by Jeannie Lin
“Lay her in the crook of your arms,” Yue-ying said, yawning. “So you can rest her against you.”
Wei-wei adjusted her hold and froze when the baby stirred, yawning just like her mother. Then the little creature settled back to sleep as Wei-wei cradled her close. This did work a lot better.
Wei-wei turned her attention back to her sister-in-law.
“How are you?” she asked, now that she was less concerned about dropping the baby. “Do you need anything?”
“Has Huang come home?”
She let out a breath and shot a quick glance out into the courtyard. Huang had been gone for the entire day as well as last night.
“He’ll be back soon, I’m certain.”
Yue-ying nodded wearily. “He has important work to do.”
Of course, her brother’s job was important, but certainly the records office could manage without him. He knew that Yue-ying was about to deliver when he’d been summoned away. Even if he was caught up on something urgent, he should have at least sent word.
She looked down into her niece’s little face. Huang didn’t even know that he had a daughter now. It wasn’t like him. He’d doted on Yue-ying over the last nine months.
“I should go look for him,” Wei-wei resolved.
“That’s not necessary.” Yue-ying turned on her side, smiling as she looked at her daughter. “She looks like him.”
Wei-wei glanced at the little wrinkly red face skeptically. Everyone kept saying she looked like either Huang or Yue-ying. Their Amah, the maidservant who had cared for Huang and Wei-wei when they were children, had even insisted the baby looked like Wei-wei. She couldn’t say that she saw the resemblance.
“I can hold her,” Yue-ying said. She stretched out her arms and Wei-wei gently laid her niece in her mother’s arms before sitting back down beside the bed.
“You don’t think—” Wei-wei started before biting her tongue.
“What?”
It was probably not the time to bring up anything worrisome. Yue-ying was still exhausted from childbirth and the household had gone through a big event with the coming of a new baby. But the Bai family was all too accustomed to biting their tongues. They looked the other way and let silences speak. The problem with silence is one could fill them with anything.
After Yue-ying had married her brother, Wei-wei finally had someone in the house to talk to. Someone she could confide in and share her opinions with. If something was wrong with Huang, Yue-ying should know about it.
Wei-wei lowered her voice. “Do you think it’s possible Huang has gone back to his old habits?”
“No! Of course not,” Yue-ying protested.
Her brother and his dice games would hang over him for the rest of his life. Something took hold of Huang whenever he started gambling.
Wei-wei regretted bringing it up. A sharp frown creased Yue-ying’s brow. She pulled her little girl closer protectively. “Your eldest brother has changed, Wei-wei. He’s very different now from what he was like even a year ago.”
“I know he has,” Wei-wei said hastily. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She had spent her entire life worrying about her family. Wei-wei had taken on the business of making peace and healing the rifts between all of them. She sealed the cracks before anyone noticed, before the damage grew though neglect. Their family was held together by silence so she’d become adept at working in those pockets of silence. Of dealing with the unspoken.
It was wrong to complain. She wasn’t unhappy. As a result of her efforts and schemes, direct and indirect, Huang was now married and had passed the civil exams. Her younger brother, Chang-min, was growing into adulthood and preparing to take those same exams. Everyone was growing and changing. It was only Wei-wei who stayed the same.
Her new sister-in-law didn’t need to inherit this worry. She had her own family to look after, this little girl who should grow up full of laughter and free of care.
At that moment, the baby woke up and started to cry. It was a small sound, like the mewing of a cat, but insistent. This little girl certainly hadn’t been silenced.
“She’s hungry,” Yue-ying said.
Wei-wei took the child so Yue-ying could sit up straighter. After giving the girl back, Wei-wei went to fetch Mother or Amah or someone with experience in these matters.
Even though Wei-wei was inexperienced when it came to babies, she could still be helpful. She would go find that brother of hers, and, if she couldn’t find him, she knew who might know where Huang had gone.
Gao.
Gao always seemed to know things. And he seemed willing to oblige her — or was he humoring her?
Her face flushed hot at just the thought of Gao and their adventures together. They were small, unspoken rebellions that she held close to her chest. She’d never spoken to anyone about her encounters with him which were, perhaps not outright scandalous, but certainly highly improper.
She hadn’t confided in Yue-ying, and certainly not Mother. Her brother knew, but Huang seemed to be avoiding that conversation lately.
She’d only go to Gao as a last resort, she decided. Only if she had tried everything else and Huang was still nowhere to be found. She was only trying to get information. It wasn’t as if Wei-wei was doing anything so inappropriate.
Yet.
It was true that Huang had worked through the night on occasion. He claimed that the Emperor slept very little and sometimes needed records and notices drawn up at odd hours, but how important could it be that Huang hadn’t come home or sent word for two days?
What if he was caught up in something worse than a pressing assignment at the records office?
Wei-wei constructed her story as she approached the entrance to the Imperial City where the administrative offices were located. She hadn’t even needed to make up a tale. Huang’s wife had given birth and Wei-wei was his sister and she needed to speak to him. Immediately. It was a personal and, yes, a highly personal matter. Involving family.
