by Jeannie Lin
Madame Lui was listening to the conversation with her mouth pressed tight in disapproval. As soon as they were finished, Madame Lui came and took hold of her elbow. With a sharp tug, she led her foster daughter from the room.
“That was the young man that Constable Wu assumed was you,” Yue-ying realized.
Huang nodded and stood to face her. “And I don’t believe Mei and her friend merely talked.”
Mei’s corroboration wasn’t strictly necessary, but it served as another piece of a puzzle that was rapidly coming together. While the young courtesan was enjoying a tryst with her secret lover, anyone from the banquet could have slipped away and then returned.
“What does this have to do with the strange characters on the wall?”
“They aren’t strange at all, actually. It’s called Idu script,” he explained. “Used by the Kingdom of Silla as well as the other two kingdoms of the Goryeo empire. The characters look just like our hanzi characters, but they have a different sound and meaning. An unwanted visitor came to the Hundred Songs that night and Huilan excused herself to her room, hoping to flee.”
Yue-ying’s eyes grew wide. “The writing on the wall—”
“Reveals the name of Huilan’s murderer. She was trapped in her room and helpless, yet still she managed to expose him before joining her ancestors.”
“I think you’re wrong about one thing,” Yue-ying said after he read the name out to her along with the accusation Huilan had inscribed. “She wasn’t a helpless victim. Huilan’s family had been murdered by slave traders. It wasn’t enough for her to rescue the child. The silver I found in the temple was payment. She was demanding money to remain silent. That’s why she said nothing. Huilan meant to bleed him dry before making her escape. And then she would have denounced him anyway.” Yue-ying studied the calligraphy before them. “She wanted revenge and now she finally has it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A SIZABLE CROWD gathered by the lone willow tree in the corner of the East Market. The sentence had been proclaimed the day before. Ma Jun, the former East Market Commissioner, was charged with corruption, smuggling, kidnapping and murder. His appointment was a lowly one without much in the way of wealth or status, but Ma had turned the East Market into his domain, growing rich by taking bribes and a cut of the illegal profits. But he’d become greedy, letting in bandits and outlaws indiscriminately until he had no choice but to become one of them to maintain order. The bandits who had been executed a year ago were Ma Jun’s hirelings, sent to protect his interests by silencing Hana.
Huang waited near the front of the crowd. Beside him stood Tse-kang, Huilan’s young scholar. A solemn look pulled at the corners of his mouth and eyes, aging him beyond his years.
“If only we had left the city together earlier,” the young man said softly.
“Huilan sacrificed herself so that he would be brought to justice,” Huang told him.
Justice sounded more honorable than bloody revenge, but either way Ma Jun would pay for his crimes. It was only fitting that Huang see this to the end since Huilan’s eyes were closed forever. This case had taken on such meaning for him. It wasn’t only because of how it had brought Yue-ying and him together, nor was it his newfound attachment to the inhabitants of the Pingkang li.
It was because he had experienced his own encounter with death when Gao had spared him. He didn’t deserve to survive any more than Huilan had deserved to die. For that, he owed. This was atonement.
A murmur rose over the crowd. The prison wagon had appeared at the end of the street. Ma Jun was locked in a cage, the top of it closing over his shoulders to leave his head exposed. A vertical placard was attached to the iron collar around his neck, detailing his crimes in bold black characters. He had been stripped of his clothing other than a pale gray tunic that clung to his body. As the wagon proceeded he was pelted by rocks and rubbish.
Once the procession reached the square, the executioner opened the lock and positioned the prisoner onto his knees before the crowd. The charges and sentence were read aloud once more for all to hear.
Huang watched Ma Jun’s face as the executioner removed the placard and tossed it in the dirt. The former official’s eyes were flat and lifeless as the heavy broadsword swung downward. His head fell like a stone to the dirt while his body remained kneeling. It slumped over a moment after.
Tse-kang looked away, his hand pressed to his mouth. Huang reached out to clasp his shoulder.
“It’s done,” he said quietly. “Huilan’s spirit is finally at peace.”
* * *
BAI FUREN AND MINGYU had chosen a day in the late summer, after the downpour of the plum rains and past the height of the banquet season. The first part of the celebration occurred in the Pingkang li as Lord Bai came with the wedding sedan to retrieve his bride. The ladies of the quarter came out into the streets to watch as the wedding procession went by accompanied by the crash of cymbals and gongs. Was this not every singsong girl and courtesan’s dream?
After a brief ceremony at the Lotus Palace, Yue-ying said farewell to Mingyu, Old Auntie, Madame Sun and the other courtesans and disappeared into the sedan to be taken to her new family.
The true celebration was at the Bai mansion where over three hundred guests had been invited. Yue-ying missed most of it as she was ushered away to the wedding chamber. The bridal bed was carved from dark wood with a canopy arching overhead and draped with red sheets. A lantern was placed on either side of it to represent their union.
She was waiting for hours before Bai Huang came to the wedding chamber, escorted by a rowdy entourage from the banquet. Once they were alone and the well-wishers had retreated, he gently removed the pins from her hair. His hand paused on the hairpin ornamented with a luminous moonstone, which he had gifted to her once more upon their engagement.
As he pulled it away her hair fell to her shoulders. It was the first time Yue-ying had truly felt naked before him. He removed the rest of her clothes without a word, with only the sound of their breathing punctuating the silence. They made love with the glow of the twin lanterns surrounding them.
Afterward she put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his throat, so filled with emotion that she was afraid to look at him. The act of coupling was different, very different, with a husband.
But the night was far from over. An hour later, Yue-ying lay on her stomach, head rested on her arms while Bai Huang traced a character onto her back.
“Do it again,” she implored. “Slower this time.”
He obliged her. His fingertip made a stroke across her spine, followed by two short dabs beneath it, then she lost track as his touch danced over her. She was squirming by the time he finished. It tickled.
“I can’t figure it out,” she confessed.
“It’s the character for ‘ai’.”
Love.
She twisted around to face him. “Why is it so complicated?”
He smiled lazily, lowering himself beside her and propping himself up on one elbow. “Because love is complicated.”
“I didn’t even know that character before,” she complained.
“You do now.”
Her heart did a little leap as he bent and placed a kiss onto her shoulder. Then he touched a hand to her cheek, looking at her as if he never wanted to turn away.
“You’re beautiful, wife.”
When he said it like that, she felt beautiful. There was no need for her to flinch or avert her eyes. She didn’t need to hide any longer.
“You’re beautiful, husband.”
At first she had thought of him only as that: a handsome face, clothed in wealth and privilege, as far removed from her world as the moon and stars. But she was here and he was here, and he was smiling at her as if she were something infinitely precious.
This was the beginning of things. She finally believed it in her heart.
“Write another one,” she implored.
“With pleasure,” her husband replied with a misch
ievous grin.
He blew out the lanterns, one and then the other, and Yue-ying laughed as his clever fingers drew a new pattern tenderly over her skin.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460318096
Copyright © 2013 by Jeannie Lin
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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