by Aya Ling
"Who is that girl?" a general was whispering. "She isn't as beautiful as my wife, but that music is splendid! D'you think Shue will yield her if I ask him?"
"Better not," his companion replied. "I've heard that this girl has enjoyed special favour in the Shue residence—Shue will be taking her as his concubine any time. I suppose he wants to wait until she's old enough."
"Too bad." The general sat back with a sigh. "Old Shue wasn't lying when he said she was schooled by Master Liu."
"You greedy lout!" another officer said. "You already have a beautiful wife, and your concubine is a skilled dancer. Now you want another? Never satisfied, huh?"
"A man is like a teapot, Sergeant Kong," the general said. "A teapot needs several teacups to be a complete set. Likewise, my wife has already fulfilled her role of being ornamental, my concubine satisfies my desire for a good performance, so a girl like this can enhance the musical quality of life… ow!"
Hot mulled wine spilt on his table, wetting his sleeves.
"Very sorry, General Su," Fang said, grabbing a cloth and dabbing at his sleeve. "This wine jar's handle is too flimsy, it just slipped before I could control it. Can I fetch you a new robe?"
"Oh, don't worry about it," General Su said, wringing his own sleeves with a hasty, rough motion. "It'll dry in a minute. What a pity—that wine was excellent quality. Just mind you watch your grip next time… I suppose you don't drink that much? Don't have much experience handling wine containers, hey?"
Fang resented Su's patronising tone, but he knew better than to retort in an inflamed manner.
"Not much, General," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Now I've learnt a lesson."
General Su guffawed and reached for another wine jar. "Here, drink up! We'll make a man outta ya, Fang!"
Hong performed a second song, due to great demand from the guests, but then she declined a third request, excusing herself to rest and take some refreshments. She settled on a stool near Shue and poured herself some water.
Then came a game of pot-pitching, in which a copper pot with a narrow opening was placed in the centre of the room. Each guest was given a handful of arrows, and they were invited to toss their arrows into the pot. Whoever had the most arrows would be awarded a prize.
Hong sat quietly and sipped her water. Arrows flew fast and thick, raining on the pot. Some of the guests were clearly skilled, while others failed even to hit the pot itself. Not only the male guests were allowed to throw; some of the wives and concubines were also given the chance, though only Lynn did well. Everyone applauded and expressed that one couldn't expect less from a military governor's daughter.
"Hong, would you like to try?" Shue asked. "Just for fun."
Hong smiled but declined. With her ability to extinguish candles, it would be too easy to outperform everyone. Still, she could not help observing keenly how the guests took aim—the angle they chose, the positioning of the arrows, the movements of their arms.
As it turned out, Chiao-Ming, a champion archer and experienced fighter, took the prize. Chiao-Ming was a three-time champion in the annual archery contests, and he was famous for having subdued two drunken men with knives when he himself was unarmed.
Then it was time for Fang's sword dance. Shue's three sons took turns to perform a sword dance on his birthday, and this year happened to be Fang's turn. The sword dance consisted of a choreographed routine performed to music. Given the military nature of the dance, the music was produced by drums.
Nervous yet determined, Fang walked to the centre of the room. Slowly, he drew out his sword and unsheathed it. The polished steel gleamed and flashed in the sunlight.
Seven soldiers with seven military drums lined up on one side. Once Fang unsheathed his sword, the soldiers began to drum.
Swish went the sword, as Fang did a variety of kicks and jumps and slices. His movements were mostly powerful and fluid; while some of the sword moves were not performed to perfection, one could predict that the young man had potential.
Hong also watched with an appreciative eye. She was more used to the dagger than sword, but she could tell a good swordsman when she saw one. Fang was good, though it was obvious that he lacked experience. The practice duels with his brother were not enough; he needed real fights in order to be accustomed to reacting immediately. The moves of the sword dance were carefully choreographed, but in fights, one could not just perform the moves one by one.
