He looked up to find Han Ch’in staring at him, his brow furrowed.
‘I was thinking, Yuan. Wondering what it would be like to have several wives. A different woman, perhaps, for every night of the week.’ He laughed strangely, a tense, high-pitched sound, then looked down, pulling at the grass. ‘I’m sorry. I forget sometimes. You seem so old, so full of wisdom. Like father.’ Han fell silent, then looked up again, smiling. ‘I guess it doesn’t touch you yet. Never mind. You’ll understand it when you’re older.’
Li Yuan watched his brother a moment longer, then looked down. Sunlight through the branches dappled the earth beside his hand. Leaf shadow lay across his flesh like a discolouration of the skin. He shivered and closed his eyes. Sometimes he felt he understood too well. If he were in Han’s place, Fei Yen would have been enough for him; he would have needed no other. He looked back at his brother, keeping his thoughts to himself, knowing that Han would only tease him if he knew. ‘You’re only six,’ he would say. ‘What could you possibly know of love?’
‘Even so,’ Han said, looking at him again, ‘Fei Yen will be special. My first wife. And her sons shall inherit.’ He nodded, satisfied with the justice of the words. Li Yuan saw how his brother was watching him – smiling, a deep love in his eyes – and looked down, warmed by it.
‘They’ll be fine sons, Yuan. Good, strong sons. And the first of them will have your name.’
Han Ch’in reached out and held his brother’s ankle.
‘He’ll be strong, like me. But I hope he’ll also be wise, like you.’
‘And pretty, like Fei Yen,’ Yuan said, looking up at his brother through his long dark eyelashes.
Han looked away into the distance, a faint smile on his lips, then nodded. ‘Yes… like Fei Yen.’
‘Do you mind if I sit here?’
Wang Ti blushed and looked down, cradling the child to her and rocking it gently. All four tiers of Chang’s Restaurant were packed, few spaces remaining at the tables. Her table, on the second tier, overlooking the bell tower, was one of the few not fully occupied.
‘No. Please do.’
She had seen the man much earlier, moving between the crowded market stalls at the end of Main. Like the others in the crowd, she had watched him momentarily, then turned back to her shopping, impressed by the sheer size of him. Now, as he sat across from her, she realized just how big he was; not just tall but broad at the shoulder and the chest. A real giant of a man.
‘What’s good here?’
She looked up and met his eyes. Blue, Hung Mao eyes.
‘It’s all good. Chang’s is the best here on Twenty-Six. But you might try his green jade soup.’
The big man nodded and half turned in his seat, summoning the nearest girl.
‘Master?’
‘I’m told the green jade soup is good. Bring me a large bowl. Oh, and some chicken drumsticks and noodles.’
The girl bowed, then turned and went back inside to the kitchens.
‘Do you eat here often?’
He was facing her again, a faint, polite smile on his lips.
She looked down at the sleeping child, safe in the harness at her chest. ‘When I can afford to,’ she answered quietly. ‘Which is not often, I’m afraid.’
The man followed her gaze, smiling. ‘He’s a good child. How old is he?’
She stroked the child’s brow, and looked up, her smile broadening momentarily. ‘Ten months.’
He leaned forward, looking into the child’s sleeping face. ‘I bet he’s his father’s darling.’
She laughed. ‘Yes! He’s like a child himself when he’s with Jyan.’
‘Jyan? A pretty name for a child.’
She smiled. ‘And you? You speak like a man who has sons.’
The big man sat back and laughed. ‘Me? No… One day, perhaps. But for now… well, my job keeps me on the move. It would not do to have ties.’
She looked at him sympathetically a moment, noticing his features properly for the first time. He had a big, open face, the long nose blunted at its tip, his jaw pronounced and his lips full. His dark hair was cut brutally short, making her wonder for a moment what it was he did. But it was not an unkind face. When he smiled it softened. She decided she liked him.
‘And that’s what brings you here?’
‘My job? No, not this time. I’m looking for someone. A relative.’
She laughed again; softly, so as not to wake the child. ‘I think I’d have seen any relative of yours.’
