“I know it’s my fault. I know we should have gone years ago. But he is scared to leave. He doesn’t even dare visit his old mother—and he’s desperate to see her.”
“Every day Shao-ye calls me stupid. Useless. He says I can’t even smile properly. He says he wished he’d asked for Little Lotus instead. He has no idea how much I wish he had asked for Little Lotus instead. Or maybe he does—maybe that’s why he hates me so much.”
It was all Ying-ying could do to not make any sounds. The girl was Little Orchid, the maid who had been given over for Shao-ye’s bedchamber use. Little Dragon was playing with fire. Even if Shao-ye had wearied of Little Orchid, Ying-ying didn’t think he would want her to rendezvous with another young man, especially one who was both taller and better-looking.
She didn’t want—or dare—to listen anymore. If Little Dragon knew that she had learned his secret…She circulated her chi as high as it would go, and retreated silently back into the Court of Contemplative Bamboo, all the way back into Master Gordon’s rooms.
He looked up in surprise at her reappearance, the letter open before him. She pointed at the umbrella she had left behind and took it in hand. And then she said loudly, “I’m leaving, Master Gordon. I had better get home before a thunderstorm comes.”
She stomped out, making her footsteps almost heavy enough to crack the paving stones. This time, when she passed through the garden, it was silent as a tomb.
Ying-ying could not stop thinking about Little Orchid. Little Dragon would do fine for himself someday—if he could manage to keep his pride in check. But the poor girl…her plight made Ying-ying’s teeth hurt.
The path she was on ended at a wider path. She had to stop for a moment to reorient herself. The next courtyard was where Mrs. Mu-he lived, and usually Ying-ying avoided this part of the residence, because it was too close to where the lordlings’ Confucian masters lived.
This particular path, however, did not take her past the Confucian masters’ courtyard, and she had no reason to suppose Shao-ye would ever visit old Mrs. Mu-he. But as she passed by the front gate of Mrs. Mu-he’s courtyard, a man came out.
Shao-ye. She immediately bent her neck and walked even faster.
“Halt,” he ordered.
There was no one else on the path. She stopped.
“Come back here.”
Slowly she complied, keeping her face down. What was he doing in Mrs. Mu-he’s courtyard? Of course, she should have remembered: Mrs. Mu-he had a new maid, a plump, pretty girl.
“I wasn’t here today. Do you understand?” he said softly. “You never saw me here.”
Ying-ying understood. Shao-ye had been in considerable trouble last month. Apparently he had become enamored of a young concubine of one of Da-ren’s friends. That was fine—nothing made a middle-aged man happier than to have a woman who inspired lust all around. But the lordling went several steps beyond. He sent her gifts. He proposed rendezvous. That had infuriated the Da-ren’s friend and had put Da-ren into an unusual display of rage. Shao-ye was supposed to be on his best behavior now, not going around trysting with maids.
“Yes, Young Master.”
“Good. Go.” He waved an imperious hand.
She bent her knees slightly and left, exhaling in relief.
“Stop. Turn around,” he commanded anew.
What now?
“Lift up your face.”
“This humble maid does not dare.”
“I grant you permission. Lift up your face.”
Her jaw clenched tight, she raised her face but kept her eyes downcast. He sucked in a breath. “Lovely. Most lovely. Who are you? How have I never seen you here?”
She was a little short of fourteen, but very tall for her age. And since her monthly flow started the year before, her chest had begun to burgeon in an embarrassing fashion. She could easily be mistaken for someone two or three years older.
“I’m Bai Fu-ren’s daughter.”
Mother’s name took a moment to register with him. “I’d heard she was the most beautiful woman. But her daughter rivals her.”
“Young Master is too generous with his praise.” What rotten luck. Why did he have to be here today? She had taken so much care to never cross his path.
“Not at all. You are far more exquisite than that Peony Petal Minister Chao is so proud of. Fairer, too.”
Ying-ying cursed inwardly.
A young lackey came running. “Da-ren is looking for you, Young Master. You had better make haste.”
