Silver Phoenix

by Cindy Pon

  He too had stopped eating and straightened his back. “I know what happened to my mother now.”

  She saw again in her mind the beautiful woman with the haunting eyes.

  “What was it like?” he asked, after a moment of silence.

  Ai Ling averted her face, feigned interest in selecting more morsels for her plate.

  “I thought I heard her speak through me,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Who?”

  “Silver Phoenix.” She rubbed her brow. “I wish I knew her story—her whole story.”

  “It’s enough for me to know yours.” Chen Yong smiled.

  She was suddenly limp with exhaustion.

  “It’s a few hours before morning. You should sleep,” he said.

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’ll stay by your side.”

  Ai Ling rose and climbed into the sumptuous bed. She burrowed under the thick blanket. Chen Yong would keep watch over her. She gave herself to slumber before another thought could form.

  Ai Ling awoke to find sunshine filtering through the lattice windows. Chen Yong sat on a chair beside the bed, his head bent over a well-worn book bound in dark leather.

  “What’re you reading?” she asked, her voice rasping.

  Chen Yong glanced up. “You’re awake.” He grinned, despite looking weary. “It’s a philosophical text by Long Kuei.”

  “Oh.” Ai Ling stretched. “Did you sleep?”

  “No. Your father came a short while ago to say Master Cao has arranged carriages for our journey home.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed. “And Zhen Ni brought you fresh clothes to change into.”

  Ai Ling climbed with reluctance from the bed and examined the clothes. A simple tunic and trousers, made of lavender silk with pearl buttons. Her hand reached for her jade pendant from habit, but grasped nothing.

  “My necklace,” she said.

  “Did you lose it?”

  She searched through her knapsack and found her necklace. Ai Ling cradled the pendant in her palm—the jade had clouded over, an opaque white.

  “Can you help me put it on?” she asked.

  She bowed her head and Chen Yong stood behind her, fumbling a little with the delicate gold clasp. The heat rose to her face when his fingers brushed against her nape.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, without turning to him. Ai Ling picked up the new tunic and trousers but paused before entering the bath chamber.

  “Chen Yong, I’m grateful you stayed with me.”

  “I promised I would until the end, didn’t I?” He winked at her and smiled. She knew he was one to keep his promises.

  They took their morning meal in the reception hall outside the dressing chamber. Then her father led them to the outer courtyard, near the gate through which they had entered the Palace. A tall man dressed in a deep blue scholar robe greeted them—Master Cao.

  “I’ve arranged royal carriages for your passage home,” Master Cao said. “A courier has been sent to the Emperor, giving news of Master Zhong’s passing. Of natural causes on his wedding night.” He laced his long fingers together and turned to Ai Ling. “Quite sad, indeed. The grieving bride has been sent home to her family.”

  Her father clasped his old colleague’s hand in both of his. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  Master Cao shook his head. “The entire kingdom is in great debt to your daughter, old friend. Zhong Ye outlasted dynasties, he could not be destroyed. Those who have tried were executed…or murdered.” The adviser dropped to his knees and bowed before Ai Ling.

  Astounded, she reached down to the older man and touched his shoulder. “Please, sir, rise. I only did what I had to.”

  Master Cao rose. “Know you did more than that. We’ll always be here to serve you, Mistress Wen.”

  Not knowing what more to say, Ai Ling bowed and walked to the carriage that had drawn up outside, just beyond the moon gate. She climbed in and sat down. As she waited for her father, another carriage pulled up, and she suddenly understood. Chen Yong would be taking his own journey home.

  He approached her carriage as if summoned by her thoughts. “It’s strange to say farewell.”

  “You return home now?” She looked down at her clasped hands, tried to speak in a steady voice. “Why not stay at ours for one night? It’s on the way.”

  Chen Yong shook his head, the morning sun bright behind him. Dark shadows marked the curves beneath his eyes, making his cheekbones more prominent. He was leaner than when she had first met him. Their journey together seemed to have chiseled his features, sharpened the last remnants of youth. “I need to tell my family about Li Rong.” He spoke softly, his voice raw.

