by Jeannie Lin
‘Y-yes, my lord.’ Old Man Liang looked wounded as he handed over the papers. He stroked his grey beard in thoughtful silence.
Somehow Fei Long was managing to offend everyone today. Ever since he’d returned to the capital from his military post, there had been an uneasy balance within the house. The servants went about their duties while he maintained peace and order on the surface, but behind it all, he was holding together the ragged edges of an open wound, frantically stitching it closed with one hand.
They had some semblance of harmony, didn’t they? At least for a brief moment. Though Pearl and Lady Min were gone, everyone had seemed content. Even Yan Ling had seemed happy. As Fei Long walked through the courtyard, it was as if a storm had washed over the mansion. The harsh wind had scoured away the thin veneer of paint from the surface, revealing the rot and decay beneath.
The servants all looked upon him with nervous anticipation in their eyes. He saw hope there, but he also saw fear. They never complained and always did their duties, but they were waiting for the inevitable. If he couldn’t resolve the debt, everyone would be left destitute. Loyal people who had spent generations in service to the Chang family.
If he hadn’t sworn off spirits long ago, he might have considered a drink.
He wasn’t as adept as his father at hiding their troubles. All he could do was face them head on. He headed out to the stables to fetch his horse himself, leaving another shocked attendant at his breach of procedure.
This fire inside him would fade, Fei Long insisted as he rode from the house. There were more important matters to attend to. Much more important than his own desire for a woman he had already decided he couldn’t have.
* * *
By the time he returned for dinner, Fei Long had his strategy mapped out. He’d rehearsed what he would say. Yan Ling was a practical, intelligent woman. She would agree with him.
Warm, welcoming smells greeted him as he re-entered the courtyard, a further sign that peace and order had been restored. The dining room was set up with lanterns. The panel doors facing the courtyard had been propped open and the curtains tied back to provide a view out into the courtyard.
When the family had all been together, they would share their meals every night: Father, Lady Min, Pearl and himself. Many, many years ago, Mother had been there as well. Lately he had been taking his meals in his study or with Old Man Liang in the front parlour. The dining room was practically a mausoleum.
He only had time to lock the payments away in the back rooms before returning. At the dining-room entrance, Dao intercepted him, stepping smoothly into his path with her head bowed humbly.
‘Do you need assistance, my lord?’
‘Not at this time.’
He tried to continue forwards, but she slipped around him again, resuming the same humble position.
‘Dao—’ he began, in a warning tone. She was becoming bolder since Yan Ling’s arrival. Her demeanour almost bordered on impudence.
‘Assistance with your robe, my lord? And I can have a wash basin brought to you, if you so wish.’ Her eyes flickered over him and the sheen of dust from the road seemed to magnify into a mud bath.
He exhaled impatiently. When he dined alone or with an old steward with age spots, he didn’t need to worry about such things. However, Yan Ling would likely come to dinner impeccably dressed and groomed, down to the very last eyelash. A lady in manner and appearance. Wasn’t that the purpose of her education and training?
Fei Long conceded defeat and retreated to his chamber to wash his face and change into a fresh robe. He returned to the dining room just as Yan Ling appeared, or more likely she had been waiting for his arrival to co-ordinate her entrance.
‘My lord.’
‘Miss Yan Ling.’
Always the same greeting, but his heart pumped harder this time.
Her outer robe was a thin, lace-like material and patterned with silver butterflies. The silk sheath she wore inside was a pale blue and the black of her hair caught the light. It was combed smooth and pinned on top, but otherwise allowed to fall free down her back. He could make out the shape of her shoulders through the gown. As she walked beside him, the fall of the silk hinted at the slender waist and gently rounded hips beneath.
Dao had been right to urge him to change. He would have looked like a peasant beside Yan Ling, their roles unacceptably reversed. Yan Ling had grown beautiful, he had to admit it—no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t as if she’d transformed in the last month. He and his hapless crew consisting of the shameless actor and the clever servant girl couldn’t take credit. He had simply wasted too much time not noticing.
They seated themselves across from each other at the table that was meant to hold at least three times their number. Yan Ling glanced briefly at him before staring down at the table. Her hand wandered nervously to her neck. Oppressive silence hung between them.
He cleared his throat. ‘How long has it been since you came here?’
She looked up, startled. The drop of a feather could have startled her at that moment. ‘Heavens…over a month, my lord.’
There was something different about her. A warmth that blossomed over her skin. And a nervous vulnerability that only made her more vibrant. More real. Which was not favourable for him. Not favourable at all.
When she was perfect and composed, he could distance himself, but tonight her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight. She looked exactly as she did right after he’d kissed her, as if it had just happened. As if he’d just let go of her only a heartbeat ago.
And he had. The kiss was still very much alive and unfaded for both of them.
Yan Ling looked down again, suddenly very, very interested in her bowl. He did the same. Yes, it was fascinating. There were blue patterns in it. He didn’t give a damn about it or this dinner. Only Yan Ling.
