by Jeannie Lin
“General Deng was not in Changan,” Father said before the tea was even brought out. “Our informants report that he never left his post.”
Huang frowned. “I received this information from the courtesans of the Lotus Palace.”
Mingyu’s supposed assignation with Deng at the hot springs was the reason Yue-ying had been free to roam the quarter with him. He had rather pleasant memories of those few days.
The memories faded beneath Father’s stern look. This was the man who’d had him thrown onto a naval ship when he couldn’t control his gambling impulses. His father didn’t look lightly upon distractions.
“I must have been mistaken,” Huang said. “I apologize.” Where had Mingyu been and with whom, if not with General Deng?
“No matter,” Father said. “But be careful who you trust.”
The tea came and gave them a short respite to speak of Father’s promotion. He’d been elevated in rank though he was still to be stationed in Fujian. “Too much unrest brewing along the coast,” he recounted. “The Sillan admiral whose fleet patrolled the area was assassinated several months ago. We must be vigilant or the pirates and raiders will take over once more.”
“The empire is in danger of being overrun by outlaws from all ten sides,” Huang muttered. “Even appointed officials are expected to be corrupt. It’s a fight that cannot be won.”
“Worrying accomplishes nothing. Emperor Xuanzong is dedicated to reform. All we need is more good men dedicated to the fight.” Father gestured at him with teacup in hand. “The Emperor is opening up candidacy for the imperial exams at the end of this year to recruit new talent.”
“Yes, Father.”
The implication was clear. There was only so much Huang could do until he passed the exams. Father didn’t need to point out—though he certainly had many times in the past—that every generation of their family had passed the exams and served in office. He, the eldest son of the Bai family, was currently a black mark in a long illustrious line.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, THE DICE were a blessing. Huang stood at the table and watched the numbers roll in meaningless combinations: Two, five and one. Six, three and four. Three, three and five. It took his mind away—at least it would until the candle burned out. He needed this tonight.
While the dice rolled, he sipped the weak, tepid tea the runners brought and tried to sort out his thoughts.
Huilan had been involved in something treacherous and had been killed for it. Somehow he had become caught in it as well. He didn’t understand why solving this murder had become so important to him. He only knew that he needed to do it. Other scholar-gentlemen were moved to write poetry about these women, but verses were a thin tribute to pay. Maybe he was moved to do more.
Lady Mingyu, the courtesan he had been openly courting since he’d returned to the capital, was proving to be a fox-demon. She was lying to everyone, even those closest to her. The courtesans of the North Hamlet weren’t delicate flowers begging to be rescued. They held their secrets close, and they were dangerous secrets.
And no matter how many times he’d read over the Four Books and Five Classics, he couldn’t seem to vanquish that bastard of an imperial exam.
To add to all that, Yue-ying didn’t want his gift and had thrown it back in his face.
So his thoughts weren’t exactly orderly.
He’d had certain aspirations for that hairpin he’d given her. Seeing her wearing it. Removing it carefully and laying it by the bedside while he unpinned the rest of her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders.
Now he had to think of a different gift. A better one that would put a light in her eyes and make her smile. Maybe earn him another kiss. She was so deadly serious all the time. Couldn’t she just accept a small sign of affection from him and be happy? But her life was controlled by her mistress. Yue-ying didn’t dare breathe if Mingyu didn’t let her.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be indentured to someone like that.
The dice rattled and rattled before the dealer set the tumbler down. Three fives. Hmm...he’d wagered triples that round. Happiness surged through him, as if he’d had anything to do with that triumph.
A thin man dressed in the robes of a tradesman had moved into the spot beside him at the table. Rather than placing a bet, he huddled there and stared at the numbers with a surly air. Huang spared him only a glance before placing his next bet. As the dice clattered away in the dealer’s hands the man mumbled something.
“Pardon, sir?”
“Be careful,” the stranger muttered. He was still staring at the table.
