by Cindy Pon
Master Huang pulled something from his robes—a scroll. He unfurled it. “I regret having to do this. Your husband owes me a great sum. And I need to collect on it now.”
“This can’t be, Master Huang. My husband never mentioned borrowing from you.”
The merchant rolled up the scroll, knowing full well that her mother could not read what was written on the paper. “Husbands don’t divulge all matters to their wives, Lady Wen. What your husband was involved in was part of the man’s world. Nothing he would have shared with you.”
“My husband told me everything.”
Master Huang shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s my word against yours. This scroll contains your husband’s signature and seal. It’s a large sum.”
He leaned forward and whispered close to her mother’s ear. Ai Ling bit her lip to see him behave with such familiarity. Her mother remained composed, but blanched at his murmurs. Master Huang leaned back, the smug look on his face clear even to Ai Ling.
“There’s a possible solution.” Master Huang rubbed his hands together. “I’m aware there have been failed attempts in arranging a suitable marriage for your daughter. I believe she just turned seventeen? Not a young girl at the most desirable age to prospective families…” He trailed off, allowing the words to sink in. “I’m offering to take Ai Ling as my fourth wife in exchange for the money owed me. She’s a pretty girl. And seems agreeable and intelligent enough.”
Ai Ling dropped the jar. It thudded and smashed. Tea leaves scattered as she burst into the main hall.
“No, Mother, no!” She realized too late that she had shouted.
“Ai Ling!” Her mother’s pale face jerked toward her just as the merchant’s did. Ai Ling ignored him, and instead knelt in front of her mother and took her hands in her own.
“You can’t. You mustn’t. Not without Father here. Not to him.”
She knew she was breaking every rule of decorum. But if she thought her failed betrothals were wretched, being sold to this brute for birthing purposes was an infinitely worse fate.
“Ai Ling, this is unacceptable. Apologize to Master Huang.”
Ai Ling looked into her mother’s face and saw for the first time how tired she appeared, how much she had aged in the six months Father had been away. Ai Ling realized with shock that her mother’s hair was now more gray than black.
Her chest tightened with love and pain. She rose and turned to the merchant. “I’m sorry for my outburst, Master Huang. I just don’t want—”
“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Master Huang interrupted. “You’re a financial burden to your mother. An extra mouth to feed. An extra body to clothe. You are an embarrassment to your family, loitering about at seventeen years when other girls your age have already borne children.”
Ai Ling’s face grew hot; the fire spread to the tips of her ears and roots of her hair. But Master Huang was not finished.
“Your only saving grace is that pretty face. You’re too tall for my taste, but I can overlook this fault. I held your father in high esteem, despite the scandal at court. I offer you my home out of generosity and in fondness for an old colleague. Consider yourself fortunate. That face won’t be pretty forever.”
Ai Ling felt rooted to the floor, unable to turn her gaze from the merchant. Master Huang misunderstood and smiled, revealing teeth stained from pipe smoking. He winked at her.
“You have a temper. But nothing that can’t be tamed. One suckling babe at each teat should do the trick.” The man threw his head back and roared at his own wit.
Ai Ling jabbed her nails into tight fists, clenching her teeth until her jaws ached.
“Consider my offer, Lady Wen. I’ll give you two days. It is I who is doing you a favor.” Master Huang rose and snapped open his fan before stepping out into their courtyard, unescorted. He did not look Ai Ling’s way again.
That evening, they dined in strained silence. Ai Ling knew her mother would not succumb to Master Huang’s coercion. She was certain he lied about the debt, and although she could have read everything written in that scroll, it would not have changed the situation. Master Huang fraternized with all the officials in their small town, plying them with wine and gifts. It was his word as a powerful merchant against theirs, two helpless women. Without Father, there was no one to protect them.
Master Huang was rich and did not need more money. He wanted her…to make a son for him. The thought brought a sour taste to her mouth, a mixture of panic and fury. She would leave home before ever stepping into his bedchamber. She could go look for her father and bring him back. She wanted to both laugh and cry—the idea was ludicrous. But she refused to stay, to suffer that brute’s bullying.
