The Lotus Palace

by Jeannie Lin

  “First he’ll be wed,” Yue-ying said, the words weighing heavy on her. “And soon. It wouldn’t be appropriate to take a concubine first before a wife. And then, of course, he must take time to be with her, to start their family. During all this, there is nothing for me to do but wait.”

  “You can come back to the Lotus with me,” Mingyu offered. “Time will pass quickly.”

  “How much time? One year? Two? When he returns, will his wife already have a son? Will he even remember who I am?”

  Her sister couldn’t answer those questions for her, so Yue-ying made her own attempt.

  “He will remember,” she said, confident in Bai Huang’s regard. “But what he’ll remember is the Yue-ying I was before the waiting and the hoping. And he’ll remember the Bai Huang he was, before the duty and the sacrifice. But still, I’m grateful.”

  By now, the word was bitter on her tongue. She had said it too many times. She smiled ruefully at Mingyu, who leaned toward her. Side by side, they touched their heads together, Mingyu nudging playfully. “This is why you should never love a man too much. It will drive you mad.”

  Bai Huang glanced over to them, his smile crooked. A ray of light broke through the haze.

  “If it had been you that Lord Bai wanted, would you go with him?” Yue-ying asked.

  “Of course. He’s wealthy and of a tolerable disposition.”

  “Surely you must have received many offers of redemption.”

  Mingyu laughed. “Not as many as one would think, Little Sister. There are less expensive and easier concubines to manage.”

  It had taken the incidents of the past year to bring them close enough to speak this way.

  “Why did you not become General Deng’s concubine when he offered?” Yue-ying asked, hoping that Mingyu would finally answer. At first Yue-ying had assumed it was because of her, but Mingyu was crafty enough to bring her along as her maidservant if she had wanted to. She had managed to manipulate the general’s household into helping her stow Hana away on his property.

  “I have my own reasons,” Mingyu evaded. There was a brief pause before a sly look replaced her serious one. “But it certainly wasn’t because I loved him too much.”

  * * *

  THEY CROSSED OVER the bridge to join Bai Huang and Taizhu, who were conversing beneath one of the canvas tents. Thick rugs had been laid out over the grass. The two men sat on the ground before low tables filled with food and wine.

  “I would recommend you to the Hanlin Academy,” Taizhu was saying. “But you would be trapped inside record rooms and libraries, bent over one edict or another. I have a sense Lord Bai is a bit too...energetic to find such work fulfilling.”

  “You think I lack focus, old man.”

  Taizhu snorted gleefully and gestured for the servers to pour more wine. The old man’s disposition toward Bai Huang had improved considerably since Bai Huang saved his life.

  Mingyu took over the task of serving wine and then took the seat beside the historian while Yue-ying sat beside Bai Huang. He touched his fingertips to the back of her hand beneath the table.

  “This is like being back at the Lotus,” Taizhu proclaimed. “With old friends.”

  “Yet so much has changed,” Mingyu said. She glanced across the table to Yue-ying and Bai Huang. “Most of it for the better.”

  She had never loved her sister more.

  The greatest change was that she was now part of the conversation.

  “Hana has come to live at my residence,” Taizhu told her solemnly. “I intend to adopt her as my daughter.”

  “That is so very kind of you,” Mingyu murmured. “And noble.”

  The old scholar and Mingyu exchanged a look between them. There had been many secret glances and hidden meanings between them last summer, now that Yue-ying thought of it. When Bai Huang pretended to woo Mingyu, Taizhu had lashed out at him out of a sense of protectiveness.

  The old scholar looked pointedly at Yue-ying. “Being the old disagreeable bachelor that I am, the girl will need an amah to see to her upbringing.”

  “Yue-ying is too young and pretty to become an amah,” Bai Huang protested before she could reply.

  “The flower prince returns,” Taizhu sighed, wagging his finger at him.

  “Better a prince than an old goat.”

  “Your carefree days of wine and women are over now, my friend. Soon there will be a wife to answer to and you’ll envy this goat.”

  The table fell silent at that. Yue-ying spent a long moment studying her wine cup. Everyone saw it as a matter of course that Bai Huang would be respectfully wed.

  A year ago, there was only meaningless banter between them, made more meaningless by Bai Huang’s efforts to play the fool. Now even the simplest jest took on meaning. Too much had happened since then.

  “Do you remember the slaver gang that was arrested last summer?” Taizhu went on in more sober tones.

  “Constable Wu and Magistrate Li acted decisively. The bandits were questioned before the tribunal and executed within days,” Bai Huang replied.

  At the mention of Wu Kaifeng, Mingyu’s expression darkened. She had not forgotten or forgiven how he’d imprisoned her.

  “Perhaps this unpleasant topic is not suitable for this gathering. This is a night of celebration,” Mingyu reminded them.

  “Ah, it’s just the four of us here,” Taizhu said. “We won’t speak of it again after tonight—what do you say to that?”

  This would be Yue-ying’s only chance to resolve a few lingering questions she had about the whole affair.

  “I was curious about something,” she began. “If we are to believe that the same bandits who killed Huilan also went to your house to find Hana, what could they possibly have been trying to hide that they were willing to kill for it? They were only caught because they threatened you.”

