by Cindy Pon
Peng pronounced the phrase for her, enunciating slowly. “You say it,” he told her. He spoke the phrase again, and she watched his lips purse together, heard the strange rolling sound of his tongue.
She tried to repeat it.
A smile flitted across his mouth; then he cleared his throat. “The roll of the tongue is the hardest to learn. We don’t speak like this in Xian.”
And so they spent the next hour. Peng proved to be a good and patient tutor, and soon she had the twenty-eight letters and their sounds memorized. Chen Yong’s head was bent over a text the entire time. They ended their first lesson with a conversation in Jiang. Amazed by Chen Yong’s knowledge of the language, Ai Ling couldn’t help staring at him.
Even the captain nodded in admiration. “I know you’ve been learning for six months, but your pronunciation is truly impressive. Well done.” He rose from his chair as Yen entered to whisper in his ear.
Peng bowed to them. “I’ll see you this afternoon for our lesson in shuen, Chen Yong? You’ll be joining us as you promised?” He slanted a look her way, and Ai Ling recited the Jiang phrase for “thank you” over and over in her mind. She managed a small nod of her head.
“I think you’ll also make great improvements in the language over the next months, Ai Ling,” Peng said.
“Thank you for teaching us,” Chen Yong replied.
“Of course. It helps me to practice as well.” He smiled and left them.
He must be wed. But if so, where was his wife? She shook her head slightly when she realized where her thoughts ran.
They converged near the bow an hour after the midday meal. Ai Ling had thought it would just be the three of them, but the pilot, Yen, was also there, along with five other crew members.
“There are many interested in learning shuen, Chen Yong,” said Peng. “And your family’s reputation has traveled far.”
Chen Yong bowed low to everyone. “It’s an honor.”
He began by showing them the basic Horse Riding stance. He had pulled a thin bamboo rod from nowhere and tapped each person on the thigh as he walked past. “Wider stance. Drop lower.” He strolled the deck with confident ease, the dazzling sunlight catching the hints of deep bronze in his black hair.
Chen Yong paused in front of her. He tucked the bamboo beneath his arm and assessed her in silence. She forced herself to remain steady. Her thighs began to burn. “What is it?” she asked through gritted teeth.
To her annoyance, he didn’t reply. Instead, he walked a slow circle around her. She clutched her spirit tight, and his gaze rippled like pinpricks across her body. Finally, he stood in front of her again. She clenched her jaw, refusing to rise a fraction, even as her legs began to tremble.
“It’s perfect.” He met her eyes for the first time that day, jolting warmth to her cheeks. He tapped the deck with the bamboo rod. “Show me how long you can hold it,” he said.
Chen Yong asked everyone else to rise and began demonstrating the first basic punch, Jade Serpent Steals Breath.
Was he punishing her? Ai Ling’s legs began to bounce like a puppet’s. She closed her eyes for a moment, lifted her chin to catch the sea zephyr across her face. The salt tang mixed with her own sweat.
“She’s risen a bit,” one of the boys shouted.
She flinched, swallowed a nasty retort.
Chen Yong threw her a glance. “Lower. Sit back into it.”
She went deeper into the stance. Sweat rolled from her hairline, trickled down her back. She tried to distract herself by watching Chen Yong as he punched his fist in one fluid pantherlike motion. The other men tried, but they looked like bumbling kittens. He strolled across the deck, adjusting the height of the men’s arms, even how they formed their fists.
The ship rose over a large swell, and she fell backward, thumping onto her rear.
Chen Yong turned and smiled, amid laughter from the men behind him. She would kill him! “Well done, Ai Ling. Join us to learn this first technique.”
She pushed herself to her feet and walked on wobbling legs to the end of the line, standing next to the boy who had snitched on her. He grinned up at her, and she narrowed her eyes. She would show this little Yam Head.
Zhong Ye peered through the peephole into the Emperor’s chamber. The Emperor was on top of Mei Gui, his body obliterating hers. He saw her feet, the toe-nails painted crimson, and one pale hand with fingernails the same color clenching the Emperor’s shoulder. Zhong Ye grimaced in distaste, but still felt a faint tingling, from phantom parts he no longer had. He smiled wryly.
