out sigh. His thoughts shifted from the tension of the barricades back to his infamous guest. Before he realised it, he was urging his horse into a gallop over the final stretch of road winding up to the mansion.

  A constant restlessness had taken root within him. At night, he would lie on a pile of rugs in the nagging darkness of the barracks and conjure up a swirl of coloured silk beneath his eyelids. In the silent stretch before dawn, he imagined Suyin’s voice and the elusive scent of her perfume. All trace of her would disappear by the time the troops assembled in the morning and he would issue his commands without any thought to her. Then night would come again.

  He needed to be rid of her. The temptation was too great.

  He needed to keep her close. The temptation was too great.

  At the house, he dismounted and strode through the side entrance. The stillness of the interior pricked his awareness, the absence of footsteps or the murmur of voices. No one came to greet him in the front hall. Even on the slowest of days, he expected a measure of activity in the late afternoon as the servants completed their chores.

  The minute jump in his pulse was followed by a chilling calm. He slipped the blade from beneath his sleeve and stepped soundlessly through the main salon, his weight shifting on to the balls of his feet. He searched the corners and scanned each dim corridor. At the portico, the lilt of a familiar voice floated to him.

  ‘Was that the sound of riders?’

  With a deep breath, he slid the weapon back into its sheath and adjusted his sleeve with a sharp tug before moving out into the open air. The doors of the sitting room had been propped open to provide a view into the gardens. The last of the tension drained from him when he saw the layers of yellow silk wrapped in pink. Suyin glowed like a vibrant flame among the sombre guardsmen who lined along the walkway.

  ‘Governor Li.’ A sewing needle gleamed between her first and second fingers.

  He had to be mistaken about the brightness in her tone. ‘Where is Jinmei?’ he asked.