He swore. But he didn’t leave immediately. He stared at Ying-ying some more—and for good measure trailed a fingertip along her cheek. “Now that I know Bai Gu-niang lives here, and that her beauty shames the spring blossoms, I hope to see much more of her.”
She broke into a run as soon as he turned away. She must wash her face immediately. “Where have you been?”
Da-ren. Ying-ying had already sprinted around the corner; now she froze—until she realized that Da-ren wasn’t address her, but his son.
“Just…just out walking,” stammered Shao-ye.
“And when did you develop that habit?” Da-ren snapped. “Whose courtyard is that?”
No one said anything for a long moment. Then the young lackey answered, his voice not quite even, “That would be the majordomo’s.”
The slap reverberated in the walled alley. “You dare lie to me? That’s Mrs. Mu-he’s or I’m a Han.”
Another slap, even louder. Shao-ye moaned.
“Is this how you teach your lackeys? You are to give them moral guidance, not signal them to lie.”
“He lied on his own. I didn’t tell him to do it.”
This time Da-ren slapped him twice. “Shut up. You, go in the courtyard and bring out everyone.”
“Yes, Da-ren.” The lackey’s voice trembled. “Right away.”
Ying-ying smiled grimly. This promised to be good. There was chaos in the courtyard: Mrs. Mu-he demanded to know what was happening, and why was everyone headed outside just when she was getting ready for her bath.
Distant knocks came. Someone was rapping on a courtyard gate, but not gaining admission. The knocks became louder and more impatient. “Anybody home?” a sullen voice shouted.
Was the lackey knocking on the door of Ying-ying’s courtyard? If so, why hadn’t Amah answered? Where was she?
Ying-ying ran again.
The manservant had let himself into the courtyard and now stood before the door of the reception room, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
He turned around as soon as he sensed Ying-ying’s approach, the same servant who had refused her the sweet walnut soup years ago. “Bai Gu-niang? What’s going on? Why is there no one to take this food? I can’t stand here forever. My joints suffer enough without having to shiver in the cold.”
Usually lunch never came so early to their courtyard—but she’d heard the majordomo’s headaches had become much less frequent, thanks to Amah’s ministrations. Perhaps this was another way of repaying her.
Ying-ying put on a conciliatory smile. “Master Keeper Po,” she said sweetly. Only the majordomo was properly addressed as Master Keeper. But all the menservants, especially the older ones like Po, adored the elevation of their meager office. “Master Keeper, so sorry you had to wait out in the cold. My amah must have been called away—you know how everyone always needs her to brew a bowl of medicine.”
She opened the door and quickly glanced inside. Amah wasn’t in the reception room. “Here, I’ll take it from you.” She took the double steamer. “Please wait a moment.”
She went to the next room and retrieved a small sealed urn of eau-de-vie from a bottom cabinet. Da-ren had kept a number of them with Mother. Now that they were without ready access to coins or silver ingots, the liquor had become their currency.
“Here, Master Keeper, this will keep your joints smooth.” She pressed the spherical earthen urn into his hands. “Thank you for your trouble.”
Po’s grin made his eyes di
sappear. “Bai Gu-niang, I’ve always told everyone you are the nicest, most generous girl.”
A whimper of pain, barely audible, came from the inner rooms. Ying-ying’s stomach dropped. But she widened her smile. “Master Keeper leave well.”
“Many thanks, Bai Gu-niang. I’ll set aside some sweet walnut soup for you next time.”
Amah was on the floor of the innermost room, her arms under her, her legs still half-stuck in the cross-legged position, as if she had simply toppled over from her bed in the middle of a set of chi exercises.
“Master!” Ying-ying cried.
She ran to Amah, turned her over, and gasped at the blood on her face, her clothes, and the floor. She wiped the blood off Amah’s chin. “What happened? Who did this to you? How badly are you hurt?”
Amah’s face twisted in pain. A long moment passed before she could answer. “Get me back up into the lotus position.”
Ying-ying lifted her and put her on the bed. But Amah couldn’t hold herself in lotus position. Ying-ying settled behind Amah and held her straight by the shoulders, her knees on either side of Amah’s to keep her correctly aligned.
