“A lot.” Kan took a deep breath. “The histories say that Fei Yue had five children whose destinies were marked by the same shame and dishonor that had been heaped on their father. Their careers, their marriages, their property—it was all like dust in a hurricane. Each of them was consumed by hatred and died before Fei Yue’s reputation was restored. But, according to this book, there was another child, one who managed to avoid all the disgrace by fleeing to the North. He went on to prosper. Now, it’s our belief that one of the descendants of that child has come back for vengeance.”
“By killing three men with absolutely nothing in common?”
“I know what I’m talking about!” growled Kan. “We’re about to sign a new treaty with the Jin. An armistice to ensure peace on the border—at the cost of more tributes.” He reached out to take another volume down but stopped. “And that’s where the traitor’s motives lie.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t—”
“That’s enough! There’s a reception this evening in the palace; the Jin ambassador will be there. Be ready. Dress appropriately. There you’ll meet your adversary, Fei Yue’s descendant. The one you’re going to have to expose.”
As Cí was being outfitted by the Imperial tailor in the green silk robes worn by all of Kan’s personal advisers, one question preyed on his mind: Why, if Kan already knew who the murderer was, would he be introducing Cí and not simply making the arrest? The tailor looked at Cí and adjusted the silver brocade of the cap. Cí raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the bronze mirror. Actually, he had one other question: How, without trying, did he manage to look like some music hall singer, the kind who tries to sneak into a banquet without an invitation? But he just shut his eyes and let the tailor get on with his work. He had to focus on what was ahead.
The ceremony at the Palace of Eternal Freshness began as the sun was going down. A servant had led Cí to Kan’s private apartments, and then he’d followed the councilor in his flowing robes toward the Hall of Welcome. On their way, Kan filled Cí in on protococlass="underline" he’d decided to say Cí was an expert on Jin customs, by way of explaining his presence.
“But I haven’t got the first clue about the barbarians—”
“Where we’ll be sitting, you won’t need to talk about them.”
Entering the Hall of Welcome, Cí turned pale.
Dozens of tables brimmed with delicacies. The smells of stews, fried shrimp, and sweet-and-sour fish mixed with scents of peonies and chrysanthemums. The air was cooled by a series of intricate windmills that stood beside bronze receptacles mounded with ice brought down from the mountains. The walls were red, blood-bright, and the open latticework drew the eye toward Japanese pines, white as ivory; towering bamboos; and stands of jasmine and orchids. A man-made waterfall cascaded into a lake below.
Cí couldn’t hide his astonishment. Even the greatest of imaginations would have struggled to dream of the luxury that spilled out around him.
An army of servants stood like statues—all cast from the same mold—in perfect lines, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Behind them, on a dais lined with yellow satin, was the imperial table, which bore ten roasted pheasants. Hundreds of beautifully dressed people stood milling and conversing at the foot of the dais.
Kan gestured for Cí to follow him, leading the way through the sea of aristocrats, well-known poets, senior officials, and their families. Kan told Cí that the emperor had elected to give the occasion a festive air so it wouldn’t seem like a defeat.
“Really, he has made the reception coincide with the party, and not the other way around.”
Their table was arranged according to the eight-seat custom. The seat situated farthest to the east would be occupied by the most important guest, and that was Kan. The rest sat according to rank and age, with the exception of Cí, who was told to sit next to Kan. Women sat at separate tables to allow the men to discuss business.
Kan whispered that he’d given up his seat at the imperial table so that protocol wouldn’t be such an issue. Then he pointed out the other people at the table: two prefects, three lawyers, and a famous bronze maker.
Soon a gong sounded, announcing the arrival of the emperor.
Preceded by timpani and trumpets, Ningzong came in with a large retinue of courtesans and a group of soldiers. The guests rose. The emperor drifted forward like a distant ghost, seemingly unaffected by the admiration and splendor surrounding him. He took his seat on his throne and gestured for his guests to sit as well. Waiters swarmed forward, and soon the room was a busy dance of trays, drinks, and food.
“This is Cí, an adviser of mine,” said Kan.
The other men at the table bowed their heads.
“And what kind of adviser are you?” asked the bronze maker. “Our Councilor for Punishments is hardly a man to take advice!”
Kan scowled, but the rest of the men, along with the bronze maker, found this exceedingly funny.
“I’m—I’m an expert on the Jin people,” he stammered.
“Oh? So what can you tell us about those dirty dogs apart from the fact they do nothing but bleed us dry? Is it true they’re set to invade?”
Cí pretended to have something stuck in his throat and glanced at Kan, but he wasn’t going to help.
“If I tell you anything,” he said finally, “Kan will have my throat cut, and we wouldn’t want that. I’ll get blood all over the nice table and probably lose my job to boot!”
Everyone at the table erupted in laughter—all except Kan. But Cí could see he was also relieved. At least their cover hadn’t been blown.
“Well, young man,” said the bronze maker, clearly pleased with him, “allow me to recommend the chicken; it’s fragranced with lotus leaf. Or if you like spicy food, the Songsao fish soup is quite delicious. It’s a little sour, but that’s excellent in summertime.”
“Or the butterfly soup, that should be excellent too,” suggested one of the lawyers.
“Or the Dongo pork chop,” said the other.
One of the prefects began serving drinks. “Grape liquor!” he exclaimed. “Better than that rice wine!”
“But with the food,” said the bronze maker, “there’s really no need to hurry. I’ve heard there will be one hundred and fifty dishes served tonight.”
Cí thanked them for the suggestions but decided on some simple meatballs in ginger and the warm, spiced cereal wine to which he was accustomed. His attention was drawn to a tray of noodles with goat cheese, an unusual dish.
“It’s a northern recipe,” spat Kan. “In honor of the Jin ambassador.”
One of the men proposed a toast, to try to divert the conversation, but just then the ambassador entered the room.
No one stood up.
Cí turned in his seat and watched the man come forward, with his earth-colored skin and unusually white teeth, flanked by four officials of a similar complexion. The ambassador reminded Cí of a jackal. The small retinue came to within five paces of the imperial table, got down on their knees and prostrated themselves. Then the ambassador motioned his men forward to deliver the gifts they had brought.
“Hypocrites!” murmured Kan. “First they steal from us, and now they pretend to honor us.”
The Jin retinue was seated at a table not far from the emperor. A whole roast pig was brought to them, a dish favored by their kind. They might have been beautifully dressed, but when they began eating, there was no doubt in Cí’s mind that they were indeed savages.
Though the food kept coming, Kan stopped eating, and Cí decided it might be a good idea to do the same. The rest of the men at the table soon turned to the desserts, which arrived on delicate bamboo plates. There was lotus rice in syrup, and frozen watermelons and other fruits that had been carefully emulsified; there was also a good deal more drink. Much of both ended up on the table or in laps. Kan whispered to Cí that, when the fireworks began, he would point out the suspect.