Bong, bong, went the drums. Hong matched the beat of the drums to Fang's movements, noting how well the beats matched to his moves, but after a while, she sensed that something was wrong. Although most of the drumming was performed in a uniform manner, one of the drums sounded distorted.
She looked at the soldiers drumming; one of them kept his face down with his brows knitted, as opposed to the rest of them, who were grinning and keeping up to Fang's performance. All the other guests were concentrated on Fang.
Hong closed her eyes temporarily. Years of training with Old Man Liu had not only made her sensitive to noises of weapons in the dark, but also to music itself. Her facade was not merely a mask of her martial skills; she was still an accomplished musical performer.
Yes, there was definitely an uneven beat in the drumming. Very slight, hardly perceptible, but it was there.
Hong opened her eyes. The song had come to an end.
"Master?" she whispered to Shue Song. "I believe one of the soldiers drumming has a problem. He does not dare to speak of it, but his mood is expressed through his drumming."
A normal master might have ridiculed her comment. Shue, however, had some musical background himself, and he always appreciated Hong's expertise, so he merely asked, "Which one is it?"
"The second soldier to the left—the one with a mole on the corner of his mouth."
Shue beckoned to another servant, who swiftly went to the drummers. The soldier who Hong had noticed came forward and fell to his knees.
"Beg pardon, Master Shue! I did not mean to be inattentive to my job, especially on such an important occasion as today."
Fang, who had sheathed his sword and was wiping his neck with a handkerchief, noticed the man kneeling in front of his father. It was Chow, his face pale and his lip trembling.
"No need to panic, Chow," Shue said. "My maid has detected that you seem not to be yourself today. I merely wish to enquire if things are all right with you."
Chow flushed and looked down. Shue's benevolent tone put him at ease.
"My… my wife just passed away yesterday."
Fang's eyes widened. Opal was… dead? It couldn't be.
"Then you should not be here," Shue said, and waved his hand. "This is no small matter. Go home this instant and take care of the burial and funeral."
Chow bowed. There was a relieved expression on his face as he took his leave.
"Excellent hearing, Hong," Shue said in a low voice. Then he stood up and said, "Now let us commence with the next performance!"
EIGHT
Fang weaved through the streets of the city, heading for Chow's residence. He wondered how he hadn't noticed Chow's change of mood that day; perhaps he had been too occupied with his preparations for his sword dance performance. Thanks to Hong, they had spared Chow from trying to appear cheerful on a day he should be mourning.
A warm glow rose in his heart when he thought of Hong and her flute performance during the festivities. She had looked lovely in the pink dress; it suited her far better than the dull, dark blue robe she wore every day. Briefly he wondered about buying a new dress for her—but then, would she accept? He knew she never expressed a desire for pretty dresses and jewellery—but still, he would like to get nice things for her.
Then his thoughts returned to his friend. Why had Opal died so suddenly? Had that devil of a magistrate's son molested her again? Maybe she had committed suicide because she couldn't remain faithful to her husband. Something in the back of his mind felt that it wasn't that simple, though. While Opal wasn't forceful by nature, it
didn't seem to him that she lacked courage. She had the nerve to go to the northwest district where brothels and winehouses were plenty—a district normally considered unfit for a married woman to visit.
It was unfortunate that she had died so young. She couldn't have been more than twenty. Moreover, he was worried about Chow. Though Chow was only of an ordinary rank, he was only a few years older than Fang. They had often hunted and duelled together. When Chow had got married, Fang had been invited as a special guest. Who would have known that the marriage just a year ago would have ended in such a brutal way?
He reached Chow's house. It was located on a pretty street lined with drooping willow trees. Everything was peaceful, save for a few children playing with a shuttlecock outside, kicking it back and forth between them. The neighbourhood seemed safe and tranquil, an agreeable place for a young couple.
The door was open. Still, Fang rapped twice before entering.
Inside was a main room with a dining table and low benches. A door to the right opened to the bedroom, while the other on the left led to the kitchen. In the main room, a small table stood on one side of the wall. Two candles, white for mourning, burned on the table.