Mei Gui had managed to keep the Emperor’s interest, and Zhong Ye had been relieved. Silver Phoenix had trained her mistress well. He felt an unexpected rush of pleasure when he thought about the handmaid.
He forced his mind back to the task at hand. It wasn’t like him to let it wander. The Emperor had rolled off Mei Gui, and she rose to pour him a cup of wine. He hoped she would be with child after a few more visits. When the concubine returned to the massive bed, the Emperor was already snoring. She stood at his side, her expression unreadable.
Zhong Ye wondered what she felt, what she thought. Her sole purpose in life was to please the Emperor, hope that she made herself alluring enough to catch his eye, to be bedded by him, to have strong sons. She and Zhong Ye both had sacrificed themselves in different ways to gain the Son of Heaven’s favor.
Mei Gui shivered and hugged herself. He took in her nakedness with detachment. He had been propositioned before by concubines, beautiful women who, unlike Mei Gui, would never be brought to the Emperor’s bedchamber. He had always deftly demurred, believing those entanglements to be more bad than good for his ambitions.
Zhong Ye tilted his head back and then from side to side. He had been standing for at least an hour. And he would remain there until Mei Gui was excused. She knew what she had to do: wake the Emperor and seduce him. He wondered how much longer he’d have to crouch in the secret passageway, his brow pressed to the wall, his thoughts always wandering to Silver Phoenix.
Zhong Ye was woken by the sound of the Emperor’s lovemaking. He had no inkling what time it was until he peered into the bedchamber and took note of the wan daylight filtering through the lattice windows.
They were done, and as if on cue, a sharp rap shook the doors. The Emperor said, “Enter,” and a handmaid slid the panel aside, revealing for a moment the guards in the corridor. How did they enjoy safeguarding this particular chamber? At least they did their job in shifts, Zhong Ye thought, rubbing his sore neck. But one didn’t rise to power in shifts.
The girl entered with her head bowed; she held a lacquered tray laden with fruit. Another handmaid, indistinguishable from the first in posture and dress, followed, carrying a tray with tea. Zhong Ye smelled jasmine and was thirsty and hungry at once.
The Emperor rose, and a third handmaid wrapped around his shoulders a silk robe of imperial yellow, embroidered with the symbol for longevity. He took the opportunity to pull the girl to him, pressing against her. She looked down and stood still, no fool was she. Zhong Ye contained a smile. The Emperor’s vice was obvious. The way to control him, and most likely his downfall, would be through his weakness for carnal pleasures.
Mei Gui was dismissed after she had fed the Emperor fresh slices of mango and pineapple. The Emperor liked her well enough to return the favor, and they sipped tea together at a small round table, the Emperor praising her for her beauty and Mei Gui smiling and looking demure at the right moments.
Zhong Ye was relieved when she was finally sent away. He arrived outside the Emperor’s reception chamber as a guard ushered Mei Gui out.
“Good timing,” the guard said in a gruff voice.
Zhong Ye took her by the arm. She was swathed again in the robe that he had swaddled her in the night before. She smelled of sweat and sex mixed with the delicate perfume of roses. He swallowed and tried not to wrinkle his nose. If he was exhausted, how did the girl feel?
“Well done, Mei Gui,” he said as
they walked through corridors lit with golden lanterns. “The Emperor is pleased with you. If we are fortunate, he’ll continue to ask for you.”
“Thank you for choosing me, Master Zhong. I’ve done my best, remembering everything that Silver Phoenix has taught me,” she said in a quiet, determined voice. The determination was what surprised him. Perhaps she was more clever than he had given her credit for.
He led the concubine back to her quarters. Silver Phoenix was waiting. She took Mei Gui’s hand and guided her into the bedchamber. Zhong Ye followed, although he had no reason to. Their business was done.
“Did you have any further need for us, Master Zhong?” Silver Phoenix asked as she sat her mistress in front of the mirrored dressing table. “My mistress has had a long night.”
Zhong Ye almost snorted. “Indeed. She did admirably. The Emperor has been pleased, as am I. You taught her well.” A hint of a smile lingered at the corner of Silver Phoenix’s small, full mouth. He caught himself staring. “May I speak with you alone in the reception hall, Silver Phoenix?”
