by Jeannie Lin
Yan Ling would go to Khitan as they’d planned. Fei Long didn’t want her. It didn’t matter now where she went, did it? This was always what he had wanted. He’d made her promise from the beginning to see the plan through to the end.
‘I promise.’ Yan Ling tried to imagine herself fleeing far enough away for the ache inside to fade. ‘I won’t forget.’
* * *
A day went by in agony.
And then another.
There were no more lessons to occupy her afternoons. Yan Ling had haunted the front part of the house and dawdled in the parlour. One of the chairs at the end of the sitting room had a view to Fei Long’s study, so she had sat there to struggle through a book of poems even though the light was poor and she could only understand a few of the words.
She had caught only Fei Long’s dark silhouette as he went through the door. Of course she had hoped he would look into the sitting area and see her intent on her book. He’d pause and then come to her simply out of courtesy—or because he was irresistibly, uncontrollably drawn to her.
He had done none of those things.
She could still hear his harsh tone as Fei Long declared there could be nothing between them. Her heart would shrivel all over again, but then the kiss. The kiss! The fragments of her memories refused to fit together.
It was a silly game and she had known she was tormenting herself, but she had wanted it to hurt, if pain was the only feeling she was permitted to have. She had become hopelessly tragic.
By the next day, Yan Ling’s stomach was in knots from the moment she woke. By the time she sat before her dressing table, the knots had transformed into a swarm of butterflies. Would Fei Long ever speak to her again? The uneasy, burdened silence between them had been preferable to this. At least she could see him and hear his voice.
‘I need to do something,’ she moaned as Dao pulled a comb through her hair.
‘Don’t you have wedding gifts to sew?’ Dao suggested pointedly, her eyes growing sharp in the mirror’s reflection.
Yan Ling decided she’d liked Dao more before her bolder nature emerged.
The two of them separated as Dao went to see to her duties at the front of the house. Yan Ling went about collecting the sewing basket and embroidery thread with a good deal of ill humour, even if no one was there to hear her slam the drawers in the storage closet. She didn’t need Dao’s protection or not-so-subtle reminders when Fei Long wouldn’t even look at her any more.
Traditional wedding gifts were items of clothing a bride would present to the groom’s family to show her skill with a needle. She wondered if the true heqin princesses deigned to embroider the shoes and robes themselves, or did they have their army of handmaidens do so?
The bolts of cloth had been stacked onto the shelf above her reach. She positioned the footstool and searched through the sewing basket for a pair of scissors. Needlework would be good for her. It was time-consuming, meticulous work and a perfectly acceptable excuse for sitting in her lookout spot in the parlour.
She balanced herself on the stool and reached up to unravel a length of black cloth from the bolt. All she needed was a square of it for the embroidered design.
‘You should get someone to help you,’ a deep voice spoke from behind her.
She started, but a firm hand pressed against the small of her back to steady her. Fei Long. Heat flooded through her from the point of that one touch.
‘Scissors, Yan?’ he admonished.
‘I was just—’
‘You could fall and hurt yourself.’
His broad fingers closed over hers to remove the iron shears and set them on a lower shelf. Her heartbeat raced and she was afraid to turn around as he guided her down from the step. Only Dao had ever called her Yan, but the effect was so, so much different when Fei Long did it. She couldn’t control the quickness of her breathing when she finally did turn to face him.
Fei Long didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he reached past her, stretching overhead to retrieve the bolt of cloth himself. He was close enough that the edge of his sleeve brushed against her.
‘There,’ he said, depositing the cloth in her arms.
His manner had retreated back to formality, but he was still there. Watching her. She imagined… No, she wasn’t imagining. There was a touch of colour to his face that she’d only seen once before.
When he’d kissed her.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ His breath hitched slightly beneath the brusque tone.
Her eyes darted to the shelves, searching for something else to ask him for. As if she could rationally keep him there by fetching things.