Chow was slumped against the dining table, barely looking up when Fang entered.
"It's me."
Chow raised his head. His eyes were red and puffy, he had dark circles under his eyes, and from the wrinkled state of his clothes, it seemed he hadn't changed at all since yesterday.
"Good heavens, man," Fang exclaimed, genuinely alarmed. He looked around for some water, and found a brass tea kettle lying overturned in a corner. Quickly, he picked up the kettle and went to the back yard. He had been to Chow's place before and knew there was a well in the yard. Using the bucket in the well, he filled the kettle with water and returned.
"Here." Fang set a cup of fresh water before Chow. "You need to freshen up. Have you made the necessary preparations for the funeral?"
Slowly, Chow nodded. "The neighbours helped," he croaked.
"Good." Fang wished there was something he could do. "I'm really sorry, Chow. Father said that you're to take the next week off. Just let us know when you're… you're ready to return."
Chow said nothing; he simply stared ahead. Fang decided to simply pay his respects to the deceased and leave. He took up the incense lying on the small table, lit them using the white candles, and prayed that Opal would rest in peace.
"I don't understand," Chow suddenly said.
"Huh?"
"Do you know how my wife died?" Chow's eyes were full of anguish. "She was killed, Fang! When I came home the day before, she was sitting on the floor right there"—he pointed at the wall—"with a knife run clean through her chest. It was awful." He laid his head back on the table, his shoulders shaking.
A chill ran down Fang's spine. He wondered if he should mention Ho Jiang-Min, but decided against it for now.
"Are you sure it was murder?" he managed to say. "Was it not possible that she took her own life instead?"
"Why would she want to take her life? She didn't have any cause for it. Besides, I have never seen the knife on her body. It wasn't a kitchen knife; it was a dagger. The kind that assassins use, I believe." Chow looked towards the small table that held his wife's things. "I've questioned the neighbours," he said. "but they haven't been able to shed any light. We just moved to this part of town two months ago when I saved enough—I don't believe Opal made any enemies around here. Maybe a quarrel sometimes with the neighbours, but nothing serious enough to warrant murder."
"What about her past acquaintances?"
"I can't say I know much about them," Chow said, running a hand through his hair. "We met through a matchmaker; all I know is that before our marriage, she worked as a maidservant for the magistrate's daughter."
Fang put a hand under his chin. "Has she been keeping in contact with anyone from her former workplace?"
"None that I know of. She didn't like to talk about her past, and I didn't want to pressure her. When we got married, I had the feeling that she wanted to put her life at the magistrate's behind her and start anew."
Just then, they heard a couple voices at the door.
"Is this the place of Mrs. Chow? Wait a bit… she's dead, you say? Impossible!"
In burst a large, bulky middle-aged woman. She was gaudily dressed in a red silk brocaded robe, with a large fake red peony stuck in her hair. The three children Fang had seen playing in the streets hovered in the doorway, looking on curiously.
Fang stood up, unsure of what to say. He had never seen her before.
"May I help you?"
"Is it true that Mrs. Chow is dead?" the woman demanded.
Fang pointed at the small table. The white candles should be proof enough, not to mention the miserable husband.
The woman let out a sound of frustration, and stomped on the ground with one foot. "Damn it!"
By now, Chow had regained his composure. "Who are you? Do you know my wife? What business have you with her?"
"So you're her husband, eh?" The woman gave Chow an appraising look. "Well, you seem a decent sort. I am Madam Jin; my husband owns the huge gambling house on the Second Main Street, and I the Heavenly Pleasure Quarters, the biggest brothel in town. I don't suppose she told you that she owes me a good deal of money?"
"No!" Chow snapped. "She wasn't in debt! I provided everything she needed."
"Obviously she hasn't told you," Madam Jin said with contempt. Reaching in her robes, she brought out several pieces of paper, folded carefully. Keeping enough distance from Fang and Chow, she unfolded one paper and displayed it.
