Still half-asleep, she rose and stumbled from her bed. How close this room felt! It was suffocating her, night after night. No wonder her dreams were bad. She walked into the corridor and groped to a side-door. A simple desire to look at the moon’s sorrowful face led her outside.
The apricot tree stood as always, leaf and bough forming tangles of shadow. No one else was about.
Lu Ying breathed deeply, the night air slowly dispelling recollections of her dream. She settled on the bench beside the tree, a thick shawl round her shoulders. Dawn would come in a few hours.
She had heard all about the defeat outside the city walls.
Proud and ambitious, Wang Ting-bo’s feelings at such a reverse were predictable. . . but she did not like to think of him, not so near her dream.
Suddenly she grew alert. A tall, burly silhouette filled the gateway. She felt eyes upon her and glanced back at the safety of Dr Shih’s house. The man advanced through Apricot Corner Court into the moonlight. Her heartbeat quickened.
‘Captain Xiao,’ she said, faintly.
Guang halted a body’s length away, looking down at her. His face lacked the haughtiness of their previous meeting. He seemed troubled. She smelt wine on his breath and her hands instinctively pulled the shawl tighter, covering the line of bare, white soft skin where neck meets shoulder.
‘I had a terrible dream,’ she said, feeling a need to explain her presence in a public place so late at night. ‘I wanted. . .’
She gestured at the sleeping courtyard around them.
Unexpectedly, he did not reproach her, as he had the first time they met. All harshness seemed to have drained from his manner.
‘Then we are alike,’ he said. ‘I also came here seeking comfort.’
He remained standing before her as she sat on the long bench. Yet Lu Ying did not feel afraid.
‘I wanted to see how my brother is faring – and Madam Cao,’ he added.
His words were a little slurred. Lu Ying realised how absurd she must appear, lacking make-up or respectable clothes. In the moonlight and at such a time of danger, it did not seem important, as though ordinary rules of conduct had been set aside.
‘You were our city’s hero today,’ she said. ‘I’m sure everyone is grateful.’
‘Tonight Nancheng is full of widows and fatherless children,’ he said, with some of his former curtness. Lu Ying sensed he was ashamed of his failure to preserve more of their men and felt an unexpected desire to touch his arm – or be warmed by it. Instead, she shrank deeper into the bench.
‘I believe your brother is tending wounded soldiers at the Relief Bureau,’ she said. ‘Still, a light burns in Dr Shih’s shop, so I suspect his wife waits up for him. She usually does.’
Guang glanced over at the golden rectangle round the curtain.
‘Little Brother is lucky,’ he said. ‘He does his duty and someone waits for him to return.’
Again he looked at her doubtfully.
‘No one should meddle with that,’ he warned.
‘Madam Cao is a most respectable lady,’ said Lu Ying, blushing. Then she added: ‘I am not all bad, sir. However I appear, I am not all bad.’
‘Younger Brother deserves happiness,’ he muttered. ‘There has been too much suffering in our family.’
Part of her wondered at the implications of his words.
Perhaps the brothers had been talking. Power touched her with its familiar hunger. Why should she not be a wife, even to one as humble as Dr Shih?
‘Perhaps Captain Xiao desires a little tea?’ she suggested, to change the subject. Somehow she did not wish to consider Dr Shih right now.
Though truly, she had no idea how tea might be provided. Lu Ying realised she must learn how to make tea for visitors.
Except then she would be no better than Madam Cao.
Guang yawned and stretched. She watched his limbs carefully.
‘I am not thirsty,’ he said. ‘And I do not require ceremony in my own brother’s home. Here I am plain Eldest Brother, not Captain Xiao.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you understand why?’
Lu Ying sensed she was being tested. Images of dull, formal exchanges in the palace, more ritual than conversation, crossed her mind. Oh, she understood the importance of a title or name! One’s whole destiny might be changed by a few words.
But Lu Ying did not know how to explain her thoughts, so she said: ‘Commander Yun Guang is very wise. I’m sure he knows the answer to his own question.’ Then she added:
‘Perhaps you might send word to Dr Shih that his wife is waiting for him? I’m sure it would comfort his labours in the Relief Bureau.’
