With trembling hands she undid the heavy wooden bolts. A single servant stood in the street, his expression more vexed than respectful.
‘You took a long time to answer,’ he muttered.
Lu Ying shrank back. This was not how she had imagined Wang Ting-bo would summon her to back to Peacock Hill!
Where was the awe and reverence she craved? The elaborate ceremony such a summons naturally required? Instead the servant thrust a letter – not even a bound scroll – into her hands and turned on his heels with the curtest of bows.
Lu Ying hurriedly examined the street for witnesses to his insolence. A line of mules laden with military supplies was being led down North Canal Street, drawing a crowd of urchins. One beast chose that moment to release a load of dung, provoking a fight amongst the urchins over who should claim such saleable fuel. Lu Ying hastily closed the street door, forgetting to bolt it behind her.
Then she opened the letter. The characters were tightly written – long, neat columns in such a precise hand that she suspected they had not been written by Wang Ting-bo. He was well known for his careless style of writing; at least that was what people who understood such things whispered in the women’s quarters. Lu Ying’s own ability to read was so feeble, worse even than her writing, that she had never been able to judge for herself.
Then she had another thought. Why shouldn’t Wang Ting-bo employ a scribe for his most intimate business?
Would it not make his private concerns somehow more official, and so enhance her status upon her return to Peacock Hill?
Lu Ying retained this comforting idea as she tried to decipher the dense script. Certainly she recognised her own name several times in the document; beyond that she was less certain, and fell back to tapping her leg with the letter.
Of course she might ask Dr Shih or Madam Cao to read it for her, but she did not trust them. What if Wang Ting-bo was not restoring her to her former position as she hoped? What if he was reproaching her for sending no splendid presents to regain his affection?
Lu Ying bit her plump, bud-like lips and used the letter as a fan to cool her forehead.
No, she must not ask them. Already Madam Cao held her in contempt after her attempt to borrow a little cash, an episode she bitterly regretted now. She would find another person, one she could trust.
Then Lu Ying realised there was no one she could trust. Not a single creature in this wide world. She had no one; no one but herself.
The thought dispirited her enough to stare desperately at the baffling characters, perched on a stool by the tall maple counter of the shop. Stray words floated through the mists of her ignorance: cash, His Excellency, generous – or was that very generous? She really could not be sure. But other characters were numbers, she felt quite certain, lots of different numbers. . .
Lu Ying was biting her lips again, so intent on the letter that she did not notice the unbolted door swing open and a tall, broad-chested figure step inside. When, at last, her glance flickered up and noticed him, she cried out in alarm.
The soldier watched her quizzically and bowed.
‘Lady Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for startling you.’
She reached for her silk fan depicting Cheng-he, but it was in her bedchamber. For a moment she used the letter to hide her face until an impulse, a desire for him to look at her, to see her just as she was, made her lower it.
‘Captain Xiao!’ she exclaimed, twisting the letter in her hands. ‘I trust you are quite well?’
His tired face remained grave.
‘Quite well,’ he said. ‘But where is my brother? And Honoured Sister-in-law?’
Lu Ying sensed implications behind his use of the word honoured.
‘Not here,’ she said in an over-bright voice. ‘I have no idea when they will return.’
‘Ah.’
He looked at her sharply, then glanced at the floor.
‘What of Lord Yun?’ he asked. ‘I take it he is at home?’
Lu Ying coughed apologetically.
‘I assume so,’ she replied. ‘Though I could not find him earlier when I looked.’
‘I see. Then I must seek him out.’
Yet Captain Xiao seemed in no hurry to find the most important relative one can possess. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the shop lined with tightly sealed jars and burdened shelves.
‘Perhaps I shall wait for my brother first,’ he said.
Lu Ying watched him curiously. After a moment he appeared to recollect himself.
‘Please wait for me here,’ he said. ‘I have some questions to ask you. First I shall speak to Father.’
He was gone no longer than ten minutes. When he returned Lu Ying was waiting quite demurely on a stool in the medicine shop, having used the interval to apply kohl to her eyebrows and refresh her pale cheeks with a blushing powder. Yun Guang appeared decidedly ruffled as he entered the shop.