She wondered if showing an unsightly display of emotion might help her cause. Or perhaps she could invoke her father’s name, even though her father was away from Chang’an presently. The Bai family name certainly opened doors for them that would be closed to others, but she wasn’t Lord Bai or young Lord Bai or even the youngest Lord Bai, her seventeen-year-old brother. She was young Lady Bai, the daughter — just the daughter.
Still, a lower-level clerk wouldn’t dare be rude to her. If she didn’t waver, if she didn’t flinch, she would get herself into that office.
Huang had been appointed as the Assistant Collator of the Left Office shortly after passing the imperial exams. His department was located in the administrative section in the Imperial City. Wei-wei directed the hired sedan right up to the great archway at the front, but that was where her courage faltered. The towering doors were open at that time of day, but there were guards stationed in a row before the gate and it was clear she was not going to maneuver past them.
She dismounted from the carriage and climbed the stone steps. Then she relayed her message to the functionary at the entrance who took her message courteously enough before ducking back into the courtyard.
And then she waited.
Wei-wei tried not to fidget as she stood at the gate. Bureaucrats in state uniforms passed by on their side of her while she stood still like a boulder parting a river stream. Finally, a tall, distinguished looking man came to greet her. He had long gray hair and a trimmed gray beard that tapered down to a sharp point. The gray-haired man looked down at her with his shoulders squared to block her passage through the gate.
Based on this robe, Wei-wei could tell he was someone important. It was made of dark purple silk. “May this servant ask who she is addressing?”
“Censor Zheng Shi,” he replied courteously. “I most humbly apologize to the lady, but her brother is occupied with an important matter.”
She was taken aback. Censors were supposed to provide oversight over imperial a
ffairs. Why was a censor speaking for her brother?
“Our family has had a very momentous event. My brother’s wife has just given birth—”
“Much happiness to your family, of course. I’m certain Lord Bai will contact you as soon as he is able.”
“If I can just be permitted to speak to him.”
“Unfortunately, he is not here.”
“Perhaps I can leave a message for my brother.”
“A message would be appropriate.”
Wei-wei had written a note just in case something like this happened. She pulled the folded paper from her sleeve to hand to the censor. As he reached for it with long, spindly fingers, he paused.
“It is said Lady Bai is even more clever than her brother.”
She flushed at the compliment. How did the censor know anything about her?
“Lord Bai’s dedication to his family is well-known,” the official continued. “As is your family’s loyalty to the Emperor. Take comfort that any sacrifice you endure is for the sake of our empire.”
With a final bow, he receded back into the Imperial City. The guards remained at their stations before the gate. Impassive witnesses to the whole exchange.
That did not go as well as she’d hoped.
“You got further than I did, Lady Bai.”
She turned around to see Gao at the foot of the steps with his lips curled in a sardonic smile. He started climbing toward her, his long legs closing the distance between them. There was something about his appearance that both unnerved and excited her. Even the way he moved, confident and with such purpose, seemed unusual to her. He moved without reservation, without courteous consideration.
His dark hair was pulled back and tied behind him, though a few untamed strands had escaped to fall around his face. Wei-wei realized, with some dismay, that the sharp cheekbones and hollows that distinguished Gao’s appearance in her mind was due to scarcity. Everyone she was accustomed to seeing, even their servants, had a soft, well-kept roundness about their features.
Gao might not be hungry today, or yesterday, but there was likely a time when he had been. And it was likely more than for a few days. There were other elements too that highlighted the undeniable differences between them. Vibrant silk for her, hemp and ramie, dyed dark, for him.
He was an element outside of her little compartments, the double-courtyards and the thick stone mansion walls that kept the world away—or her contained within. His very presence set her senses on alert and her mind on fire.
“You’re also here for Huang?” she asked. “I was going to ask for your help to find him.”
“I did see your brother recently.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. Shortly after I saw you.”
She bit her lip, considering the information. “How did he appear to you?”
“Tired. Worried.”
Wei-wei looked downward. A lot had happened in the last day. “Armed guards came to take Huang yesterday morning, and he hasn’t been home since. Now that bureaucrat made it sound as if he’s been tasked with an important assignment.”
“He asked me to watch for anything suspicious. I assumed he could be found here.” He indicated the entranceway with a tilt of his head. “Maybe you can help since your brother isn’t around.”
He glanced at the guards before taking her arm and directing her down the steps. His hold was light, but she still felt the shock of warmth from his touch. They moved away from the administrative buildings to blend into the surrounding lanes. Once they were alone, Gao pulled in close.
“Someone was found beside the canal yesterday in Pingkang li.”
She paled. “You mean…dead?”
Gao nodded, looking a lot less disturbed than she was. Wei-wei had always heard the lower market wards were dangerous places. She’d even encountered criminal elements once herself, but Gao remained so calm in the face of it. As if he’d seen all this and more.
“Why would Huang be asking you to search the streets? He works in the records office.”