How strange the world was! A few months ago she had not known such a lowly place existed. Now she used its name quite naturally. For the first time since they met, Guang smiled at her.
‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘I will tell him myself. I have heard the Prefecture is sending a magistrate to inspect Water Basin Ward tomorrow. It would be sensible for Shih to greet him when he arrives. The official concerned has a certain reputation.’
After he had gone Lu Ying sat with the moon, her heart breathing new sensations. She forgot the horde encamped round the ramparts and even her dream, which had seemed so terrible.
*
‘Are we to be punished?’
Widow Mu’s querulous voice spoke for many in Apricot Corner Court. It was the next morning. All the courtyard’s residents except Lu Ying and Lord Yun were gathered round their guardian tree, united by neighbourliness – and its dangerous obligations. The laws of collective punishment were remorseless in siege-time. Unless, of course, one had influential relatives.
‘I heard the Sub-prefect who is to inspect us ordered beatings for several families when he inspected Xue Alley! Carpenter Xue received three strokes for not bowing to His Honour quick enough.’
No one disbelieved her. Half the world’s gossip flowed through her dumpling shop. That is, if one’s world was Water Basin Ward.
Dr Shih cleared his throat for silence. It felt uncomfortable that a woman should lead their talk. Besides, he had grievances against Widow Mu so delicate he barely acknowledged them to himself.
‘Madam,’ he warned.
At this the nervous virility of Apricot Corner Court stirred.
‘She speaks with the authority of a Dowager Empress!’ cried Old Hsu.
Everyone laughed at this new title except Widow Mu, who glared at the fan-maker.
Dr Shih’s position meant he must act like a father to the courtyard.
‘I advise you to resume your normal business until His Honour the Sub-prefect arrives,’ he said. ‘I shall stand watch by the gatehouse and Chung shall beat the gong when His Honour graces us.’
Cao shot him an approving smile as she withdrew. He was pleased to note that even Old Hsu trailed home. If anyone was likely to offend the authorities, it was the fan-maker.
Shih sat before the gatehouse on a three-legged stool. The street was quiet. The siege ordinances severely restricted trade and few found a reason to wander the city. At night a strict curfew was enforced.
He watched a ragged collection of undesirables being driven down the street: tinkers, travelling magicians, entertainers and itinerants of every kind, forced from the city in case they were spies. Plumed creatures no longer allowed a perch. They shuffled like weary beasts, eyes downcast.
When they had gone Shih felt a terrible sadness. Only last night he, too, had been forced to taste the bitterness of exile from a place he once believed safe.
The previous evening Dr Du Mau had graced the Relief Bureau, accompanied by a smooth-cheeked young man, a Dr Du Tun-i. The lad was little older than Chung. But while the apprentice was plump, Du Tun-i rose like a tall sapling, his doctor’s hat with its long ear flaps slightly too large for his head. He had a strangely angular face, all cheekbones and chin. Yet Du Mau announced that this young man, his nephew, had been temporarily appointed to oversee Dr Shih’s work as Bureau Chief, pending an official
enquiry into missing medicines. His tone implied Dr Shih should consider himself lucky he had not been thrown in the Prefectural gaol – and that such an event was still probable if Dr Du Mau got his way.
In that moment ten years’ labour floated away like clouds!
Shih had sensed the pointlessness of arguing. He could not quite believe what was happening. After all, Dr Du Tun-i was only replacing him nominally – and temporarily. Indeed Shih had continued to direct cures for a hundred wounded men all that long night. His own misfortune seemed a small thing compared to losing one’s sight or limbs. Agonising deaths caused by poison arrows. He had returned home at dawn, stumbling through the grey morning light, driven by Guang’s warning that His Honour the Sub-prefect would surely inspect Apricot Corner Court that day.
Shih was saved from further speculation about the Relief Bureau by the arrival of a palanquin and entourage on North Canal Street. Others were also keeping watch from their gatehouses and within moments every courtyard on the street buzzed with alarm.