Mother would be so worried…but it would free her from Master Huang’s manipulations. He knew they had no money. And there would be one less mouth to feed.
In the late hours, as the crickets chirped outside her window, Ai Ling sat on her bed, a packed knapsack beside her, and surveyed the cozy room by lantern light. Taro climbed in to join her. He nuzzled her hand, tilted his head to have his chin scratched.
“I’m leaving, Taro, to bring Father back. You’ll have to look after Mother while I’m away.” She stroked the short gray fur down his back and trailed her fingers along the tail. “I’ll miss you.” She kissed the spot between his pointy ears.
Yet she didn’t move from her bed, feeling her heart hammer wildly. She grasped the jade pendant in her hand. Was she doing the right thing? Should she be the dutiful daughter, offer herself to Master Huang, and take the burden off her mother?
Ai Ling couldn’t do it.
She picked up her ink stick and slowly ground it against the square stone. What could she say to Mother to make her understand? After a few moments, with a trembling hand, she dipped her brush and wrote two sentences in clear, simple script.
I have gone to search for Father. Do not worry for me.
She signed her name and placed the ink stone over the small note. She hoped her mother could decipher the simple characters. And if she couldn’t, Master Huang would.
She blew out the lantern and slid the lattice panel shut behind her. The flat-faced mutt next door erupted in wild barks, and Ai Ling froze, her nape damp with sweat. Silence returned as she hurried past her mother’s dark quarters, the tears flowing freely now.
Forgive me, Mother.
She eased the courtyard door open and stepped into the silent alley. She dared not look back; Ai Ling walked as fast as she could toward the moonlight. And away from everything she had ever known and loved.
CHAPTER THREE
Ai Ling traveled onward through the night, guided by the half moon. The evening air was pleasant, still warm from the heat of the day. Yet she walked with her arms folded tightly around her, the hairs on her neck rising each time she heard the rustle of leaves or soft scrape of dirt. Ai Ling did not have the courage to look back, imagining dark shapes following her—Master Huang on a horse in pursuit or even lost ghosts, seeking the warmth of a living being.
She cursed herself for ever reading The Book of the Dead. She had found it just before her thirteenth birthday, hidden near the back of her father’s desk drawer, while searching for a new ink stick. Father had discovered her crouched over the enormous book, riveted. He had slammed it shut, forbade her to read it. She had never seen him so angry. Ai Ling had stumbled across the book again months later, this time tucked on the highest shelf, hidden behind other volumes. She pulled it down, knowing her father wouldn’t be back from his tutoring for hours. It was filled with tales of strange creatures. Truth or myth, she knew not. But the descriptions fascinated as much as revolted her. She’d studied it on the sly for years, and was being punished for her transgression this shadow-filled night.
She trudged on until the world began to take shape, dawn defining her surroundings. Her feet ached and her head throbbed. Exhausted, she finally curled up behind a hedge on the side of the dirt road and fell asleep, just as all else was waking up ar
ound her.
The sound of clopping hooves woke Ai Ling. She sat up and saw the rear of the powerful animal. A man was astride the horse’s back, and Ai Ling crouched behind the hedge until the road was deserted. She brushed off her clothes and followed him. He was most likely headed to the next town.
Her stomach rumbled. By the height of the sun, it was near midday, and she hoped for a hot meal. She had a handful of coins saved. Mother had surprised her with birthday cash wrapped in a red satin pouch. She had found the gift resting against a sweet bean bun by her pillow on the morning of her seventeenth birthday.
She guessed it would take at least eighteen days to reach the Palace of Fragrant Dreams, assuming she did not become lost along the way. Ai Ling took a long swallow of water from her sheepskin flask and quickened her pace, imagining the dishes at the restaurant where she would soon dine.
