The First Son led her beyond this spot and into a willowy garden, where he crossed a decorative stream on a bow-arched bridge. On the other side, his father sat, a table spread with tea and red sugar buns.
Ai-lo Wun-kua stood upon seeing Purple Sage, she curtsying to him.
“Welcome, wife of Wu Hung-lin,” the Commissioner boomed. “Long have I waited for a visit from you. But I know the protocols can be strict. Han ways are a mystery to me still although I have lived here all my life.”
Chi Lin did not engage with these thoughts, but took a seat, bowing to the First Son as he drifted back across the bridge.
“Try this tea,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said, pouring. “It is from the high mountains of Shu where the best green ch’a is harvested and prepared to the good effect.”
Chi Lin nodded, took the bowl from his hands, and then sipped. It was true. Even the leaves whisked clean of her teeth. A red bun was offered, which she took but set aside.
“I do not have much time, my lord,” she said.
“I know,” Ai-lo Wun-kua agreed looking to the sky. “It looks like rain and you still have a journey home. But we can at least exchange the news of the day.” He winked. “I am sure you have come to feel the pulse of the times.”
“There are things I would know.”
“I surely may guess them. And I am happy to be the pretext for such an inquiry.”
Chi Lin eased her heart. Somehow the Commissioner knew why she was here. It would make her probe easier. She would not need to fill her belly with red buns and tea, and discuss the Spring and Autumn Annals, although that would please her and she was prepared to do it. She set the bowl aside.
“I am glad you know. There has been talk in the household about the Second Son.”
Suddenly, Ai-lo Wun-kua frowned.
“So that is why you have come. You wish to know the town gossip.”
“Not gossip, my lord.” She was suddenly unsure. Had she misread him? “I do not mean to stir your head against me. I am not a woman who thrives on whispers. But there is an interest between me and . . .”
“Say no more,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said abruptly. “Wu Liang-tze has been a source of gossip before. Indeed much is said now. I am privy to the inquest and will tell you plainly.” He took a deep sigh, and then downed his precious tea in one gulp. “I know the man has caused much consternation to the women of Yan-cheng. I know he has misused you, shame on me to mention it, but you have asked and so you must hear.”
“My lord,” Chi Lin said anxiously. As much as she wanted to hear, she felt she had provoked his anger. Perhaps there were some discussions which must never occur between men and women. “If I have offended you, I must thank you for your hospitality and depart.”
“I will not hear of it,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said, softer. “I am distressed by Wu Liang-tze’s conduct and the dishonor he has brought to his family. I will be as delicate as I can.” He stood, walking to the foot of the bridge. He did not face her, but spoke in muffled tones. Chi Lin pitched forward to hear him. “Your brother-in-law had breached the code of decency many times with many women. His conduct with his own wives had been rumored, but that is a man’s business within the hallows of his own hall. He also frequented the pleasure houses and liked The Sojourn of Heaven’s Eye best. I need not tell you the attractions cuffed between its walls. Such places must be tolerated, business being business. But your brother-in-law strayed further.” He turned abruptly. “He breached the House of Gui.”
Chi Lin gasped. The Gui family was Yan-cheng’s second richest household. It was to that house her sister was to be a ghost bride but had refused. They were a respectable clan, owned many fields on the periphery of the salt ji-tzao, and maintained orchards and a fish hatchery.
Ai-lo Wun-kua scowled. Chi Lin thought he would spit.
“Wu Liang-tze had his way with Gui Nung-xin’s wife and she, too afraid to tell, kept the secret. But Liang-tze was not a quiet man as you well know. One night he had too much to drink at the Sojourn of Heaven’s Eye and boasted of his Gui conquest.”
“You need not tell me more,” Chi Lin said, lowering her head to the table.
“I would not, except to say that word travels fast and far. The Gui clan waited outside the Sojourn. At the inquest it was difficult to recognize Wu Liang-tze from his many pieces.”
