She was wiping the sheen from her face, brought on from the steaming soup and chili paste, when a roar of laughter drew her attention.
“Why don’t you go back to whatever barbaric country you sailed from?” The man who spoke was nearly as wide as he was tall, and he waved a hand at the object of his derision.
Chen Yong stood next to a table of men, obviously not a part of the group from his defensive stance. When had he come into the noodle house? Had he followed her here? Ai Ling made a face at her own foolish thought. She watched him speak in a quiet tone and turn away.
“I doubt our illustrious Master Tan needs another mutt in his manor.” A dark, gaunt man with a hard mouth snickered. His friends laughed, spewing wine on one another. “Be gone, half-breed!”
Chen Yong half turned back to the group, his fists clenched. Ai Ling’s pulse quickened. He could not possibly fight so many men. She waved her arms as if she were on a sinking boat to draw his attention. But Chen Yong did not see her. She stood too quickly and her stool tilted, clattering against the floor.
Chen Yong took a step back in surprise when he saw her. She beckoned with a tiny twitch of the hand, mortified that every eye was on her. He turned, ignoring the whistles and foot stomping, and pulled a stool to her table.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his demeanor calm once more.
“Eating, of course. Their beef tendon noodles are delicious.” She nodded to the large, empty noodle bowl. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in search of a Master Tan. He lived in this town, at least twenty years ago.” He jerked his head toward the group of men continuing with their drink and gambling. “I haven’t had much luck getting directions to his manor.”
She wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste, and Chen Yong laughed. He waved a serving boy over and ordered.
Ai Ling drummed her fingers on the splintered wooden table after his noodles arrived, trying not to stare while he ate.
“Will you tell me what happened at the lake?” he asked as he captured thick noodles in the large soup ladle.
“You wouldn’t believe me. You’d think I was crazy.” Ai Ling wished she had enough coins to splurge on something sweet—sticky rice with candied persimmons, perhaps. . . .
“Try me.” He stopped eating and studied her with such intensity she leaned in without realizing. Ai Ling then sat back so abruptly she almost fell off the stool.
She didn’t want to talk about it, so she kept her voice low, for fear it would tremble otherwise. “I was dragged into the lake. Down deep. It wasn’t the lake anymore. It felt . . . ancient. Evil. This black slithering thing held me. There were hundreds more. I could hear them . . . in my head.” She stared into her bowl, unable to meet his gaze.
“What did they say?” he asked.
She wished he’d start eating again, before the noodles went oversoft or the broth cooled. “That my father is dead. That I broke my mother’s heart. That it was all my fault—”
“Do you believe it?”
“No.” She lifted her chin, daring him to say anything to the contrary. He did not laugh or accuse her of madness.
“I wouldn’t believe you, if I hadn’t found you on the water’s edge myself. I was going to take a different route, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Something drew me toward the lake. A feeling. I can’t explain it.” He leaned closer, and she caught herself holding her breath. “Do you know why this happened?” he asked.
“No.”
“I’m not one to discount the unexplainable—I’ve read enough of it in the ancient texts.” He picked up his soup ladle. “Where are you headed?”
She released a small sigh, glad to be free from his scrutiny. Besides, limp noodles were not worth eating. “To the Palace. That was where my father went, six months past.”
“That’s a long journey by foot.” He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and waved the serving boy over again. “Bring some tea and dessert,” he said.
Ai Ling beamed.
They ate the tricolored flower—named for the pale chestnut, red date, and purple yam layered into the sweet sticky rice, steamed in a flower-shaped bowl—in silence.
“Will you accompany me today?” he asked, breaking the silence after the dessert was devoured. “To look for Master Tan?”
Ai Ling stopped mid-chew and swallowed the sticky rice too soon. She reached for her teacup and took a quick sip. “Why?”
“I know it’s a strange thing to ask.”
She studied the thick topknot on his lowered head. His hair was near black, with deep auburn accents. Like his eyes, it was a shade she had never seen.
“My younger brother insisted on joining me for this journey. I wanted to be alone. But now . . .” He looked up. “You’re the first friendly face I’ve seen since leaving home.”
“If you’d like, it’s the least I can do,” she said.
Chen Yong smiled at her, his serious face turned boyish. “I’m glad I followed you here.”
Her eyes widened, and he laughed.
“I’m jesting. I didn’t, truly. But somehow I wasn’t surprised when I saw you again,” he said.
He poured more tea for her. She wondered what he was thinking, but kept her spirit within herself this time. They obtained directions to Master Tan’s manor after speaking with people in the market square. But information was difficult to gain. Most of the men stared at Chen Yong with suspicion. Ai Ling avoided the glances cast her way. She had drawn less scrutiny traveling alone. Was this how life was for Chen Yong? It took hours walking around the narrow streets to find Master Tan’s home. The directions they were given proved to be wrong, more than once.
“This must be it,” Chen Yong said finally. They stood before a thick wooden door. Two faded paper door gods with fierce expressions and drawn weapons were plastered on its surface. Dusk neared.
Chen Yong thudded on the dark wood with a heavy fist.
The huge door swung open immediately.
“What do you want?” A sullen-faced servant peered out, his thin mouth drawn into a frown.
“I’m here to see Master Tan,” Chen Yong said.
“Who’re you then?” The servant spoke as if he suspected Chen Yong was there to ransack the place.
“I am Li Chen Yong,” he replied in a strong voice.
“It’s late for such an intrusion,” someone interjected from behind the ill-tempered servant. “But I can always make time for the son of an old friend.”
“Master Tan!” The servant bowed low and stepped aside, revealing the man who had spoken. He was tall, as tall as Chen Yong, and although his hair was gray, his face was youthful.
Master Tan grasped Chen Yong’s shoulder with one hand. “I’ve wondered all these years if we would meet. I see your father in you.”
Chen Yong’s stoic demeanor was fractured by the mention of his birth father. Emotions Ai Ling could not identify flitted across his features before he nodded, without speaking.
Master Tan turned to Ai Ling, allowing Chen Yong time to gather himself.
“Is this lovely lady your wife?” he asked.
“Ai Ling? No,” Chen Yong said, the surprise evident in his voice.
The older man’s eyebrows shot up, his turn to be taken aback. Aware of her discomfort, Master Tan waved one arm toward his manor. “Come in. Welcome.” The old servant pulled the door wide open.
Ai Ling drew in her breath at the sight of the expansive courtyard. Her family’s courtyard could fit in one corner. The lattice panels to the main hall were drawn open. Ai Ling and Chen Yong followed their host across the courtyard and into the hall. A long ancestor altar, laden with fruit, rested against the back wall, and the faint smell of incense wove through the air. Opalescent lanterns, already lit, hung in each corner, reminding her of giant sea pearls.
“Please, sit.” Master Tan indicated the carved blackwood chairs across from him. She and Chen Yong both did so in silence.
“Would you like some tea? Have you eaten? You must be travel worn.”