by Aya Ling
Slowly, Fang reached out and enclosed her hand in his. Her skin was rough and callused—his heart contracted with a pang of affliction and sympathy. He knew that she willingly worked hard—both as a maidservant and a disciple—but he wished that she would learn to relax a bit in her busy life and to confide in him whenever she encountered trials.
The next second, she withdrew her hand—a move so light and fluid that it almost felt that her hand had vanished.
"I had better carry my lute," she said, without looking at him. "I'm afraid my bag isn't sturdy enough to keep it strapped on my back."
Was she embarrassed about holding hands in public, or was she simply averse to his touch? Fang kept his expression neutral, but inwardly he was hurt by her rejection. Perhaps he was being too hasty? He only hoped that her reason for snubbing him was not because she favoured another.
SIX
The next day, Hong had just finished dusting her master's room when Shue entered. He was a bit earlier than usual; she had not yet brought in his morning tea.
"Ah, good morning, Hong."
"Master," Hong respectfully replied, stepping aside so he could settle in his chair. "Would you like some tea? I can go to the kitchens right away."
"Not now. I have something important to discuss with you," Shue said, putting his elbows on the desk and looking at her. "I have been thinking for a while—you are turning nineteen next month, if I am correct?"
"Yes, master."
"I told you before that you will always have a home here. But Hong, my dear, it seems high time that you should have a family of your own. Have you not someone you fancy? If not, I can employ a reputable matchmaker. Rest assured that you will not marry someone without your consent."
Hong thought of Fang's flushed expression when she laid a hand on his arm, and his smile when he swallowed the peppermint pill. But she couldn't. Not when she was leading a double life. She had made an oath to her sifu, that in return for his training her, she would assist him in righting wrongs and eliminating evil. She had never regretted it, even if it meant sacrificing her chance to lead a normal life.
"It is very thoughtful of you, master," she said carefully. "But currently I am happy where I am. I have no wish to change." Her tone was respectful, but a quiet firmness underlay her words.
Shue sighed.
"I know you have no aspirations, you've always preferred simplicity, but now that I've mentioned it to you, I hope that you will take my words into consideration. You have nothing to fear when I am governor, but I am not getting any younger. If anything happens…"
"No," Hong said firmly. "Master, please don't speak about it. You are in the prime of your life, and you still have many, many years ahead."
Normally a servant would not speak like this in front of her master, but Shue was not like most masters. He had been friends with Hong's father, and even offered to adopt her when Hong's father fell in favour at court. But according to the law, Hong was and should remain low class. She was truly fortunate that Shue had taken her under his wing, for servants were mere commodities and could be easily bartered and sold.
Were Hong a normal servant, she would have acquiesced. She did not even desire the prestigious status of a first wife, she was willing to become Fang's concubine, bear him children, and indulge herself in music and poetry. But since she spent much of her time taking out criminals, settling down was unthinkable. She did not want to endanger the Shue family or her future children.
Shue picked up his brush with another sigh. He had been considering asking Hong to renounce her vigilante identity, but she had made it clear that she did not want to find a partner. Poor Fang. He had known his third son was attracted to Hong, but as far as he could see, the maid did not reciprocate.
"Just think about it, Hong. I honestly believe it's the best for you."
Hong immediately felt remorse. It was not as if Shue was forcing her to yield to some undesirable man thrice her age.
"I apologise, master." She bowed her head. "I will heed your words and let you know when I am ready to be wed." But it definitely wouldn't be soon, and it wouldn't happen while she was still in Shue's residence.
"Good." Shue looked relieved. "Fang has told me that Master Liu is going to teach you a new song for the upcoming banquet. How about you practise your music with him? I'll be occupied with state affairs, so he can serve in my place when you need to have someone listen in advance—apart from Liu, of course. Fang is more versed in music than I am."
Hong could not help but smile a little at Shue's attempt to create opportunities for his son. Well, that request she could meet.
"Yes, master."
Hong was thankful that no big mission came up, which meant that she spent a lot of time at Old Man Liu's doing exactly what everyone expected her to be doing: practising the song for Shue's birthday. Liu had picked a flute song for her, a light and cheery melody that would go well with Shue's birthday banquet. While Hong was more used to practising sad, mournful tunes that brought tears to many a listener, she made the effort to master the song.
She did not neglect her training, however. Old Man Liu continued to drill her mercilessly; he increased the number of candles she had to extinguish twofold and threefold, he made her go running up and down the hill in the back of the compound. In the unlikely case that someone was to drop by again, Liu could just say that Hong was improving her stamina for her music performance.
"That's why I picked the flute," he said gruffly. "You need to possess strength in your abdomen to perform well."
Hong didn't answer. She was still worn out from making twenty trips up and down the hill.
"However, you're seriously limited by your body," Liu said. "No matter how much training you do, you won't last as long as a well-trained fighter, and you'll never beat the strength of a man. A weak scholar, no problem. But a man who's used to hard labour can easily beat you in an arm wrestle, not to mention one who has undergone serious martial arts training."
Hong looked down. "No hope?"