Within the hour, she caught sight of the tall mud-colored walls surrounding Qing He. The gates to the city were wide open and kept by two guards. The tall one with a beaklike nose studied her with curiosity, while the other, more rotund guard did not bother to glance up. She released a long breath after she passed through the gates.
The main street clamored with throngs of people. There were other girls alone among the crowds. Their simple dress and unadorned hairstyle—braids wrapped tight on each side of the head—were clear indications of their servant status. Ai Ling had dressed plainly as well, her one long braid tucked inside the back of her tunic.
Qing He was bigger than the town she had grown up in. She jostled against others as she took in the storefronts of textile shops, bolts of silks and brocades gleaming in the sunlight. She ran her fingers along the smooth materials, imagining what her mother would create with the fabric.
She walked past the stationery store and quelled the urge to wander through it, knowing there would be endless rolls and sheaves of rice paper, bound books and journals, and elaborate seals to add to her small collection. Her father had taken her to the stationer in their town on many occasions. For her thirteenth birthday, they had selected a rectangular chop made of soapstone with a dragon perched on top. Her father had her name carved on the bottom. It became a tradition, the day of her birthday, to visit the stationer with Father and choose another seal. She had received one for each birthday thereafter, except this last one.
Turning a corner, she nearly collided with a woman balancing two baskets of eggplants on each end of a pole slung across her shoulders. The path immediately narrowed, and the noise of hawkers selling their goods simmered to a hum. The smell of steamed buns and dumplings drew her. The wooden sign hung above the restaurant doors read LAO
SONG. She climbed the stone steps and went inside.
The enormous size of the place surprised her. It was two stories, and many patrons sat above on the second-floor balcony. A rowdy midday crowd crammed the first level. She had difficulty finding a table but finally chanced on one tucked in the back corner, with a view of the entire dining area. Dishes from the previous patron’s meal remained.
A server girl who looked her own age approached to clear the dirty dishes. She wore her one braid coiled on the top of her head and a plain pink tunic over gray trousers.
“What’d you like?” The girl barely flicked a look at her.
“Steamed dumplings, please. And some tea.” Ai Ling pressed her palms to her empty stomach.
Her server wiped the table clean with leftover tea and hefted the bowls and dishes away with graceful ease. Ai Ling watched her retreating back and wondered what her life was like. Was she Lao Song’s daughter? The girl was not wed, by the way she wore her hair.
Ai Ling came from the privileged scholarly class, yet she wouldn’t mind working in a restaurant if it meant she could stay close to her family. She fingered her red satin pouch.
It was not long before the girl came back with a plate of steaming dumplings. She placed a dish of chili paste and ginger in front of Ai Ling, as well as two small ceramic jugs. “Soy sauce and vinegar,” she said. “I’ll bring your tea.”
Ai Ling fixed her bowl with the condiments, just so. Lots of vinegar, light on the ginger and soy sauce, with a dab of chili paste. She swirled the concoction with her eating sticks and bathed the first dumpling. After making sure every bit of it was soaked, she took her first bite. Perfect.
Her server returned with a pot of tea, which she poured into a small chipped ceramic cup.
Ai Ling finished the dumplings too soon. She sipped her tea, observing the other patrons. They were mostly men, and the women who were present were accompanied by men. She was grateful for her corner seat.
A song filled the air. She looked toward the enchanting voice and spotted the singer a few tables down. The woman stood facing an audience of five men, her hair swept up in elaborate loops and adorned with red jewels. They winked in the sunlight that filtered through the open shutters above. She wore a flowing sky blue dress with wide sleeves. Ai Ling had guessed she was of high status, an official’s concubine perhaps. Then she noticed that the woman’s top was sheer, very clearly revealing three breasts.
Ai Ling’s empty teacup clattered to the wooden table.
A Life Seeker.
She remembered the drawing from The Book of the Dead—a beautiful woman elegantly dressed, her gossamer top showing the contours of her three breasts. The caption below had read:
Emperor Shen of the Lu Dynasty issued a mandate which forced all Life Seekers to wear sheer tops, denying them the right to bind their breasts, and therefore baring their identity to the world. It served as warning for most, but an enticement for some.