His Honour turned out to be a small, spare man with a lean face and bushy eyebrows. He led a party of officials and guards into Swifts-At-Sunset Court, emerging half an hour later with a prisoner, who was promptly dragged off to the Prefectural gaol.
‘Chung,’ called Shih, softly. ‘Tell everyone to gather round the apricot tree.’
His Honour processed over the humped canal bridge, his tasselled umbrella carried by a clerk. He paused outside Apricot Corner Court and Shih prudently sank to his knees. Dr Shih dared not lift his head as the official studied him impassively.
‘You there! Is this Apricot Corner Court?’
His accent suggested humble origins. Shih nodded.
‘Your name?’
‘Dr Yun Shih, sir!’
His Honour consulted a list. Evidently he did not connect the kneeling doctor with the saviour of Wang Ting-bo’s heir. Shih wondered if he should mention it.
‘Make way!’
Soon His Honour was inspecting the assembled people. His glance flickered over their bent heads to every corner of Apricot Corner Court.
‘There is no communal cooking fire set away from the buildings,’ he said.
No one had an answer to that.
‘Where are the buckets of sand? And the wet hempen cloths demanded by the ordinances? A single fire arrow could set your whole ward ablaze!’
‘Your Honour,’ said Shih. ‘If there is to be blame, let it fall on my shoulders.’
Potentially, blame meant a dozen lashes of the bamboo.
‘One would think this a nest of traitors!’ declared the official. ‘I have heard there are people with unorthodox views in this ward. Do any dwell here?’
Widow Mu was casting anxious glances at Old Hsu.
Certainly the fan-maker’s views were unorthodox and Shih realised a frightened accusation might billow from her lips. To forestall her, he rose from his knees.
‘Sir,’ he said, quietly. ‘Are you aware my eldest brother is Captain Xiao? There are no traitors here.’
Intakes of breath greeted his words. He had diminished His Honour’s face in notable ways: first by his tone, then by pointing out an ignorance. Lackeys looked away, pretending not to have heard.
‘Of course,’ blustered His Honour.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said Shih. ‘I am foolish to mention what you already know.’
Slightly appeased, the official looked round for someone to humiliate. His eye found Old Hsu’s mocking expression.
‘Old fellow, you seem to have something to say for yourself,’
he growled. ‘Out with it!’
Again the residents of Apricot Corner Court held their breath. Such an invitation was like lighting a fire-lance –moments later it would discharge with a whoosh of smoke and flame. Old Hsu flushed and was about to speak when the side-door of Dr Shih’s house swung open.
Lord Yun emerged in a fine suit of silks, clutching his bowl of fishes. Water sloshed to the ground. His high cheekbones and balanced features denoted nothing but handsome nobility.
Lord Yun surveyed the official with brazen contempt.
‘Tell Khan Bayke I will defy him to my last breath!’ he shouted. ‘He shall have nothing more that is mine!’
Then the old man threw down the bowl so that it bounced on the earthen floor. Water spread out grasping fingers. Silver-bellied carp flapped helplessly, drowning in air. His Honour went pale, then very red.
‘What is this!’ he spluttered.
In a blur of motion Cao rushed to Lord Yun and bundled him back into the house. She moved so swiftly he was too surprised to resist. The door closed behind them. Silence in the courtyard, interrupted only by the dying exertions of the fish.
A breeze stirred the apricot tree.
‘Captain Xiao’s father,’ whispered Shih, conspiratorially. ‘A delicate family matter. Captain Xiao is most sensitive about it.’
Again His Honour bit back angry words. Defeated, he stalked to the gatehouse, Shih following deferentially. He had the uncomfortable thought that if Guang ever fell from grace, His Honour would make them pay for hiding behind the name of Captain Xiao.
‘A displeasing inspection,’ he grumbled. ‘Dr Yun Shih, I hold you directly responsible for the future conduct of Apricot Corner Court. If anything is amiss you must answer for it with the full force of the law. And let me assure you, I shall keep a close watch.’
Shih believed him. As His Honour the Sub-prefect departed, an angry bellow came from the house.
