by Cindy Pon
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Afraid they were in trouble, the two nodded in unison. “No problems here, miss! Everything’s fine!”
She smiled. “You need to be careful.” She’d always wished for younger siblings. The short one seemed quite taken with her and grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing into round cheeks.
“They’re good for scaring away evil spirits, you know. The firecrackers,” he said.
“So they say.”
The lanky boy tucked the remaining firecracker into his dirty tunic.
“Do you know a place where I can rest and have a nice meal?” she asked.
“Yes, miss! My uncle owns the best noodle house in town. It’s this way.” The chubby boy trotted down the dusty street with his lanky friend beside him while the dog trailed behind. Ai Ling followed the trio down the road.
The boys led her to a crowded one-room shack at the end of a narrow alleyway. The noodle house décor consisted of a few rough-hewn mismatched wooden tables and stools. No panels covered the two small windows looking out into the alleyway. Ai Ling wondered how the establishment kept cats and other critters out at night. She examined the room’s edges and corners for scampering things. Seeing nothing that darted or crept, she sat down at one of the rickety tables. The scent of scallions and sour wine hung in the air.
Despite its coarse appearance, the noodle house indeed offered delicious fare, at least by Ai Ling’s ravenous standards. Her disheveled appearance and dusty attire did not draw much attention in the busy establishment. She devoured her large bowl of beef tendon noodles in peace.
She was wiping the sheen from her face, brought on from the steaming soup and chili paste, when a roar of laughter drew her attention.
“Why don’t you go back to whatever barbaric country you sailed from?” The man who spoke was nearly as wide as he was tall, and he waved a hand at the object of his derision.
Chen Yong stood next to a table of men, obviously not a part of the group from his defensive stance. When had he come into the noodle house? Had he followed her here? Ai Ling made a face at her own foolish thought. She watched him speak in a quiet tone and turn away.
“I doubt our illustrious Master Tan needs another mutt in his manor.” A dark, gaunt man with a hard mouth snickered. His friends laughed, spewing wine on one another. “Be gone, half-breed!”
Chen Yong half turned back to the group, his fists clenched. Ai Ling’s pulse quickened. He could not possibly fight so many men. She waved her arms as if she were on a sinking boat to draw his attention. But Chen Yong did not see her. She stood too quickly and her stool tilted, clattering against the floor.
Chen Yong took a step back in surprise when he saw her. She beckoned with a tiny twitch of the hand, mortified that every eye was on her. He turned, ignoring the whistles and foot stomping, and pulled a stool to her table.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his demeanor calm once more.
“Eating, of course. Their beef tendon noodles are delicious.” She nodded to the large, empty noodle bowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in search of a Master Tan. He lived in this town, at least twenty years ago.” He jerked his head toward the group of men continuing with their drink and gambling. “I haven’t had much luck getting directions to his manor.”
She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste, and Chen Yong laughed. He waved a serving boy over and ordered.
Ai Ling drummed her fingers on the splintered wooden table after his noodles arrived, trying not to stare while he ate.
“Will you tell me what happened at the lake?” he asked as he captured thick noodles in the large soup ladle.
“You wouldn’t believe me. You’d think I was crazy.” Ai Ling wished she had enough coins to splurge on something sweet—sticky rice with candied persimmons, perhaps….
“Try me.” He stopped eating and studied her with such intensity she leaned in without realizing. Ai Ling then sat back so abruptly she almost fell off the stool.
She didn’t want to talk about it, so she kept her voice low, for fear it would tremble otherwise. “I was dragged into the lake. Down deep. It wasn’t the lake anymore. It felt…ancient. Evil. This black slithering thing held me. There were hundreds more. I could hear them…in my head.” She stared into her bowl, unable to meet his gaze.
“What did they say?” he asked.
She wished he’d start eating again, before the noodles went oversoft or the broth cooled. “That my father is dead. That I broke my mother’s heart. That it was all my fault—”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.” She lifted her chin, daring him to say anything to the contrary. He did not laugh or accuse her of madness.
