My Fair Concubine (14 page)

‘Does Fei Long go to these courtesans?’ she asked.

‘Ah…’ Bai Shen raised a knowing eyebrow.

‘Put your eyebrow down. I was just talking of this and that.’

Fei Long had been leaving during the evenings, often times alone, and she was left to wonder where he went. She’d never considered it might be for companionship. The thought of him surrounded by these mysterious and beautiful women, waving their seductively bared wrists at him, made her scowl.

‘Well, if you’re wondering…’ Bai Shen folded his hands behind his back, continuing their stroll casually ‘…Fei Long doesn’t have a taste for delicate evening flowers. He seems to prefer awkward country tea girls.’

‘Stop teasing me.’ Her mood darkened, yet she followed after him, hanging on every word. ‘And I don’t care who he prefers. Why would I? I have a most exalted wedding in my future.’

He cast a sceptical glance over his shoulder, then turned to face her. ‘You can’t lie to me, pretty lady. I can see how you’re blushing just thinking of him.’

‘I’m not blushing.’

‘He’s behind you,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Now who’s lying?’

A dangerous look flickered across Bai Shen’s face. Before she could react, he grabbed her and trapped her against him.

She shoved at his shoulders. ‘Bai—’

Her protest was cut short as he pressed his mouth over hers. The shock of the kiss stole the fight from her for only a second. She braced her hands against his chest, trying to twist away, but he only held her tighter.

Suddenly, his grip loosened. Bai Shen was torn violently away from her and she staggered from the force of it. Fei Long appeared as a dark blur with his hand clenched around the collar of Bai Shen’s robe. His other hand closed into a fist.

‘Wait—’ She couldn’t find her voice in time.

Fei Long struck him square across the face and Bai Shen staggered to the ground.

‘Bastard.’ Fei Long moved to stand over him, his eyes hooded and black with rage.

Never had the differences between the two men been more evident. Fei Long stood like a citadel, broad-shouldered and imposing. Bai Shen was slight and wiry by comparison. He raised himself onto one knee.

Blood flowed from his lip and Bai Shen’s eyes narrowed. For the barest second, a look of rage crossed his face. ‘Have you gone mad? How am I going to look pretty for the performance tonight?’ He pressed a hand to his split lip and tried to play off the incident, but it was too late.

‘Get out,’ Fei Long commanded. ‘If you ever set foot in this house again, I’ll kill you.’

It was a quiet, deadly promise. Yan Ling’s heart pounded as Bai Shen picked himself off the floor. What had happened? Fei Long had lost his mind. Both of them had.

She tried to push forwards. ‘He didn’t mean anything.’

Fei Long ignored her as he waited for Bai Shen to leave. The actor brushed the dust from his robe.

‘You see?’ he said to her. His lips curled into a mock smile, but his eyes remained distant.

Only after Bai Shen disappeared out the front gate did Fei Long face her.

‘I meant what I said,’ he warned her, as if she were in allegiance with Bai Shen. ‘He will not come by here again.’

He crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the interior of the house, while she was left beneath the glare of the sun, bewildered. She could still feel the imprint of Bai Shen’s hands against her back. Her mouth still throbbed from his assault. And that was exactly what it had been. The actor had never shown any hint of interest in her, she was certain of it.

She ran after Fei Long, weaving her way through the inner corridor of the east wing. It was a part of the house she’d only been to once in her wanderings. The door at the end of the hall had been flung open. She went to it and found Fei Long at the centre of the room with his back to her, shoulders tense.

‘Bai Shen didn’t mean any harm, my lord,’ she said, nearly out of breath.

‘Yan Ling.’ Fei Long turned slowly. ‘This is my private chamber.’

The fire was gone from his expression. He’d replaced it with an impassive mask.

‘Please. You know Bai Shen. He was only playing.’

‘Playing?’ His voice hardened. ‘That’s all the world is to the two of you. One endless game.’

‘The two of us—’ she sputtered, affronted. ‘How can you blame me for any of this?’

She kept seeing Bai Shen on the ground, his face bloodied, with Fei Long towering over him, yet it was if she was the one who’d been stricken. Something had broken between all of them. She didn’t know what or how and she was so very confused.

Fei Long regarded her coldly, but his jaw was clenched. The vein in his neck pulsed and she could see the rise and fall of his chest. He was holding himself back with control strained so tightly that it was ready to snap. All her hours with him, in close quarters in quiet reflection, told her this.

‘Bai Shen was only trying to make you—’

‘Angry,’ he finished for her.

She was going to say jealous, but she fell silent, realising how humiliating and revealing that thought was.

‘I am angry.’ His tone remained flat. ‘You’re under my care, my protection. As is everyone in this household. I won’t allow anyone to be mistreated like that.’

‘But he’s your friend.’

‘Not any more.’

