Master Wu's Bride

by Edward C. Patterson

  But this was not the only time Chi Lin saw Ming-kuan. She would spy through the window at him sleeping when no one could see her. When he began to crawl and walk, she made a point to pass by the nursery gate to catch a glimpse. She knew that if Jasmine found her out, there would be sour faces and wagging fingers, but Chi Lin would not be denied. She had a presence with her mother-in-law now. Surely the Lady of the House guessed at these lapses, but said nothing. The Old Lady knew that Purple Sage had well-managed her place as an Auntie to all the children. How was this different?

  When spring passed again and summer crept on dog’s hind quarters, Chi Lin had found her life routinely uneventful. There was always the sewing, the mending, the worms, the touring and a steady improvement to the Hall. Then one day Mi Tso-tze roused her mistress earlier than usual.

  “Mistress, please come.”

  “Why so early, Tso-tze? Surely the world will wait upon my coming.”

  “Surely not.”

  Chi Lin arose from her meal, the tea having gone cold anyway. She followed her handmaiden to the door, over the high threshold and onto the porch. There she gasped. Standing before her were Wu Lin-kua and Wu Chou-fa. Between them stood, short and fidgeting, but on his own two legs, Wu Ming-kuan. The older boys bowed, and then forced the baby into a little bow. He did so, his blue robe flopping before him, his small top knot facing Chi Lin.

  “You must pay respects to Auntie,” Wu Lin-kua said.

  The First Son had sprouted in the last year and was a full head taller than Chou-fa.

  Chi Lin trembled. She felt weak and reached tentatively for Mi Tso-tze, who grasped her arm. How beautiful was her child, astounding in the morning light. How did he get free of his amah? Chi Lin did not care. She wanted to rush to him, lift him to the sun and shout to the world, this is my creation. This is Ming-kuan, the wonderful. But she knew this would bring dishonor and certainly confuse the child, who was ignorant of the circumstances and must remain so. She bowed to her three nephews.

  “Welcome to the Silver Silence Hall,” she said.

  The boys bowed again.

  “We thought it was time that our little brother sees his auntie in her own place,” Lin-kua said. “We cannot stay. The amah will notice he is gone and perhaps will sound the alarm.”

  “She does not know?”

  “She is a child herself,” Lin-kua replied. “She sleeps too often than it is good for her.”

  “But indeed to our advantage,” Chou-fa added, slyly winking. He turned to Ming-kuan. “Say Hello to Auntie Purple Sage.”

  Ming-kuan shook his head. No, it said. But Lin-kua frowned, and the little boy pouted, stamping his foot.

  “You are my Auntie,” he snapped. “You are my Auntie.”

  The words cut Chi Lin, but at the same time it was the first words she had heard from him. They were precious, despite their brutality. She bowed.

  “I have seen you with your mother,” she said. “You are a growing boy and soon will learn your brush strokes.”

  Ming-kuan shook his head again, and then hopped about, his attention gone from the moment.

  “It will be a long time before that,” Lin-kua said. “We must go now, Auntie.” The two boys turned, loosely controlling their brother. They walked ceremoniously away, but near the gate Lin-kua turned.

  “Are you pleased, Auntie?”

  Chi Lin held onto Tso-tze.

  “Very much, so.”

  These visits would repeat over the next few moons until Chi Lin came to expect them, awaiting patiently for the day that Ming-kuan spoke better, fidgeted less and approached her closer. It was well and by far an improvement over the official visits to Blue Heaven Hall, which soon were curtailed, and then ceased altogether.

  3

  Chi Lin toured as a matter of course now, an expert at the form. The First Wife never accompanied her, although Purple Sage was viewed as Jasmine’s proxy. But as one year progressed into another year and yet another, the tenants forgot Jasmine except for the formality of her name. It was Mistress Purple Sage who came to represent the Wu House in the inspection tours. As Chi Li was pleasant and sometimes brought simple gifts – paper dolls and dried fruit for the children, her visits were esteemed and, at times, even cheered. While the Imperial Commissioner’s proxy, Lin Wu-luo, remained a constant fixture, the journeymen varied. Chou Kuai-tze was the most familiar, but Fu Chia-min, Pa Li-tze and Pang Guo-ta were sometimes assigned. They were always formal, except Pang Guo-ta, who kept a cleaner horse and whistled as he rode. He also joked with the elder of the Pao-t’ien during the exchange of silver and the reckoning of the books. So it was one such tour under Pang Guo-ta that Chi Lin decided to take a detour.

