by Jeannie Lin
Amidst cries of disgust, a team of constables chased down night soil collector, who immediately wailed he was innocent the moment the constables had him in chains. A few spectators peered out of their windows, wondering what was going on. Gao exchanged a knowing look with the magistrate who took out a handkerchief to press over his nose as they loaded the shackled collector into the wagon.
The older of the two night soil men bowed to the magistrate, and did everything he could to be accommodating. He was escorted to the wagon without the need for shackles. Afterward, Magistrate Li directed the wagon to head to Pingkang li before returning to the magistrate’s yamen. Every man had his face pressed against his sleeve as the wagon traveled through the streets.
“Eh, you get used to it,” the older night soil man said.
The younger collector scowled at him, the chains of this shackles clanking together with every moment.
The wagon took them to the center of Pingkang Li, where the most popular pleasure houses were open for business. It was generous of the magistrate to return him home. Unlike the constables, Gao wasn’t earning anything for his time.
They came to a stop within view of the illustrious Lotus Palace.
“Well, this will certainly breed gossip,” Gao said, hopping off the wagon.
He was surprised when Magistrate Li also climbed down.
“I have some business to attend to in the vicinity,” Li explained.
Business. In the pleasure district well past midnight?
Gao said nothing. Instead, he took his first clean breath in a long time. “What happens now?”
“They’ll be given a bed, food. I’ll see they are well taken care of for their trouble.”
“Give it two days,” Gao suggested. “Enough time for someone to start getting anxious.”
The magistrate nodded. “Good plan, Mister Gao.”
That was that. He started to go, but Li stopped him. “You seem well-acquainted with the Bai family.”
His pulse skipped. “Somewhat,” he replied warily.
Magistrate Li regarded him with a steady look. Gao had the impression he was being taken apart bit by bit by that gaze.
“And Lady Bai, how do you know her?”
Gao’s hands clenched involuntarily. He forced them loose. “Young Lord Bai hired me for her protection.”
The magistrate considered the answer and seemed satisfied. It made perfect sense that Gao would be a man-for-hire. A servant.
“All those criminals roaming the streets,” Gao added in a stealth attack. “Things can get dangerous, right Magistrate?”
“Right,” Li echoed slowly. The official kept eye contact longer than necessary before taking his leave.
Chapter 9
Conquerors are kings, the beaten are bandits.
The old proverb came to her as Wei-wei was flying over vast lands and mountains. She was a bird, able to see everything below. There were two armies in red and green facing a larger one in gold.
Not a bird. She was a dragon and one hundred years had passed. Wei-wei was suddenly sad that Gao had grown old while she was away living another life. How was she supposed to know that she was a dragon?
The armies were fighting and the red army fell, leaving only the green against the gold. Gold was the Emperor’s army.
“My team won,” she said.
Gao was there, waiting just outside her door. She went to him, but he moved farther away like the moon.
Oh, this was just a dream, she realized, still dreaming. The visions devolved into fragments and she woke up with her face against a stack of petitions.
She’d fallen asleep reading through them for her brother. Her hand rested on top of one report. The sight of the red silk looped around her wrist sent a little jolt of happiness through her. Joy and sadness, at once.
She reached out to run a finger along the bracelet. Her gaze strayed down to the petition once more. She’d pulled this one out last night for a reason. It was a reminder to read it again when she was more clear-headed.
Sitting up, she rubbed a knuckle over her eyes and opened the paper.
It was a judgment regarding a general who had raised several large armies in the northwestern part of the empire. A year ago, he had signed a treaty conceding control of two of his six territories.
Six territories. These warlords were practically kings themselves. Her father had said that. Those were the sort of conversations they had in their family. Lectures about duty and politics and military philosophy. The talks were meant for her brother Huang, but Wei-wei always listened in her quest to be the perfect student. Mother told her a proper lady didn’t need to know such things, but Gao had seemed impressed when she’d spoken of the military governors and the balance of power.
The beaten are bandits…
General Lin Shidao surrendering lands to the Emperor.
Wei-wei grabbed the report and ran out of her room excitedly. Outside, she encountered Yue-ying sitting in the courtyard with Mother.
“Is Huang home?” she asked.
“He didn’t come home again last night,” Yue-ying said, looking sullen.
“I’m sure he’s doing very important work,” Wei-wei assured.
The family still didn’t know about her brother’s secret appointment and she couldn’t tell them.
“Wei-wei!” Her mother reprimanded. Mother looked her over, from her disheveled appearance to the paper clutched in her hand. “How are you going to make a proper bride like this? Go get dressed!”
Wei-wei ducked back into her room. “Wild,” she heard her mother mutter as she pulled the doors closed.
Huang had said the Emperor had given him ten days to solve the murder because a crime this grave meant treason was brewing. The Emperor was right.
She splashed water over her face and ran a comb through her hair. After a brief glance in the brass mirror, she opened her door to call for a maidservant. She was going to have to go to the Imperial City to find Huang and should look more presentable and less…wild. She made sure the silk bracelet was hidden as her maidservant entered to help her dress.