Whatever Bai Shen had intended, he’d gone too far. Fei Long was closing himself off. The walls of his ire rose around him.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.

She wanted the uneasy peace between them back—all those unspoken thoughts and hopes, as frustrating as they were.

His stone-cold voice pierced through her. ‘Go outside and close the door. You’re not to be in here.’

* * *

Fei Long waited for the door to shut and separate him from the rest of the world. From Yan Ling. He continued to wait long enough for her to walk the short length of the corridor. She’d go back to the gardens or retire to her room. Wherever she went, it would never be far enough. He would still think of her and seek her out to the furthest reaches of his senses.

The grasslands of Khitan were not far enough.

If he’d had his sword, he would have killed that fool Bai Shen. The actor was always looking for an excuse to goad him, but by all the demons in hell, this wasn’t a game to Fei Long. Seeing Yan Ling in another man’s arms had been the most vicious of taunts, because Fei Long knew what was inevitable. In less than two months, she would be taken from him to be delivered as a peace offering.

Fei Long sat on his bed at the far end of the room and sank his head in his hands. Yan Ling slept in a similar one. He’d been in her chamber not two weeks ago. He knew how her skin glimmered beneath the moonlight. Knew where she slept only a short distance away from his chamber.

That bastard had been kissing her.
Kissing
her. Yan Ling didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

He dug his fingers into his scalp until there was edifying pain. All those afternoons they’d spent together. Alone. Unattended. He’d had thoughts, but thoughts only. He had always remained respectful toward her as their stations demanded. He would never take such liberties. Yan Ling trusted him and she had worked so hard to better herself.

The room grew hot, nearly stifling as the day reached noon time. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. There was too much for him to do, but he wasn’t yet ready to leave this confinement.

There would be no afternoon lesson today. He couldn’t bear being so close to Yan Ling. He didn’t know why he’d lashed out at her as well. His anger had no beginning and no end.

There might not be a lesson tomorrow either.

Chapter Thirteen

F
ei Long declared that there would be no lesson for the last few days and Yan Ling was too intimidated to question him about it after he’d coldly put her in her place. Bai Shen didn’t come by for the rest of the week either. She was hoping he would return to set everything right. The two men were almost like brothers—brothers who traded insults and fought and were opposite in every way—but brothers none the less.

If the scoundrel had just returned with a humble apology and a few witty remarks the next day, all might have been forgiven. Instead Bai Shen stayed away and Fei Long continued to shut doors between them. Without her morning or afternoon lessons, it fell upon Dao and Yan Ling to come up with their own routine.

Dao had no complaints. She’d ushered Yan Ling to the market, holding a parasol over her like a dutiful attendant.

‘We don’t have to be so formal,’ Yan Ling protested. It was important for them to maintain appearances, but it still felt unnatural being coddled so.

‘You don’t want to take up any sun and get dark,’ Dao insisted.

She wondered if Dao had been such a nag to Pearl. They were trailed by the burly Huibin, one of the fetch-and-carry attendants who helped with the market purchases and went wherever he was needed. They moved to the shade beneath the row of trees at the edge of the lane. The heat only faded slightly in the wane of the afternoon. She wore a simple robe today, though she would have considered the peach-coloured cotton an unimaginable luxury not a month ago. The fabric was light and more suitable for prolonged activity like the long stroll to the market.

‘Dao, do you have anyone?’ she asked.

‘Anyone?’

They were crowded close to one another so the shade of the bamboo parasol covered both of them.

‘Like a young handsome someone, you mean.’ Dao laughed.

There were two different Daos. In front of Fei Long, the master of the house, Dao was timid, respectful and chose her words with utter care. When the two of them were alone, Dao threw words about like a fisherman scattering rice.

Yan Ling lowered her voice. ‘Yes, so?’

Speaking about such a personal issue out in public made her nervous, but the crowded city seemed a more secure place for secret yearnings than the Chang family home.

‘Who would I possibly be fond of? Old Man Liang has hardly any teeth.’

Yan Ling stifled a laugh.

Dao went on. ‘Those boys in the kitchen and the stables? Or that mule Huibin over there? Worthless.’

Yan Ling cringed and didn’t dare look back to see if the manservant had overheard. ‘Huibin’s not so bad,’ she whispered.

Dao sniffed. ‘You’re right. He’s the best of them. So, no, I haven’t anyone.’

Yan Ling knew that the household adored Dao—adored her for her cleverness and feared her for her sharp tongue.

‘I was just trying to imagine what it must be like,’ Yan Ling said wistfully.

‘It must be the weather.’ Dao sighed.

‘What?’

‘When the spring turns to summer in this city, it does this to everyone. One becomes moody. Starts writing poems.’

Yan Ling smirked. ‘I don’t believe I’ve written any poems lately.’

She gave Dao a playful shove as they turned the corner. She could see the towering gate of the central market at the end of the street.