On a hunch, she took Amah’s wrist and felt her pulse. She didn’t know enough about to diagnose diseases, but Amah’s wildly erratic pulse was clearly indicative of severe internal ills. “What’s the matter? Has your chi gone all awry?”
Practitioners of exterior martial arts, like the lordlings’ instructor, at most risked injury to skin and sinew. But those who delved into the interior arts, who sought to harness their chi, treaded a much more precarious path.
The more one manipulated and strengthened one’s chi, the greater care one must take to keep it under control. The masters understood the challenge and were always diligent. But sometimes mishaps could not be avoided. A serious injury, such as the one Amah had sustained, could wreak havoc on chi: fragment the flow, damage the channels, and make it forever afterward difficult to control.
“Put your hand between my shoulder blades,” Amah whispered hoarsely. “Guide my chi, if you can.”
Amah had done it for Ying-ying before, when Ying-ying had minor troubles with circulating her chi fluidly. She had simply put her hand on Ying-ying back and, with a small infusion of her own chi, solved the problem.
Ying-ying bit her bottom lip. She put her hand where Amah told her to—and groaned. It was a catastrophe. No wonder Amah had spewed blood. Her chi rampaged like an angry beast. At the thought of having to tame that, Ying-ying’s palms shook.
Gingerly she pushed a trickle of her chi into Amah’s system, praying to all the gods and bodhisattvas that she knew what she was doing. She didn’t. Not at all. This task was beyond her meager skills.
But she hadn’t counted on Amah’s expertise. As the new flow entered, Amah used it to calm and nudge her own chi into a more regular circulation.
“Don’t stop until I tell you, or you might kill me.”
Ying-ying perspired. The pressure of the situation made her eyes bulge and her teeth chatter. Concentrate, concentrate, she told herself. Breathe. Pretend this is nothing more than a regular morning chi exercise. Keep your own internal flow fluent. Keep it up. Keep it up. Don’t falter now. Don’t kill her. Whatever you do, don’t kill her.
An aeon passed before Amah said, “Remove your hand.”
Ying-ying felt as empty as if all her marrow had been sucked out of her. She staggered off the bed, peeled off Amah’s bloody clothes, put her in something clean, laid her down, and drew a cover over her. Next she put a few of Amah’s medicine balls in a clay pot. While the brew simmered, she washed the soiled clothes and scrubbed the floor.
When the medicine was ready, she brought it in a bowl to the bed. “Are you feeling better, Master?”
“I’ll live,” Amah rasped.
Ying-ying fed her a spoonful of the medicine. “What happened?”
Amah sighed. “I’ve been having trouble with my chi for a while—ever since that bounty hunter. I was in no shape to fight him. If only I’d been able to shake him loose…”
That was why Amah had looked sickly ever since. Ying-ying was ashamed that she had never guessed.
“Things were going badly today,” Amah went on, “I could barely hang on. I wanted to bring my chi back to center and quit, but couldn’t, so I had to keep battling with it. I had no idea how long it was taking—I was concentrating hard. And then that lackey came with lunch. My concentration broke when he began banging on the door.”
Ying-ying bitterly regretted the quality liquor she had given Po. She should have kicked him instead.
She fed Amah some more of the medicine. “Will you recover?”
Amah sighed again. “I don’t know. The only way to find out is to go on a long retreat.”
“You should do it. You can do it right here. I’ll stay home and make sure nobody disturbs you.”
“It isn’t possible here,” Amah said. “I cannot simply disappear for three months. People will ask questions.”
Three months! “Then you should go away for that much time,” Ying-ying said with a bravery she did not feel.
“I can’t do that either. Not immediately, anyway.”
“But you just can’t let your condition drag on.”
Amah drank nearly the entire bowl of medicine before she pushed it away. “You don’t worry. A fortune-teller once told me that if I can live past forty, I’ll live to eighty.”
That comforted Ying-ying more than she thought possible. “I’ll make you some porridge.”
It wasn’t till later in the afternoon that she realized Amah hadn’t turned forty yet—and wouldn’t do so for another six months.
Chapter 20
Departure
“Bai Gu-niang. Bai Gu-niang. Bai Gu-niang is so hard to find.”