‘Dao told me I should be preparing wedding gifts,’ she began. ‘I thought I would embroider something. You had mentioned that many officials of the Khitan court have adopted Han clothing. Perhaps a pair of shoes?’
His eyes glazed over as she babbled on. Fei Long had no interest in these womanly concerns, but she flushed happily from having him so near after he’d avoided her for so long. The space of the closet shrunk to enfold them and she never wanted to leave.
‘Whatever you think is best,’ he said.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she blurted out as Fei Long started to dismiss himself. All those lessons on etiquette and clever conversation—worthless!
‘Well enough,’ he replied stiffly.
He didn’t appear to have slept well at all. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave them a sunken look.
Pining, her heart insisted. Thinking of me. Me.
Silly, torturous thoughts again.
He gave her a small nod of appreciation. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘Are you quite busy today?’
There wasn’t really much more she could do to delay him. They were stowed away in a storage closet and the door was open. Soon Fei Long’s rigid sensibilities would take over and she dreaded the moment. Until then, he had come in there on his own to be with her, hadn’t he?
‘I have some business to attend to, but…’ He paused, as if considering those boundaries he spoke so dearly of. ‘I think the outcome will be good.’
Fei Long never spoke of his business affairs in anything more than a passing comment. He certainly never spoke of his hopes.
‘I’m sure you will find success,’ she assured dutifully, but she meant it deep in her heart. It was so hard to speak to one another like this. Whispering across so many walls and hoping that some meaning carried through.
‘Thank you,’ he said again, while he looked upon her with a controlled expression that she could read to be anything: thoughtful, doting or indifferent.
He backed out of the closet and stood aside as she slipped out past him. The rest of their conversation was nothing more than a few murmured farewells. Just sounds with no meaning, but her heart still clung to each word.
Out in the parlour, she cut out a small portion of cloth and set it into the embroidery frame. Fei Long retreated into his study while she sat and tried to work out what she should
create, while at the same time trying not to think of the impending wedding or her nameless, faceless husband-to-be.
She would do a tiger. There was an exquisite painting of one in an art shop in the East Market that she had fallen in love with. In her mind, the colours would be striking: orange-and-gold pelt against dramatic black stripes. The tiger in the painting had looked ready to leap off the scroll. Grace and power curled through every stroke, from the glint in its eye to the tip of its curved tail.
After holding the image for a moment in her mind’s eye, she threaded the needle and began in earnest. She was too impatient to sketch out the tiger and the needlework accomplished the task of keeping her hands busy, though her mind wandered quickly to Fei Long as she stored away every touch and look and the indolent warmth of being near him in that little closet.
At the end of the hour she looked down to find that the last ten stitches were miserably jagged. She’d have to cut them out and redo them. Her tiger was looki
ng a little skimpy as well. It wasn’t nearly as glorious as she’d imagined. The only sewing she’d ever done was mending her own clothes. Perhaps a tiger was a bit ambitious.
There was a brief rest for the midday meal, which Fei Long conspicuously took in his study. A tray of food went in and an empty one was carried out. Yan Ling stabbed her thumb while watching the attendant open and close the door.
Many hours later, the study door opened again. She paused from sewing to see Fei Long leaving with a large wooden case under his arm. He didn’t see her this time…or didn’t want to see her. She watched, unacknowledged, until he disappeared out into the courtyard.
* * *
It was late. Very, very late.
Dinner had been hours ago. Afterwards, she’d taken her position in the parlour again, listening for sounds in the courtyard to indicate someone had arrived. Her skinny tiger with the crooked tail was nearly done and she was beginning to fret. Actually, she had begun to fret hours ago. She went to seek out Dao, who had just retired to her room.
‘He must be out at a teahouse or something,’ Dao said irritably.
‘Are you certain?’
‘No, I’m not certain. But it’s not my place to wonder where Lord Chang is at every hour.’
Like you’ve been doing, came the unspoken reprimand.
