by Jeannie Lin
“It’s a very grueling process,” Wei-wei explained, watching from the table as Yue-ying slipped sesame cakes into the fryer. The hot oil sizzled around the round flats of dough. “Do you know if someone dies during the process, they simply take him from his cell and throw his body over the surrounding wall? Then everyone else continues as if nothing happened.”
“Wei-wei.”
“Yes?” she replied anxiously.
Yue-ying leveled a gaze at her. “Lord Bai is not going to die. The examinations are only three days long and he’s quite healthy.”
She glanced back at the cakes, turning one gently with her chopsticks to make sure they were browning evenly. Throughout the fall and winter, Auntie had taught her a new recipe every day and Bai Huang joked that he was becoming round from her cooking.
A pang of longing struck her. If this was how she felt after only three days apart, how hard would it be once he passed the exams and moved on to his new life?
She started flipping the cakes over, hoping that Wei-wei hadn’t seen the telltale emotion in her face.
“You’re right,” Wei-wei said from the other side of the kitchen. She remained far away from the stove and the crackling oil. The Classics were second nature to her, but domestic tasks were a frightful mystery. “I wonder if the questions this year will be especially difficult. The Emperor is looking to recruit talented officials, they say.”
“You can interrogate your brother yourself in a few hours.”
“Oh, no, that would only make him more nervous. The results are not announced until the end of the month. I just needed somewhere acceptable to go and clear my head. One can only wander to the temple so many times. I’ve been a poor tutor this week and Chang-min can hardly concentrate on his studies. The entire family is too anxious.”
Something about the way Wei-wei had spoken sparked Yue-ying’s curiosity.
“Is this the only place you’re allowed to go?” she asked.
“There’s the local temple or I can call on close friends of the family with Mother or...” Her voice trailed off. “There are not many places that are acceptable for an unmarried woman in public. I would think that an old maid such as myself should have at least some freedom.”
The cakes were golden on both sides now. Yue-ying fished them out of the pan and set them on a cloth to cool. Maybe she was fit to become a cook in some household, she thought wryly, since she was an old maid of twenty-two herself.
She brought a cake over to Wei-wei, who held it gingerly between her two fingers before taking a small taste. She smiled wide and took another less dainty bite. “These are good. What are they called?”
“Concubine cakes.” Yue-ying found that darkly humorous.
Wei-wei finished her cake and dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “I should go. I’ve been away for nearly two hours now. Sometimes I envy you. You can go anywhere, do anything.”
No. No, she could not.
“There are greater hardships than being the daughter of a wealthy family,” Yue-ying replied, her tone sharper than she intended.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” Wei-wei fell silent, looking embarrassed.
Yue-ying felt a little bad for reprimanding her in such a way, but it was the truth. A truth that she was all too aware of. Yet at the same time, it wasn’t as if Wei-wei didn’t have any struggles of her own.
“I suppose we all yearn for what we don’t have,” Yue-ying said, attempting to make peace.
Wei-wei smiled faintly and nodded. “They say the moon is always rounder in the west.”
* * *
THE CARRIAGE STOPPED before the gate and Huang stumbled out. His head was full of thousands of characters and his hand was stiff from holding the brush for hours upon hours. And his body ached as if he’d stayed up the entire night drinking.
Yue-ying bounded out to greet him as soon as he entered the courtyard. “Huang, how were the exams?”
He nodded, not quite an answer.
“I made your favorite dishes.” Her eyes were warm as they regarded him. She was glowing, full of life and energy, while he was ready to fall asleep midstep and crash face-first into the dirt.
“It smells wonderful.” He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand was heavy as if it were made of lead. “Let me change out of this robe.”
Plodding to his room, he sat down on the bed. When Yue-ying found him there, he didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was holding one shoe in his hand and the other was still on his foot.
“My poor, weary scholar,” she murmured, gently prying the shoe from his grasp and removing the other one as well.
He sat, limbs heavy, as she removed his cap and outer robe. Her touch was knowing and firm, while he was a puppet completely at her mercy.
“We should eat,” he mumbled.
She chuckled at that. He felt her arms circle around him and his head drawn down onto her breast, the softest, most comforting pillow he’d ever known. He tried to tell Yue-ying she was his goddess, his treasure, his butterfly, but instead he yawned wide and fell asleep.
* * *
A CEREMONY WAS held at the end of the fourth month before the steps of the main hall in the imperial palace. The statue of Ao, the great tortoise of myth, watched over the proceedings. There were over a thousand candidates gathered there, yet the courtyard was silent enough to hear the beat of a hummingbird’s wings.
The Emperor himself was in attendance, seated on his throne at the top of the steps. This was the first set of jinshi degrees he would award and it was said the sovereign had read and ranked the top candidates himself.
Each name was read aloud in order with the highest rank first. When the names in the first tier had all been announced and the second tier was halfway through, Huang felt sick to his stomach. The familiar feeling of dread loomed over him. By the time they reached the third and final tier, he had broken into a sweat.