Chi Lin choked. She would not have wished this upon anyone, even Wu Liang-tze, but it explained many things. It explained why the House of Wu did not speak of it. It explained the eschewing of the white and any signs of respect for the Second Son. To do so would compound the dishonor to the House of Gui. She suspected quiet compensation was sent to Gui Chou-ping, the Master of the Gui household. Wu Liang-tze’s household was now at the mercy of Wu T’ai-po.
Ai-lo Wun-kua returned to the table. He poured more tea for his guest, and then some for himself.
“Do not be sad, Purple Sage,” he said. “The man has descended to the pit of the seventh hell and will not disturb you again, even when you reach the Yellow Springs.”
“I am sorry I pressed for this news.”
“I understand. I thought you had come on another matter.”
Chi Lin sighed. What other matter would bring her here?
“I enjoyed the book, my lord,” she said, guessing, “and would love to discuss it.”
“I would love to hear your views. No women in my acquaintance, except my wife, can rise to that occasion, and she finds it a tedious effort. But I thought you came to see your father.”
Chi Lin tensed.
“My father?”
“Yes. He is here today.”
Chi Lin stood. She was confused, but excited. She had not seen her father in four years.
“Where is he, my lord?”
“With the superintendent. We should go at once.” He looked to the sky. “The sky is turning nasty and would blow away your chances if you do not hasten.”
Tea was over. Chi Lin followed Ai-lo Wun-kua back over the bridge and to her awaiting chair.
2
Whatever horror racing through Chi Lin’s mind concerning the Second Son’s demise was chastened by thoughts of seeing her father. She wondered why he was at the Ya-men. Chi Ming had not visited here since the Emperor’s purge, which spared him his life, but not his job. Perhaps he was pardoned or perhaps the Emperor had a change in heart and decided he needed another head for the pyramid. Perhaps Chi Ming had resumed business with the Ya-men. How would Chi Lin know, after all? In either event, she swallowed hard as the chair entered the Hall of Presiding Solace, where Superintendent Po T’ai-kuan resided as Yan-cheng’s Magistrate.
Chi Lin was sure her presence here would cause more than a stir if it had not been for Ai-lo Wun-kua who met the various clerks by spreading his arms to their insipient bows. The hall was honeycombed with partitions and offices, but at its end, on a covered verandah, which would have been a bright spot on any other day but this one, sat Po T’ai-kuan and his visitor. Upon seeing Ai-lo Wun-kua, the Superintendent was upstanding, his hands waving.
“Why is this woman here?” he snapped.
Chi Ming stood also, but was grinning broadly. Chi Lin thought he would jump about and dance the jia-ju.
“Forgive me, Magistrate Po,” Ai-lo Wun-kua said. “My guest came on other business. I determined that it would not be adverse to Heaven if she were to pay a visit to her most esteemed father.”
“But is it proper?” Po T’ai-kuan stated.
This was a rhetorical question, but Ai-lo Wun-kua took advantage of the slip.
“You know that it is, Magistrate Po. It is like the dutiful daughters of Chou, who were as steadfast in battle as the sons.
“I walk the land of my fathers,
The wheat fields are green and wide.
I'll tell the world of my sorrow,
All friends will be at our side.
O listen, ye lords and nobles,
Blame not my stubbornness so!
A hundred schemes you may conjure,
“Come, I will recite some more while we walk.” He cuffed Po T’ai-kuan’s shoulder and led him away. “Do you know the verses of Xu Mu of Chou? They are indeed rich in sound as well as meaning. Let me regale you with them, while this dutiful daughter pays homage to her noble sire.”
Po T’ai-kuan had no choice. Chi Lin left the chair approaching her father, who did not stand on ceremony.
“Heaven is good to me, my daughter,” he said. “I never would have thought to see you again, even as this sky grows dark and my life reaches the edge of the forest.”
Chi Lin trembled. She went to her father, kneeling at his feet, but he raised her up as best he could. She looked into his dim eyes and saw what she loved most in this world – the eyes of her son, Ming-kuan – the sparkling parts, the gray excluded.