  Li Rong.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  These words finally brought the tears she had tried so hard to hold back, and she raised her face. “Will I see you again?” She gripped the open window of the carriage, fought the urge to reach for his hand.

  He drew a step closer. “Yes, you will.”

  She wanted to believe him. Chen Yong moved away from the carriage as her father climbed inside, and Ai Ling leaned back. He always kept his promises, she reminded herself, as their carriage rumbled away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After days of constant travel, Ai Ling and her father finally pulled through the gates of their small town of Ahn Nan. There were tears in her father’s eyes as he hugged her mother fiercely.

  Her mother swept Ai Ling into her arms. “I’m so thankful you are both home.”

  Ai Ling let herself sink into her embrace. Mother, who had always appeared so strong to Ai Ling, felt frail.

  Her mother waved them into the main hall. “I was worried to the bone about you. You’re as pigheaded as your father in so many ways.”

  Her father laughed loudly—which brought youth back to his lined face. Her mother smiled, her body leaning toward his.

  “I couldn’t marry Master Huang, Mother. And I couldn’t put you in the position to choose, either. I knew you wouldn’t let me go alone.”

  Her father’s laughter ended abruptly. “Ai Ling told me he came and threatened you.”

  “Yes. He wanted Ai Ling as a fourth wife to pay for the debt you owed,” her mother said.

  Father slammed a closed fist into an open palm, anger coloring his face. “It was a lie.”

  Her mother nodded, still as elegant as ever. “We knew. But there was no way for us to contest him. He brought the contract with your seal on it.” Her mother caressed Ai Ling’s face, her fingers felt rough against her cheek. “I was worried senseless, but I know you. I don’t fault you.”

  Ai Ling grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

  “Don’t be. You brought your father back. And Master Huang didn’t bother me again. He died soon after you left.” Her mother’s voice lowered. “They think he was murdered.”

  The Life Seeker. Ai Ling recalled the entrancing song of the woman in Lao Song’s restaurant; that first day away from home, so long ago. She knew she should feel pity or remorse for Master Huang’s passing. But she did not.

  They sat down, and Ah Jiao brought in a tray of teacups for everyone. Ai Ling gasped in surprise and jumped to her feet to hug the servant. Her mother laughed with pleasure. “She returned without pay when she found out you had left.”

  “You’ll be paid triple that for your devotion and loyalty, Ah Jiao,” Ai Ling’s father said.

  Ah Jiao’s broad face colored, and she wrung her hands. “It’s so good to have you and Mistress Wen back, master.”

  Ai Ling yelped as a gray blur streaked into the room, winding itself around her ankle.

  “Taro!” She swept the purring cat into her lap, her heart filling with a bittersweet joy, unable to believe she was home at last.

  Five long weeks passed before Ai Ling received a letter from Chen Yong. She had refrained from writing herself, unsure of what she would say, afraid of all she wanted to say. The Li family was in mourning for the los
s of Li Rong, but he would visit soon. Her father had promised to tell Chen Yong the story of his birth. Surprised, Ai Ling asked her father. But he refused to divulge anything, saying she would learn the story at the same time Chen Yong did.

  Ai Ling read Chen Yong’s letter each day until she knew it by heart, the curves and lines of his calligraphy, the parchment folded and unfolded so many times it wore and softened beneath her fingers.

  On the promised day, Chen Yong arrived at the Wen manor in the early afternoon. Ai Ling ran to the door before the house servants could respond, stopping abruptly to slow her breath. She ran her hands over her green tunic, the color of new grass, embroidered with cherry blossoms, before pulling the heavy door open.

  Chen Yong stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in elegant clothing, a formal robe in dark blue with silver embroidering and matching trousers. His face was clean shaven, his amber eyes clear. He seemed taller, his frame filling their doorway.