“I wouldn’t believe you, if I hadn’t found you on the water’s edge myself. I was going to take a different route, but…”
“But what?”
“Something drew me toward the lake. A feeling. I can’t explain it.” He leaned closer, and she caught herself holding her breath. “Do you know why this happened?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m not one to discount the unexplainable—I’ve read enough of it in the ancient texts.” He picked up his soup ladle. “Where are you headed?”
She released a small sigh, glad to be free from his scrutiny. Besides, limp noodles were not worth eating. “To the Palace. That was where my father went, six months past.”
“That’s a long journey by foot.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and waved the serving boy over again. “Bring some tea and dessert,” he said.
Ai Ling beamed.
They ate the tricolored flower—named for the pale chestnut, red date, and purple yam layered into the sweet sticky rice, steamed in a flower-shaped bowl—in silence.
“Will you accompany me today?” he asked, breaking the silence after the dessert was devoured. “To look for Master Tan?”
Ai Ling stopped mid-chew and swallowed the sticky rice too soon. She reached for her teacup and took a quick sip. “Why?”
“I know it’s a strange thing to ask.”
She studied the thick topknot on his lowered head. His hair was near black, with deep auburn accents. Like his eyes, it was a shade she had never seen.
“My younger brother insisted on joining me for this journey. I wanted to be alone. But now…” He looked up. “You’re the first friendly face I’ve seen since leaving home.”
“If you’d like, it’s the least I can do,” she said.
Chen Yong smiled at her, his serious face turned boyish. “I’m glad I followed you here.”
Her eyes widened, and he laughed.
“I’m jesting. I didn’t, truly. But somehow I wasn’t surprised when I saw you again,” he said.
He poured more tea for her. She wondered what he was thinking, but kept her spirit within herself this time.
They obtained directions to Master Tan’s manor after speaking with people in the market square. But information was difficult to gain. Most of the men stared at Chen Yong with suspicion. Ai Ling avoided the glances cast her way. She had drawn less scrutiny traveling alone. Was this how life was for Chen Yong? It took hours walking around the narrow streets to find Master Tan’s home. The directions they were given proved to be wrong, more than once.
“This must be it,” Chen Yong said finally. They stood before a thick wooden door. Two faded paper door gods with fierce expressions and drawn weapons were plastered on its surface. Dusk neared.
Chen Yong thudded on the dark wood with a heavy fist.
The huge door swung open immediately.
“What do you want?” A sullen-faced servant peered out, his thin mouth drawn into a frown.
“I’m here to see Master Tan,” Chen Yong said.
“Who’re you then?” The servant spoke as if he suspected Chen Yong was there to ransack the place.
“I am Li Chen Yong,” he replied in a strong voice.
“It’s late for such an intrusion,�
� someone interjected from behind the ill-tempered servant. “But I can always make time for the son of an old friend.”
“Master Tan!” The servant bowed low and stepped aside, revealing the man who had spoken. He was tall, as tall as Chen Yong, and although his hair was gray, his face was youthful.
Master Tan grasped Chen Yong’s shoulder with one hand. “I’ve wondered all these years if we would meet. I see your father in you.”
Chen Yong’s stoic demeanor was fractured by the mention of his birth father. Emotions Ai Ling could not identify flitted across his features before he nodded, without speaking.
Master Tan turned to Ai Ling, allowing Chen Yong time to gather himself.
“Is this lovely lady your wife?” he asked.
“Ai Ling? No,” Chen Yong said, the surprise evident in his voice.
The older man’s eyebrows shot up, his turn to be taken aback. Aware of her discomfort, Master Tan waved one arm toward his manor. “Come in. Welcome.” The old servant pulled the door wide open.
Ai Ling drew in her breath at the sight of the expansive courtyard. Her family’s courtyard could fit in one corner. The lattice panels to the main hall were drawn open. Ai Ling and Chen Yong followed their host across the courtyard and into the hall. A long ancestor altar, laden with fruit, rested against the back wall, and the faint smell of incense wove through the air. Opalescent lanterns, already lit, hung in each corner, reminding her of giant sea pearls.
