The Lotus Palace (2 page)

As Yue-ying bent to fill the empty cup, Bai Huang startled her once again, halting her movement.

“What do you think, Little Moon?” he asked.

Mingyu’s mouth pressed tight at the casual endearment. Yue-ying glanced at Bai Huang. Dark eyebrows framed his face, giving him a serious expression that was contrary to his usual carefree manner. The nobleman had never spoken directly to her in such company before.

“Has the earthquake provided you with any signs?” he persisted.

The room fell silent. Old Taizhu affected a shallow cough and sipped his tea in silence. Bai Huang was the only one unperturbed. He continued to look at her, smiling crookedly as he waited for an answer. His gaze on her was insistent, but not unkind. Yue-ying looked nervously to Mingyu before answering.

“I was frightened at first,” Yue-ying admitted. “But sometimes rain falls and sometimes the earth moves. That was all it seemed to me.”

“Yue-ying.” The courtesan’s command was soft, yet somehow sharp. “There is no need for you to remain here. You are free to continue with your other duties.”

Yue-ying immediately set the pot down without refilling Lord Bai’s cup and retreated toward the door.

Mingyu regained control of the conversation quickly. “Old Taizhu, have you considered that the earthquake might have been a warning to those bickering factions in court rather than our gracious Emperor?”

Bai Huang would find himself cut out of the conversation for the next hour, perhaps for the whole afternoon if Mingyu decided he deserved it. They continued on to more pleasant topics: the upcoming festival on the double fifth and the number of candidates who had passed the exams that spring.

Was Lord Bai deliberately trying to provoke Mingyu? Or had he simply forgotten that the courtesan was very strict about anyone being so familiar with her attendant?

As Yue-ying reached the door she turned to see Lord Bai staring at his still-empty cup. After an expectant pause, he reached over to pour for himself since Mingyu wasn’t being amenable. As he sat back, the young nobleman directed his gaze across the room and caught her watching him. He raised the cup to her in salute, eyebrows lifted.

Her heartbeat quickened and she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Yue-ying might have been unaffected by his beauty, but she wasn’t completely indifferent. Any other woman would have been flattered by his show of interest, but she merely turned, head held high, and exited the parlor.

Lord Bai knew exactly what he was doing.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
Yue-ying went downstairs, the public gong had sounded eight times in the distance to signal the Goat Hour. At a brisk pace, she was able to reach the walls of the East Market within the next half hour. The merchants went about their business as usual, though apprehension hung over the stalls and shops.

Yue-ying moved through the rows ruthlessly, gathering the things that Mingyu needed as well as requests from the other girls. The courtesans didn’t have the leisure of being able to browse the markets. They were often entertaining late into the night so their days were better spent resting up.

Despite this small measure of freedom, Yue-ying didn’t believe in dawdling. A craftsman had visited the Lotus once, showing off a fountain that served wine. The contraption was tall, built in the shape of a mountain, and had a mechanism to draw wine out of a built-in well without the use of hands and pour it into a waiting cup. He had opened the encasing for her, revealing the wheel and levers inside. It was an illusion that everything operated so smoothly on the outside, while on the inside there was constant turning and toil. She was that wheel.

By the time the market gong sounded the start of the Monkey Hour, her basket was full and she’d finished her rounds through the shops. Her last visit was to the local temple. Mingyu was convinced that the earthquake was an ill omen and wanted Yue-ying to give an offering on her behalf.

The temple courtyard was crowded that afternoon, almost as if it were a festival day. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t the only one who felt that the angry heavens needed to be appeased.

Yue-ying went to the fish pond at the center of the courtyard to pay her respects to the tortoise who lived among the rocks. This would be her one indulgence in her busy day. The ancient creature lifted his head high as if to examine what all the commotion was about. His skin was rough and dusty and there were wrinkled folds on his neck.

“Old Man Tortoise,” she called softly and considered it a good omen when his eyes flickered languidly toward her.

The whorled patterns on his shell resembled the octagonal pattern of the Taoist
bagua
symbol. Yue-ying had heard it told that the tortoise was over a hundred years old. He had come from a faraway land, across the ocean. Those black eyes had seen more than she ever would.

She had enough on her mind today without Lord Bai trying to complicate things for his own amusement. Mingyu had been agitated for days and nothing Yue-ying said or did could soothe her.

“Why is Mingyu never happy?” she asked the ancient creature.

The tortoise had no answer and Yue-ying’s moment of rest was over. She left him to his afternoon sun and continued on to the main altar room. As she paused outside to remove her slippers someone ran into her, toppling her basket.

Gasping, Yue-ying scrambled to salvage her goods. The lychees she’d bought were delicate and very expensive. The round fruit was scattered all over the bamboo mat and she hurried to pick them up before they were trampled.

“Watch yourself.”

She recognized who it was even before looking up. Huilan was another of the famed beauties of the quarter. Her voice was often compared to the trill of a song thrush, but she didn’t sound so pleasant now.

The courtesan stood like an empress over her. “Oh, it’s you.”

Yue-ying kept her temper under control. “Perhaps we can all show a little more care.”

Huilan’s hair was an unusual shade of brown with hints of red, giving her an exotic quality that she had become known for. She knelt in a graceful sweep, but, rather than helping, she merely picked up a rough-skinned lychee between two fingers and straightened. “Are these in season now?”

With a sigh, Yue-ying packed everything back into her basket while continuing to kneel at Huilan’s feet. Finally she stood.