His smile broadened. ‘Oh, don’t judge all my clan by me. This –’ He put one hand to his chest, ‘– they say I inherited from my grandfather. My father’s father. My mother was a small woman, you see. Small in size, I should say, for she was a giant to her sons.’
She looked down, pleased by his filial piety. ‘And your father?’
For a moment the big man looked away. ‘I never knew my father. He left before I was two years old.’
‘Ah… like my Chen.’
The giant looked back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You understand, then?’
She bowed her head slightly. ‘It’s sad…’
‘Yes, well…’ He turned. The serving girl was standing at his side, a tray of steaming food balanced on one hand. He moved back from the table, letting her set out the bowls in front of him. ‘You’ve eaten?’ He looked at the woman facing him, concerned. ‘If not, might I buy you lunch?’
She shook her head hastily. ‘Please… I thank you kindly, but my Chen would not permit it.’
He raised a hand. ‘I understand. Forgive me…’
She looked up, smiling. ‘Thank you. But we have eaten. And now…’
The big man was already spooning his soup down vigorously. ‘Hmm. This is delicious. As good as anything I’ve tasted.’
She smiled, watching him, enjoying his enjoyment. ‘As I said. Chang’s is the best.’
He looked across at her, then set down his spoon and stood, seeing she was getting up. ‘Can I help you?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I can manage. I’m quite used to it, I assure you.’
He gave a slight bow with his head. ‘Then take care. It was a pleasure talking with you.’
‘And you.’
Karr sat there a moment, watching her go. Then, nodding to himself, he looked down at the soup and began to eat again. Reaching for one of the drumsticks, he paused, laughing softly to himself. Jyan! He’d named the boy Jyan! Then, more thoughtfully, he gazed back across the broad corridor, remembering the woman’s face, her smile, but mostly remembering what she had said.
There’s time, he thought. Time enough for all things. Even sons.
Han Ch’in approached the fence at a gallop, the Arab flying beneath him, its sleek neck pushing forward with each stride, its jet black flanks moving powerfully, effortlessly across the hillside, its tail streaming behind it in the wind.
Yuan, watching from the pavilion half a li away, held his breath. It was the biggest of the fences, almost the size of the horse; a construction of stone and wood, with the ground dropping away beyond. Han had fallen here before, the last time he’d attempted it. Fallen and bruised his ribs badly. Now, fearlessly, he tried the fence again.
Without checking his pace, Han spurred the Arab on, yelling wildly as it stretched and leapt. For the briefest moment it seemed he had misjudged. The horse rose mightily, its forelegs climbing the air, but, at its highest point, its pasterns seemed to brush the fence. As it hit the ground on the far side it stumbled and threatened to go down.
Yuan cried out, putting his knuckles to his mouth. The horse seemed to stagger, its momentum threatening to topple it dock over poll. In the saddle, Han Ch’in hung on grimly, pulling tightly at the reins, straining to keep the Arab’s head up, drawing the horse to the right, into the gradient. The Arab fought back, fear making its movements desperate. Its nostrils flared and it whinnied noisily, contesting with Han’s sharp yells of command. Slowly its rump came round, its long, dished f
ace flicking to the left as if in pain. As Han Ch’in eased off, its head came up sharply and it seemed to dance, then settle, slowing to a canter.
Yuan turned, looking up at his father. ‘He’s done it! Han’s done it!’
‘Yes…’ Li Shai Tung was smiling, but his eyes revealed just how worried he had been.
Han Ch’in turned the horse again, reaching down to pat its neck, then spurred it on towards them. Drawing up in front of them, he threw his head back proudly, then reached up to comb the hair back from his eyes, looking to his father for approval.
‘Well done, Han. You proved yourself the master of the beast!’
Han laughed, then looked down at the Arab’s face.
‘Maybe. But she’s a fine horse, father. Any of the others from our stables would have fallen back there. A rider is sometimes only as good as his horse.’
‘Or the horse his rider.’ The T’ang was looking seriously at his son now. ‘I don’t say this lightly, Han Ch’in. I was worried for you. But you showed great character. You did not let the beast have her own way. You controlled her.’ He nodded and momentarily looked at his younger son. ‘Control. That’s the key. To beasts and men.’