An hour later, her hair was carefully combed, looped, and pinned and she was outfitted in layers of lavender and rose silk. She straightened a shawl around her shoulders and once again headed out. This time, Mother was no longer there to judge her appearance. She had disappeared into the kitchen to oversee the making of her special dumplings. Mother’s special dumplings meant special guests.
“I’m going to see Huang,” she called out as she moved past the kitchen door. “He’s expecting me.”
Mother called out something in protest, and Wei-wei made sure to be too far away to hear.
Zhou Dan had the carriage hitched up quickly.
“So pretty today,” he remarked as she seated herself.
Her spirits lifted.
“For her future husband,” he added with wicked glee, and her spirits sank.
Zhou Dan knew how she loathed the thought of getting married. Marriage meant less freedom, more duties. Giving herself over to a man who was practically a stranger. Zhou probably knew about her secrets more than anyone else in the house, just as she knew his.
“Is there an official invitation?” she asked he as he maneuvered the carriage down the lane. “Are we entertaining a special guest today?
“Oh, no, not at all, young Lady Bai,” he crowed. “We’re just supposed to be ready just in case someone happens to stop by. Like maybe during the Monkey hour when business is slow. I’m supposed to bring you back before that, by the way.”
“My mother,” she snapped, which also conveniently doubled as a curse. She’d played into her mother’s matchmaking plans by dressing nicely to visit her brother.
The carriage took her to the gates of the Imperial City where she noticed something had changed.
“More guards,” she breathed.
Additional sentries had been placed around the wall. As the carriage approached, she could see the guards in the watcht
ower had their bows raised and arrows trained onto them. A chill ran down her spine.
“Our young lord works in a fortress,” Zhou Dan whispered, impressed. “Is the Emperor inside?”
“There are at least two more fortifications before one could conceivably be in the presence of our Celestial Emperor,” she asserted.
The northernmost part of Chang’an was a series of palaces within palaces as rulers for the last thousand years had vacated one home for another, building a more magnificent monument each time. Each shell a successive layer of armor.
The only armor she had was expensively tailored clothing and layers of etiquette. She lowered her eyes from the archers in the towers. Stare at them too long and they might think she looked suspicious.
The carriage came to a halt. When she stood, her sleeves nearly swept the ground. It was a status symbol, all that extra silk they could afford. The climb up the stairs leading to the gate was more an ordeal this time. Small steps, lifting the hem of her robe, making the movements appear graceful.
Every eye was trained onto her as she came to the gate. Even the structure itself seemed more imposing than she remembered, with spiked studs jutting out from it in a grid pattern. She was very much entering a fortress, but this time she was determined to be allowed inside.
She pulled the letter from the folds of her sleeve to present to the head guard. “Honorable Sirs, I have received a summons from Lord Bai Huang.”
Her brother had given her the letter so she could get to him if she needed. Wei-wei figured this errand was warranted. There were only six days left before the Emperor demanded results.
The guard returned the letter, bowed, and then directed that the door be opened. It was a heavy affair, with two men taking hold of it from outside and another two from inside that were only revealed once she set foot into the complex. Her business was relayed to a runner and a functionary arrived shortly to escort her to Lord Bai.
This sight was common to her father and brother, but it was her first time inside the Imperial City. Formerly a palace, the complex now housed the most important administrative offices and bureaus of the Five Ministries. Her grandfather and her great-grandfather had worked here. Their family came from a long line of bureaucrats.
And now she was here as well, even if she couldn’t sit for the civil exams or be placed in the Ministries.
The functionary brought her into the halls of the Secretariat. The department was responsible for drafting all imperial decrees. It was a highly revered function and required an entire bureau of scholars. Her brother supposedly held a minor position within the department in the records office.
She followed the attendant through a series of cells and studios until she saw Huang sitting behind his desk. Her Elder Brother, bureaucrat and secret censor. The attendant left her there with a final bow.
Now she could finally tell Huang what she’d discovered. She hurried forward, excitedly.
“General Lin Shidao,” she declared, storming the confines of the office. “He has motive to move against Chancellor Yao. A year ago, Chancellor Yao oversaw the general’s concession of two of his territories to imperial rule. Since then, there have been skirmishes in those areas. Thought to be bandits. But maybe they aren’t lowly thieves—”
Why did Huang keep glancing behind her?
She turned and started at the sight of the gray-haired bureaucrat seated in the corner. She recognized the jutting chin and the long, groomed beard. Mortified, Wei-wei effected a hasty bow. “Chief Censor.”
Zheng Shi tapped one long, well-manicured finger over his lips. “It’s sound advice to lower one’s voice—” he dropped to a whisper. “When accusing a military governor of treason.”
She bowed once more. “Forgive this humble servant, Chief Censor. She does not yet know her proper place.”
“Perhaps that is not a bad thing.” Zheng slid a look over to Huang. “Young Lord Bai tells me you are assisting him as his secretary.”
“Yes, Honorable Sir.”
“The venerable Ban Zhao assisted her brother the historian Ban Gu in his scholarship. You follow in an exalted tradition.”