Huang made a face, bemused. “Be careful with my money, you mean?”
“With your life.”
Huang straightened, his muscles pulling tight. The gambling den wasn’t particularly crowded, but there were gamblers at every table. A quick glance showed the burly enforcer was standing near the door to the back room.
“And watch over that half-moon whore of yours.”
With that, the stranger stood and wove around the tables toward the door. Fists clenched, Bai Huang started after him.
“My lord, your money!”
The dealer’s shout brought him back to his senses. What was he doing chasing after some vagabond? Damn reckless of him. He returned to the table, but blood was still rushing in his ears. That bastard had threatened him and, worse, had also threatened Yue-ying.
The candle was still burning, but his desire to play had staled. He shoved the money forward, losing it all in a short, brutal run. It only put him in a worse mood. When he stepped out into the street, his gut was churning with anger.
The night was warm and the streets quiet. He took his lantern and started toward the Pingkang li, watching each corner warily. He had been prying in quite a few places, stirring the pot, and someone had taken offense. Someone who knew him well enough to connect him to Yue-ying. He needed to go to her right now and see that she was safe.
He heard the footsteps behind him, too out of rhythm to be an echo. Huang drew the knife he kept strapped beneath his sleeve and turned slowly and deliberately.
“Who’s there?” He lifted the lantern with one hand. His other hand gripped his knife.
To whoever was following him, he wanted to appear steady. Confident. In his time away from the capital, he’d learned how much a fight was determined in the first moments: when the assailant made the decision whether or not you were worth the trouble.
A whip-thin figure emerged from the shadows. The crooked, angular features were unmistakable, even in dimness of the lantern light.
“Gao.”
Gao held up his hands, palms out. “I mean you no harm.”
That was not reassuring.
Before Huang could reply, Gao’s wolf-eyes flicked just behind him. A knife materialized from nowhere, taking flight past Huang’s ear to embed itself into something solid. He swung around in time to see the gang of cutthroats emerge from the alleyways and unlit pockets along the street. One staggered to the ground, a knife protruding from his neck. There were four more—too close and getting closer.
Huang threw the lantern at the lead man’s head, catching the dull glint of a blade in his hand before the light shifted. The cutthroat shoved the lantern aside and Huang moved in. He went for the weapon arm, hitting at the wrist before locking the arm at the elbow.
He didn’t pause to celebrate. Instead he struck the assailant square in the face, feeling the crack of the nose beneath his fist. A broken nose wasn’t a serious injury, but it didn’t take much pressure to bring tears to an opponent’s eyes, blurring his vision.
Gao sent another knife flying. Huang didn’t have time to see where it struck; he only knew that it did from the answering grunt of pain.
“Come on!” Gao turned and fled.
The hardened killer was running, so Huang figured he’d better do the same. The remaining thugs gave chase. One of them was gaining. Huang could hear him. Then he felt the impact of
something striking against his side, tearing through cloth.
Damned fool. He’d escaped death before near this very spot. He put everything he had into it; heart pounding, muscles straining. Soon his chest felt as if it would burst, but there were no more footsteps behind him. That last lunge must have set the attackers back.
Gao slowed, but did not halt until they were back in the open streets. The lanterns of a nighttime patrol bobbed on the other side of the square. Huang stopped beside him and doubled over, gasping.
“I see you learned a few tricks, Lord Bai. You better hide that,” Gao said between ragged breaths. At least he was winded as well.
Huang’s knife was still clutched in his fist. He slipped it back into the sheath strapped to his arm, then straightened. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling along the gash in his robe with his fingers.
He hadn’t felt any pain when the knife had sliced into his clothing, but the shock of a wound could push the pain back in his mind so it didn’t emerge until later. He knew this from experience.
Huang held out his hand. It was clean of any blood. “There’s some use to wearing so many layers of silk.”
Gao snorted.