"See here? Your wife's signature," she announced, pointing to the right-hand corner. "She played a game of dice and lost in our gambling house four months ago—three thousand silver taels! So far she has only paid up two-thirds of the amount."
"My wife never went gambling!" Chow shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "What a ridiculous claim! You must have forged her signature!"
Madam Jin took a step backwards, but her expression remained defiant.
"Ask anyone at the gambling house," she said, tossing her head. "They'll tell you that on May fourth, the day before the Dragon Boat Festival, your wife came to our house. Originally I thought of refusing her, she didn't look like she could pay up, but she's pretty enough to fetch some gold in the brothel. Don't look at me like that, you fool! Plenty of husbands and fathers do the same, and I've seen many a wife and daughter come beg me for a good word at Heavenly Pleasures so they can pay off their debts."
Fang had to keep a tight hold on Chow to prevent him from leaping at Madam Jin.
"Did she…?" he said in a coarse whisper. "Did my wife… did she end up…?"
Madam Jin laughed shrilly. "Just like a man! Worried that her working at a brothel would stain your reputation, more than worrying how she'd feel to work there. No wonder she didn't come to you for aid. But you're in luck—your wife happened to have some rare scrolls of poetry that could be sold for a large amount of money. Never thought that an uncultured little maid like her would be in possession of such art! I suppose that her former employment at the magistrate yielded them."
"My wife isn't the literary type," Chow said, though it seemed more like talking to himself. "I've never seen the books you've mentioned."
Madam Jin snorted. "Right. And you never knew she was in debt either." She looked hard at him. "So. A thousand taels of silver left. Care to tell me how you gonna pay up?"
A thousand taels was no small sum. Chow himself only made about a hundred taels every month, and most of his savings were spent paying for the new house he bought when he got married.
"Two hundred and thirty taels," he said. "That's all I have now."
Madam Jin clucked her tongue. "You sure you cannot raise more? Nothing valuable you can pawn? Our interest rates are quite high, I'm warning you."
"Here." Fang removed the jade belt hook that Shu-Mo advised him about, and handed it to her. "This is ma
de of the finest jade imported from Yu-Tien. This will fetch three hundred taels at least. I'll come by the gambling house to pay the rest, once I assemble it."
"Fang!" Chow tried to stop him, but Madam Jin had already snatched the jade pendent.
"You can pay me back later, you've already had enough to deal with," Fang hissed.
Madam Jin had finished her lightning-fast inspection of the jade. She must have had plenty of experience with valuables anyway. "This looks genuine," she admitted. "But how am I going to have proof that you will pay the rest?"
"I'll sign a deed," Fang said readily. "If I can't assemble the amount within three days, you're welcome to raise the debt. I'm the governor's son, it'll be easy to find me."
Madam Jin raised her eyebrows. "The governor's son! I should have known."
But she still made him draw up a deed and sign it with his signature and thumb mark. Fang made her rip up Opal's debt as well, lest she used it to bother Chow in the future.
When Fang finished the deed, Madam Jin snatched it and put it in her bosom pocket.
"Make sure you pay up in three days," she warned Fang. "You might be the governor's son, but we've been in the gambling business for twenty years, we know how to make people pay. If you want, I can arrange a discreet time and place where we can meet. That's how Opal managed to keep her debt from her husband. Speaking of the poor girl, was it a disease that carried her off? Or was she run down by a carriage?"
Chow ignored her. Fang, however, saw an opportunity to learn more about Opal's death. He whispered in Chow's ear, and finally the latter nodded.
"She was murdered," he said, spitting out the word 'murder' as though it were a disease itself. "Have you any clue who might have done it?"
Madam Jin widened her small beady eyes. "How tragic! Well, I wish I knew, but I've only known your wife since she came to our gambling house. She was very secretive, that one. Why don't you enquire at the magistrate's place? They'll be much more knowledgeable about her past. And don't look at me like that! Would I kill her when she hasn't even paid up the full amount?" She took her leave, stomping on her way out.