“I wondered the same. In the past, I never considered why your brother was so curious. It was his own affair, not mine. But yesterday he was different. Something had happened and he was shaken.”
She remembered how Huang had appeared to her the morning Yue-ying had started experiencing birthing pains. Her brother had been distracted.
“I think this may have belonged to the man by the canal,” Gao said, reaching into this belt. “It wasn’t exactly what Huang had asked about, but he wanted to know if anything seemed out of place.”
He held up a block of pale green jade, angling his palm between them to hide the object from prying eyes.
Her pulse skipped. “How did you get that?”
“I paid two zhus for it,” he said. “Your brother’s money.”
She hadn’t known Gao for very long, so she couldn’t tell if he was lying. If he’d stolen the jade, she assumed he wouldn’t show it to Huang, or to her.
“It’s a personal chop,” she explained. “One that a nobleman might wear hanging on his belt. What does the insignia say?”
His lips drew tight. “I can’t read it.”
The confession left a heavy feeling in the air. Wei-wei took the seal from Gao’s hand, eager to move past the sudden tension. She tried to inspect the carving on the face, but it was stained dark with ink and impossible to make out. Looking about, she found a small pool of muddy water on the side of the lane and bent to dip the seal into it. Then she straightened and pressed the seal against a paper bulletin that had been plastered to the wall.
“We should be able to see who this belongs to—”
She pulled the chop away, then gasped and nearly dropped the jade. Her pulse raced. She had to have read the she characters wrong. Frantically, she scanned the impression again.
“What is it?” Gao asked behind her.
“Heaven and Earth.”
Wei-wei tore the bulletin away and crumpled the paper into a ball. They needed to get out of here. Quick. She paced around in a hapless circle until she found a narrow alley to duck into. Gao followed in behind her.
She spun on him and held the jade up between them. “Where did you get this?” she demanded through her teeth.
What had she done? The carving was covered in mud. She scrubbed the carved face against her sleeve, not caring about the stain. Once it was as clean as she could make it, she held it up again.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered again.
Her hand trembled. Gao reached up to clasp it firmly between both of his. “Someone found it. I bought if from him,” he repeated, his tone steady.
She fixed a hard stare at him. Wei-wei doubted Gao found her at all intimidating, but finally he yielded.
“I found it in the hands of a small-time thief in the Pingkang ward. Who does the jade belong to, Wei-wei?”
He was close enough for her to make out every line on his face. There was a pale scar running across the knuckles on his left hand.
“It’s an official imperial seal,” she said, looking directly into his eyes to be sure he understood. “A document stamped with this mark is as good as a command from the Emperor’s mouth. Who was it that was found by the canal?”
Chapter 4
“It must be a forgery,” Wei-wei said.
He nodded. “It must be.”
“Or…or I could be horribly mistaken.”
“You could be.”
Gao was still holding her hand. Her wide, dark eyes fixed onto his, fathomless and inadvertently sensual. He felt Wei-wei’s gaze deep in the pit of his stomach. Women in the pleasure houses drew and painted their eyes to have that elegantly curved shape. Peach blossom eyes, he’d heard them called. Gao wasn’t one for poetic associations, but he’d make an exception for Wei-wei. Especially when she was this close and so, so pretty.
“I think the punishment must be death for forging an imperial seal,” she despaired.
Easy. “Then let’s get rid of
it.”
“No!” She shook free of his grasp. “We can’t just throw it away. What if it’s real?” She paced away a step, then turned sharply back to him. “Why would someone have an imperial seal on him? And who killed him?”
Wei-wei searched his face for answers, though Gao was pretty certain he revealed nothing in his expression. Fu Lin would have seen the body, but, in the way of scoundrels, Gao hadn’t asked too many questions, and Fu Lin hadn’t offered much information.
“If this was someone important, why didn’t anyone report his death?” Wei-wei went on. “Why was he traveling alone with such an important treasure?”
More importantly, why hadn’t they been surrounded by the city guards and thrown in prison?
“All things I intended to ask your brother,” he replied. “So, you no longer think the seal is a forgery.”
She pressed her lips together as she inspected the inscription. “I don’t think anyone would dare.”
Wei-wei was truly frightened, and Gao’s instinct was to trust her on this. He might dwell in the crowded alleys and tenements of the Pingkang li, but Wei-wei and her people lived in the shadow of the imperial palace. The Bai family held high-ranking government positions and cared about the comings and goings of the court. Though the Emperor was the heartbeat of Chang’an, he had little to do with Gao’s day-to-day life.
“We should put that away then,” he suggested gently, holding out his hand. Carefully, she placed the jade into his palm.
“My brother must be involved in this. He hasn’t come home for two days. He’s never even seen his daughter.”
Gao tucked the chop back in his belt, cursing himself for getting involved as well. He didn’t want to be caught in possession of an imperial relic any more than Wei-wei did, but he was the one who had taken it off of Fu Lin’s hands. It didn’t seem right to burden her with it.
“Where do we go now?” Gao prompted.
She considered the question for a long time. “The magistrate’s office,” she said finally.