The members of the Hanlin Academy stood in their scholars’ vestments upon the dais. Taizhu was among them. He and the historian had become somewhat friendly since the skirmish with the bandit gang. Huang tried to read the answer in his eyes, but the old ox was inscrutable.
There were examination periods where only a handful of degrees were awarded. Some years, there were none who were deemed qualified. Today there were over a hundred candidates lined up. Surely the list was reaching its end and Huang tried not to think of what it would be like to be studying for the exams a fifth time.
Finally he heard his name. His heart was pounding so fast, he thought he might have misheard, but it was repeated once more and then a third time as was customary. He moved through the crowd to take his place among the other scholars.
Huang closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun to let the warmth sink into him.
The entire family had been waiting for this moment. His time wandering the Pingkang li was over. He would be expected to secure an official appointment now, marry as his parents had intended, begin a family with the young bride he had never met.
This was the start of a new life, yet throughout the announcements and the celebration that followed Huang had a sense that he was breathing life into one dream at the death of another.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
YUE-YING SAW LITTLE of Bai Huang over the following week. The examination period was over and the pleasure houses were once again alive with banquets and celebrations. Now that Bai Huang was a graduate of the palace exams, the invitations poured in. One did not bring a mistress to such affairs, but for tonight’s event he insisted that she accompany him.
That evening’s party was hosted by the Emperor. All of the recent graduates of the palace exams were invited along with other notable officials.
“You have to come,” Bai Huang had said. “There is no one else I’d rather be with.”
He had been exuberant, happier than she had seen him for a long time, and so she agreed. She had to send a message begging Mingyu for a dress, which her sister res
ponded to promptly. By midday, a messenger arrived bearing a parcel from the Lotus Palace. Yue-ying unwrapped it to reveal an elegant robe fashioned of deep rose-colored silk.
At the bottom of the parcel, buried beneath the silk, was a bodice to be worn beneath the robe. The undergarment fit snugly around her breasts and waist to create a smooth, flattering shape without ties or loops to interrupt the lines. She was attempting to wrap the bodice around her without the benefit of an attendant when the door opened behind her.
“Let me help you.” The sound of Bai Huang’s voice resonated through her, warming her skin.
Before she could protest, his hands were gliding over her back, smoothing out the cloth. She gathered up her hair and lifted it away to make it easier for him.
“It closes in front.”
His lips were very close to her ear. “I know.”
His simple reply spoke of all sorts of illicit knowledge. His thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts as his arms circled around her. He took a long time pulling the garment in place.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen this before,” he said, his voice deepening with desire.
“It’s only a piece of cloth,” she said, but her throat was dry.
He chuckled. She released her hair and he swept it aside, bending his head to place his mouth over the juncture of her neck and shoulder where the skin was especially sensitive.
The position was unaccountably sensual, with him behind her where she couldn’t see him, performing such an intimate yet humble act. Having Bai Huang dress her was more arousing than having him undress her.
“It’s been a while,” he said against her skin. He lifted his lips and found a new spot on the side of her neck to explore. A shudder ran down her spine.
“Only a week,” she murmured.
“It feels longer. Like a lifetime.”
It was lovers’ talk, meant to be light and playful, but there was a weight hanging on every word.
“Things have been...different between us since the day of the graduate announcements,” he ventured.
“We’ve hardly had a chance to see one another, that’s all.”
She was lying and doing a poor job of it. Deflection was an art that her sister had mastered, while she was a novice.
Bai Huang was no longer the eternal student. He was embarking upon a new life now. He couldn’t spend every waking moment by her side and she didn’t expect him to, but she missed the little moments between them. The light touches Bai Huang would bestow against her hand, the small of her back. Brushing her arm as he walked by or circling her waist just because he was close and she was there. Just a single look from him and her heart would be full once more, but they couldn’t find any time even for that lately.
“Is something upsetting you?” The situation must indeed be serious for him to be asking such a direct question of her.
“Of course not.” She turned around, arms crossed over her front demurely. The gesture was out of place given that they had been living in close quarters as lovers. “Now I must finish dressing.”
He flashed a grin, more hopeful than seductive. “Must you?”
“Go,” she commanded in a teasing manner.
He reached for her once more before he left, tracing a finger along the sensitive underside of her arm. They were making a valiant effort to be as they were, as if everything weren’t changing.
She draped the outer robe over her shoulders and fixed the layers of silk in place with a pink sash wrapped about her waist. The accompanying shawl was pale yellow and so fine it was translucent. It was meant to drape and accent her figure rather than provide any warmth. The night would be warm enough.
The boldness and sensuality of the outfit was more suited to a courtesan like Mingyu than to her. Yue-ying knew the depth of her anxiety when she considered trying to hide her birthmark. It could only be done with thick layers of paste and powder and the effect was nearly as unflattering as the stain.