‘Well, you must not have a special yearning for someone either,’ Dao said.

Her heart skipped faster at just the empty thought, even before she filled it in with a name. With a face. ‘There’s no one.’

‘Otherwise you would have never agreed to come with Lord Chang to the city.’

‘Or agree to be married to a barbarian,’ she added absently.

‘It truly is a beautiful opportunity for you. A dream.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Truly.’

The buzz of the East Market had reached them. They passed beneath the arch of the gates into a sprawl of shops and warehouses. Traffic flowed lazily today, indolent in the sun and slow sticky-syrup time of the afternoon.

The main market was comprised of a grid of two north-south lanes intersecting two east–west lanes. Yan Ling counted four times that she had visited the East Market, yet she hadn’t explored even half of the merchants. Dao would usually grab her hand and drag her along impatiently, bypass the sightseeing to go directly to her favourite spots. In contrast, Yan Ling wanted to see everything. She would spend hours going from one stand to another if left on her own.

Along with the permanent buildings, there were stalls set up within empty lots and draped with canopies to block the sun. Street pedlars also roamed the lanes, hauling a cart of sweet pastries here, a basket of salted eggs there. Every speck of the market was dedicated to commerce.

A display of painted jars at one stand caught Yan Ling’s eye. The small break in her stride was all it took for the grey-haired woman to waddle towards them.

‘Come in, come in, my beautiful ladies!’ The grandmother figure beckoned them closer with a wave. ‘We have perfumes, powders, paint of all colours.’

The shop was a wooden enclosure draped with a blue-cloth canopy overhead. Dao lowered the parasol as Yan Ling stepped inside. A collection of small jars and porcelain containers had been arranged on the counter. She ran her fingertip over the blue-glaze pattern on a round dish that fitted in the palm of her hand. It was so pretty for something so insignificant.

An elderly man, presumably the owner, sat in the corner of the shop, fanning himself. He apparently left the selling to his wife.

‘For your lips,’ the old woman cooed. She opened the lid to reveal the cinnabar tint inside. ‘Look here. Such a beautiful colour. So vibrant, perfect for a young lady.’

The clever woman went on to coo about how lovely and flawless her skin looked. The flattery was an obvious and overused ploy, yet it worked. Perhaps she was starved for compliments lately.

‘I saw lower prices at the shop near the south wall,’ Yan said casually.

She continued to look over the display while she battled over the goods with the old woman. It was an elaborate language: a mix of insult, coaxing, denials and promises. An art form where you fought just as hard for a single copper as you fought for a hundred. Finally this was something she knew, something she was good at.

‘I’ll give you a good price,’ the woman cooed. ‘Choose two, I’ll give you a better price.’

They settled quickly with only a few rounds back and forth and Yan Ling and Dao emerged from the shop with the cosmetics wrapped in a parcel of paper. Dao opened the parasol and they both ducked under it, heads close, laughing.

‘That old woman was tough,’ Dao said.

‘Everything was so shamelessly overpriced,’ Yan Ling remarked. ‘But I suppose it is the capital.’

They had bought the cinnabar tint and a bottle of perfume as well as face powder and nail enamel. Their shoulders brushed lightly as they scanned across the stands, seeking out the usual purchases: embroidery thread, a few medicinal herbs for Old Man Liang. The market was a welcome distraction. It had been a long time since Yan Ling had been able to think of anything besides Fei Long.

Until that very moment. Now he was back in her thoughts.

‘There you go again,’ Dao said. ‘Sighing long and loud.’

Yan Ling hadn’t realised she made a sound. ‘I was just thinking of how much I’ll miss you when I go,’ she lied.

‘Silly girl,’ Dao scolded, touched. ‘But you’re going off to marry a prince. A mysterious and exotic prince.’

‘I don’t think he’s a prince,’ Yan Ling argued. ‘Just a tribal leader of some kind.’

‘We were just debating between the stable and the kitchen boy, remember?’

They laughed together. By then, it was time to return. Her feet had begun to ache and they still had a long walk back through the residential quarters. The two of them left the market with Huibin following doggedly behind. Halfway home, the crash of cymbals and drums broke through the afternoon haze.

‘Isn’t it late for a wedding?’ Yan Ling remarked.

‘Must have been an auspicious hour.’

They paused at one end of the street to watch as the wedding procession approached a residence. The groom was dressed in a blue robe with a broad red sash draped over his shoulders and tied in front. A train of attendants bearing gifts followed behind him along with an empty sedan lifted by four porters.

Dao sniffed enviously. ‘I’ve always dreamed of being married.’

‘Why can’t you marry?’

‘What, with no family to make the match? No prospects? A fat, old magistrate once asked the elder Lord Chang for permission to make me his concubine, but the lord refused, thank the Goddess of Mercy.’

