"Forgive me, Uncle! I cannot help it! I have disgraced our noble family. I have lost a million yuan!"
Heng Yu fell silent. Then he gave a small laugh of disbelief.
"Surely I heard you wrong, Chian-ye? A million yuan7."
But a tiny nod of Chian-ye's bowed head confirmed it. A million yuan had been lost. Probably at the gaming table.
Heng Yu looked about him at the cold formality of the anteroom, at its mock pillars and the tiny bronze statues of gods that rested in the alcoves on either side, the unreality of it all striking him forcibly. Then he shook his head. "It isn't possible, Chian-ye. Even you cannot have lost that much, surely?"
But he knew that it was. Nothing less would have brought Chian-ye here. Nothing less would have reduced him to such a state.
Heng Yu sighed, his irritation mixed with a sudden despair. Was he never to be free of his uncle's failings? First that business with Lwo Kang, and now this. As if the father were reborn in his wastrel son to blight the family's fortunes with his carelessness and selfishness.
For now he would have to borrow to carry out his schemes. Would have to take that high-interest loan Shih Saxton had offered him. A million yuan! He cursed silently, then drew away, irritably freeing his pau from his cousin's grasp.
"Come into the study, Chian-ye, and tell me what has happened."
He sat behind his great ministerial desk, his face stern, listening to Chian-ye's story. When his cousin finished, he sat there silently, considering. Finally he looked back at Chian-ye, shaking his head.
"You have been a foolish young man, Chian-ye. First you overstretched yourself. That was bad enough. But then . . . well, to promise something that was not yours to promise, that was. . . insufferable."
He saw how Chian-ye blushed and hung his head at that. So there is some sense of Tightness in you, he thought. Some sense of shame.
"However," he continued, heartened by the clear sign of his cousin's shame, "you are family, Chian-ye. You are Heng." He pronounced the word with a pride that made his cousin look up and meet his eyes, surprised.
"Yes. Heng. And the word of a Heng must be honored, whether given mistakenly or otherwise."
"You mean—?"
Heng Yu's voice hardened. "I mean, Cousin, that you will be silent and listen to me!"
Heng Chian-ye lowered his head again, chastened; his whole manner subservient now.
"As I was saying. The word of a Heng must be honored. So, yes, Chian-ye, I shall meet Shih Novacek's conditions. He shall have the Ko Ming bronze in settlement for your debt. As for the information he wanted, you can do that for yourself, right now. The terminal is over there, in the corner. However, there are two things you will do for me."
Chian-ye raised his head slightly, suddenly attentive.
"First you will sign over half of your annual income, to be placed in a trust that will mature only when you are thirty."
Chian-ye hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.
"Good. And second, you will resign your membership to the Jade Peony."
Heng Chian-ye looked up, astonished. "But, Uncle . . . ?" Then, seeing the angry determination in Heng Yu's face, he lowered his eyes. "As you say, Uncle Yu."
"Good," Heng Yu said, more kindly now that it was settled. "Then go to the terminal. You know how to operate it. The codes are marked to the right. But ask me if you must. I shall be here a few hours yet, finishing my reports."
He watched Chian-ye go to the terminal, then sat back, smoothing at his beard with his left hand, his right hand resting on the desk. A million yuan! That, truly, would have been disastrous. But this—this deal. He smiled. Yes, it was a gods-given opportunity to put a bit and brace on his reckless cousin, to school him to self-discipline. And the price? One ugly bronze worth, at most, two-hundred thousand, and a small snippet of information on a fellow student!
He nodded, strangely pleased with the way things had turned out, then picked up the report again. He was about to push it into the slot behind his ear when Chian-ye turned, looking across at him.
"Uncle Yu?"
"Yes, Chian-ye?"
"There seems to be no file."
Heng Yu laughed, then stood, coming round his desk. "Of course there's a file, Chian-ye. There's a file on everyone in Chung Kuo. You must have keyed the code incorrectly."
He stared at the screen. INFORMATION NOT AVAILABLE, it read.
"Here," he said, taking the scrap of paper from his cousin's hand. "Let me see those details."
He stopped dead, staring at the name that was written on the paper, then laughed uncomfortably.
"Is something wrong, Uncle Yu?"
"No . . . nothing. I ..." He smiled reassuringly, then repeated what Chian-ye had tried before, getting the same response. "Hmm," he said. "There must be something wrong with this terminal. I'll call one of my men to come and see to it."
Heng Chian-ye was watching him strangely. "Shall I wait, Uncle?"
For a moment he didn't answer, his head filled with questions. Then he shook his head absently. "No, Chian-ye." Then, remembering what day it was, he turned, facing him.
"You realize what day it is, Chian-ye?"
The young man shook his head.
"You mean you have been wasting your time gambling when your father's grave remains unswept?"
Chian-ye swallowed and looked down, abashed. "Sao Mu." he said quietly.
"Yes, Sao Mu. Or so it is for another .three-quarters of an hour. Now go, Chian-ye, and do your duty. I'll have these details for you by the morning, I promise you."
When Chian-ye was gone he locked the door, then came back to the terminal.
Ben Shepherd. Now what would Shih Novacek be doing wanting to know about the Shepherd boy? One thing was certain—it wasn't a harmless inquiry. For no one, Han or Hung Mao, threw a million yuan away on such a small thing. Unless it wasn't small.
He turned, looking across at the tiny chip of the report where it lay on his desk, then turned back, his decision made. The report could wait. This was much more important. Whatever it was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Catherine
wOULD YOU MIND if I sat with you?"
He looked up at her, smiling, seeming to see her, to create her, for the very first time. She felt unnerved by that gaze. Its intensity was unexpected, unnatural. And yet he was smiling. "With me?"
She was suddenly uncertain. There was only one chair at his table. The waiters had removed the others, isolating him, so that no one would approach him.
She felt herself coloring. Her neck and her cheeks felt hot, and after that first, startling contact, her eyes avoided his.
"Well?" he said, leaning back, his fingers resting lightly on the casing of the comset on the table in front of him.
He seemed unreachable, and yet he was smiling.
"I... I wanted. . ." Her eyes reached out, making contact with his. So un-fathomably deep they were. They held hers, drawing her out from herself. ". . . to sit with you."
But she was suddenly afraid, her body tensed against him. "Sit where?" His hand lifted, the fingers opening in a gesture of emptiness. The smile grew broader. Then he relented. "All right. Get a chair." She brought a chair and put it down across from him.
"No. Closer." He indicated the space beside him. "I can't talk across tables." She nodded, setting the chair down where he indicated. "Better."
He was still watching her. His eyes had not left her face from the moment she had first spoken to him.
Again she felt a flash of fear, pure fear, pass through her. He was like no one she had ever met. So— She shook her head, the merest suggestion of movement, and felt a shiver run along her spine. No, she had never felt like this before—so— helpless.