"This?" She gestured toward the bubbling pot.
"No . . . what you were singing just then. I've never heard you sing before."
She smiled. "No . . ."
Switching off the stove, she took down two plain earthenware bowls and began to pour.
"Well?"
She looked to him and gave a grunt of laughter. "I don't know. I... something from my childhood."
"Ah . . ." He took the bowl she offered and stared at it a moment, then looked to her again. "We . . . well, we've never talked about that. About the time before, I mean. I..." He stopped, embarrassed.
She spoke softly. "You want to know, Lin Shang? Is that it?" "I. . ." He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's just. . . well, I'd have liked to have seen you as a child. You must have been very pretty."
She stared at him, suddenly understanding why she'd stayed with him all these years - she who could have had kings and billionaires. There was no more honest man in Chung Kuo than Lin Shang ... no, nor a kinder one.
"I was a tomboy," she said, smiling at the memory. "I wore boy's clothes and had my hair cut short. My mother despaired. And my father . . ."
She fell silent, pained by the thought. He'd been such a good man. So upright. So trusting. She swallowed back the bile she felt at what had happened to him - at what the system had done to him - then looked up again, meeting Lin's sympathetic eyes. "Best not, huh?"
He nodded, understanding. "Lef s eat our soup while it's hot. And afterwards .. . well, Steward Liu sent a messenger. He said to come."
She stared at him. "At this hour?" "I said I would. He said he had something for us. He said to come tonight."
"After what happened last time?" Emily shook her head. "No. You stay here, Papa Lin. Keep those hands of yours busy. I'll go and see the Steward."
He stared at her, trying to make out why she'd offered, then shrugged. "Okay. But take care, Mama Em. And hurry back."
The lanes were quieter now and cooler, the street lamps lit, most of the shop-front shutters pulled down; but people were still out in numbers and Emily was greeted often as she walked along.
At the corner of Nan Yueh Street and Fu Lao Lane she paused, looking up at the big screen that, twenty-four hours a day, showed the latest news from throughout the city. As ever, dozens of people crouched idly beneath it, squatting on their heels in the way the Han had done for over two thousand years, their rounded faces turned up to its light. For a moment she stood there, watching the great golden barge move up-river once again and looked back in mind to that afternoon, remembering how she had held Ji up to see the splendid sight. She sighed. How soon things changed. How quickly happiness transmuted into fear.
She hurried on. The great bell in Yan Jin Place was sounding nine as she knocked on the twelve-foot doors of the Shi Mang mansion. Head bowed, her hands folded before her, she waited. Above her a wall-mounted security camera whirred gently as it focused on her. A moment later a smaller door within the great doors opened and a shaven-headed man in bright green silks stepped out, holding a large, plainly-wrapped parcel between his hands.
"Steward Liu," she began. "Forgive the lateness of the hour, I..."
"I understand," he said, interrupting her. "You had trouble."
She met his eyes, surprised. "You heard?"
He nodded, then, moving closer, lowered his voice. "We have all had trouble, neh?"
"Ah . . ." She understood at once. It wasn't only she and Lin who had been shaken down that day; the big houses too had suffered a similar fate. Indeed, when she thought of it, it was surprising only that they hadn't been targeted long ago, for they were the biggest plums of all.
"It seems I must also apologise to you, Mama Em."
"Apologise?" She looked down, all humility.
"I understand one of the servants treated you badly last time you were here."
"It is of no importance, Steward Liu . . ." she began, but he shook his head.
"On the contrary, it is of the greatest importance. It was I who asked you here, and though, through circumstance, I was not here to greet you at the time, my staff ought to have treated you with the same civility that I would have done. You can be assured that the servant responsible has been duly punished for his insolence."
She looked up, astonished. "Punished?"
"Oh, it need not concern you. But I was worried lest you thought. . . well, lest you thought me less than a friend." He smiled. "Here," he said, handing her the parcel. "And tell Papa Lin that if there's any way I can help . . ."
She smiled, deeply moved by his offer. She had always known the man was sympathetic - knew because he had regularly given her boys scraps from his kitchen - but how good a friend she had not realised until now. "Thank you, Steward Liu."
He smiled. "Broken things . . . what good are they to the rich?" Then, with a bow, he went back inside.
She turned, making her way towards the Yamen - the government offices - in Hsiang Yu Street. If she hurried she could be there in five minutes, and if the Hsien L'ing saw her, she might just be back before ten. If he would see her . . .
She had never been to the Yamen; had been careful, in fact, to avoid it at all costs, in case some file remained from before the Fall - something that might incriminate her. Or worse .. . something that might alert Michael - that might cause him to come and take her back from Lin.
She shivered at the thought and hurried on. As she came into Hsiang Yu Street she saw the Yamen's outer gates were open and felt a mixture of relief and aversion.
You have to do this. You can't back out. Not now. Yet every step was made reluctantly. This, she reminded herself, was for her boys. To guarantee their future.
Inside the gates was the guard-post. As she went to pass it she was called back.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" She retraced her steps. The guard was a bored-looking thug with a stubble haircut and missing teeth. She noted he had put down a porno-comic to attend to her. Conquering her instant, instinctive dislike of the man, she answered with a false brightness.