Dao’s explanation shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. Yan Ling’s prospects had been even worse when she had been at the teahouse. That was why her master and mistress were so eager to be rid of her. They had no hopes of marrying her off and she’d only be trouble when one of the local boys got her pregnant.

It had been easy to leave her village behind. She didn’t have anyone she wanted to hold on to. No one to go to the market with. No one who would carry her to bed and cover her with a blanket so tenderly. Even if he acted as if it never happened the next day.

When had she started to expect so much more?

The procession reached the bride’s house, which was marked by red draping over the door. The family came out to greet the groom. Everyone was dressed in their finest for the happy occasion. Finally the party disappeared into the house while the sedan waited outside. There would be tea and gifts and ceremony within before the bride emerged, ready to be taken to her new home.

Dao sighed and took hold of her arm affectionately as they walked back. ‘You really are fortunate, you know.’

‘Yes, very fortunate,’ she echoed hollowly.

* * *

‘Close your eyes.’

Her nose twitched as Dao dusted the pale powder over her face.

‘Stop making such faces. You’ll cause wrinkles.’

Yan Ling had spent that morning bathing and then washing her hair. It was now held in an elaborate design with combs and pins that Dao had spent over two hours twisting into place. After that, Dao had sat her down and pulled out an array of creams, paints and powders.

The powder brush teased over the tip of her nose and she sneezed. ‘It tickles,’ she protested.

‘Be still for one moment, will you?’

Yan Ling finally thought of the room as her own, though she still wasn’t accustomed to having so much space to herself. She always felt more comfortable when Dao was there with her. She opened her eyes to see Dao mixing a paste with a dark blue-green tint on a shallow dish. It was much like grinding ink. Dao used a thinner brush with a fine point this time.

‘This dye is made from sea shells. Very expensive. Close your eyes again.’

‘Have you done this before?’ Yan Ling asked.

Dao snorted. ‘Many times! Don’t worry. I’ll make you as pretty as a spring flower.’

‘You sound like the old woman from the market.’

The tip of the brush traced delicately along her eyelid. There was something soothing and decadent about being pampered.

‘Do you know why I was so angry yesterday morning?’ Dao said. ‘That green vase in the front parlour was gone.’

‘The large one that’s as tall as I am?’

She nodded. ‘I was certain that someone had broken it, but was afraid to say anything. I interrogated everyone about it and no one knew anything.’

‘That’s odd.’

Yan Ling opened her eyes as the brush lifted. Dao looked at her carefully, turning her head this way and that. Her dimple deepened as she pressed her lips together. Then she
nodded in approval.

‘And then this morning, I found something else missing. An ivory figure of the Weaver Girl.’

This sounded alarming. ‘Are you certain?’

‘It was my mother’s favourite. Of course I noticed it was gone.’

The revelation was a shock. Fei Long would be furious if he found that one of the servants was stealing from him, but all the servants seemed so forthright and loyal.

‘I can mention it to Fei Long today,’ Yan Ling offered.

‘Fei Long?’

She blushed. ‘Lord Chang.’

‘Hmm.’

Yan Ling narrowed her eyes in warning and Dao fluttered her lashes in response. The girl could be precocious when she wanted to be.

‘We shouldn’t trouble the lord with such insignificant matters,’ Dao said dismissively, lifting her brush again. ‘I’ll discuss it with Old Man Liang first.’

‘You don’t need to be afraid of speaking to him.’ Yan Ling closed her eyes as the tip of the brush outlined her eyelid. ‘Lord Chang is quite reasonable.’

‘It’s not fear. This is out of respect.’

Had the servants been so distant from the elder Lord Chang? Yan Ling marvelled over the divide between Fei Long and the household servants. She’d always been aware of her place in the teahouse, but everyone, even her master and mistress, had been of humble birth. Perhaps this had put them on more common ground. She resolved to bring up the missing items with Fei Long.

‘I had a thought about what you were saying yesterday,’ Yan Ling ventured.

‘What was that?’ Dao chose another brush and dipped it into the vermilion tint.

‘Wait, that’s too dark.’

Dao muttered something about her being too timid and leaned in to outline Yan Ling’s lips. The fine brush glided carefully over her mouth, sending a tingle down her spine. She supposed she could always take one look in the mirror and wipe it away.

She couldn’t go to Fei Long so blatantly painted and perfumed, though she wished she was brave enough to do it. He’d take one look at her and be stricken. He’d see her with new eyes. And then…

And then she had no idea what next. What could he give her other than a single look of desire? One look and nothing else.

But she wanted so much to have that one look.

She turned her attention back to Dao. ‘You were talking about marriage. Perhaps Lord Chang could help you. He can stand as your guardian and accept proposals for you.’

‘Shush! I need to get your mouth just right.’ Dao’s expression hardened as she bent close. ‘There are no proposals for me, Yan.’