“Tell me father,” she whispered. “Tell me that you have not been summoned here on some fault.”
“Who is not without fault, daughter?” he said. “Past or present, a man cannot wake without tripping over his sandals. But I come here once a moon to take the pulse of things. Po T’ai-kuan owes me that much, although he is good to accommodate my curiosity. But come, sit with me.”
Chi Lin, relieved that her father’s visit was routine, sat more comfortably.
“To set eyes on you again,” she said. “Is my brother well?”
“As always. And your sister has retired as planned to Chang-tzu Temple. Through her our family will received many blessings from Lord Buddha.”
“I am happy to hear it.” She nodded. “I am settled in the Wu Household.”
“Settled?” Chi Ming laughed. “I should say more than settled. You have added to their number and have become an important Auntie to your husband’s children,”
Hearing this did not ease her mind. Her father knew then that she had given birth and had reconciled it to his mind like the rest of the world — a ghost child from the spirit of the house. She could embrace this fiction to cover her shame, but to hear her father embrace it unsettled her.
“You do know that . . .”
“I am no fool, daughter,” he said, first frowning, and then puckering. “I know you do not water the flowers to make children sprout. I know how it is done and I know when it is best to not question tales from the fa-shr.” He winked. “Besides, when the little one was born, your father-in-law sent me a fine new robe and five new brushes. Such brushes you have never seen — supple, commanding the strokes as if I had never practiced the art.” He laughed. “Wu T’ai-po has even sent your brother work — several contracts to copy and a dozen tally sheets. I would say he is pleased with you, daughter. That brings me great honor.”
Chi Lin nodded again.
“He is a good man,” she said. “Even the Old Lady of the House is kind in her way. The other wives are tolerable and I have my own place with servants and a cook.”
“A cook? And yet you are not fat.”
“I was fat for nine moons and do not like the feeling.” She grinned. “I did not cope with the chair then and my feet were swollen and tripsy.”
“Good to stay as you are, Chi Lin,” he said.
“I am the least in the house — just above the servants.”
“And yet you are visiting the Imperial Commissioner in the Ya-men. I would say your betters sit at the foot of the Jade Emperor.”
Chi Lin did not mean to boast. It was not in her nature, but it was a fine thing to hear her father praise her so.
“I do not come to the Ya-men often,” she said. “The Commissioner is a different sort.”
“A Mongol, to be sure, with different views, which are regarded as strange by some. But he has princely blood in his veins and has served the dynasty well. But the Emperor can be fickle, as well I know, and Ai-lo Wun-kua should keep an owl on his shoulder.”
“Is that the pulse in the court?” she asked.
Her father did not answer. Instead, he took her hands in his and caressed them
“These are so like your mother’s,” he remarked. “You have her spirit. Remember your place in the House of Wu — keep to it, but know your influence.”
“I suspect I already know.”
“You can be content at being the least,” he said. “Content and fed, industrious and a helpmate. But if you allow your mother to rule your steps, you will rise in influence. Do you know why?”
Chi Lin heard a whisper in her mind — her mother’s voice. It said a woman finds influence only through her children. They carry her to the summit of respect.
“The children,” she said. “I am the Auntie to six children.”
“Your way is clear of a mother’s place,” her father said. “When an Auntie has the respect of the children, they become her children and she garners the highest respect. Remember that, Chi Lin. Only one child may be your flesh, but your husband’s legacy belongs to you also.” He stared at her, hooking her eyes with his. “And . . . children . . . grow. They need a champion to assure they are not weeds. That is the garden you keep, my daughter. That is your garden.”
“Your journeyman is prepared to leave, Mistress Purple Sage,” came a voice — Po T’ai-kuan’s, now alone and returned to the verandah. “The sky is menacing. You should return home before the rain comes.”
Chi Lin stood, curtsied to her father, and then bowed to the Superintendent. She knew this was the last time she would see Chi Ming, but she was happy for the encounter — one that would linger even to the edge of the grave. Ai-lo Wun-kua was gone, so Chi Lin strode through the Hall of Presiding Solace, and then out to her awaiting chair.