‘I’ve decided that we should discontinue our writing lessons,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ She looked up, blinking in surprise. ‘I suppose I can continue practising with Dao.’
‘Dao?’
She looked uncertain, as if she’d offended him. ‘I couldn’t remember everything you taught me each day, so Dao would help.’
His chest rose. Something welled within him. Pride. He laughed, shaking his head in amazement.
‘What is it?’
‘Dao is quite clever, but it still took a long time for her to learn how to read,’ he said. ‘It takes many, many years.’
Her expression fell. ‘Why would you try to teach me in so short a time then?’
‘I wasn’t teaching you how to write.’
She frowned.
‘I was trying to instil patience and discipline.’
‘Patience and discipline.’ Her voice trailed away, not quite understanding.
‘You did throw a pot of tea at me the first time we met,’ he reminded her.
It was how his father had taught him discipline: thousands and thousands of writing drills. Perfect strokes and lines. Before you could learn to express yourself with the brush, you had to learn the rules and perfect them. Fei Long didn’t realise at the time that discipline was the one thing his father was wholly unqualified to teach.
‘Well, I—’ She stopped herself.
‘What is it?’
Her lips tightened, but then she took a deep breath. Her back straightened as if she were readying herself for battle.
‘I liked our lessons.’ Yan Ling raised her chin and held on to him with those captivatingly dark eyes of hers. ‘I’ll miss not having them, but maybe we should speak plainly about why you’re really doing this.’
Despite her bold words, a hint of pain flickered across her face. It was magnified a hundred times in his own heart.
‘Because it’s the honourable thing to do,’ he said steadily.
‘Not honour.’ Color rose to her cheekbones. ‘Rules. Your Three Obediences and Four Virtues.’
‘I am thinking of your welfare.’
He tried very hard
not to think of the texture of her skin and how she had felt beneath his hands. Cool to the touch, but still warm beneath. There were other women. Plenty of them. He could have one that very evening, if he wanted.
Just having the thought while Yan Ling sat across from him sickened him. He really was a dog. Lower than a dog that you kicked just for the hell of it. He had to remember that.
‘What happened today will never happen again.’ His words fell heavy, as if he were a magistrate handing down a sentence. His own sentence. ‘I can promise you that.’
‘Can you?’ she challenged softly.
‘It will not happen again,’ he said, forcing conviction into the words. ‘It cannot.’
All the light drained from her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know.’ When she faced him, her eyes glistened, but she didn’t turn away. ‘You told me as much the very first night we were together, didn’t you?’
‘The first night—?’
‘In that tiny roadside inn. Because of who you are.’ Her voice faltered. ‘And who I am.’
She dropped her shoulders back in the chair, retreating as far away as she could.
‘You have a good memory,’ he said stiffly.
A few painful moments passed. The attendants had all but disappeared though the dishes remained on the table. In the way of servants, they knew when to stay away. When Yan Ling met his eyes again, the light had come back into them, but it was a different fire there. One that sparked.
‘This isn’t about my welfare. You’ll always be Chang Fei Long and I’ll always be the humble tea girl. The silken robes, the lessons, they don’t matter at all. You wanted me to fool everyone, but I could never convince you.’
Her words cut into him, one stab after another, too quick for him to defend. ‘That isn’t what I meant. We can’t be together—’
‘Because I’m beneath you.’
‘No.’
The force behind his retort stunned her into silence. They could hear the crickets in the garden.
She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as she tried to compose herself. He could hear the catch in her breath. Her face revealed a flood of emotions: yearning, disappointment, despair. The two of them were like twin mirrors set against one another. Yan Ling reflected everything that he kept hidden. He wanted so much to take away the pain.
‘No,’ he said, quieter. He could feel the spirit draining from him. ‘That’s not it at all. Don’t you understand that I can’t allow this to happen? My father—’
He stopped himself. He wanted to try to explain to her, but it was too personal. A private matter that should be buried with his father. Fei Long stood and looked out into the garden. Beyond the glow of the lanterns, there was nothing but dark and formless shapes.
‘I think of you, Yan Ling, more than I should.’ A wave of longing struck him. ‘When I see your face at night, I don’t see the tea girl or the elegant lady. I only see you.’
He could see her now, even though he couldn’t face her.
‘I think of you, too.’
Her soft confession nearly unravelled him. He had to get this all out and be done with it.
‘If I acted on these feelings, if I…if I took what I wanted, it would be an abuse of authority. You’re under my care. That was what I meant when I spoke of our positions. I won’t treat you like that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As if you’re here for my pleasure.’
The whisper of silk told him Yan Ling had risen. She approached him while he counted each step with the thundering beat of his heart.
‘You told me I wasn’t your servant,’ she said.
‘You aren’t, but that doesn’t change who I am.’
He turned before she could reach him and took a step away. They had to keep their distance. Yan Ling came closer anyway.
‘The only hours of the day when I’m truly awake…’ her lower lip trembled ‘…are when I’m with you.’