Dao glared at her, but Yan Ling was too worried to be intimidated. Fei Long never told anyone where he went, but he usually wasn’t gone so late.
Perhaps he had decided to go to one of the entertainment pavilions of the North Hamlet that night. He had seemed hopeful about his business deal. Maybe it had gone well and he was now celebrating in a cloud of wine and courtesans. Jealousy tore at her with scarlet-manicured nails, but her anxiety far outweighed any thoughts of other women.
‘I’m worried,’ she told Dao.
Dao narrowed her eyes, but relented and came over to wait with Yan Ling in her room. They passed the time by setting up a xiangqi board, but Dao captured so many of her pieces so quickly that Yan Ling knew she wasn’t presenting much of a challenge.
* * *
Another hour passed and Yan Ling couldn’t sit still any more. ‘Something’s wrong,’ she insisted.
‘Nothing is wrong.’ But even Dao sounded a little uncertain.
‘We can ask Old Man Liang.’
‘No. He’s asleep by now.’
‘But he might know where Fei Long has gone.’
Dao gave her the eye, both for using Fei Long’s given name and for suggesting they disturb Liang with her trivial worries. The steward was the eldest member of the household and was afforded a special place of respect because of it.
Yan Ling won the argument, mainly because she rushed out of the room before Dao could stop her and Dao wasn’t undignified enough to wrestle her to the ground in the hallway. Old Man Liang had a private chamber in the back of the house and Yan Ling slowed to a tiptoe as they neared his door.
Dao crowded in behind her. ‘You’re being foolish,’ she reprimanded in a hushed voice.
Yan Ling tapped very lightly and respectfully on Old Man Liang’s door. It opened without pause. The steward was still fully dressed and a cascade of lantern light glowed from behind him. He had been awake as well.
She was no longer worried. She was outright afraid.
‘My lady.’ He stroked his beard fretfully.
‘Old Liang, do you know where Lord Chang could be?’
The wrinkles about his eyes deepened. ‘I can’t say.’
Her heart raced with growing panic. ‘Can’t say? What’s happened?’
Yan Ling didn’t know if he was worrying her, or if it was she who was agitating him, but the old man clasped his hands together. ‘Why would you think something has happened?’ he asked.
‘Liang,’ she began sharply, mustering enough authority to border on disrespect. ‘Tell me.’
‘Lord Chang wanted to be discreet, but he’s been gone for so long!’
The steward’s dilemma had frozen him into inaction. Fei Long wanted secrecy and Old Liang was loyal and tight-lipped above all else. In his eyes, the threat of losing face was worse than the threat of physical harm.
‘Where has he gone?’ Yan Ling asked.
‘Yes, tell us!’ Dao joined in as well.
‘He went to the lower canal district.’
She turned to Dao. ‘We’ll go look for him.’
Dao paled. ‘That’s a bad area, Yan. We can’t go there alone at night. The ward gates are closed.’
‘It’s likely nothing,’ Old Man Liang insisted. ‘Lord Chang must be late coming home, that’s all. He’s gone out for a night of leisure.’ He scratched at his beard nervously while he spoke.
It was obvious everyone was frightened, but no one seemed to know what to do or how to find Fei Long. It wasn’t the way of servants to question their master’s activities. Yan Ling considered the city guards, but they had no real cause to issue a report. It wasn’t late at all for the North Hamlet and the surrounding areas.
She told Dao to fetch Huibin while she coaxed an address from Old Man Liang.
By the time Dao met her back in her chamber, she knew exactly who could help.
‘Huibin is gone for the night,’ Dao replied, irritated. ‘Some new sweetheart.’
‘Perhaps it’s better if we go alone,’ Yan Ling said. ‘Less people to account for to the guardsmen.’
‘Guardsmen?’
The two of them hurried to Fei Long’s study. Dread had crept into her bones. Something awful had happened to keep Fei Long away, she was sure of it, but she had to stay calm.
‘You need to write a special pass,’ she told Dao.
