He went up the entrance steps and straight to his room to begin packing. He had to decide what to do with the bronze maker’s mold. If he really wanted to put the case behind him, he had to destroy the evidence. He took the plaster scepter and the spokelike piece from underneath the floorboards. Then he went to his wardrobe to retrieve the two parts of the mold. They were gone.
Clearly, this case wasn’t going to be easy to leave behind, but he was resolved on his course of action. Maybe this was the best thing that could have happened. If someone had collapsed the attic and tried to kill him because he’d been sifting through the remains of the workshop and assembling the ceramic pieces, then whoever had the mold now should keep it.
He finished packing and turned his thoughts to the strange scepter. He picked it up and examined it closely. Its outside was decorated with flower motifs, and he still thought the spoke-like piece somehow went inside. Could it have been some kind of musical instrument, he wondered?
No. Why was he still trying to work it out anyway? He lifted it above his head and was on the verge of smashing it on the floor, but something stopped him. He couldn’t help but think that, if it were relevant to the case, it couldn’t be a bad thing to keep. He’d hide it, just in case there was a chance he could make use of it.
But where? Thinking, he absentmindedly scratched his chest, and his hand caught the key hanging at his neck. He’d forgotten about it. The key to the secret compartment in Ming’s quarters at the academy.
That decided it. He hid the scepter in his clothes and left his room, luggage in hand. Blue Iris was in the main hall, standing beside the front door. She wore a silk dress beneath which he could make out her figure. He noticed, too, that she’d been crying and couldn’t help but feel a pang at this. He managed only a shamed good-bye before leaving.
He decided to enlist Bo’s help. He was concerned that by the time he returned from the academy, they might not allow him back into the palace. Bo eventually agreed, and together they walked to the academy.
When they arrived, Cí asked for Ming’s assistant, Sui. When he appeared, the middle-aged man looked out from under his bushy eyebrows at Cí with astonishment. But when Cí showed him the key, his expression suddenly became one of concern.
“The Master…?”
Cí explained that Ming was weak but that he’d be better soon, adding that he had asked Cí to bring him a book to read while he recovered. Sui nodded and told Cí to follow him. Bo waited in the garden.
Up in Ming’s quarters, Sui carefully removed a number of books from a shelf at the back, revealing a locked mahogany trapdoor. Cí waited for Sui to leave him, but the servant made no sign that he was going to do so.
Cí hadn’t foreseen this. He took the key from the chain and unlocked the padlock. Cí cursed. It was only a small space, and already full to the brim. Where was he supposed to put the scepter?
“What’s wrong?” asked Sui as Cí turned to face him.
Cí took out the scepter and a purse of coins.
“I need you to do me a favor. Not me, in fact. It’s for Ming.”
Now that Kan was dead, Cí’s only reason to go back to the palace was to secure Ming’s release. Bo went with him to speed the process along. When Cí was alone with Ming, he tried to cheer him. The wounds on his legs had improved, and the color had returned to his cheeks, so he’d be able to walk within a matter of days. He might as well recuperate back at the academy as in these lovely surroundings, joked Cí, making Ming smile. But when Cí recounted the circumstances of Kan’s death, Ming turned pale again.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he said, as if he could tell Cí was hiding something.
“Nothing,” said Cí, glancing at the sentries.
Ming seemed to believe this, which in a way annoyed Cí. He hated deceiving Ming. And Feng and Blue Iris, too. He bid Ming farewell, saying he’d do his best to get him back to the academy as soon as possible.
Leaving the room, Cí couldn’t shake his self-hate. Deceitfulness was precisely the thing he’d despised in his father these past months, but now he was acting just as unscrupulously. He was finding out firsthand what it was like to look the other way, to not be devoted to the truth, so he could look out for himself. Ignore the guilty, ignore the innocent. Feng and Ming—his compass points—were utterly against this kind of behavior. And his sister came to mind; she’d be far from proud.
What had he become? His head was telling him to flee, but something gnawed at him. He knew it was a feeling to which he had to pay attention.
And then there was Blue Iris, whom he could not forget. The warmth of her body, the sadness of her countenance…Suddenly, he knew he had to at least say good-bye to her. He headed for the Water Lily Pavilion, unsure whether he was obeying a carnal impulse or attempting to maintain a glimmer of dignity.
As he neared the pavilion, he could see Feng standing next to a carriage and horses while half a dozen workers rushed around. When Feng noticed Cí approaching, he stopped what he was doing and came toward him with a smile.
“Cí!” He hugged him warmly. “Iris told me you’d left, but I was sure you couldn’t have.”
Cí had never embraced someone whom he had deceived.
“You’re back early,” said Cí, sure Feng would pull away from the hug.
“Luckily, I managed to sort things out more quickly than I thought I could. Well! Give us a hand with the presents. Iris?” he shouted. “Have you seen? Cí’s back.”
Cí gazed at the nüshi, who was standing in the entranceway. He greeted her timidly, but she just turned and went back into the pavilion.
During lunch, Feng inquired as to events in his absence. He noticed that Blue Iris seemed distracted and said so, but she said she wasn’t feeling well and went on serving the caramelized chicken. Feng changed the subject willingly, having only just learned the news about Kan.
“Suicide! What I’d give to know what was going through Kan’s head! I always said he had secrets, but I never thought he’d do something like this.”
Neither Cí nor Blue Iris said a word. So Feng changed the subject again.
“And you, Cí, what are your plans now that your employer isn’t around anymore?”
Cí couldn’t bring himself to look Feng in the eye, especially with Blue Iris right there.
“Go back to the academy, I suppose.”
“Go and eat stale rice again? Not a chance. You’ll stay on with us here. Right, Iris?”
She said nothing, except to order the servants to take away the empty plates. Then she stood up and said she was going to retire, and when Feng offered to accompany her, she flatly refused the offer.
“You must excuse her,” said Feng as Blue Iris went off alone. “Women act oddly sometimes. But anyway, you’ll have plenty of time to familiarize yourselves now!”
Cí found it impossible to swallow his mouthful and spit it into a bowl before getting to his feet.
“Apologies,” he said. “I’m not feeling my best either.” And with that, he went to his room.
Cí’s thoughts were clouded—he felt awful about what he’d done, and Feng was being so generous by offering a place in his home. Feng didn’t deserve this deceit. Could Cí just own up? No, because of the harm it would obviously cause Blue Iris. The worst part was that the damage had been done, and nothing could change it. Still, he needed to do something.
Cí left his room, determined to speak to Feng—he wouldn’t go so far as to reveal what had happened between him and Blue Iris, but he would tell him absolutely everything else. He found Feng drinking tea in his library, a spacious, comfortable, high-windowed room. There were books everywhere, and the way they sat in neat piles seemed to mirror Feng’s relaxed attitude. A light breeze was entering, carrying the smell of jasmine. Feng smiled when he saw Cí and invited him to sit.