"Nope. Ask Meng-Ting, he's the physician, he knows the human anatomy. Unless…" Liu snapped his fingers. "Unless we can get hold of the Lost Manual, I'd say you have zero chance outperforming a man in strength and stamina."
"The Lost Manual?" Hong frowned.
"Just a nickname, since it's obviously not been in existence for some time," Liu said. "What I know of is this: the Manual instructs on the training of the Water Fist. It is a secret scroll that employs the wisdom of our ancients. When one masters the training, one will master the power of water."
Liu picked up his teacup from his armrest. He tipped the cup over, allowing a few drops to spill on the stone pavement of the court yard.
"You see that water, which seems so soft and malleable, is actually strong enough to create a crack in stone, provided it drips long enough? That is the power the Manual claims. A person from the Hard School of Training, like the Shaolin Monks, can break a slab of stone with a single tough blow. The stone will fall apart in two pieces from the impact. But one who has mastered the Water Fist can break the stone through a different kind of strength. The sound of the palm hitting the stone is not loud, but the stone will gradually crumble into several smaller pieces."
Hong refilled the teacup and pressed it into Liu's hand. "So no one knows where the Lost Manual is now?"
"No idea," Liu croaked. "Last fighter who knew the Water Fist had died—a Taoist nun, I think. No children, of course, and if she had any disciples, they certainly are keeping a low profile."
Hong thought for a moment. For the year that she had worked as a vigilante, she had not met any fighter who possessed the unique skill Liu mentioned. The possibility of cracking—no, crumbling—a stone by force sounded wildly far-fetched, yet she knew her sifu would never lie to her.
Liu set his cup down with a thud on the stone floor. "Forget about it," he commanded. "Your martial skills are decent enough, and if you use your head and weapons wisely, there are few who can be a wor
thy opponent. I am only concerned that if a time comes when you have to singlehandedly defeat an army, or several first-class fighters, your stamina would be a weakness. You'd do well to end a fight as soon as possible."
Hong nodded but did not speak. Even though Liu was blind, she knew that he was able to hear her nodding by sensing the slight change in the air around him.
"Well, get out your lute," Liu said abruptly. "Who knows when your lover boy might pay another visit?"
"Young Master Fang is not my lover, sifu."
Liu grunted. "I may be old, but I can tell that no young man of privilege is going to trudge all the way from the city here on foot."
Hong was silent. A light breeze ruffled her hair.
"So what are you going to do about him?"
She looked down on the ground. "Nothing."
Liu puckered his brows. "Hmph. I knew I taught you sense. Most young men are fools—I was a fool myself—but for a young man of his rank and privilege, he seems decent enough. However, what'll he say if he knows what you've been doing? You can conceal your identity for now, but you can't hide it forever. And even if he accepts you for who you are, it'll be dangerous for him. He'll worry for your safety, and you'll worry about not surviving to grow old with him. And if you have children, that'll be the end. You can never be a vigilante."
Hong knew these things well enough; she had thought about them a long time ago. "I know."
"Better make it soon."
SEVEN
Back at Shue's residence, Hong was again at her daily chores. Excitement was brewing as the entire compound prepared for Shue's banquet. There was the feast, of course, and festive activities like shooting contests, drinking games, and music performances.
After finishing breakfast, which consisted of simple white rice, a boiled egg and some pickles, she headed towards the main compound for her usual morning ritual of cleaning.
On her way, she heard the sound of swords clashing near the lotus pond. An audience consisting of both chambermaids and manservants were gathered around two young men fighting.
When Hong neared the crowd, she saw that it was Fang and his second elder brother, Ping.
"How come they are having a duel?" Hong asked Golden Lotus, who was chewing on her handkerchief.
"Master Fang is going to perform a sword dance during the banquet, and Master Ping, who was passing by, challenged him." Golden Lotus looked on the verge of tearing her handkerchief in half. "Oh, Hong, who do you think will win?"
Hong looked accordingly. While she was more familiar with a dagger than the long sword, the acuity she had acquired from years of training enabled her to make judgement immediately.
Ping was about five years older than Fang, though slightly shorter and had a more muscular build. His movements were calculated and precise; Fang had to rely on his reflexes to parry the blows in the last second. On the other hand, Fang moved faster with a greater burst of energy, his sword thrusts making whipping sounds in the wind. Yet from the sheen of sweat on his neck and his soaked collar, it appeared that he was expending a lot more energy in the duel. He would certainly lose, but Hong privately thought that given his age and experience, it was a remarkable thing that he had managed to hold his own for so long.
Since she already knew the outcome and that she ought not neglect her duties, Hong turned to leave. She had only gone several paces when there was another loud clang of swords meeting, and someone cried out.
Without her looking back, her acute hearing detected something small hurtling in her direction with lightning speed. She knew not what the flying object was, but she sensed it was going to hit the back of her head.
She couldn't risk getting hit; who knew when Old Man Liu would have a new mission? Yet she couldn't reach out and snatch the object either, it would give away her martial abilities. No normal person, even with a stroke of luck, could catch a whizzing object without turning around.