Though Huang hadn’t been wounded this time, he was still in shock. Gao had saved his life. Twice. Well, not quite. The first time three years ago, Gao had just deliberately failed to kill him.
“Who wants you dead now?” the cutthroat asked curiously.
“I don’t know.”
Gao flashed him a smile with too many teeth. “I can find out—unless you’ve gambled away your fortune again.”
What strange company he kept lately.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BAI HUANG HAD stopped coming by. Yue-ying hadn’t seen or heard from him since she had refused his gift. She didn’t mean for him to disappear out of her life and the thought that she had seriously offended him left her heartsick.
There was one night when she’d thought she had seen him. She was high above, looking down from the upper floor of the Lotus. It had been late, long past midnight. She couldn’t be certain it was Bai Huang, but the visitor was of similar height and build. His silhouette had been so familiar it had filled her with longing, but the visitor had only come to the entrance before turning to leave. The next morning, Yue-ying asked the other girls about him, but no one had an answer for her.
Without him, she continued with her daily tasks; all the while she wondered whether Bai Huang was still searching for Huilan’s killer. She hadn’t realized how her days would feel a little lonelier without him. At night, she lay awake for too long, thinking about what had happened. What she had done.
She had made it known to Bai Huang that she didn’t want his attentions. There was no use mourning for something she’d never had, she insisted to herself as she pressed her fist against the growing ache in her chest.
A week went by and she was convinced Bai Huang would never come back. How could he when she’d caused him to lose face?
A few mornings later, Yue-ying had just returned from the market when she passed by the main parlor. Madame Sun was having tea with Mingyu, but the headmistress looked up and waved Yue-ying over excitedly.
“Come! Sit with us.”
Yue-ying stepped tentatively into the parlor and took a seat beside Mingyu on the settee. Madame never asked for her to join them. Most of the time, the headmistress simply acknowledged Yue-ying’s presence with the barest of nods. Today she wore a sly grin and leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with mischief.
“You’ll never guess who I spoke with this morning.”
Yue-ying glanced to Mingyu, who was staring intently into her tea.
“A letter had come yesterday and I didn’t know what to make of it. But first thing this morning, a carriage arrived—”
“Mother, you’re stalling on purpose,” Mingyu scolded, irritated.
Madame was undeterred. “He greeted me very politely and we sat for tea. I hadn’t seen him here in a while and started scolding him about that, but he had more important matters in mind.”
“Who?” Yue-ying asked finally with an impatient exhalation.
Madame Sun grinned in triumph, having properly baited her audience. Yue-ying could see the sort of tone she had set in her days as a courtesan and banquet master.
“Lord Bai Huang.”
Madame enunciated each syllable for effect and then sat back to await a response. Mingyu’s grip tightened on her cup.
Yue-ying found it hard to breathe. It wasn’t fair that just the mention of his name could do this to her. “What did he have to say?”
Madame laughed. “He wanted to redeem you, of all things.”
Bai Huang wanted to buy her freedom?
“That’s not possible,” Yue-ying gasped.
“Foolish romantic scholar,” Madame Sun agreed. “Not even considering how it will look to his family. And not yet married either! What chance does he have of finding a suitable wife once he’s taken a woman of the brothels as a concubine?”
“Mother.” Only Mingyu could admonish the headmistress in such a way. She then turned to Yue-ying. “He did not mention this to you?”
Yue-ying couldn’t form a reply. She could only shake her head.
“Well, I told Lord Bai we would need to consider it carefully,” Madame said with a wave of her hand. “He looked quite stricken, if you ask me. Choosing his words so carefully, so nervous. And so handsome too. Ah, youth.” Madame Sun seemed delighted to be in the middle of a choice bit of gossip. “I was so afraid he was seeking a contract with Mingyu,” she said bluntly. “I would have had to figure out how to refuse him without angering him. You would never leave me, would you, Mingyu? What would the Lotus Palace ever do without you?”