Bai Huang was waiting in the courtyard when she emerged from the chamber with her hair in a simple coil and only a touch of color on her lips. His eyes darkened upon seeing her and her spirits lifted.
He was wearing a black robe with a high collar and a cap adorned with the tails that signified his status as a degreed scholar.
“Why are you grinning?” he asked.
“I’m not.” She bit back her smile, though it threatened to escape.
The carriage was waiting for them in the street. As they rode beneath the darkening sky Bai Huang leaned over to her.
“Every time you look at me, you look like you can’t help laughing. As much as I like it, you have to tell me what’s causing this merriment.”
She shook her head.
“Tell,” he demanded, looking like a little boy denied.
“Look at you, then look at me.”
He did. The answer still eluded him.
“A year ago, you were more likely to be wearing a robe like mine than what you have on now,” she pointed out.
“I never wore anything that pretty.”
She lifted her eyebrows to express a different opinion. He scowled at her. When their laughter faded, he was still looking at her as if he’d never look away.
“I like it when we’re like this,” he said, his eyes alight.
It was impossible to keep her heart from overflowing at the words. She liked it too, these moments when it felt as if the world were made for just the two of them. There would be fewer of those as time went by. It was inevitable.
Summer was upon them once more. The candidates who had passed the exams would petition for official positions now. All of the banquets became opportunities for the recent graduates to impress someone important.
Not that Bai Huang needed to worry. He was related to the new chancellor and his father was a high-ranking official. His great-uncle was a renowned poet. He had been born under the most favorable of stars.
The Serpentine River Park was at the very southeastern corner of the walled city, the farthest point from the administrative halls and palaces. The river and accompanying lake had been dredged by laborers and the area created as a tranquil escape from city life. Yue-ying had never attended a banquet there, though Mingyu had spoken of it.
When they arrived, lanterns swayed from poles all along the river and the guests congregated around several grand pavilions. She could hear music floating from them. The Emperor had brought his army of court musicians and dancers to provide entertainment.
Yue-ying gasped as they came closer. There were hundreds of guests.
“Thousands,” Bai Huang corrected her when she commented on it. “It is the Emperor’s banquet.”
They crossed the wooden bridge together and became engulfed within the festivities. It was more crowded than the New Year celebration in the Pingkang li.
“Mingyu said she would be waiting for me in the Lotus Garden,” she said, almost forgetting in all the commotion.
“Old Taizhu asked to speak with me. Probably feels he hasn’t insulted me in a while and needs to make up for lost time.”
They parted with promises to find one another later. She certainly couldn’t cling to his side the entire evening while he mingled among the elite. It would be unseemly.
The garden was located to the left of the lake and Yue-ying found her sister sitting alone on a bench near the water, gazing at the blanket of broad leaves and pink-tipped flowers floating on the surface. Her outer robe was a pale blue, almost glowing in the lantern light, and there were pearls in her hair.
Mingyu looked up as she approached, patting the spot beside her on the bench.
“Bai Huang wants me to stay with him,” Yue-ying said as soon as she sat. “He wants me to be his concubine.”
Mingyu touched Yue-ying’s hair gently. “This is good. This is all we could have hoped for.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
“It is always a little sad when a woman marries.” Mingyu ran the edge of her little finger along the
corner of one eye. “She leaves her own family to join her husband’s.”
“But this wouldn’t be a marriage,” Yue-ying protested.
“For women like us, it is,” Mingyu said firmly. “Do you know the procurer who took us from our village offered marriage? He saw me at the river and told our father that he was seeking a wife for a wealthy nobleman. Instead of refusing, our father offered up that he had two daughters. People sell their children for less of a promise than what Lord Bai has offered you.”
“I know. I’m very grateful.”
Over the past few days, she was often telling herself that she should be grateful and that she should be happy. Yet why did she herself feel so lonely inside when she should be filled with joy? She had been waiting all week to speak to Mingyu about it. There were so many times when she wanted to leave the courtyard and walk back to the Pingkang li, but something had always stopped her. She didn’t know how to put her feelings into words.
“I’m afraid of what I feel for Bai Huang.” Heat rose up her face until her ears burned. “I’m afraid this is what love feels like.”
Mingyu didn’t laugh at her. She understood. “That’s unfortunate.”
Yue-ying looked to where Bai Huang was standing. He and Old Taizhu were in conversation on the other side of the lake. In his flamboyant attire, he had been eye-catching, but now, in his newly earned scholars’ robes, he took on a more serious, distinguished air. Strange how the extravagant clothing had actually detracted from his beauty. Without the distraction, he was startlingly handsome and it hurt to look at him.
From the beginning of their affair through the past year, she had felt many things. At first excitement, passion, warmth. Then she’d felt a sense of caring develop, of wanting to protect him, of pride when she saw how determined he was to succeed. Happiness when he felt happy and sadness when he was sad. But the overwhelming feeling she had now was pain. An ache had taken root in her heart and every time she looked at him, the ache only grew deeper. At times she couldn’t even remember the other feelings.