For a moment longer Han Ch’in stared down at his horse’s face, petting the animal, calming her. Then he looked up again and met his father’s eyes. ‘I didn’t think you would be here, father. I thought you would be arranging things. The reception…’
The T’ang smiled faintly at his son, then grew more serious. ‘That’s all in hand. No, I came because I need you both, two hours from now, in the Hall of the Seven Ancestors. It will be formal, so dress accordingly.’
Han frowned. ‘What is it, father?’
Li Shai Tung studied his eldest son a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of him proudly. ‘Later, Han. I’ll explain things when you’re there.’
Han Ch’in bowed in the saddle, answering for them both. ‘As you wish, father. We shall be there.’
‘Good. But before then you’ve a visitor.’ He smiled. ‘Fei Yen has arrived. She’s waiting for you in the Palace.’
Yuan looked across at his brother, watching him. Han bowed to his father, then, unable to hide the grin that had settled on his face, turned his horse and began to move away across the hillside towards the river and the bridge. Halfway down he turned in his saddle and called back.
‘I’ll see you there, Yuan! Bring Hsueh Chai and old Chou. In the meadow by the lake. We’ll have a picnic.’
Fei Yen was standing on the bridge, her maids surrounding her. One stood behind her, shading her mistress with a huge silk umbrella. Another stood at her side, languidly waving a large fan. A third and fourth, their pastel greens and blues matching the colours of the day, waited nearby. Thirty paces off, in the shade of a great willow, stood her aunts and great-aunts in their dark silks and satins, watchful, talking quietly among themselves.
Fei Yen herself was looking out across the lake; watching the warm, spring breeze ruffle the water and bend the reeds at the shoreline. Her face, in the sunlight filtered through the umbrella, seemed like a silken screen of pinks and oranges, her dainty features hidden from Li Yuan, who stood on the bank below, looking up at her.
She was beautiful. He had no need to see her clearly to know that. He had only to remember the last time she had come here to the orchard. Had only to recall the way she smiled, the way her bright pink tongue poked out from between those pearled and perfect teeth. How dark her eyes were, how delicate the contours of her face.
He looked across at Han and saw how his brother looked at her. Saw both the awe and the love there in his face. And understood.
Servants had set up a small, rounded tent in the middle of the water meadow. The Arab was tethered just beyond it, its head down, grazing. In front of the tent they had set down stools and a low table, on which was placed a wine kettle and three small, glazed tumblers. Further off, conspicuous in the centre of the meadow, stood an archery target.
Han Ch’in came forward, striding purposefully across the short grass, like some strange, upright, elegant animal. He had changed from his riding clothes into looser silks of peach and vermilion. Hsueh Chai had braided his hair with golden thread and he wore a simple gold necklet of interwoven dragons. Watching him, Yuan felt all his love for his brother swell up in him. How fine Han was; in his own way, how beautiful. How his dark eyes flashed as he came to the stone flags of the narrow bridge. Eyes that never for a moment left his future bride.
Fei Yen turned, facing Han Ch’in, and came out from beneath the shade.
Again Yuan caught his breath. She was like china. Like perfect porcelain. Her skin so pale, so perfectly white; her nose, her lips, her delicate ears so finely moulded that, for a moment, she seemed like a sculpture come to sudden life. Such diminutive perfection. Then, as she met Han on the gentle downslope of the bridge, he saw her smile, saw how her dark eyes filled with fire and knew, with all the certainty his young soul could muster, that he was lost to her. She was Han’s. But he would love her even so. As he loved Han.
Over tea their talk was of court matters. Yuan, silent, looked up at Fei Yen through his lashes, strangely, overpoweringly abashed by her proximity. When she leaned forward, the pale cream of her sleeve brushed against his knees, and he shivered, the faint sweet scent of jasmine wafting to him from her.
‘They say Wang Sau-leyan has been up to mischief,’ she said softly, looking up past her fan at Han Ch’in. ‘Ten years old! Can you imagine it! His eldest brother caught him…’
She hesitated, giving a soft, delicious laugh.
‘Go on…’ said Han, leaning forward on his seat, his booted feet spread, like two young saplings planted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.
