by Jeannie Lin
‘Inspector Tong has been assigned to oversee foreign affairs. He’s been telling me about all the preparations for the caravan. The Emperor has bestowed a bounty of treasures for young Pearl’s dowry. Silks, gold, jade treasures—’
‘We have heard some disturbing news recently,’ Tong interrupted. ‘Rumours that Lady Chang has objections to the wedding. So much so that she may have left the city.’
‘Rumours. Rumours.’ Cao made a shushing noise at Tong’s indelicate approach. He was the quintessential statesman, toiling away at keeping the peace. Even so, the senior minister looked at Fei Long expectantly.
‘Who has started such vicious lies while our family still mourns for our father?’ Fei Long demanded, while his palms began to sweat.
‘Inspector Tong means no offence,’ Cao soothed and Tong mumbled his apology.
Fei Long felt sick to his stomach; first for the lie he needed to perpetuate and second for using his father’s death in such a way. He’d discussed the strategy with Old Man Liang and it was the only way they would be able to avoid scrutiny.
‘My sister is in mourning at home. Pearl is very deeply stricken.’
Cao turned to the younger official, showing that he still held rank here. ‘I told you there was nothing to worry about. I’ve known the family for over these twenty years.’
Fei Long had no doubt that it was Cao who had suggested Pearl to the imperial court as a candidate for heqin. There was more than his family honour at stake. Minister Cao’s reputation also rested precariously upon it.
‘I never expected such scandalous rumours to be true,’ Tong deflected. ‘It’s good to hear that my expectations were correct.’
Twisting like a snake.
‘Let us move on to more practical matters,’ Tong continued. ‘The date is approaching quickly. Normally, the heqin bride is a member of the imperial court. Under these unusual circumstances, the Censorate has suggested it would be wise to bring Lady Chang into the palace to complete her preparations.’
Old Man Liang jerked his head up in the corner. Fei Long prayed the censor missed the sudden movement.
‘Pearl is still very distraught over our father,’ Fei Long replied calmly. ‘The pain of leaving our family is difficult enough. If I may humbly request that she be allowed to remain at home until the time of the journey to ease the transition?’
‘The emotional nature of women,’ Tong snorted.
Cao raised a hand to silence him. ‘Listen here, Fei Long does have a point. Young Pearl has been tasked with a great duty when her family has suffered such tragedy. He’s only acting as the new head of the Chang clan. At the same time—’ Cao turned to Fei Long ‘—Inspector Tong also has a good point. The court would want to insure that your sister is prepared for her duty as a foreign bride. Let me propose that Inspector Tong be allowed to pay your family a visit in a week or so to speak with the lady. That way, we can be assured that young Pearl is receiving the proper instruction.’
Fei Long let out his breath slowly. It was a temporary reprieve only. They had less time to prepare Yan Ling than he had thought.
‘A just decision, Minister Cao,’ he said, fighting not to show any hint of anxiety. ‘And I assure you, my sister is receiving the very best instruction possible.’
Chapter Six
‘Lengthen your step and walk slower.’
Bai Shen stood with arms folded beneath the shade of the circular pavilion in the rear courtyard. He had her strolling from one side of the garden to the other while he watched like a hawk.
‘Never hurry. The audience waits for you,’ he barked out.
He turned out to be as strident as Fei Long when giving orders.
Yan Ling stepped carefully, trying to concentrate on keeping her head up, her steps fluid. By the time she reached the rock sculpture at the end of the garden, she felt as if she’d been running tea from table to table during the afternoon rush rather than strolling like a lady in a tranquil garden.
‘Again,’ he commanded.
She tried to turn around as elegantly as she could.
‘Not so straight,’ he complained with an impatient up-down wave of his hand. ‘Sway a little. Like a young bamboo in the breeze.’
What was he talking about? He kept on telling her to look natural, which became impossible when she was concentrating so hard. Her muscles were tense and aching. The more she tried to follow his instructions, the more awkward she felt.
Bai Shen rubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully as she came towards him. He stepped down from the pavilion to intercept her.
‘Where did Fei Long find you?’ he asked.
Find her. As if she were someone’s discarded shoe.
‘In a teahouse.’ She dabbed at her forehead with the edge of her sleeve and wondered if ladies were allowed to sweat. ‘I was a servant there. I fetched and carried, brewed tea, swept the floors.’
His expression grew intense. She could see why audiences were drawn to him. Every movement of his body was graceful, controlled and compelling.
‘I would make myself as small as possible if I were playing a tea girl,’ he went on. ‘She would always be placed at the back of the stage and only appear when needed. Most importantly, she would never, never draw attention away from the leads.’ His eyes lit up. ‘You don’t like being watched.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Your fear shows in every movement. You have always been the mouse.’
‘Well, I am afraid.’ She threw her hands onto her hips in agitation. ‘I can’t walk, I can’t talk. I don’t even know how to drink tea, which is the one thing I should know. And in two months I have to convince everyone that I’m fit to be a princess.’
Despair gripped her and held on tight. She should tell Fei Long it wasn’t possible and that he needed to find someone else, but the thought of disappointing him sickened her. She’d sworn to Fei Long that she wouldn’t abandon him.