  He smiled, the lines of his cheeks turned boyish, and Ai Ling resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. Instead she reached out her hand and he clasped it, his skin feeling warm and rough all at once against her damp palm.

  “How was your journey?” she asked, her voice squeaking before she cleared her throat.

  “Much easier than the last.” He released her hand too soon. “I had the luxury of a carriage this time. My father insisted.”

  They stared at each other until Chen Yong grinned. “May I come in?”

  She pulled the door open, blushing. “Mother and Father are waiting for you in the main hall.” They walked through the courtyard side by side, the autumn flowers in full bloom against the walls and within the stone urns, offering bursts of orange, gold, and red.

  “Who cultivates the flowers?” Chen Yong asked, studying them with admiration.

  “I do.” She could not refrain from smiling with pride. “It’s a task Mother passed on to me. Our courtyard is small, but I find peace here. I paint here often.”

  “I can see why.”

  She entered the main hall to find her mother and father standing beside the round tea table. Chen Yong made an informal bow. “Thank you for inviting me to your home, Master Wen, Lady Wen.”

  Her mother stepped around the table to draw Chen Yong into an embrace. “I had hoped my husband would find you one day, to tell you your story.”

  Two bright spots colored his cheekbones. Ai Ling sat down on one of the lacquered stools in an attempt to hide her astonishment. Her mother already knew Chen Yong’s history; that much was obvious. Why did no one ever tell her anything?

  Their late midday meal consisted of fresh steamed fish—a luxury that was only served during New Year’s, usually—along with deep-fried squash from the garden coated in a rice-paste batter. Ah Jiao served small savory dishes of pickles and salted meats, along with a large crock of rice porridge simmered with sweet yams.

  The conversation between them was lighthearted and easy, much to Ai Ling’s relief. After the meal, her father retired to his study, asking them to join him as soon as Chen Yong felt ready.

  Ai Ling led Chen Yong to his bedchamber, a room they used for sewing. Overnight guests were a rarity in their household. He placed his knapsack on the low bed while she eased the lattice panels open to bring in the crisp autumn air.

  “Would you like to rest awhile?” she asked.

  He did not appear at all travel worn and seemed even more alert after the meal. Ai Ling felt the heaviness of her limbs and could have done with a nap herself.

  “No, thank you. I’d like to see your father, if it’s not too soon?”

  “He’s anticipated this meeting for weeks,” she said. They walked through the courtyard again, weaving between the potted chrysanthemums, gold leaves crunching beneath their footsteps. She veered onto a narrow pathway by the side of the house, and Chen Yong followed a step behind.

  “I see why you found it hard to leave your family. It’s obvious you are close to your parents.”

  “We aren’t traditional by any means. I’m an only child; my father did not take on any other wives.” One of the gnarled branches of the wisteria plant climbing up the manor wall caught her hair, and she jumped, startled.

  “But your parents are content with each other. They love each other,” Chen Yong said, freeing the twig from her braid.

  Flustered, Ai Ling’s hand flew to her hair. She half turned to find his gaze on her. “Yes, they do. They married for love.”

  “I believe my parents love each other too—they grew to love each other. Their marriage was arranged before they turned three years.”

  Joy filled her, to have him here, in her home. Safe. “That’s fortunate. I would not want a marriage without love,” she replied.

  Chen Yong nodded, looked away.

  They arrived at her father’s study, which had its own private garden and entrance. It was Ai Ling’s favorite part of the house, and she went there often, even when her father was not there.

  They passed through the round moon gate and entered an intimate courtyard. Silver fish darted in a deep, clear pool. Two pine trees provided shade, and large rocks were arranged for casual seating and contemplation.

  “How unexpected,” Chen Yong said, glancing around the small garden.

  Ai Ling breathed in the pungent tang of pine. “Come, Father is waiting for us.”

  It was not a big study; the room was bright and cozy. A long rectangular desk was set beneath the paneled windows, allowing whoever sat there a view of the tranquil garden. Two walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. The last wall had a low ancestor altar set against it. Her father had just lit new incense, and the subtle scent of sandalwood curled through the air.