“Please, sit.” Master Tan indicated the carved blackwood chairs across from him. She and Chen Yong both did so in silence.
“Would you like some tea? Have you eaten? You must be travel worn.”
“Tea is fine, Master Tan. You’re kind to complete strangers. We’ve already eaten.” Chen Yong spoke for them both, even as she wondered what food Master Tan had to offer.
She smiled and nodded.
Master Tan raised a hand and winked at her. “Lan Hua!” Within seconds, a young woman near Ai Ling’s age was by his side. She wore her hair as did many girls of the servant class, the black braids coiled on either side of her head. But her clothing was finer than anything Ai Ling had ever seen on a servant, a silk tunic and trousers in pale blue, embroidered with pink cherry blossoms.
“Please bring tea for our guests. And dinner as well.”
“Yes, Master Tan.” She retreated with quick steps.
Ai Ling grinned. She looked toward Chen Yong, but he was oblivious. Master Tan enquired after her companion’s adoptive family, his studies and recent travel experience. She hid her interest in Chen Yong’s replies by studying the calligraphy on the walls, lines from Bai Kong’s classic poetry. The scrolls of landscape paintings reaching the dark wood beams of the ceiling especially intrigued her.
Suddenly a face appeared behind a lattice panel, and Ai Ling half rose in fright. It quickly vanished. Probably a servant, she told herself.
Still, she was glad when Lan Hua interrupted them with a tray bearing teacups. The familiar warmth and feel of the cup calmed her. Ai Ling inhaled the rising steam—chrysanthemum, with a hint of something like mint.
“I sent a letter to the Li manor in Gao Tung last year. I never received a reply. It was your family, yes?” Master Tan asked.
“I apologize, Master Tan. I was unsure when I would be able to make the trip in person,” Chen Yong replied.
They sipped in silence for a moment. Chen Yong cleared his throat.
“Master Tan, you said you knew my father….” His voice trailed off.
Their host did not let him flounder. “It has been years since I’ve seen him. He traveled back to his country soon after you were born. I think about him often. We were like brothers.”
“Where was he from?”
“Jiang Dao. A diplomat sent to the Emperor’s court to open communication between the two kingdoms.”
Already on the edge of his seat, Chen Yong leaned forward. “And my mother?”
Master Tan placed his teacup back on the lacquered tray. “Chen Yong, perhaps you would like to eat first, rest? It’s a…complicated story.” The older man’s brow creased, his concern obvious.
Chen Yong sat back. He examined his hands without speaking for a few moments, then raised his face. Ai Ling admired the firm lines of his nose and cheekbone, the curve of his brow and mouth.
“I’ve wondered my entire life who I truly am. You can’t tell me soon enough,” he said.
Master Tan nodded. “Your mother was a concubine to the Emperor. No one knew you weren’t the Emperor’s son until you emerged with yellow hair and golden eyes. Before the eunuchs became aware, you were smuggled out of the Palace. They would have killed you. And your mother, too.”
Chen Yong shook his head, his face taut with disbelief. Ai Ling fought the urge to reach over and touch his arm.
Master Tan leaned forward, his hands clasped together. His demeanor reminded her of Father. “Your father left court that next morning. He sent a letter and told me that someone had promised to place you with a family who would treat you well. I would have gladly taken you as my son, Chen Yong; my bond with your father is that strong.
“But the Emperor knew it as well. I was never told of anything more than you existed. And your name. Your mother named you.”
Lan Hua interrupted with rice and an assortment of hot and cold dishes, then retreated from the room. The familiar scents of savory sauces, garlic, and scallions wafted from the lacquered serving trays. But Ai Ling no longer had an appetite.
Chen Yong sank into the silk-cushioned chair. He rubbed his face and covered it with his hands. When he looked up, his amber eyes gleamed.
“How?”