‘Is Lord Yun unwell?’ she asked
Yun Guang waved a casual hand, as though making light of her question.
‘A little,’ he muttered. ‘At least, I believe so. I found him in the tower room. It seems some loud knocking had disturbed him and he thought the enemy had come to take him back. . .but let us not mention it. Shih will know what medicine to give.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Lu Ying, ‘but Lord Yun often finds places where he can be concealed. There is a demon, or perhaps person, called Bayke. . .’
She let the name dangle. Guang shot her a quick glance.
‘Quite so. His fear is. . . a distressing sight.’
She detected the possibility of tears in his voice. This seemed so very far from proper for Captain Xiao that she hastened to divert them.
‘Commander Yun Guang,’ she found herself saying. ‘I have a request for you.’ Then she hesitated, caught in a bird’s nest of tangled vanities. ‘Please read this letter for me,’ she said in a quiet voice. She could tell he was surprised. ‘You see,’ she said.
‘I read less well than I would like, which is to say, hardly at all.’
It was difficult to interpret his grave silence. No doubt he viewed her as deficient, an imbecile. Her face coloured with conflicting emotions. Yet to her surprise he bowed.
‘You honour me with your confidence,’ he said. ‘You will be interested to learn that Lord Yun himself is an indifferent reader of characters. In fact he can barely read. So you see, gentle men of noble birth share the weakness for which you reproach yourself.
And they are men, while you are only a woman.’
Lu Ying nodded gratefully. ‘I am indeed a woman,’ she conceded. His glances at her person showed he saw it only too clearly, so that Lu Ying’s blush deepened further, though now her discomfort felt oddly like pleasure.
He held out his hand for the letter.
‘It is. . . from His Excellency Wang Ting-bo,’ she said. She watched him read, noting Guang’s sensitive brown eyes were better suited to a scholar than a mere soldier.
‘It is from the Chief Steward of Wang Ting-bo’s household,’ he said. ‘Firstly, he would have you know that His Excellency commends himself to you and that he has decided to increase the rations of grain and other food to be sent each week for your use. There is another message. The steward says that His Excellency orders him to pass on the following words: Rivers and mountains are more easily changed than a man’s nature.
He adds: “His Excellency advises the Lady Lu Ying to maintain her portmanteaux and boxes in readiness.” After that comes a list of the extra supplies you will receive.’
Guang folded the stiff sheet and handed it back. Lu Ying trembled as she gripped the paper.
‘I shall return to my chamber,’ she said, faintly. ‘You were kind to help me, very kind.’
As she opened the door to the inner corridor his deep voice halted her: ‘Wait, please!’
Without turning, she paused in the doorway, so that he spoke to the back of her head and the layered mound of glossy black hair held in place by a silver p
ins.
‘Let me say, as one who wishes you well, that His Excellency’s words can be read in more than one way.’
Lu Ying did not know how to reply, so she glanced back at his handsome, concerned face, and bowed as she closed the door behind her. The tone of his voice echoed long after the exact meaning of his words faded.
That had been days ago. Strangely, perilously, handsome Commander Yun Guang occupied her speculations almost as much as the implied promise in Wang Ting-bo’s message. As she laboured with her hoe, Lu Ying wondered what Captain Xiao would think if he spied her from the ramparts during an inspection or patrol. Such a prospect was mortifying, yet part of her – a secret, scarcely acknowledged part – desired it.
Towards noon Lan Tien screamed, throwing down her spade. All eyes followed her shaking finger. A swollen body had floated onto the muddy shore. The women regarded it in silence. Then an eddy of the current freed the corpse, so that it drifted downstream. For a long moment no one spoke.
‘A bad omen,’ said Madam Cao. ‘We should attempt no more today or our herbs will be unlucky.’
It was also time to prepare the men’s dinner. They trailed wearily back to Apricot Corner Court and more work round the communal cooking fire.