3
On the road, Chi Lin noticed two things. The porters walked twice as fast as they had before and the sky was beyond menacing — a sooty morass drifting quickly as if pushed by a dragon. Other things were pushed also — bits of bamboo, dust and dirt, a renegade lantern. Town folk, some with carry poles, others holding their hats, ran against the grain toward the village. Then a gust took her fan, blasting it out of her hand.
“Pang Guo-ta,” she said, the wind howling now. “What is happening?”
Guo-ta slowed his steed, who was unsettled.
“It is a big storm, mistress.”
“Have you even seen one like this?”
“No.”
Then the front porter whined. He was hit with something. He tottered, wobbling the chair. Chi Lin held fast, but then the conveyance tossed her to the ground. Guo-ta rode back, screaming at the porter, threatening him with his crop.
Chi Lin was stunned. She pushed up from the road, brushing the dust from her robe. Then she saw what had struck the porter. A bird — a sea bird. It was bloodied, its wings limp. She looked up, just as the rain began — a heavy downpour which washed the dust to mud and filled the road trench fast — a gully, swollen and rushing. She looked to the porters.
“Run back to the house,” she shouted. “Leave the chair. It is useless. Run.”
The porters looked to Guo-ta, who raised his crop. The porters ran.
Chi Lin, drenched now, staggered to the horse. She reached up.
“Lift me up. I will ride with you. We must warn the household.”
“I am sure they know, mistress.”
“Lift me up.”
Pang Guo-ta reached down and pulled Chi Lin into the scant space before him. He clutched her firmly and cuffed the horse to a gallop. They passed the porters, who slipped and slid.
Chi Lin looked at the sky again just before they reached the gate. It was yellow now, with black streaks. She heard a howling wind and a strange vibration coming from the sea. She wondered whether this was Wu Liang-tze’s revenge on the world — a world that sliced him up and spit him into the seventh circle of hell. No matter what the cause, Chi Lin was happy to reach the gate. She worried about her household and the children. She wondered whether the roof on the Hall of Silver Silence would hold, whether Gao Lin’s work would continue to shelter her soul.
Through the gate they r
ode just as the first lightning bolt struck the Thuja tree nearest to the silk ji-tzao. The tenting caught fire. Chi Lin thought of her other babies – the worms.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tai-feng
1
As the wind roared through the courtyard trees and the rain swept the already puddle dotted ground, Chi Lin had only one thought. Safety. Not her own, but her son’s. Although Pang Guo-ta directed her into the Jade Heart Pavilion instructing her to take shelter in the root cellar, her feet went in a different direction — toward the nursery. When she reached the wooden walkway, which shook terrifically, she could see the residents of the eastern halls coming. On minced steps and supported by her two hand maidens, Lotus walked the course, babbling unintelligently to the wind. She was followed by the amahs, her two daughters and, to Chi Lin’s delight (and relief), Ming-kuan, skipping as if it was a bright sunny day. He clutched his favorite toy — a miniature boat, which would have done finely in today’s puddles.
“Ming-kuan,” Chi Lin said, the boy ignoring her.
“Do not distract him,” snapped an imperious voice.
Jasmine followed with her sons, P’ing Chin corralling them as if they were wayward sheep. Chi Lin stepped onto the causeway.
“I mean to help,” she said.
“It is best you follow us to safety,” Jasmine snapped. “The Third Son will be fine. You need not interfere in my business.”
Chi Lin halted. This affront under such circumstances was unwarranted — mean-spirited and laced with impudence. However, what could she do? Ming-kuan was fine. Any untoward attention paid now would be out of place. So she turned away and set her sights on the Silver Silence Hall.
A stream rippled through her sandals, her wai-tze sopped. She had no san-tze and thought that it would not be useful in this wind. There was no help for it. She was drenched already and chanced being wet down to her fu-chuang. It was also difficult to see. As she came near the gate, a bough crashed at her feet.
“Ai,” she cried, raising her hand.
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