Ying-ying hated that voice. It belonged to Big Treasure, Shao-ye’s most loyal lackey. He leered at her.
Now, on days when she had her English lessons, Big Treasure and another lackey, Little Bull, waited for her to come out of Master Gordon’s rooms. And sometimes they caught her.
“Why are Master Keepers looking for me?” She kept walking. They put themselves to either side of her.
“Always for the same reason, of course. Young Master misses you. He can’t eat or sleep for the love of you.”
“Master Keeper exaggerates. I hear Young Master hosted a feast in the Pavilion of Dainty Blossoms only three days ago.” What better way for the young profligate to celebrate a night of freedom, with Da-ren away on court business, than to carouse and debauch in one of Peking’s premier houses of pleasure?
Big Treasure didn’t miss a beat. “It was for the sake of appearance. He sighed and pined for you all night. Didn’t he, Little Bull?”
“He did. I felt really sorry for him,” Little Bull came in right on cue.
“So won’t you come with us to see him?” the elder lackey beseeched, his tone oily. “He’d be so happy if Bai Gu-niang only had a kind word for him.”
“I’m afraid not. My amah is most strict, on Da-ren’s instruction.”
“Your amah wouldn’t know.”
“She has her eyes on the clock when it’s time for me to arrive home.”
Ying-ying turned a corner. Big Treasure kept on her, but Little Bull ran off in a different direction—no doubt to inform Shao-ye that they had caught her en route.
For some reason, Shao-ye was intimidated by Amah. After two attempts to see Ying-ying in her courtyard, he had stopped. And Amah had smiled, too, while denying him any privilege that would conflict with the proper upbringing of a young woman. If Ying-ying could make her way home, she was safe. She wished Amah would accompany her. But Amah, ever fearful of being discovered by the unknown martial artist who had injured her, was reluctant to venture far afield from their own courtyard.
“Bai Gu-niang really is so heartless?” Big Treasure’s tone was losing its false obsequiousness.
Ying-ying said nothing. The abuses would come now. Big Treasure was noth
ing if not predictable.
“Bai Gu-niang can’t be so obtuse, can she? Young Master’s desire is a compliment to her. Who is he? He is a cousin to the Son of Heaven. The dowager empress herself is taken with him.
“And who are you? We don’t even know. Your mother was once a whore—that everyone knows. What’s the daughter of a whore got to be so proud about, I ask you?”
It would be so easy. One direct swipe across the face and he’d go down like a straw man. A few taps on strategic points in his body and he’d writhe as if tortured by the agents of hell. Amah was not unfamiliar with the darker side of martial arts, and neither was Ying-ying.
“If you serve Young Master well, he might ask Da-ren for you,” Big Treasure went on, oblivious to his peril. “If you go on being so obstinate and ungrateful, Da-ren might just wash his hands of you and give you to the likes of us.”
Then wouldn’t you have a nasty surprise coming. But Ying-ying kept her lips tightly clamped. There was no point in saying anything back, none at all.
“Who feeds you? Who clothes you? Who gives you a roof over your head? Da-ren. And you refuse to be nice to his son. I’ve never seen such ingratitude. And from a whore’s daughter.”
And so the repetitions began. The walk was long enough that Big Treasure would repeat himself three or four times by the time Ying-ying slammed shut the gate of her courtyard in his face.
“Bai Gu-niang, please stay your step.”
Shao-ye. Ying-ying balled her hands into fists. Da-ren’s advisers kept a close eye on him these days. Most of the time, even when his lackeys could locate her, he couldn’t get away from the advisers to come pester her himself.
She should have consulted the almanac this morning. Apparently she had chosen the wrong day to step out of her front door.
She turned around and curtsied. “Young Master.”
He smiled and advanced. A wave of his hand sent Big Treasure scurrying some distance away.
“It has been too long, Bai Gu-niang. Has Bai Gu-niang been well?” He had smooth manners. Smooth manners and lascivious eyes that scanned her up and down.
The Hidden Blade: A Prequel to My Beautiful Enemy (Heart of Blade) Page 21