  The tour was approaching the road to the ji-tzao, when Chi Lin struck the side of the chair with her fan.

  “Pang Guo-ta,” she called.

  The journeyman turned, stopped his whistling and nodded. The porters set the chair down.

  “Mistress Purple Sage,” he inquired. “Do you need to make water? The culvert is deepest here and can accommodate your need.”

  “No, Pang Guo-ta,” she said. “I have business in the market.”

  “Business?”

  “I wish to be taken there before we inspect the ji-tzao.”

  Pang Guo-ta looked to Lin Wu-luo, who shrugged. This was highly unusual, but also problematic. How could they chastise the fourth wife?

  “Mistress,” Guo-ta said. “Could not your maid servant run errands to the marketplace so as to not interfere with business?”

  “No, Guo-ta. This business is too important, even for Mi Tso-tze.”

  Pang Guo-ta sighed, but bowed from his horse. He then pointed the way toward the market. The porters obeyed.

  Chi Lin was anxious. What would Jasmine say when this detour was reported to her? But Chi Lin could justify it. After all, every tour ended at the Ya-men and, each time, she was invited in to see Ai-lo Wun-kua. Each time, she had declined, because it was not part of the business. But she knew she could visit with the Commissioner as the invitation came from him. So, in her defense, she could say that her conduct on the tours had been exemplary. A trip to the market to fulfill a family need could not be denied.

  The marketplace was not accustomed to seeing a wife from the House of Wu mingling in the common stalls. Despite the activity, merchants and shoppers stopped, bowed and then whispered as Chi Lin’s chair passed fruit stalls, vegetable racks and fish barrels. But her destination was not here. Since she had never been in the market, she was at a loss until she saw the dizzy array of silk bolts in the cloth shop. She called for the chair to halt.

  “Guo-ta,” she called.

  “Yes, mistress.

  “This is the place I seek. Stay here. I shall not be long.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Pang Guo-ta had ceased his whistling.

  Amazed, the silk merchant greeted Purple Sage as if she were the Empress come for a fitting. He waved to his assistants to present the finest weaves and the brightest colors. But Chi Lin raised her hands.

  “I want your best,” she said. “Shimmering blue, rosal pink, deep green, acceptable yellow, gentle fawn and melon.”

  She said this with such resolve and specification, the merchant set his assistants to the task, bringing an array of each color for Chi Lin to inspect. In this she was careful, because she meant to sew robes for the children – acceptable yellow for Lin-kua, gentle fawn for Chou-fa and melon for her . . . well, for Ming-kuan. For the girls, shimmering blue for Sapphire, rosal pink for Pearl and deep green for Jade. She wanted enough to embroider sashes and shoes for the girls and little Ming-kuan, and sashes and caps for the boys, they already being in their leathers. She reviewed each bolt for sheen, matching the color to her imagination until she had her choices and spent a mighty sum.

  “Have these brought to the Hall of Silver Silence in two days time,” she said to the merchant. “I will trust to you the choice of buttons and hem tats.”

  He bowed, and she
returned the bow, while the assistants rushed about as if the order necessitated immediate delivery, which it did not. Chi Lin was content. It would be her New Year gift to the children and would cost her one of her two remaining silver ingots. She could already see the beaming faces standing in a row as they accepted the robes from her hands. She envisioned Ming-kuan taking his tan robe into his baby arms and dancing between his brothers. Chi Lin was content at the thought, and returned to Pang Guo-ta.

  “Is it finished, mistress?” he asked.

  “Most decidedly,” she replied, climbing into the chair.

  The cloth merchant came to the door and bowed deeply. Pang Guo-ta looked to Lin Wu-luo, who shrugged.