  Her father turned his wooden chair and smiled at his visitors. “Bring the stools. I’m afraid I don’t have anything more comfortable here.” Chen Yong pulled two wooden stools from under the large desk.

  “Chen Yong, it’s so hard for me to believe you’re the same infant I smuggled out of Palace grounds.” Her father poured tea and offered a cup to each of them.

  Ai Ling stared wide-eyed from Chen Yong to her father.

  “How strange the fates of human lives,” her father said. “I feel you were destined to journey with my daughter to the Palace, so we could find each other again.”

  “Master Wen, what do you remember about my mother…about that night?” Chen Yong’s eyes gleamed with emotion. Now it was her father who held the key to his past. Father took a sip from his wine cup and leaned back against his chair before beginning his story.

  THE sharp rap at the door startled me. I was unsure I even heard it, but there was no mistaking the three taps that followed after the pause. It was the signal. I never slept in a dark room in those days. I never truly slept during my last two years at the Palace. To be one of the Emperor’s most trusted advisers came at a price. Zhong Ye and I did not look square in the eyes. He despised me.

  I pulled on a robe, hurried to the secret panel, and pressed the concealed button, a pearl clutched in the claws of a lion. The door opened. I hardly knew what to expect. Surely, Jin Lian would not come in person. Jin Lian was your mother’s name.

  The pale face of her handmaid peered up at me. She held the lantern at shoulder level, in front of her, like a weapon. “My mistress said to come quickly.” Her voice trembled when she spoke.

  My heart leaped in my throat. Had something gone wrong? I could only nod and follow her. I made sure to close the hidden panel behind me.

  I knew my way to Jin Lian’s room but was impressed by the young handmaid’s assured steps back to the bedchamber. The passageway had many turns and could be confusing at the best of times. Of course, it was never used during the best of times.

  Those corridors were constructed by the order of an Empress long gone. She was convinced everyone plotted against her, and she used the passageways to spy and scheme with her cohorts.

  When we arrived outside your mother’s bedcham
ber, the girl drew aside so I could stand close to the door and listen with one ear. There was no noise, and then I heard the small cry of a baby. I can’t tell you how my pulse raced. I rapped on the door thrice, paused, and knocked once more.

  The panel opened.

  Jin Lian greeted me. Her face was swollen from crying, her nose rubbed raw. She held an infant in her arms. I knew right then you were Master Wai’s child.

  I did not ask, and your mother didn’t need to explain. I had suspected the romance took place even as Zhong Ye plotted to ingratiate your mother with the Emperor—hoping to use her as another puppet to augment his influence and control.

  The punishment would be death for everyone involved. I surveyed the room and saw the old midwife standing in the corner, looking calm and resolute. Impressive.

  Your mother spoke in a quiet voice, her gaze never leaving your face. No one expected the babe so soon, not for four weeks yet, she said. She looked at me then. The tears coursed down her cheeks. She was even more beautiful than when she was dressed in her regal concubine clothing.

  Her tears seemed to agitate you, as if a cord still connected your thoughts and feelings as one. She rocked you, could not stop brushing her lips against your brow and cheeks.

  I asked for rice wine.

  The handmaid returned within moments, bearing a cup and decanter on a lacquered tray. I gestured to the small round table, and she placed the tray on it. “It’s to help the baby sleep,” I explained. “It’s a boy,” she told me, and hugged you closer to her.

  The old midwife approached me with a tiny gold spoon. I poured the wine and dipped the spoon into the cup.

  Jin Lian coaxed you into drinking the wine. You scrunched up your face at the taste of it but took a couple spoonfuls at last. “I think he was tired already,” your mother whispered, gazing down at you.

  I could only pray so. A wail at the wrong time, and we would all be dead. The midwife swaddled you in a thick silk blanket of imperial yellow. The irony was not lost on any of us.