  “They threatened me in public as well,” Bai Huang noted.

  “Miss Yue-ying is right,” Taizhu said thoughtfully. “It wasn’t worth the risk for the outlaws to return to try to seek revenge on Huilan or to warn Lord Bai away from his investigations. When they knelt before the tribunal, it was evident they were nothing more than common thieves. They should have considered Hana a loss and gone about their business.”

  “Common or not, they were enough to frighten Huilan,” Yue-ying said. “Did she ever tell either of you why?”

  Mingyu shook her head. “After the drowning, we hardly spoke to one another. She never mentioned any fear of retribution. It wasn’t until her death I realized how dangerous those slavers truly were.”

  “I didn’t realize Lady Huilan was trying to escape the city either,” Taizhu admitted.

  “But didn’t you give her the silver so she could leave? I found a stash of it hidden in the temple. A portion of the silver ingots were marked the same way as the silver you gave me. That was how I knew you must have been involved somehow.”

  “It wasn’t I,” Taizhu said regretfully. “I would have helped her if I knew she needed it. The silver could have come from any merchant from Yangzhou. With the capital being a center for trade, it would be quite easy for silver to change hands.”

  “We may never know all the answers,” Mingyu interrupted, looking around at the four of them. “But we rescued Hana and the world is free of a few bad men. Let us consider ourselves fortunate and not disturb the spirits by so much talk of tragedy.”

  * * *

  BEFORE THE NIGHT was done, Yue-ying left once more to stroll through the park with Mingyu while Bai Huang mingled with the other scholars. In the final hour, the remaining guests converged along the river to float candles along the river in paper boats.

  She finally found Bai Huang waiting for her near the bridge where they had first entered the park. He sat on the bank with his arms hooked around his knees.

  He didn’t turn until she was close and his face brightened up at the sight of her. There was a stack of colored paper beside him. His cap was removed and strands of hair fell over his
face. He looked handsome and boyish and undeniable.

  She lowered herself onto the grass and took one of the sheets, laying it onto her lap as she folded it in half, then ran her fingers along the edge to sharpen the crease. She was aware of his gaze on her, as she had been the entire night.

  “How is Mingyu?” he asked.

  “She is well.”

  “You had a lot to say to her tonight.”

  There was silence between them then. Unspoken things. She kept on turning and folding until a boat emerged. The candle was tiny, no bigger than her little finger. Bai Huang lit the wick using one of the hanging lanterns and they placed the candle inside the boat before setting it afloat. Kneeling beside the water, they watched their vessel join the stream of other lights floating down the river.

  “Pretty,” she murmured.

  He reached out to her, his fingers searching for hers in the grass. Yue-ying remained still, afraid to move while she shattered into a thousand pieces inside.

  “Huang,” she began, her chest so tight she could barely draw breath.

  “When?” he asked quietly. “When did you change your mind?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe last night. Maybe just now.”

  He bowed his head and exhaled sharply, but it did nothing to expel the tension that coiled through his body. Their hands were still clasped together, but there was no warmth to the touch. She withdrew and he let her go.

  “Mingyu told me there were greater hardships than being a wealthy man’s concubine,” she said. “And that you would take care of me when she no longer could.”

  “I would,” he said fiercely. “I will.”

  There should be no question. She was a maidservant and, before that, a prostitute. She was poor and she had nothing, while Bai Huang had everything. But while Mingyu’s reasoning had spoken of an arrangement of security, Bai Huang spoke only of love.

  Love.

  Mingyu was also speaking out of love for her. Mingyu’s love was honest, refusing to ignore all the realities of their lives and circumstances. Bai Huang’s love was blind. Yue-ying wanted to be blind as well. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into his arms.

  “I always knew that our time together was an illusion. A dream.”

  “You are not an illusion,” he said, his jaw hardening. “I will not accept that and I won’t allow you to think that either. I once felt that way about the North Hamlet—that it was an adventurous and romantic place. But when I was sent away and thrown on a ship to work my hands raw with the sun on my back, I returned and saw the wine, the beautiful women, even the learned scholars with their meaningless poetry for what they were. Shadow puppets, performing an elaborate show. Why do you think I always noticed you? You were more real to me than anything else. Even though you were always trying to hide, I couldn’t look away. I wanted to know who was this girl who dressed like a servant, but seemed to own the world. You were never intimidated by who I was.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said softly. “I was always aware of who you were. I have to be. Look at Taizhu. Even as well respected as he is, he still feared retribution because of where he came from. One never forgets. The world does not let you forget.”

  “This is the same argument once more,” Bai Huang countered. “I’m not asking you to forget. Just allow yourself to think of a new life, a different life. We were happy together through the autumn and winter seasons. I know we were.”

  She nodded sadly. “We were happy, yes. But now we must think of the future. The concubine that your father keeps, you said that your family rarely speaks of her. She barely exists to you. Your family would always think of me as a servant. Or even worse, they would think of me as nothing at all.”

  “That isn’t true. And what does it matter what they think? That’s not how I see you.”