  “Then it was house business, mistress?”

  “Most decidedly,” she replied again.

  Pang Guo-ta resumed his whistling. Chi Lin was glad that the journeyman would never mention the side trip to Jasmine because it was house business and, as such, none of his business.

  4

  Chi Lin worked diligently on the robes, secretly, except for Mi Tso-tze’s help. When the children appeared in the courtyard on occasion, the works in progress were shuffled into a large bamboo basket, which the cloth merchant had provided at no extra cost. Only once was the secret project almost revealed, and then the circumstances trumped any secret gift.

  Chi Lin had returned from the ji-tzao after supervising the restringing of several mulberry bushes. She set her attentions to the robes and, being a warm day, she had Po Bo lug the basket to the edge of the pool, where she proceeded to embroider a fierce lion’s head on the acceptable yellow fabric destined for Wu Lin-kua, when Wu Lin-kua raced through the gate as if he was chased by a dog. In fact, Chi Lin’s Zhang dog, which she had named Raisin Cake because his eyes were as purple as his tongue, barked and nipped at Lin-kua’s heels.

  “Go away,” Lin-kua shouted at the dog.

  Chi Lin quickly slipped the embroidery under her robes. The barking had brought Lao Lao out of the hut.

  “You are running, Master Lin-kua,” Lao Lao said. “If you run, he will nip. I have the scars to prove it.”

  Lin-kua halted, and then pushed Raisin Cake away.

  “Come here, little one,” Chi Lin said to her pet, and the dog padded over to her, panting beside the bamboo basket. “He was just startled, Master Lin-kua.”

  “It is fine,” Lin-kua replied, frowning at Raisin Cake, who whined, and then took a run at Lao Lao.

  “There he goes now,” Lao Lao said. “He wants Mo Li to give him some pig rind.”

  Lao Lao moved toward the kitchen, Raisin Cake following in anticipation. Chi Lin looked to Lin-kua.

  “You are excited, Lin-kua. Is there a reason?”

  “Yes,” Lin-kua said, panting as hard as the dog had. He looked around, obviously checking to see if anyone was about and listening. “Where is your handmaiden?”

  “Tso-tze is fetching wood. What is so important? Tell me.”

  Lin-kua went to one knee.

  “Auntie,” he said. “You should know. My uncle is dead.”

  Chi Lin dropped her hands to her side.

  “Which one?”

  “Uncle Liang-tze.”

  Chi Lin trembled. She was relieved that it was not Wu San-ehr. Despite being a rigid disciplinarian, the Third Son was honorable and served the dynasty. But Liang-tze brought no honor to the house.

  “How?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “It is not proper, I agree.”

  “No. I cannot say, because it has not been said. There is whispering and grandfather seems sad, but not mournful.” He paused. “I do not think Uncle Liang-tze will be accorded the wearing of the white.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I cannot say, but I can guess . . . as you can guess.”

  “That is a sharp remark, young sir.”

  “Sharp, but true. That is why I tell you, because otherwise you might not come to know it.”

  Chi Lin felt the pain in this remark. The future Master of the House was astute. He knew about the rape first hand. He had latched his arms about his uncle’s throat and saved his Auntie. Of course, he could no more guess the truth than know it, but his mission here was clear. He wanted to lay news of retribution at Chi Lin’s feet. The monster who injured her was dead and it did not matter how or why. Liang-tze’s demise would be satisfaction enough. Chi Lin was again beholden to Wu Lin-kua. Indeed, the embroidered Lion’s head hidden on her lap befitted this young man.

  Chi Lin looked for signs during the next few days – changes in the other wives and a sign in her mother-in-law’s mood, but she could not detect a thing. Was Wu Lin-kua’s news incorrect? Then, she made bold to ask Willow. It was inappropriate to do so, but she found the handmaiden cleaning her mistress’ jewelry and approached her with small talk – remarks on the weather, on health and telling her about the secret robes she was creating for the children. Then, during a silence, which felt final, she asked.

  “Forgive me, Willow, but I must ask.”