She turned to her mistress, who nodded, and they stepped out into the cramped hall together.
“Yes?” Silver Phoenix tilted her face to his, and he saw how dark her eyes were: nearly obsidian.
He was flustered and caught off guard. Beautiful women surrounded him, but none had ever held his attention until now. “I—I wanted to thank you for working so well with your mistress. The closer she becomes to the Emperor, the more favor will be bestowed on us all—”
She raised a hand, and the scent of jasmine drifted to him. “I understand very clearly, Master Zhong. This is my life’s work now, to help my mistress rise in rank. Can I count you as an ally?”
Zhong Ye laughed, he was so surprised. “As long as you heed my advice. I think we all want the same thing.”
She inclined her head, the silver ornaments pinned to her thick braids catching the morning light. “A peaceful morning, Master Zhong.”
It was only after she had disappeared back into the bedchamber that Zhong Ye realized he had been dismissed.
The court had convened for more than two hours, and though protocol dictated that each courtier, adviser, and diplomat stand still in the presence of the Son of Heaven, Zhong Ye heard more shuffling and mumblings as the morning dragged on. Only two months had passed since he had been promoted to adviser, and already his position had shifted from the back of the hall to the middle. The Emperor had been pleased with Mei Gui, and their trysts had continued.
Zhong Ye surveyed the throne hall now. Red columns throughout the massive chamber supported the high wood-beamed ceiling. A crimson carpet shot from the carved dragon doors to the throne, which was raised on a dais. The Emperor sat on his elaborate gold lacquered chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest. An ornate screen, gilded in gold with a clouds-and-lotus motif, towered behind him. Zhong Ye wondered if the Emperor had allowed anyone to hide there that morning, to eavesdrop on the session.
The entire court turned in unison when a latecomer stepped through the massive double doors. A pleasant jingling, like bells, announced his arrival. Taller than most, Zhong Ye was afforded a perfect view of the man, a foreigner, of middle height and thin. His hair was so light it appeared silver. The room began to hum, until the Emperor rapped his fan against the throne.
The silence that followed was immediate. The foreigner strode down the crimson carpet to the Emperor, a delicate chiming punctuating his every step. As he walked past, Zhong Ye saw that the cloth belt tied around his waist was strung with silver objects of various shapes. He wondered if they were solely for decorative purposes. Some of them were shaped like tools or keys.
The foreigner dropped to his knees and pressed his brow to the ground, as was customary. “I am Yokan from the kingdom of Paan, Your Majesty, here to pledge my allegiance and service.” His speech was deeply accented but understandable; his voice, reedy.
Paan. It was a wonder he had survived the journey. Zhong Ye knew very little about the frigid kingdom and observed the diplomat with a keen eye.
“Rise.” The Emperor waved his hand, and Yokan stood.
“No one sent word that we were to expect you, Yokan from Paan,” the Emperor said, his dark eyes heavy lidded. He was reaching his limit of official duty and was ready for food, wine, and his choice of girls, followed by a long afternoon sleep.
“Alas, the ship that was to bring word never made it, Your Majesty.” Yokan stood bamboo straight, his pale hands clasped before him. Zhong Ye noticed for the first time the silver rings looped into his ears.
“That’s unfortunate. And why have you come? To establish trade between the two kingdoms? To teach us your culture? To spread your gods’ words?” The Emperor actually sneered as he rubbed the sharp beard at his chin, something new that boosted his vanity.
Yokan bowed. “I am here as a diplomat to learn as much as I can from your kingdom and its culture, Your Majesty. And in return may be able to offer you—”
The entire court leaned forward. Impressed by the foreigner’s theatrics, Zhong Ye lifted a brow.
“—eternal life,” he said finally, his accent making the declaration that much more dramatic.
The court erupted as the Emperor sat back in his throne. Yokan remained with his head bowed, his expression impossible to read.
The court dispersed after that, with all of them chattering as they exited the hall. The Emperor had invited Yokan to his study to discuss the matter privately. Only two of his top advisers and the usual array of guards remained. Zhong Ye approached the throne just as the Emperor was rising from his seat.