Lu Ying soon fell behind. For every two steps of the others, she took one. This time she did not fear getting lost. Water Basin Ward was becoming familiar, its features no longer menacing. Few noticed Lu Ying in her plain clothes, her hat concealing the beauty of her face, and those who did assumed the outward denoted the inward, that she was a simple woman engaged in common labours. Any who idly wondered at her lotus feet concluded she was a singing-girl without a place, or a fine lady impoverished by widowhood or misfortune. This respite allowed Lu Ying to observe a curious sight when she reached the Water Basin.
A palanquin of moderate splendour stood in the street. She shrank back, recognising its occupant at once. His expressionless face and small, slowly blinking eyes filled her with distaste.
Dr Du Mau had attended her often in the palace, once for ill-health, but more usually because Wang Ting-bo sought to assess her receptiveness for child-bearing. Lu Ying had frequently bribed the good doctor to ensure favourable reports. If he saw her dressed like a labourer, word would fly to the Governor’s wife. Then all hope of restoration must wither.
Lu Ying shrank against a mud-wall, her face hidden by the broad peasant woman’s hat.
But Dr Du Mau had no leisure to examine the street. He was absorbed by a conversation – and that was the curious thing.
For the most senior physician in the Twin Cities was leaning down and addressing a kneeling figure. Of all the people in the world, the illustrious Du Mau had deigned to notice Dr Shih’s apprentice, Chung.
At first Lu Ying could not quite believe it. Yet it certainly was Chung. He spoke and gazed eagerly up at the palanquin, pressing his forehead into the muddy street. Whatever the young man said, it made Dr Du Mau smile faintly. A smile one might not call kind or mirthful. He motioned to his bearers and with a tinkle of bells they departed, leaving Chung in a position of profound abasement. When the bells faded he rose, brushing dirt from his knees. The apprentice looked round warily. Lu Ying kept her face hidden. He gave no sign of noticing her and hurried towards the North Medical Relief Bureau, shoulders hunched.
As she approached Apricot Corner Court, Lu Ying found Madam Cao waiting for her at the gatehouse. The older woman clicked her tongue sympathetically.
‘I was beginning to worry you were lost. You must stay with us when we go out. It is not safe to be alone on the streets.’
Lu Ying’s silence was her reply.
‘I have left food in your room,’ said Cao, timidly. ‘You have certainly earned it.’
‘Madam Cao, where shall I put this hoe?’
‘I shall take it.’
Lu Ying was trembling from the morning’s exertion. For a moment she considered telling Cao what she had seen. After all, Chung’s strange behaviour hardly boded well for Dr Shih.
Everyone knew Du Mau hated him for healing the Pacification Commissioner’s son. She vaguely remembered hating him for the same reason herself.
‘Where may I wash?’ she asked.
Cao shrugged.
‘In your room, I suppose.’
‘But. . .’
Lu Ying stopped herself. Asking her hostess to fetch the water could hardly help her position in the house. She noticed movement in the tower room above where they talked. Apricot Corner Court was as bad as Wang Ting-bo’s mansion for eavesdroppers. A silhouette was revealed momentarily. Lord Yun, no doubt spying on the girls in Ping’s Floating Oriole Hall across the canal.
She filled a large bucket and hobbled back to her room, spilling half on the way. There she stripped and slowly washed herself with what little soap she still possessed. It smelt of mint and peas. The cool water made her gasp for pleasure. Then Lu Ying noticed her closed curtain stirring. It could not be attributed to the wind. In a moment, she had covered herself with a thin shift. Her eyes glittered angrily and she hurried over, hauling up the bamboo curtain with swift jerks. She was just in time to see the retreating back of Dr Shih’s father, who had been loitering in the narrow strip of land between the canal and the back wall of Apricot Corner Court.
‘Lord Yun!’ she spluttered. ‘How can this be? To find you outside my window!’
The old man struggled for something to say. As ever, she marvelled at the nobility of his features. Even in age, he was an epitome of yang. It was a shame neither son had inherited such exquisite looks. In his youth he must have been formidable indeed.