“I am perfectly content here,” Mingyu said without emotion. “Why would I ever want to leave?”
Yue-ying waited for a lull in the conversation to excuse herself. Mingyu didn’t look at her as she rose from her seat and hurried up the stairs. Back in the safety of their chambers, she tried to occupy herself by dusting the sitting area, though she had just completed that chore the day before. It wasn’t long before she heard the door open behind her, followed by the silken whisper of Mingyu’s robe.
“It’s your decision,” Mingyu said quietly.
“You know that’s not true. There is no decision to make.”
A wealthy patron occasionally offered to pay off a courtesan’s debts to her foster mother. But Yue-ying was already free, or as free as a woman without family or means could be. Mingyu had bought her debt from the brothel to bring her here, something that a nobleman like Bai Huang would never have considered.
“Maybe you should go to Lord Bai,” Mingyu said.
“But you’ve warned me away from him again and again,” Yue-ying replied, puzzled.
“That was before...before he showed his feelings to be of a more serious nature.” Mingyu looked out the window, avoiding her gaze. “I won’t be here forever. I may leave one day, go somewhere far away.”
It was only a fantasy. Mingyu was too deeply indebted to the Lotus Palace to leave Madame Sun. Still, she knew Mingyu stored away money in hopes of one day being free.
“This place will take our souls if we stay too long,” Mingyu went on solemnly. “The Pingkang li never changes. The same girls are brought here, over and over. We have different faces, but we’re all the same. We’ll grow old and new ones will replace us. A hundred years ago, there must have been another Mingyu in a house just like this one.”
“I’m staying here with you,” Yue-ying said firmly. “This is all a game to Lord Bai. He only wants me when the mood strikes him and he has plenty of money to throw around. He and I haven’t spoken in over a week.”
Mingyu looked stricken. A pained expression crossed her face along with something Yue-ying had never seen before: guilt.
“He hasn’t been ignoring you. I sent him away. I refused to let him into the house, but even then he tried to write to you.” Mingyu went to
her desk and pulled out several squares of paper, dyed in the vibrant colors that scholars favored for gifting poems of love. “I thought for certain he would lose interest and go away. That he would be done with it.”
Yue-ying’s throat went dry at the sight of the papers. “Done with me is what you mean,” she said through her teeth.
Mingyu’s eyes were full of regret. “I was trying to protect you. There are so many things you don’t know, Yue-ying.”
She faltered and there was an awful silence between them. Yue-ying took in a deep breath, surprised to find that she was trembling. She had assumed Bai Huang had forgotten her, but Mingyu’s deception wasn’t the worst of it. After all of her meddling, Mingyu was now pushing her away. Did Mingyu want her to stay or not? Her changing moods were infuriating.
Yue-ying could have lashed out, but all she could summon was a cold and quiet anger that sank through her skin and into her bones. It was as if she had been thrown into a pool of black water and her very clothes were keeping her under. Any struggle only pulled her down further.
Mingyu held out the stack of letters and Yue-ying took them without a word. What had Bai Huang tried to say? The black lines meant nothing to her.
“The choice is yours,” Mingyu said softly. “I won’t interfere any longer.”
* * *
THE MEETING WITH Madame Sun hadn’t gone as Huang had planned. He had expected her to be shrewd, to claim a sudden motherly fondness for Yue-ying and name a price that was two or three times her bond. Then he had expected she would be smug. She would smile at him with a superior air, knowing he had been snared. He was prepared for all of those reactions, as long as he was able to get Yue-ying away from the Lotus Palace. She was nothing but a slave there. But the mistress of the Lotus Palace had simply smiled that secret woman’s smile and told him he would have to wait for an answer.
His other endeavor that day was also a failure. Zhou Dan had reported there were ships being secretly loaded and unloaded at night, but Huang had camped along the docks for hours, staring at the empty canal while a sudden downfall of rain kept him company.