Yan Ling set the lamp onto the desk and opened the drawers. Her hands shook as she rifled through the contents. The official seal had to be in here somewhere. She’d seen Fei Long use it countless times on documents and letters.
‘But it’s illegal to forge a pass,’ Dao protested.
‘The guards at the gate barely paid attention when I went through last time.’
Fei Long had been with her then and he had been the one to present the pass. The guards might be suspicious of two women travelling alone at night, but she couldn’t worry about that now. They would need to be convincing.
‘Write that we’re in urgent need of a physician,’ Yan Ling directed.
She encountered a stack of papers with some writing on it. There was something odd about the characters, but she didn’t have time to investigate. She swept them aside and found a small wooden case nestled at the bottom of the drawer.
Dao prepared the ink and started writing. She slid the paper over once she was done. ‘When have you been out at night?’
‘It was only once.’
She had never ended up telling Dao about the evening at the theatre. It was too precious a memory for idle gossip.
Yan Ling lifted the jade chop from its holder and pressed the carved end into the dish of red ink. She pressed it firmly on the bottom of the letter, leaving a red impression of the Chang family seal.
‘Does that look official enough?’
Dao frowned. ‘I suppose.’
‘Let’s go then.’
They took a lantern with them and headed out of the mansion. Yan Ling hoped she could remember the way. Her palms started sweating as the ward gate appeared before them. The arch towered ominously overhead. The sight of it made her heart thump.
She wiped her hands over her skirt. ‘Look natural,’ she told Dao.
The younger woman nodded silently. It was acceptable for them to be nervous. They were in a frantic search for a physician.
Yan Ling handed over the pass to the guard and kept her posture straight, meeting his eyes without wavering. She was a high-born lady. There was no reason for him to question her. After an interminable pause, during which he must have read the pass a hundred times, the guard finally returned the paper and waved them through.
She let out a great sigh once they were clear of the checkpoint. �
��We need to find the Pear Blossom Gardens.’
* * *
The North Hamlet was easy to locate as everyone seemed to be heading there. The two of them huddled close through the crowded avenue of taverns and gilded pavilions.
‘I never realized what scandalous outings you were having,’ Dao accused.
‘It was hardly scandalous. Lord Chang took me to see one of Li Bai Shen’s plays.’
Dao snorted. ‘Entirely scandalous.’ She sounded more than a little bit jealous.
There was no show at the gardens, but the park was full of people enjoying a night-time stroll or milling by the lake. Yan Ling cut through the wooded area to the entrance at the far end. Thankfully the alleyways at the back looked familiar to her. She found the gate marked with the theatre troupe’s plaque and pulled Dao into the courtyard, towards the room in the corner.
Bai Shen would know what to do. He was knowledgeable about these parts and the district Old Man Liang had mentioned was supposedly only a short distance from there. Not a week had passed since his dispute with Fei Long. Even if Bai Shen was still angry, the two men were good friends. He had to help them.
A light flickered through the paper windows. Yan Ling knocked loudly. When there was no answer, she pushed the door open to find Li Bai Shen face down on the square table at the centre of the room.
‘Heaven and earth, is he dead?’ Dao exclaimed.
Yan Ling glared at her for being so morbid. Fortunately, Bai Shen stirred and made a moaning noise that sounded like a set of wheezing pipes. What was he doing passed out so early?
Though dishevelled, he was dressed in the finest forest-green robe with gold accents along the collar and sleeves. His long black hair fell loose over his face. He tried to shake it away as he spoke.
‘Huh?’ he muttered thickly.
‘Wake up! Fei Long needs your help.’
He lifted his head gradually, as if it weighed a hundred tan. ‘Fei Long?’
Dao came around to the other side of the table to inspect the jugs of wine strewn there, turning them upside down to reveal not a drop left. ‘He’s been at this a while.’
‘Bring the wash basin,’ Yan Ling suggested.
She grabbed Bai Shen by the shoulders to help him into sitting position. He was a disaster.