She blushed. To be compared to female scholar Ban Zhao was the highest praise. “The Chief Censor is overly kind.”
“Now, young Lady Bai was describing a fascinating theory. Perhaps she can speak further on it.” He held up his hand to stop her before she began. “In more private quarters.”
Zheng rose to his full, stately height. The first time she had met him, she’d assumed he had the advantage of looking down at her from atop the steps at the gate. Now she could see how he’d present an authorial figure speaking in front of an audience. He was dressed in dark burgundy and black, his rank denoted by the embroidered insignia around his belt. She would have to study up on those, the indicators of rank, if she were to spend more time in the imperial offices.
But that wouldn’t be possible once she was married, she reminded herself. It was barely possible now. She feared she’d done irreparable damage to her brother with her accusations.
Zheng led the way while she and Huang filed in behind him.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to Huang as they cross paths into the hallway. She didn’t know he was conversing with a superior.
He gave her a look that assured her there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t so sure. She watched the rigid wall of the chief censor’s back as he took them to what seemed like an even deeper recess of the building. Not a word was spoken until they were enclosed inside the inner chamber. The space was sparsely furnished, with a woven mat in the center of the floor and several stools around a low table.
Zheng gestured toward the seats with a stretched hand. “Please.”
She and Huang seated themselves beside one another while Zheng settled in across from them. Wei-wei waited for the bureaucrat to start the conversation. Now that he was involved, etiquette demanded that he control the conversation, but she was eager to continue revealing what she’d found.
“I would surmise that the young Lady Bai is aware of your position as a censor,” he said to Huang.
“My sister is trustworthy. There is no one more loyal and dependable—”
Zheng stopped him. “You are in an unusual position, young Lord Bai. It would be expected that you will need to make decisions that are—shall we say—not in quite the usual order of things. The Emperor trusts your judgment in this matter and so must I.”
Huang dipped his head to acknowledge the senior official’s largess. She did the same, inside her mind was racing. Could she have caused Huang to be dismissed? She had never considered the possibility — she was Bai Huang’s younger sister who was nothing and nobody to the men he worked for. She’d have to be more careful from now on. It was harder to wander freely when one wasn’t invisible.
“Now,” Zhang continued pleasantly. “Young Lady Bai should continue.”
She took a breath and pulled out the stack of papers tied with string from the pocket in her sleeve. “Chancellor Yao received many notices over the last year about skirmishes along the Huai river. There are many mentions of ‘supply raids’ and dismissed as the work of common thieves. The raids border General Lin’s remaining commanderies. There’s even a petition that insinuates the attacks are being sent from the general’s lands.”
“All this is true,” Zheng confirmed. “However, one must remember that General Lin Shidao has openly declared his loyalty to the Emperor. He surrendered control of his commanderies as evidence of this. Though Chancellor Yao has been vocal about the growing power of the jiedushi, he had been very effective in negotiating a compromise.”
“If compromise means surrendering land,” she replied.
Huang jabbed her with his elbow. The chief censor raised his eyebrows at that.
“Still, young Lady Bai’s conjectures have merit. Considering she has little exposure to the imperial court, her observations are quite astute,” Zheng looked to Huang. “A shame that women are not allowed
to take the civil exams. Once in a while, an exception certainly arises.”
Wei-wei blushed. She never imagined a senior official would feel this way.
Zheng turned his attention back to her with a spark glinting in his eye. “The plot Lady Bai lays out is artfully constructed. Something I have spoken to young Lord Bai about extensively. When we investigate corruption, it is tempting to slot the pieces into something that is ordered and interlocking. The mind strives for harmony, does it not? But motives and actions are not always harmonious. When we seek out order, we may force inherently misshapen pieces together to enforce our own sense of well-being. And yet be no closer to the truth. This is why good scholars do not often make good censors. Too much poetry and worship of the social order.”
Again, he looked to Huang. “I hear that Lord Bai Huang was a very poor scholar.”
Huang ducked his head to hide his grin. Wei-wei was shocked to see that the chief censor truly liked her brother. He saw something in Huang, even with his imperfections and inconsistencies, that others, like their father, had always dismissed.
“This humble student recognizes the flaws in her theory,” Wei-wei said, realizing she was probably speaking out of turn. “She had only hoped to provide a seed for more experienced persons to cultivate.”
“Now there is the poet in the family,” Zheng mused, wagging his finger at her.
She smiled, though it was forced politeness. Zheng Shi wasn’t what she expected, but he was an imperial censor. He had to be watching and assessing every detail. If Huang was recruited as a censor because of his ability to get people to let down their guard, then it made sense that the chief censor might use the same approach. Zheng was unnerving patience throughout the exchange, in contrast to her impatience and eagerness.
The chief censor was akin to a spider. He didn’t need to outwit or outmaneuver his foes. He just needed to wait them out.
Maybe Huang could learn from him. Maybe should could as well.
“If I may?” He reached for the packet of papers while Huang gave his assent. She’d nearly spoken over her brother, forgetting the single rule that governed her out in public. As a woman, whichever male was in the room who held the highest authority over her would speak for her.