She had reread the paragraphs so often she’d memorized the passages. It was as if she held the book in front of her.
The Life Seeker can be easily distinguished by the extra breast on her sternum. The tips are dark blue, as are her tongue and womanhood. Legend has it that the extra breast was given to replace the heart she does not have. The creature is not mortal and maintains life through copulation with men. Each time, she steals a breath from her victim. Her lovers will find her highly addictive, and most will die without intervention. A monk is needed to bless the concoction given to the victim, who must be locked in his own chamber and guarded for sixteen days and nights. If he breaks free to meet with the Life Seeker, the cycle begins anew. The creatures never grow old as long as they are bedding a mortal on a daily basis. If for some reason, access is denied to the Life Seeker, she will age near a decade each day she goes without, until she finally withers.
The Life Seeker stopped singing and sashayed back to her audience. The men thumped the table with their fists in approval and lifted their wine cups in salute. One man pulled her into his lap, nuzzling her neck, then holding out a string of gold coins. The seductress took the gift and whispered in his ear. Blue tongue flicking, her eyes locked with Ai Ling’s for one brief moment. Ai Ling wrenched her gaze away, both enthralled and embarrassed.
The man turned his head, and she caught a glimpse of his face. Master Huang! Ai Ling twisted so her back was to him. With an unsteady hand, she fished a silver coin from her satin pouch and put it on the table. She weaved her way through the crowd of diners, her chin tucked, stumbling once over her own feet. She slipped through the carved double doors and nearly slammed into someone.
“Hello, pretty. Where are you rushing off to?” A man blocked the way. He was squat, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. He leered up at her, a gaping hole where one front tooth should have been. She could smell the liquor on his breath.
“It isn’t safe for pretty ladies like yourself to travel alone, you know. You need a friend with you. A friend like me.” The man wiggled his unkempt eyebrows, his face twisted in a lewd sneer.
Ai Ling tried to keep her features blank. “I do have friends, sir. They are inside. I stepped out for some fresh air.” She smiled and hoped her lie was convincing.
“Is that so? I better stay and guard you until they come out.” He squinted at her. “Why don�
�t we take a nice stroll while we wait? Are you from up north? So tall and pretty…”
The man reached out one filthy hand, making a grab at her wrist.
Such a tasty morsel.
She heard him. But he hadn’t spoken aloud. Ai Ling stumbled back, her stomach seizing as if she’d been kicked. Warmth flared at her breast, and she looked down—the jade pendant glowed so bright it appeared white.
The man lurched toward her, but stopped to slap his neck. He grimaced in surprise. She heard an insistent buzzing. A large insect hovered between their faces.
“Curse of a rabid—oww!” More wasps appeared from the eaves above, flying straight toward him.
Flailing his arms about his head in panic, he ran into the restaurant, leaving Ai Ling wide-eyed, standing alone in the alleyway. Then she bolted toward the main street, one hand clutching the pendant, hot against her skin.
Ai Ling spent her second night in a shed. Two pigs and a few chickens kept her company, their scratching and snuffling noises comforting her. She removed her shoes and winced from the blisters on her toes. Her hand searched for the jade pendant in the dark, and she ran a fingertip over its ridges. It had burned bright, sent the wasps to her attacker. She couldn’t have imagined it. Had the monk blessed it before giving it to Father? She closed her eyes and saw her father’s face. She wrapped her arms around herself and fell asleep with her back pressed against the pigpen.
The crowing of a rooster startled her awake. She had not seen the creature last night, his chest puffed out now as he strutted among his hens. Light filtered through the cracks of the wooden shed.
She rummaged through her knapsack and retrieved a slice of dried mango and two salted biscuits. Everything tasted stale. Her empty stomach rumbled. But all she could do was fill it with the last swallows of water from her flask.