“Your mother was interested in languages. She was educated. Being a favorite of the Emperor’s, she was allowed to be tutored. Your father was one of her tutors. This went against all rules. But it showed how high she was in the Emperor’s favor. Your father never mentioned the romance, but I suspected. They were foolish. They fell in love.” Master Tan raised one palm and spread his fingers, as if it was all he could offer.
Chen Yong was quiet. Ai Ling sipped her tea, trying to quell the thundering in her own chest.
“Are they alive still?” Chen Yong asked.
The older man shook his head. “I’ve not received correspondence from your father in more than fifteen years. As for your mother, I know nothing. I wish I could tell you more.” He spoke with regret.
How would an imperial concubine survive such a scandal? Ai Ling kept the foreboding thought to herself. Chen Yong’s face was a mask now, devoid of all emotion. He sat straight-backed against his chair, hands clutching each armrest so tightly his knuckles were pale. Ai Ling looked away, filled with sympathy for him, not knowing how to help.
Master Tan rose. “Please, I insist that you stay for the night. We have plenty of room. Please eat. Don’t be modest.”
A young man of twenty years stepped into the main hall and greeted their host.
“Ah, Fei Ming. I was just going to visit you and the little one. This is my son,” Master Tan clapped the young man on the back. “And he just had one of his own. My first grandson.”
Ai Ling and Chen Yong both offered their congratulations.
“Chen Yong is the son of an old friend. And this is Ai Ling.”
Fei Ming made no reply. He avoided looking at either guest. Ai Ling’s scalp crawled. Was his the face she’d seen peering through the lattice panel earlier?
“Lan Hua will take you to your rooms when you’re ready. We can talk again tomorrow morning, Chen Yong. I kept your father’s letters. They are yours if you like. I bid you good night.”
Master Tan and Fei Ming stepped out of the main hall.
Chen Yong was terse, withdrawn. Although Ai Ling had felt hungry earlier, she yearned for sleep now. The world seemed askew. She was grateful when Lan Hua led her to her room. It was spacious, with a large bed hidden behind silk drapes. She was too tired to change. The servant girl helped her climb into bed. So kind, Ai Ling tho
ught somewhere in the haze of her mind as she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
CHAPTER SIX
Ai Ling woke on the hard ground. She looked around, bleary eyed, unable to sit up. Her wrists were bound together in front of her with rough rope. She wriggled her fingers, the rope chafing her skin; her hands responded to her will as if from a distance, both tingling and numb.
“You’re awake.”
She jerked her head toward the voice. Fei Ming towered over her.
“Why—”
But before she could continue, he yanked her to her feet. She swayed, light-headed and nauseated. He held her with strong arms, and she leaned into him despite herself.
“You got something special in your tea. Lan Hua did what she was told.”
“Where are we?” Ai Ling asked. She tried to swallow, and her stomach heaved.
“Somewhere private.” Fei Ming’s reply was guttural.
It looked like an abandoned temple. A bright lantern cast a cone of light about them. The moon’s rays spilled through the paneless windows. The night was quiet.
“Enough talk. I’ve been hungering for a taste of you.”
She tried to scream, but her throat felt too constricted, her tongue too thick. Glowing green eyes stared back at her. Just like the lake. Ice-cold terror shuddered through her.
Fei Ming spun her around and shoved her down onto the dirt floor. He had unbound her hair, and it swept across her face. He grabbed a handful and pulled her head back.
“I want you to be awake for this,” he whispered in her ear. His breath was cold on her neck. Ai Ling tensed, prompting him to yank harder, his fingers digging in her scalp.
“No!” She tried to shout, but could not draw enough breath. Her vision blurred.
He pushed her face onto the floor, and her jaw clamped shut. The taste of warm, metallic blood filled her mouth. Hot tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. Dirt smudged her lashes, and she felt the grit of it between her teeth.
Fei Ming ripped at her trousers, and she banged against the ground like a rag doll. He fondled her bare skin. She struggled in terror, but was pinned beneath the bulk of him. Her head spun as she fought off waves of nausea, made worse by the taste of blood and soil in her mouth.