In a split second, Hong made a show of tripping forward. Something hit her chignon—she usually fashioned her hair in a simple chignon on top of her head, as was the usual hairstyle for girls.
"Hong!" Fang and Golden Lotus cried out.
Slowly, Hong extricated the flying object from her hair. It was a small jagged piece of steel broken off from the sword. The edges and tip were sharp; she knew Fang and his brothers regularly had their swords sharpened and polished.
Fang rushed over to her, looking concerned. "Hong, are you all right?"
She nodded and hid her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. It would look strange if she displayed no fear. Golden Lotus put an arm around her shoulders.
"I should have been more careful," Fang said angrily. "If that sword point had hit your head, it would have done great damage."
Hong shook her head. "It's all right," she said softly. "Sometimes accidents happen."
"It's extremely fortunate that you tripped," Ping said, looking at her. "Well, Fang, I think you've proved yourself well accomplished in your sword training. However, remember it's not enough just to be strong and fast—you have to use your brain as well. My strength may not measure up to yours, but since I controlled the angle where I hit, I was able to break your sword."
Something in his tone made Hong wary. Had he been deliberately aiming at her when he broke the sword?
"I see. Thanks for your input, brother, I'll be sure to watch out next time. Do we have wooden swords? I think we need to keep our practising to safer weapons for now on."
"That wouldn't work," Ping replied. "The weight and feel of the wooden sword is completely different. It might have sufficed when we were children and starting to learn the craft, but if you are serious about your training, use the real thing. Your opponents won't be using wooden toys in a real war."
Fang flushed. There was a slight note of condescension in Ping's tone, as though Fang were still a child. "But Hong isn't a warrior." Fang glanced at the slender maidservant who barely reached over his shoulders. "And neither are our other servants. It would be plain wrong to sacrifice them because of an accident."
Hong had a sudden rush of affection for her young master/childhood friend; very few noble young men were as considerate as him. Though at the same time, she was inclined to laugh when he said she wasn't a warrior. He fought well, definitely, but she doubted he could evade a torrent of darts.
"We'll discuss this matter later," Ping said, with another glance at Hong. "Run along, Hong, Father will be needing you in his study. Golden Lotus, go and fetch us some chilled wine. There's nothing like a cup of sweet wine from Family Luo's cellar on a warm day like this."
Hong slipped away quietly, her heart pounding. She had witnessed many sword duels between the brothers, but rarely did the swords break. She wondered if Ping had done it on purpose. He was more observant and harder to fool. Perhaps, after Shue's banquet, she had better hurry up and find an excuse to leave the governor's residence.
The banquet for Shue's fiftieth birthday was held with great splendour. As he was the military governor of the district, many generals and army officers were invited. The magistrate was also present, with his wife and two concubines. Several prominent mandarins, scholars, and even a couple of merchants attended.
Food and drink were served in silver platters, though portions were not as large as expected. Shue had been trying to reduce the extravagance of expenses, especially after the An Lushan rebellion, which had seriously damaged the Tang Empire. It was not hard to see where Fang got his altruistic behaviour.
After a round of drinking and bantering, Shue rose.
"My friends, I thank you all for honouring me with your presence today." He smiled and made eye contact with the guests all around. "Now that you have eaten and drunk your fill, it is time for entertainment. I propose that we start with some music. My personal assistant, Hong Sien, is an accomplished flute player, who had the privilege of being schooled by the great Master Liu himself. Master Liu, as you no doubt know, came from the Pear Garden troupe that served the e
mperor. We may not be in the imperial court, but we shall also have the chance to partake in a music performance fit for the emperor."
Amid tumultuous applause, Hong walked to the centre of the room, where a stool of black ebony was placed, draped with a piece of crimson silk. She was wearing a rose-pink brocaded dress with a pale yellow scarf wound over her sleeves and falling to the floor. A single pink peony was pinned in her hair; silver hoop earrings glittered on her ear lobes. Her eyebrows were plucked and painted, her face snowy white from rice powder. Her flute—a long slender instrument of high-quality jade—was attached to the sash tied around her waist.
There were murmurs of approval from the audience. Fang sat with a frown on his face. He thought Hong looked nice, but the white rice paint made her look too artificial, like some doll. Moreover, he did not like the way some of the generals ogled her, despite Hong being fully dressed. Many of the women present wore low-necked robes that showed plenty of skin—why couldn't they keep their eyes fixed on those women instead?
Hong dipped in a curtsy and turned around, her expression demure and respectful. Raising her hands, which were doused in scented water, she began to play.
The melody was light-hearted and playful, quite apt for the song's name, A Walk in Springtime. Soon people began to tap on the table or clap their hands, keeping to the rhythm of the music. Hong's fingers moved expertly on the flute, the rhythm getting quicker and quicker. Finally the tune reached its pinnacle, finishing on the highest note on the flute. Then the song ended.
Silence ensued. A few people were still transfixed, as though they could not believe that the song had ended. Then applause broke out; people were shouting and cheering and raising their goblets to Hong.