  “You may ask anything you wish, mistress,” Willow replied. “I may not be able to answer, but I certainly will listen.”

  Chi Lin expected no less.

  “I have heard something spoken on the wind and am curious to know the truth.”

  “Much comes on the wind. Much is untrue.”

  “I sense you are correct. But I must know.” She paused, cocking her head as if to listen better. “The wind says that the Second Son has gone to the Yellow Springs.”

  Willow stopped cleaning earrings and hairpins. She looked away, her breath hitching.

  “I cannot say,” she said.

  “You may not say or you will not say?”

  “I cannot say, but . . . it is true. The wind who told you this should have been stopped in the eaves.”

  “That wind said that the House would not be donning the white.”

  “The wind speaks ill then, because it speaks true.”

  “But the wind does not say why. Nor does it settle the details upon my ears.”

  Willow set her work aside. She stood, and then bowed low to Chi Lin.

  “I wish you a good day,” she said, and entered the Jade Heart Hall leaving Mistress Purple Sage with no more detail than she had at the start.

  “This is worrisome,” Chi Lin muttered.

  Although the wind may have been mysterious and Willow may have been curt, Chi Lin knew where she could settle this issue. She would tour again and, this time, accept a certain invitation long declined by decorum, but now considered a ripe opportunity to settle what the wind could not.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dismising the Shadows

  1

  “Pang Guo-ta,” Chi Lin said at the end of the tour.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Today I go see the Commissioner.”

  Pang Guo-ta, who had been whistling on his fine white and grey, nearly fell from the saddle. He looked to Lin Wu-luo, who also seemed surprised.

  “You shall enter the Ya-men, mistress?”

  “I shall enter. I have done so before, and shall do so now.” She looked toward the proxy. “Lin Wu-luo, please announce me to your lord.”

  Lin Wu-luo, at first, hesitated, but then rode ahead to the Ya-men gate.

  “But mistress,” Guo-ta stammered. “Can we visit with the Commissioner without an invitation?”

  “I have an invitation, Guo-ta. I have had it for some time but have declined it because there was no business to discuss. Now I have business.”

  “Business with the Commissioner that has not been discussed with me?”

  “Why should it be discussed with you, Guo-ta?”

  “Ji-tzao business is Master Wu’s business, which I am a party to when we tour and inspect.”

  “We have toured and inspected, Guo-ta. The business I have with the Commissioner is not ji-tzao business, but business of the house nonetheless.” She tapped her fan on the chair and the porters lifted her. “To the Ya-men gate,”
she commanded them.

  Guo-ta sat on his fine horse like a memorial statue to some fallen hero. When he recovered, he moved forward at an awkward pace.

  “You are set on doing this, mistress?” he asked.

  “It does not dishonor us, Guo-ta, and you can sip wine and eat pork with the Superintendent’s men while you wait for me. You deserve it.”

  Guo-ta overtook her, grinned, and then headed to the gate. He did deserve it. It was the business of the house, after all.

  Chi Lin caused a stir when she entered the Ya-men, but not as much as the first time when she was big with child and brimming with vomit. This time the clerks grumbled, but they bowed. One time is precedent, but twice is a common annoyance. Lin Wu-luo had announced her, had he not? So there was a stir, but no surprise. Chi Lin expected Superintendent Po T’ai-kuan to emerge and frown, perhaps chastising her for impudence and inappropriate behavior, but he did not come. Instead, a young man, perhaps older than Lin-kua approached her, bowed and raised his hands in a ceremonious welcome.

  “I welcome the ghost bride on behalf of my father,” said the young man, his voice cracking. “I am Ai-lo Tu-fan, the First Son of Ai-lo Wun-kua.”

  Chi Lin nodded respectfully, and then disengaged the chair.

  “I have come at your father’s invitation.”

  “This is known. Follow me.”

  Chi Lin already knew the way, but dutifully followed Ai-lo Tu-fan into the Commissioner’s courtyard. His hall, which was called The Pavilion of Pious Meditation, seemed hardly pious and scarcely meditative, his other children racing about, and their amahs trying to keep them in order. The sight delighted Chi Lin.