“Tea is fine, Master Tan. You’re kind to complete strangers. We’ve already eaten.” Chen Yong spoke for them both, even as she wondered what food Master Tan had to offer.
She smiled and nodded.
Master Tan raised a hand and winked at her. “Lan Hua!” Within seconds, a young woman near Ai Ling’s age was by his side. She wore her hair as did many girls of the servant class, the black braids coiled on either side of her head. But her clothing was finer than anything Ai Ling had ever seen on a servant, a silk tunic and trousers in pale blue, embroidered with pink cherry blossoms.
“Please bring tea for our guests. And dinner as well.”
“Yes, Master Tan.” She retreated with quick steps.
Ai Ling grinned. She looked toward Chen Yong, but he was oblivious. Master Tan enquired after her companion’s adoptive family, his studies and recent travel experience. She hid her interest in Chen Yong’s replies by studying the calligraphy on the walls, lines from Bai Kong’s classic poetry. The scrolls of landscape paintings reaching the dark wood beams of the ceiling especially intrigued her.
Suddenly a face appeared behind a lattice panel, and Ai Ling half rose in fright. It quickly vanished. Probably a servant, she told herself.
Still, she was glad when Lan Hua interrupted them with a tray bearing teacups. The familiar warmth and feel of the cup calmed her. Ai Ling inhaled the rising steam—chrysanthemum, with a hint of something like mint.
“I sent a letter to the Li manor in Gao Tung last year. I never received a reply. It was your family, yes?” Master Tan asked.
“I apologize, Master Tan. I was unsure when I would be able to make the trip in person,” Chen Yong replied.
They sipped in silence for a moment. Chen Yong cleared his throat.
“Master Tan, you said you knew my father. . . .” His voice trailed off.
Their host did not let him flounder. “It has been years since I’ve seen him. He traveled back to his country soon after you were born. I think about him often. We were like brothers.”
“Where was he from?”
“Jiang Dao. A diplomat sent to the Emperor’s court to open communication between the two kingdoms.”
Already on the edge of his seat, Chen Yong leaned forward. “And my mother?”
Master Tan placed his teacup back on the lacquered tray. “Chen Yong, perhaps you would like to eat first, rest? It’s a . . . complicated story.” The older man’s brow creased, his concern obvious.
Chen Yong sat back. He examined his hands without speaking for a few moments, then raised his face. Ai Ling admired the firm lines of his nose and cheekbone, the curve of his brow and mouth.
“I’ve wondered my entire life who I truly am. You can’t tell me soon enough,” he said.
Master Tan nodded. “Your mother was a concubine to the Emperor. No one knew you weren’t the Emperor’s son until you emerged with yellow hair and golden eyes. Before the eunuchs became aware, you were smuggled out of the Palace. They would have killed you. And your mother, too.”
Chen Yong shook his head, his face taut with disbelief. Ai Ling fought the urge to reach over and touch his arm.
Master Tan leaned forward, his hands clasped together. His demeanor reminded her of Father. “Your father left court that next morning. He sent a letter and told me that someone had promised to place you with a family who would treat you well. I would have gladly taken you as my son, Chen Yong; my bond with your father is that strong.
“But the Emperor knew it as well. I was never told of anything more than you existed. And your name. Your mother named you.”
Lan Hua interrupted with rice and an assortment of hot and cold dishes, then retreated from the room. The familiar scents of savory sauces, garlic, and scallions wafted from the lacquered serving trays. But Ai Ling no longer had an appetite.
Chen Yong sank into the silk-cushioned chair. He rubbed his face and covered it with his hands. When he looked up, his amber eyes gleamed.
“How?”
“Your mother was interested in languages. She was educated. Being a favorite of the Emperor’s, she was allowed to be tutored. Your father was one of her tutors. This went against all rules. But it showed how high she was in the Emperor’s favor. Your father never mentioned the romance, but I suspected. They were foolish. They fell in love.” Master Tan raised one palm and spread his fingers, as if it was all he could offer.
Chen Yong was quiet. Ai Ling sipped her tea, trying to quell the thundering in her own chest.
“Are they alive still?” Chen Yong asked.
The older man shook his head. “I’ve not received correspondence from your father in more than fifteen years. As for your mother, I know nothing. I wish I could tell you more.” He spoke with regret.
How would an imperial concubine survive such a scandal? Ai Ling kept the foreboding thought to herself. Chen Yong’s face was a mask now, devoid of all emotion. He sat straight-backed against his chair, hands clutching each armrest so tightly his knuckles were pale. Ai Ling looked away, filled with sympathy for him, not knowing how to help.
Master Tan rose. “Please, I insist that you stay for the night. We have plenty of room. Please eat. Don’t be modest.”
A young man of twenty years stepped into the main hall and greeted their host.
“Ah, Fei Ming. I was just going to visit you and the little one. This is my son,” Master Tan clapped the young man on the back. “And he just had one of his own. My first grandson.”
Ai Ling and Chen Yong both offered their congratulations.
“Chen Yong is the son of an old friend. And this is Ai Ling.”
Fei Ming made no reply. He avoided looking at either guest. Ai Ling’s scalp crawled. Was his the face she’d seen peering through the lattice panel earlier?
“Lan Hua will take you to your rooms when you’re ready. We can talk again tomorrow morning, Chen Yong. I kept your father’s letters. They are yours if you like. I bid you good night.”
Master Tan and Fei Ming stepped out of the main hall.
Chen Yong was terse, withdrawn. Although Ai Ling had felt hungry earlier, she yearned for sleep now. The world seemed askew. She was grateful when Lan Hua led her to her room. It was spacious, with a large bed hidden behind silk drapes. She was too tired to change. The servant girl helped her climb into bed. So kind, Ai Ling thought somewhere in the haze of her mind as she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
6
Ai Ling woke on the hard ground. She looked around, bleary eyed, unable to sit up. Her wrists were bound together in front of her with rough rope. She wriggled her fingers, the rope chafing her skin; her hands responded to her will as if from a distance, both tingling and numb.
“You’re awake.”
She jerked her head toward the voice. Fei Ming towered over her.
“Why—”
But before she could continue, he yanked her to her feet. She swayed, light-headed and nauseated. He held her with strong arms, and she leaned into him despite herself.
“You got something special in your tea. Lan Hua did what she was told.”
“Where are we?” Ai Ling asked. She tried to swallow, and her stomach heaved.
“Somewhere private.” Fei Ming’s reply was guttural.
It looked like an abandoned temple. A bright lantern cast a cone of light about them. The moon’s rays spilled through the paneless windows. The night was quiet.
“Enough talk. I’ve been hungering for a taste of you.”
She tried to scream, but her throat felt too constricted, her tongue too thick. Glowing green eyes stared back at her. Just like the lake. Ice-cold terror shuddered through her.
Fei Ming spun her around and shoved her down onto the dirt floor. He had unbound her hair, and it swept across her face. He grabbed a handful and pulled her head back.
“I want you to be awake for this,” he whispered in her ear. His breath was cold on her neck. Ai Ling tensed, prompting him to yank harder, his fingers digging in her scalp.