‘You mistake the situation,’ he said, gravely.
Lu Ying put her hands on her hips.
‘I fear that I do not!’
‘Ah, my dear,’ he said, shaking his head, but looking round as though afraid of spies. ‘If only you knew how I contrive matters to your advantage.’
This made her hesitate.
‘In what way, sir?’
Lord Yun chuckled, his eyes flicking over the wet shift so that Lu Ying uneasily covered her jade mountains with folded arms.
‘If I were to have my way – and I always have my way – there shall be a new mistress in this hovel. Then I will expect my reward.’
Lu Ying watched in surprise as Lord Yun disappeared through the side door into the house, evidently pleased with himself. His tone and words had been surprisingly balanced.
Then again, Lu Ying seemed to recollect Madam Cao remarking that his madness could wax and wane a dozen times within a single hour. Perhaps he was not really mad at all and would somehow help her. She let the curtain fall in case any of the singing girls from Ping’s establishment were watching and stood for a while in silence.
All that afternoon she slumbered on her divan, speculating even in her dreams about the old man’s meaning, Guang’s unexpected kindness, and Wang Ting-bo’s letter.
*
Madam Cao was quite as weary as her unwanted guest.
Clearing ground by the river had unearthed a doubt. Her father would have blushed to see his only child scrabbling among roots, spade in hand. But desperate times breed change.
Though Shih had initially opposed her intention to venture beyond the ramparts, calling it unfit work for his wife, as well as dangerous, she had held firm. Concern for the wounded finally won him over, as she knew it would. Besides, if His Honour the Sub-prefect inspected Apricot Corner Court again, Shih could cite the women’s labours for the common good as proof of their loyalty. And the Mongols were hardly likely to fall upon the Water Gate of Morning Radiance without being detected.
Cao sighed, examining blistered hands. When her fingers grew hard with calluses, would Shih find her attractive? As it was, he scarcely noticed her. Yet everything she did was for his sake.
She added an extra pinch of precious, soothing leaves to her pot and stirred. Of course he would be grateful if the medicine jars were replenished. A doctor’s prosperity and reputation de
pended on cures. Yet all she really desired were warm glances.
When the tea had done its work, Cao wandered across the courtyard to visit Widow Mu. She found her chiding Lan Tien.
‘Did I not tell you to gather herbs from the ground beside the canal? Is that all you could find?’
Lan Tien pouted sulkily.
‘People were there before me!’
‘My daughter is disobedient,’ said Widow Mu, appealing to her visitor.
Cao took the offered seat.
‘I’m sure Lan Tien did her best,’ she said, tentatively.
‘Everyone is after herbs to add to their rice. One cannot survive on grain alone, however generous the rations from the Prefecture may be.’
Widow Mu subsided and turned to her daughter: ‘Madam Cao is soft-hearted. Go and play with the other children.’
Unexpectedly, Lan Tien stood firm. She hugged her arms, torn between defiance and habits of deference to her mother’s whims.
‘I am not a child anymore!’
‘Oh, but you are!’
For a moment the argument hung in the balance. Then Lan Tien bowed and left for the apricot tree where her brother was playing ball.
‘I despair of that girl,’ said Mu, heavily. ‘Her breasts grow a little and she calls herself a woman. Yet I remember when she could not walk.’
Cao listened silently. She had little to say about raising children. Instead she offered a saucer of leaves for Mu to brew.
‘I could not help smiling today,’ said the Widow. ‘Seeing your guest fanning herself with a hoe instead of silk and gauze.’
‘It brought me no pleasure.’
Cao wondered for the hundredth time whether her motives had been pure when she insisted Lu Ying join the other women.
Yet no one else in Apricot Corner Court was exempt from labour except Lord Yun, and that was solely due to his noble title. One would expect a healthy girl like Lu Ying to earn her share. Even the mistress of the house did as much.
‘Still, I smiled,’ said Widow Mu.
The two women bent over their steaming cups.
‘I noticed Lord Yun bowing to your Honoured Guest the other day,’ remarked Mu.
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