He dropped to his knees beside the diplomat, who smelled of spiced cologne. “Your Majesty, I humbly offer myself as a guide to Master Yokan while he’s staying within the palace.”
The Emperor laughed. “And what makes you think such a task would be given to someone as low ranked as you, Zhong?”
Zhong Ye pressed his nose to the floor. “I can prove myself, Your Majesty.”
“Indeed, you already have.” He could hear the smile in the Emperor’s voice.
“It would be good to have a guide,” Yokan said. “I’m grateful for Master Zhong’s kind offer.”
Zhong Ye held still.
“Very well then, your first friend here in Xia, Yokan. Now, let’s discuss this incredible claim of yours.” The Emperor stepped past Zhong Ye, and Yokan turned to follow. “Make certain you are available to see Yokan to his quarters after our talk,” the Emperor said.
Zhong Ye didn’t rise. He waited until he could no longer hear the tinkling ornaments on Yokan’s sash. But he smiled the entire time.
Two hours later Zhong Ye was still waiting outside the Emperor’s private study. The guards didn’t move or talk and never bothered to acknowledge his presence. He was used to standing for long intervals and was as motionless as they were. Through the door panels, he could hear low murmurs and, on occasion, a hearty laugh from the Emperor. Zhong Ye wished he could hear the conversation; his mind continued buzzing over Yokan’s claim to immortality. Surely the man lied? Zhong Ye reviewed the details, remembering all he could about the diplomat, his dress, the way he carried himself. He didn’t doubt that Yokan was an intelligent and powerful man, probably high in rank within his own kingdom’s court. Why had he really been sent to Xia?
The dragon panels opened, and Yokan appeared, his gray wool robes dull and out of place next to the Emperor’s richly embroidered tunic. He kept his head bowed.
“Ah, good,” said the Emperor. “Zhong is here. He’ll show you to your quarters.”
Yokan walked briskly and led the way, which amused Zhong Ye, as the foreigner had no inkling where he was going. Although Zhong Ye was taller, he had to quicken his pace to match the man’s stride.
“Tell me about yourself, Zhong,” Yokan said, his accent thick.
“I was born into a farming family, the fifth child and second son. From the province of Bai He.”
“That means nothing to
me. Tell me about yourself,” the diplomat said again.
Zhong Ye cleared his throat. “I left home at eleven years. I apprenticed with various scholars in different fields. At sixteen years, I gave myself to the Emperor’s service as a eunuch.”
The man stopped in mid-stride. “You gave up your manhood?” Yokan spoke with such distaste it was obvious what he thought of the practice.
“It was the quickest way to enter the palace and work for the Emperor,” Zhong Ye replied.
The foreigner strode forward again, and Zhong Ye turned down another corridor, forcing Yokan to backtrack and follow.
“That is a sacrifice I cannot fathom,” said Yokan when he was beside him once more.
“I don’t regret it. It’s been less than two years, and I’m already part of my Emperor’s court.” Why was he being so honest with this man? Would Yokan tell the Emperor what they discussed?
They walked through a courtyard filled with songbirds, the sunlight reflecting off their silver cages. He led Yokan to spacious quarters in the outer court. The diplomat was obviously considered important. One always knew by the accommodations.
“Tell me, who is the alchemist at court?” Yokan asked.
Zhong Ye folded his hands behind him. “There are several, each working feverishly to become the Emperor’s best and favorite.”
A smile touched Yokan’s thin lips. His eyes were so light a blue Zhong Ye was uncertain if blue was their true color. “Will you point them out to me in court tomorrow?”
He bowed his head. “Of course, Master Yokan.”
“And you? Have you any skills in alchemy?” the diplomat asked, appraising Zhong Ye openly.
“I’ve studied as much as I could on my own.” Zhong Ye had once been told he was a natural, excelling because of his curiosity and faultless memory. But he didn’t think that bragging would be a boon.
“Hear me,” Yokan said, waving Zhong Ye toward one of the seats in his grand reception hall. “I need a friend and an ear during my stay. You seem intelligent and…ambitious. Willing to learn, yes?”