‘You need to become something grand.’ Bai Shen puffed out his chest.
She tried imitating him by pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin up.
‘Not just outside, but in here. In spirit.’ He placed a hand over his heart and miraculously seemed to grow in presence before her. ‘Become a phoenix.’
A phoenix? He was mad. ‘You’re mad,’ she said.
‘There is a light that comes from you when you’re angry.’ He tapped her nose impetuously. ‘Why only then? Don’t you know, my pretty lady? There is a pleasure in watching a woman move. There is a joy in being that beautiful woman, admired by all.’
‘But I’m not beautiful—’
He hushed her with a raised hand. ‘Do you think Fei Long would choose an ugly girl?’
She considered telling him that Fei Long had simply chosen her because he had been desperate and she had been scared of being in the streets.
‘Convince me that you’re beautiful,’ he said in a tone that would not be refused. ‘Not by trying to hide the servant girl, but by overshadowing her with the woman.’
She laughed, part in disbelief, but part in hope. The heaviness within her lifted just listening to him. ‘How did you do that?’
‘Li Bai Shen is the best,’ he boasted.
Bai Shen was a quintessential performer. He knew how to act the part on stage and that was exactly what she had to do. She needed to make the world her stage.
He worked with her for the rest of the morning, walking beside her and demonstrating the ‘water sleeve’ techniques he used on stage. Her robe swirled about her feet while Bai Shen stepped around her, sometimes nodding, sometimes frowning.
‘The silk is a banner,’ he instructed. ‘Drawing attention to you.’
Yan Ling followed his lead and shifted her arms from one side to the other, feeling the fool, but doing it anyway.
‘The clothing says, “look at me, I am an object of grace and beauty.” Say it.’
She giggled. ‘I am an object of grace and beauty.’
Though she knew she wasn�
��t. Fei Long hadn’t chosen her for her manners or her appearance. Their paths had simply crossed at the right time and place.
‘Good,’ he finally declared. He affected a yawn. ‘For a novice. Tell your Fei Long to plan his lessons later in the day next time. Li Bai Shen does not wake up before noon.’
With that, he raised his arm, palm flat to chest, and executed a sweeping bow.
Yan Ling watched as the handsome actor withdrew from the courtyard. She wasn’t sure if half of the movements she learned could actually be used, but she was no longer thinking of every misstep and mistake. Instead, she was dreaming of becoming a phoenix.
* * *
Several hours later, she was actually excited when Fei Long summoned her to his study. He stood from behind his desk as she entered and she imagined herself catching his eye.
‘Miss Yan Ling.’
She inclined her head and gave a bow, already feeling more graceful and feminine. ‘My lord.’
When she glanced up, Fei Long’s familiar stare greeted her along with the same rigid set of his jaw and hard line of his mouth that always hinted there was something more pressing on his mind. Something more important than her. Her spirits sank mid-flight. She supposed she couldn’t expect him to fall to his knees with admiration.
‘How was the morning lesson?’
‘The lesson went very well! Your friend—’ She stopped short, biting down on her lip to pull back her exuberance. He didn’t want to hear about how she’d paraded and laughed. He wanted to see that she could be elegant and controlled.
‘I learned something of great value,’ she amended.
Fei Long nodded, yet he didn’t seem pleased. The muscles of his jaw remained tense. ‘It’s of the utmost importance that you pay careful attention.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied, feeling as if she was being unjustly admonished.
He was always so stern, his expression like stone. For weeks, she had worked at trying to gauge his displeasure or approval, but from what she could see, it was between the hard line as opposed to a slight curve of his mouth. Sometimes his eyes would light curiously when he regarded her. It was more cryptic than reading tea leaves.
He came around the desk to direct her to a smaller table against the wall. It was positioned directly beneath the window that opened into the courtyard. The blinds were rolled up and tied to allow the late-afternoon sunlight to flow into the room.
The chair had been arranged to face the desk. He urged her to sit. Yan Ling smoothed out her robe as she did so. A scroll of paper stretched out in front of her, weighted down by a smooth, black stone. Beside it, a slender brush rested against an ivory holder along with a shallow ceramic dish.
‘We need to begin your writing lessons.’
She stared at the implements before her. ‘But we have only two more months.’
‘My father was known for his talent for words. He taught both my sister and myself.’ He came to stand beside the table. ‘You would be expected to know how to read as well as write.’
‘But will anyone be sending me letters once I reach Khitan?’
She watched him as he struggled for an answer. ‘The imperial court might send messages on occasion,’ he replied.
‘Wouldn’t that be handled by ambassadors or someone more important?’
She didn’t mean to be so contrary, but it seemed that she had just managed to climb one hill to find an even higher mountain beyond it. Fei Long’s presence made her more nervous. While travelling together, they had begun to form a fragile familiarity, but he’d become distant again since their arrival in the capital.
‘I might be expected to send you occasional messages as your brother,’ he argued.
Only to uphold the deception. Loneliness swept over Yan Ling. She had no one to exchange letters with. No one would care what happened to her once she left the borders of the empire.