‘Well…’ she said, conspiratorially. ‘It’s said that he was found with a girl. Stark naked in his father’s bed!’
‘No!’ said Han, delighted. ‘His father’s bed!’
Wang Sau’s father was Wang Hsien, T’ang of City Africa. Wang Sau-leyan was his fourth son and his youngest.
‘Yes!’ Fei Yen clapped her hands together. ‘And listen… the girl was only a child. And Hung Mao, too!’
Han Ch’in sat back, astonished, then, slowly, he began to laugh.
Yuan, meanwhile, was watching her. Her voice was so sweet, so pure in its tones, it sent a shiver down his spine. He was oblivious to the sense of her words; to him her voice seemed divorced from all human meaning. It had that same, sweet lyrical sound as the erhu; the same rich yet plaintive contralto of that ancient instrument. And as she talked he found himself fascinated by the movement, by the very shape of her hands. By the strange pearled opalescence of her nails, the delicacy of her tiny, ice-pale fingers, no bigger than his own. He looked up into her face and saw the fine, cosmetic glaze of her cheeks and brow, the silken darkness of her hair, threads of fine silver catching the afternoon’s sunlight.
Han Ch’in leaned forward, still laughing. ‘So what happened?’
Fei Yen sat back demurely. Thirty paces off the group of aunts, waited on by servants from their own household, were fanning themselves vigorously and straining to hear what was making Han Ch’in laugh so lustily.
‘His father has banished him for a year. He’s to stay in the floating palace. Alone. With only his male servants for company.’
Han Ch’in looked down, sobered by the news. He shook his head, then looked up at Fei Yen again. ‘That’s rather harsh, don’t you think? I mean, he’s only a boy. Only a bit older than Yuan here. And after all, it’s nothing really. Just a bit of high spirits.’
Fei Yen fanned herself slowly, her eyes briefly looking inward. Then she smiled and tilted her head, looking directly at Han. ‘But his father’s bed… Surely, Han…?’ She raised her eyebrows, making Han guffaw with laughter once again.
‘Listen,’ he said, getting up. ‘I plan to issue a challenge. After the wedding. To all the Families, Major and Minor. To all the sons and cousins.’
He glanced
across at Hsueh Chai, who was standing with the maids beside the entrance to the tent. The old servant came across at once, bringing a short hunting bow and a quiver of heavy, steel-tipped arrows. Han Ch’in took them and held them up. ‘Twelve arrows. And the highest score shall win the prize.’
Fei Yen looked past him at the target. ‘And you think you’ll win?’
Han Ch’in laughed and looked at the bow in his hand.
‘I don’t think I’ll win. I know I will.’
Her eyes flashed at him. ‘My three brothers are good shots. You must be very good if you’re better than them.’
Han Ch’in drew the strap of the quiver over his shoulder, then turned and marched to a point marked out on the grass. Taking an arrow from the quiver, he called back to her. ‘Watch!’
He notched the arrow quickly to the bow and raised it. Then, without seeming to take aim, he drew the string taut and let the arrow fly. There was a satisfying thunk as the arrow hit and split the wood, a hand’s length from the gold.
‘Not bad…’ Fei Yen began. Her fan was momentarily forgotten, motionless. Her face was suddenly tense, her whole body attentive to what Han was doing.
Han Ch’in drew a second arrow, notched it and let it fly as casually as before. This time it landed at the edge of the gold. Han turned, laughing. ‘Well?’
‘Again,’ she said simply, lifting her chin in what seemed an encouraging gesture. ‘It might have been luck.’
‘Luck?’ Han Ch’in looked surprised, then laughed and shook his head. ‘Luck, you think? Watch this, then!’
He notched the arrow, then turned back to face the target. Raising the bow, he twisted it sideways, as if he was on horseback, and let fly. This time the arrow hit the gold dead centre.
Yuan was on his feet applauding wildly. Behind him, Fei Yen set down her fan and stood up slowly. Then, without a word, she walked up to Han Ch’in and took the bow from him, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back.
‘You want to try?’ he said, enjoying the moment. ‘I’ll wager you my horse that you can’t even hit the target from here. It’s fifty paces, and that’s a heavy bow to draw.’
The Middle Kingdom Page 19