He dug his nails into his palms. It was the same with him, the very same. Yan Ling was his sanctuary, a butterfly trapped within cupped hands. But no one could ever keep a butterfly. He’d have to let her go.
‘You have a future in Khitan as a princess. Here, there’s nothing but ruin and sorrow.’
She was close enough to touch. He could smell her perfume.
‘I’m not afraid, as long as we would be together,’ she said.
‘No.’
Her voice rose. ‘If I’m not your servant, then I can choose.’
He was suddenly weary. ‘I’m asking you not to. It would be pointless.’
The finality of it sank deep into him. He was tempted to tell her about the debt, the dishonour that hung over them, and how he sometimes wished he wasn’t shackled with this duty. But the shame of it stopped his tongue. He’d vowed to shield her from all fear and uncertainty so he swallowed the secrets like a bitter poison.
‘It’s better for you this way,’ he said, keeping his tone even.
Yan Ling pulled away. There was nothing left to do but watch her go.
She paused before stepping out into the courtyard. ‘You speak of boundaries between us, my lord.’
His breath caught as he looked at her. She drew herself up and faced him without wavering and Fei Long realised that they hadn’t taught her a thing. Yan Ling’s poise and strength came from within.
‘We’re not master and servant, but you and I will never be equals,’ she said with infinite sadness. ‘These boundaries between us exist because you insist that they must. It is impossible for you to see any other way.’
Chapter Fifteen
Yan Ling opened the door to her chamber and slipped quietly inside. She wanted to close her eyes and be alone. She wanted to sleep and sleep so this could be over and the hurt would be done. There was no use fighting against the stars and the moon. Fei Long wouldn’t be Fei Long without his rigid sense of responsibility.
She gasped when something moved within the dark of her room.
‘It’s me,’ Dao whispered.
A single flicker of light appeared behind the painted screen. There was a shuffling sound as Dao came out from the sleeping area. She carried a single candle upon a holder, which she set upon the tea table.
‘I’m so glad you’re back.’ Dao took hold of both of her hands, squeezing them tight.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Promise me. Promise you won’t fall in love with him.’
Love.
She’d never dared to even think of it, but her pulse skipped at the mention of the word. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, don’t pretend.’ Dao glared at her, irritated, but still concerned. ‘Fei Long and the way he looks at you.’
Yan Ling started to deny it again, but she would only be met with scorn. How many hidden glances had they exchanged? How many times had she pondered and ached for him? So many lost moments that amounted to nothing.
‘There is nothing between us, Dao,’ she said, resigned.
‘Is that true? Really?’
‘Yes. Nothing.’
She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. Dao released her hands and let out a breath. For a moment, Yan Ling considered that Dao might have been jealous, as fervent as her warning was, but the girl had never shown any special feeling for her master. No one could hide her emotions so well.
‘Why are you so worried suddenly?’
‘I know how these things always end.’ Dao pulled Yan Ling onto the couch beside her. ‘These noblemen. They’re cultured and refined. They say all the right words to lure you into their beds, whispering promises of security and marriage. In the end, you’ll have nothing but scandal and ruin.’
Doubt crept into her. Dao’s warning seemed to echo Fei Long’s words. There was something there—a pain buried deep.
‘Dao, are you telling me…?’ Could she have been so wrong about Fei Long? She was horrified, but she had to know. ‘You…and Fei Long?’
‘No!’
Relief flooded her.
Yan Ling sat stunned.
Dao turned away, blinking rapidly. ‘Fei Long doesn’t know. No one knows.’
‘You mean Lord Chang never recognised you as his daughter?’
Dao shook her head. ‘He allowed us to remain in his home, which was generous. Do you know how many servant girls are forced out by jealous wives when they’re discovered to be pregnant?’
Yan Ling had no memory of her parents. She didn’t know if they had abandoned her deliberately or had come upon some misfortune. Dao had known her father, yet she had grown up with the shame of his denial. Even Fei Long tended to overlook her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Yan Ling said, her heart in every word.
Dao sniffed once. ‘That is all past. It doesn’t matter, but I can’t bear to see this happen to you. You must know how fortunate you are.’
Yan Ling kept on hearing these words. This was best. She was fortunate. Her future was bright. Everyone believed so but her.
‘Fei Long wouldn’t shame me like that,’ she argued. ‘He’s been nothing but honourable.’
Too honourable, except for the one moment of precious scandal when he’d kissed her as if he’d die if he didn’t have her. They’d both been wrong together and it had been magnificent.
‘Oh, Yan. It won’t be a sinister seduction like some lurid play. Lord Chang will be handsome and charming. He’ll woo you.’
If Dao only knew how much she had longed for exactly that, but Dao was right. It was only an illusion. She could be nothing more than an affair. Fei Long had told her as much. His own father had had a proper wife and a concubine, but that hadn’t been enough. Why, Fei Long was practically a monk for refusing her, protecting her from his desires as well as her own.
‘It won’t happen,’ Yan Ling assured.
‘Don’t forget that, all right?’ Dao chewed on her lower lip as she waited anxiously.