‘Let’s begin then,’ she deflected.
‘We’ll start today with basic brush strokes.’
Fei Long described the process for making ink from the charcoal stick while she listened intently. Instruction always seemed to ease the tension from him. It was a ritual with expected roles and outcomes: teacher and student. She poured a few drops of water from a vial into the well of the ink stone. Then she ground the stick in small circles until the water became onyx black.
‘The way you hold the brush is very important for proper technique.’
He handed her the brush. Her fingers curled clumsily around the delicate bamboo shaft.
‘Press your thumb here. Curve your first finger.’
His steady hands enclosed hers and a ripple of warmth besieged her. The next breath lodged in her throat and she grew still, at a loss at what to do.
They had touched before. They must have every time she handed him something or he’d helped her onto the horse during their journey. Yet when Fei Long’s hands moved gently over her fingers to position them, her heartbeat skipped.
‘Don’t grip it too tight. Now hook your middle finger around here,’ he continued, unaware of how her pulse quickened beneath his touch.
‘Keep the brush straight as you execute the brush strokes.’ His voice was low, confident. Sensual without meaning to be as it pierced deep to fill her. ‘More control that way. Understand?’
She nodded mutely, afraid to speak. He’d been nothing but Lord Chang up until then, her disapproving task master. This rush of feeling was unacceptable. She swallowed as he moved away from her.
‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked.
Wrong? The brush held fast in her hand and she didn’t move a finger.
‘No, my lord. I…I must be more tired than I thought I was.’ She was ashamed for making such an excuse, but she was more ashamed of the heat swimming through her. It would pass.
His tone hardened behind her. ‘As you mentioned, we have only two months. Not much time.’
She kept her head down. If she looked up, he would certainly be able to see everything revealed in her face. ‘I can continue,’ she said apologetically.
‘Good.’
He took the brush from her and stood to her right. She shifted aside in the chair to give him space. Suddenly, she’d become aware of everything about him: his wide shoulders and how close his arm came to hers. The rustle of his robe as he moved. She watched, transfixed, as Fei Long dipped the tip of the brush into the oily blackness of the ink, swirling to remove the excess. He then braced a hand against the lower corner of the paper and brushed a single dot over the pristine white paper.
‘Diăn,’ he declared. The next stroke was a short horizontal one below it. ‘Héng.’
He continued, calling out the name after each stroke. A bold downward stroke, followed by a hook. Then a series of slanting marks to the side. There was confidence and strength in each movement. Eventually a single character emerged. She stared at it, uncomprehending.
‘Forever,’ Fei Long said.
‘Forever,’ she repeated softly, trying to imprint the character in her mind. The shape of it held mysterious power.
‘There are eight basic strokes that make up “forever”.’ He broke down each stroke separately on the paper, moving from right to left in perfect even spaces. ‘It is important to master each one from the beginning.’
He placed the brush back into her hand. She knew she was gripping it too hard again as she dipped it into the ink stone, but it was the only way to keep her hand from shaking. Before she could place the tip to the paper, Fei Long moved behind her. She closed her eyes as his hand rested against her shoulder to straighten her back. His other arm circled temporarily around her to position the brush and she flooded with fever. Her toes curled with the ache of it when he moved away.
‘Repeat each stroke, moving downwards. Fifty of each, first one and then the other.’ His tone remained steady.
He felt nothing. None of the unwanted fire within her. Silly girl, why would he?
Fei Long continued with his instruction, un
moved. All she was to him was a student. Under less favourable terms, she was a peasant, a servant beneath him that he’d chosen to bestow such learning upon. She had to remember that.
She attempted the first stroke. The single diăn looked so simple, but the ink pooled on the paper and the dot lost its shape.
‘Too much pressure,’ he commented. ‘And the stroke must be done quickly. The ink and paper will take in any hesitation and uncertainty.’
Would the brushstrokes show the turmoil of her emotions?
She tried again and the mark looked a little more like the one Fei Long had made. He watched over the next several attempts.
‘Better. Continue.’
He moved over to his desk. Though they faced one another, she kept her focus on the brush, trying to keep her marks even. She could hear the rasp of paper each time Fei Long turned a page.
She finished practising the basic strokes and then fidgeted nervously while he stood and inspected her work over her shoulder. Her fingers were stiff from holding the brush. She’d been afraid of releasing her hold on it in case she couldn’t find the right position again on her own.
Fei Long hardly spoke as he replaced the sheet of paper before her. He wrote out several simple characters. The first set she recognised as numbers. Then there were a few examples that only used a few strokes. Once again, he instructed her to copy the examples.
‘The order of each stroke is important,’ he told her. ‘The direction of each stroke is also important.’
Everything in its place with him. Fei Long believed in order and boundaries that should never be crossed. Hadn’t he assured her of that the first night of their journey?
* * *
For the next hour, she meticulously worked on the new characters. When she set down her brush to grind more ink, her throat seized when she saw Fei Long watching her. His dark eyebrows pulled close into a frown and his mouth tightened in displeasure.