"I've come to see the Hsien L'ing."
His eyes studied her coldly then dismissed her. Extending a hand, he stared past her. "Show me your papers . . ."
Putting down the parcel, she fished the ID card from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. He flipped it open, stared at it a moment, then handed it back.
"Papers."'
"But . .." Then she understood. Searching in her back pocket she found a one yuan note and folded it into the card then handed it back. This time he nodded and handed back the empty card, waving her on. But she had taken only two steps when he called her back again.
"You can't take that in there! Leave it here!"
She stared at him, then realised he was talking about the parcel. She came back and placed it against the wall, then turned and quickly crossed the darkness of the yard, afraid lest he call her back again.
Inside, in the echoing entrance hall, behind a narrow desk, sat an official. A small globe-lamp, hovering just above him, part-masked, part-revealed his pinched, ungenerous features. A printed sign on the desk in front of him informed her that he was the Hsien L'ing's Third Secretary. Seeing her, he leaned forward, glowering, instantly hostile.
"We're closed."
"But I..."
"You heard me woman. Now go. Before you get in trouble."
She took a step backward, lowering her head, the instincts of the past twenty years shaping the gesture. Then a spark of her old indignation lit in her. This, after all, was for her boys.
She looked up again. "But I have to see him. If s very important."
He stood, his hands resting flatly on the desk. "You hear me, shit-for-brains? Go, or I'll call the guard!"
She stared back at him, getting his measure, then bowed her head. "Thank you," she said brightly, and, as she turned away, added beneath her breath, "may your bowels be twisted and your children loath you."
The thought consoled her, but she also felt a sense of failure. She had steeled herself to come; had fought off her reluctance, but now . . .
"Pssst.1"
The sound came from the darkness to her right. She stopped, looking across, peering into the shadows. Vaguely she could make out a figure, standing in an open doorway, beckoning to her. She glanced round, noting that neither the official nor the guard could see her from where they sat, then hurried across.
A hand reached out and took her arm firmly. "You mending lady, right?"
"Right," she answered, matching the old woman's whisper.
"You want Hsien L'ing, right?"
"Yes," she answered. "You know where he is?"
"Maybe . . ." The old woman leaned closer, the smell of cabbage strong on her breath. "Some nights he go baths. He meet Wei there. Much talk. Other things, too."
"Ah." She wasn't sure she wanted to know about the other things, but this was useful. If she could see him there . . .
"Your She turned. The guard was leaning from his post, looking across.
"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing the old woman's hands, then hurried across.
As she came closer, the guard pointed at her. "What the fuck you up to, eh?"
"It was my aunt," she said, acting more confidently than she felt. "She was asking after my husband."
She bent down and retrieved the parcel, then looked back at the guard, but it seemed her explanation had been satisfactory. His nose was already buried in the porno-comic.
Arsehole, she thought as she went through the gate and out into the street. / hope your cock drops off.
She stopped dead, the simple violence of her thoughts surprising her. Maybe Lin was right. Maybe it was best not to fight this. But something drove her on. Ten minutes later she stood in the busy central square, beneath the steps of the bathhouse, staring up past the great stone pillars, trying to make out if there were lights on inside or whether she was just imagining it.
As she began to climb the steps, a figure stepped from the shadows, barring her way.
"Stop right there."
She smiled at the young guard, noting from his blue silks that he, at least, had been trained to the job.
"Well?" he asked.
"I wish to see the Hsien L'ing."
"Then make an appointment with his Secretary in the morning. Office hours are over."
"But this is urgent."
"Everything is urgent Now go home. My Master is not to be disturbed."
His manner was pleasant enough - far more pleasant than the bastard at the Yamen - yet there was something about him that told her he was not to be argued with. Bowing low, she backed away.
At the far side of the square she turned, looking back. The steps were empty once again, the guard returned to the shadows. For the briefest moment she wondered idly whether she should sneak round the back of the bath-house and force her way into the Hsien L'ing's presence, but knew that such a course would only damage her chances. No, the young guard was right; she would have to go back in the morning and face the Third Secretary again.
As she made to turn away, the smell of the nearby food carts caught her attention, reminding her that she had promised Ji cakes.
She went across to the nearest stall and, setting the parcel down, studied what was for sale.
"How much are they?" she asked the old woman, pointing to a small tray of oatmeal cakes.
"Twenty-five for two. Fifteen for one."
Emily fished in her pocket and removed a twenty-five fen coin. Her last. "Here," she said. "Wrap two for me."
As the old woman wrapped the yet-warm cakes in greased paper, Emily looked about her, conscious of the bustle in the square. Nothing looked any different from how it had been the evening before. The sights, the sounds, the smells - all of those outward things remained unchanged. Yet the world had subtly shifted. Once again the darkness was descending on them all.
The old woman nudged her arm. "Here!"
She took the wrapped cakes, returning the old woman's toothless smile, then, lifting the parcel once again, began to make her way back, the sky clear and dark above her, the stars burning down like a thousand eyes, watching her as she went.