  She could see the anguish in his eyes, but she felt that same anguish for how hopeless the situation was. “How can it not matter? They are your family. Your blood. And I will never be family. You would become my husband, while I could never become your wife.”

  “Many men keep harmonious households with a concubine. I would strive to make you happy every day, Yue-ying. You know I would.”

  She wanted so much to believe him, but she shook her head. “If I give birth to a child, to our child, who would raise him?”

  Bai Huang had no answer for her. After she and Mingyu had been abandoned, the thought of giving her sons over to be raised by a first wife was unbearable. But she would have to if she wanted them to be recognized as legitimate heirs by his family. For this and so many other reasons, she knew she had to remain strong.

  “The Pingkang li is the capital city of mistresses and discarded women. I know in my soul what will happen if I go with you. And I want to come with you, Huang. I want to close my eyes and hold on.”

  “Then why not stay?”

  She smiled sadly. “If I felt nothing for you, then I would say yes without a care.”

  He stared at her, letting her words sink in. “That’s hardly fair,” he growled.

  “Quiet, obedient concubines can fit themselves harmoniously into a household. A jealous concubine, a possessive concubine, soon finds herself cast out onto the streets by a wife. Your wife will have claim to you, Huang, not me. And I would be envious. I would want you so much it hurts like the way it hurts now. But to stay with you, I would need to bite my tongue and become docile. I would kill these emotions until there was nothing left inside me for you to love. And I would resent you for requiring this of me.”

  “So you would rather tear us apart now than face the fear of what might happen?” he challenged.

  “I know this will happen.”

  “I think you’re afraid,” he threw back at her.

  Tears blurred her vision. She was afraid. She was afraid of the day when she could come to hate him and he would be cold toward her, all because of the choices they had forced one another into.

  “These past few months have been the happiest time of my life. Let us not fight now.”

  “We should fight.” Bai Huang threw a stone into the water. It didn’t skip, but rather it sank and took one of the floating lights with it. He was in a vindictive mood. “We should scream and shout and wail. We should fight it so hard that there’s no mistake that there is more pain in leaving than staying. Yue-ying—”

  He was breathing hard. He had learned so many clever words and they were all useless on her.

  She bit down hard on her lip and tried to focus on that small pain to keep the larger one at bay. “I don’t want our last moments together to be angry or hurtful.”

  “What if you’re with child?” he asked, his tone flat. It was a final desperate play.

  “I already know that I’m not.”

  The last of the paper boats had floated by, leaving the water before them dark. In the silence, she turned to look at Bai Huang’s face. He only gave her his profile as he stared out across the river. As hard as it was to do, she wanted to remember everything she could about him.

  “I need to go soon,” she said. There was a flutter of pale blue silk on the other side of the bridge. Mingyu knew to keep her distance.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  She leaned toward him and only then would he face her. She had never seen him look the way he did at that moment. Drained of life. He had no more fight in him.

  “One last kiss,” he said quietly.

  “And then I’ll go. No farewells. Let this be our last memory of each other.”

  “Am I the illusion now, Yue-ying?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she kissed him, softly, as she had the first time. He accepted it without moving, as he had the first time. And then she stood to go, just as she had promised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  HE WROTE YUE-YING poetry on ten-colored paper, a different color every day. Actually, it wasn’t poetry, but rather the first thoughts he had each morning, which had no rhythm or sense to them.

&nb
sp; I woke up and you were not there.

  I wish I could hear your voice again.

  Yue-ying, I miss you.

  He pursued her with the same dogged intensity with which he had pretended to court Mingyu. One night, he went to call on the Lotus Palace only to be told Yue-ying was not there and Mingyu could not see him. Madame Sun allowed him graciously to stay, which he did for hours listening to sad songs played on the pipa, hoping to catch the sight of dark, thoughtful eyes and a smooth cheek marked dramatically with red.

  I rode on a boat today and thought of you.

  I wish it were winter once more.

  There was no way, absolutely no way, wooing a woman could be harder than passing the palace exams. Yue-ying was being difficult and stubborn. And he knew that courtship games wouldn’t impress her, yet he tried them anyway.

  Amid his turmoil, Mother was already consulting an astrologer to pick an auspicious date for his wedding. Father was arranging meetings for him with influential officials across the Six Ministries. He found himself avoiding the Bai mansion, if only for a few moments of freedom before duty and obligation took over.

  The morning Huang was summoned home, he went obediently as always. His father and mother were seated in the garden, drinking tea and speaking of everyday things: the running of the household and his upcoming wedding.

  Huang meant to approach, but stopped himself when he saw Father reaching over to place his hand onto Mother’s shoulder. He would have thought nothing of the gesture, if he hadn’t caught how his father’s thumb moved tenderly upward to stroke his wife’s neck. Mother’s expression immediately softened and their eyes met. Huang stopped, realizing that he was intruding upon a moment that was private and profound.

  His parents never spoke openly of love. He had never seen them touch or exchange soft looks with one another. All he had learned from them was honor and respect and duty, which were all important qualities in a marriage for certain. But that one tiny movement, so quick he had almost missed it, told him of all the things he didn’t know of between his parents.