A clerk was left behind to teach the courtyard what must be done. He was quite as grim as his superior. First he recorded names and occupations, indicating that Chung and the other serviceable men were liable for conscription. Then he ordered everyone except Madam Cao to take buckets and dredge the canal for mud. Miserable work, but finally the roofs and buildings were covered with thick layers of silt, impervious to fire arrows.
Meanwhile, Shih and his wife stood in Lord Yun’s room, listening to a remarkable speech.
‘You! Yes, you!’
‘Father, calm yourself.’
‘Since you claim to be my son, I have a test. A son obeys his father in everything, is that not so?’
Cao and Shih glanced at each other.
‘Perhaps you require refreshment?’ offered Shih, hopefully.
‘One of my cordials perhaps?’
‘I require you to divorce this woman immediately! How dare she manhandle me! It is a crime.’
Indeed, by any interpretation of the law, laying hands on one’s father-in-law could be punished severely. Assuming Lord Yun brought an accusation, there was no shortage of witnesses – including His Honour the Sub-prefect. Shih told himself that given the city’s condition and Captain Xiao’s influence, no magistrate would be interested. But one day the Mongols would leave. Such a serious charge might be revived at any time. Cao, evidently shaken, hid her face. Shih laid a gentle hand on her arm.
‘Father will be pleased to learn I have ordered a new bowl of fish for him. . .’
‘Damn your fish!’ replied Lord Yun. ‘What use are demons if they do not aid me? I have heard enough of their tedious whispering! No, if you are my son you will divorce this woman today. I command you to marry that heavenly creature next door. She has the capacity to please me.’
‘Father is unwell,’ said Shih, severely. ‘I shall prepare something very calming.’
Even as he spoke, disreputable thoughts stirred. A father’s word in such matters held the weight of law. If he wished, he could obey and many would applaud his filial piety. As so often, the haunting image of Lu Ying, the flush of her cheeks and the promise of soft thighs, made his mind gulp for clean air.
As always, he despised his own feelings.
‘Father needs medicine,’ he muttered.
He led Cao to the shop and stared at the floor, unable to meet her eye.
‘Fetch me the tincture of poppy,’ he said, dully.
When he glanced up, his wife’s expres
sion was anxious. She had glimpsed his doubt. Neither spoke as he prepared a remedy.
*
An hour later, Shih trailed through subdued streets towards the North Medical Relief Bureau. He had left Father slumped in a chair. Perhaps the old man would never awake. Certainly the medicine he had drunk was known to sometimes cause paralysis.
Dr Shih chafed inwardly at the prospect. Imagining such things, alongside all his other vile thoughts, surely proved his wickedness. Why else had Father banished him to the capital as a boy? Because he was deficient. Something wrong with him.
Though he tried so hard to be good, it counted for nothing.
Shih realised Chung was talking excitedly and forced himself to listen. The apprentice’s usual amiability was strained –clothes smeared with mud from dredging the canal, hair disordered. Exertion never brought out the best in Chung.
‘It is quite wrong, sir, quite wrong!’
‘What is?’
‘I have just explained that.’
Was that exasperation in Chung’s voice? Dr Shih met his eye.
He was in no mood for nonsense. The prospect of deferring to young Dr Du Tun-i filled him with disgust. It was not that the new Bureau Supervisor was malicious. His face shone with goodwill – as long as he felt himself treated with the diffidence and solemn respect his new position warranted. No, what angered Shih was the certain knowledge that Dr Du Tun-i’s skills were inadequate for healing those in the Relief Bureau’s care.
‘The official took my name for a conscript but I cannot join the militia, sir,’ continued Chung. ‘I’d do anything rather than join the militia.’
‘If you are summoned, then you must answer,’ said Shih.
‘None of us like the situation. Personally, I abhor it.’
‘I will do anything to avoid the militia,’ repeated Chung, doggedly. ‘Has not Madam Cao mentioned it?’
‘Mentioned what?’
‘Captain Xiao, Master! He could speak on my behalf.’
Breaking Bamboo Page 21