“They were at the front of the farmer’s quadrant in the East Market. There were only two baskets of them and the price was very steep,” she reported, carefully maintaining a cordial tone.

Huilan made a sound of acknowledgment and let the lychee drop into the basket. “How is Mingyu, anyway?”

For a moment, her tone sharpened. A strange look crossed her face, but then it was gone. The so-called Four Beauties of the North Hamlet weren’t necessarily in competition with one another, but they were mentioned and compared so often that a subtle rivalry had emerged. Though Huilan was outwardly sweet-voiced and sweet-faced, she was as shrewd as Mingyu when it came to maintaining her elevated position.

“She is well.”

“Hmm...good to hear it.”

Huilan turned away, concluding their exchange with no further attempt at politeness. She glided across the courtyard in a cloud of yellow silk and disappeared through the gate.

Yue-ying nudged off her slippers and entered the shrine. A spicy, camphor-laced scent filled the room from the incense smoldering on the altar. Setting her basket aside, she took three sticks of incense from the holder at the altar and held the ends to the candle flame until they ignited, releasing the fragrant oil in the coating.

Clasping the incense between her palms, she bowed her head as the smoke curled a lazy spiral around her. She tried to form a coherent prayer, but all she could think of was the angry rumble of the earth that morning and Mingyu’s pale and frightened expression. So she asked the goddess Guan Yin to look over and protect them, in any way she might see fit.

When she was done, Yue-ying dropped several coins into the alms bowl and paid one final visit to the old tortoise before leaving the temple. She saw that Huilan hadn’t gone far. The courtesan was standing at the foot of the nearest bridge. The sun caught the reddish streaks in her hair as a young man in scholar’s robes approached her.

Yue-ying ducked her head and kept on walking to give Huilan her privacy. The temple was known as a place where scholars and candidates congregated, and it was a popular place to meet and gain new admirers.

As she traveled along the outer edge of the market to return home her way was blocked by a sizable crowd that had gathered along the canal. Although she was expected back at the Lotus, Mingyu might be pleased to have some gossip at hand to spark conversation with her visitors. Yue-ying ducked and elbowed her way through to the front to see what was going on.

Down below, a man stood beside a boat that had been pulled out of the water. He wore the uniform and headdress of a constable and towered over the other men. She was close enough to see his face, which was unfamiliar to her. He had an austere and unpleasant look about him. Not a man one wanted to see angry.

Whoever this was, he was new to the ward. Perhaps brought in by Magistrate Li, who had been appointed just before the new Emperor took the throne. The constable gestured to the other men in uniform, who moved quickly to follow his command. She was so eager for information about the tall stranger that it took her a moment to realize why the magistrate’s enforcers were gathered in the waterway.

There was a body lying in the boat at the edge of the water. An arm poked out from the length of canvas draped over the vessel and the skin covering it was black and rotted.

CHAPTER TWO

T
HE
D
UANWU
F
ESTIVAL
took place on the fifth day of the fifth month. An hour after sunrise, the dragonboats were already moving into position for the traditional race down the Grand Canal. Bai Huang stood at the keel of one of the colorful vessels as it floated toward the starting dock. He enjoyed the warm breeze over his face and the marsh and mud scent of the water, which he always associated with this city.

It was summer, the banquet season, and he was finally back in the capital of Changan, surrounded by all its grandeur. Twenty-five pairs of rowers lined the boat, operating the oars in unison. They pulled at a leisurely pace to conserve their strength. Huang stood where the drummer would be seated. He enjoyed the quiet of the morning as the crowds began to gather on either side of the river.

As they neared the dock Huang spied a figure moving among the tethered boats. Yue-ying, the industrious little maidservant. She did manage to show up everywhere, didn’t she? Unlike the courtesans of the quarter, she didn’t seem confined to her house. He had seen her dodging carts in the market, running to wine shops, even hauling drunken patrons of the Lotus Palace onto sedan chairs after a particularly long night.

She’d done so once for him last autumn. He’d attempted to flirt with her even though she was only a servant because he figured it was expected of him. The fool Bai Huang lacked shame or manners, but he made up for it with good looks and money, so he was tolerated.

The girl had treated him like a sack of potatoes that night. After that, Huang had made a point of trying to catch her eye, but she couldn’t be charmed. She couldn’t be bribed. He was fascinated.

Today she wore a pale green robe, the color almost nonexistent and only there to keep the dress from being white. She tried so very hard to be nondescript, to disappear, but her face was likely the most recognizable one in the quarter.

The birthmark over her left cheek was a swirl of dark red. It ran down her face and along the line of her jaw, stopping just short of her chin. Her complexion otherwise was fair, highlighting the stain even more. It was as if an artist painting her had started to form the shape of her mouth when he’d inadvertently splashed red ink over the paper. He then left it there, finding the stain created a spark of drama beyond mere prettiness. Like finding a bloodred peony among the snow.

“Little Moon!” he called out. The rowers kept up their rhythm, moving him closer to the dock and to her. “Little Moon, over here.”

By the third time he called, he was certain Yue-ying had heard him, but was making a concerted effort not to turn a single eyelash in his direction. She continued speaking to the drummer of the yellow vessel while her hand rested on the carved dragon’s head. She straightened her fingers momentarily, issuing a silent signal for him to go away. Stubborn girl. It had been over a week since his social misstep of speaking directly to her in Mingyu’s company. Surely he should be forgiven by now?

“Yue-ying, don’t be angry,” he pleaded, laughter in his tone. The boat glided slowly past her and he had to walk down the length of it toward the tail just to keep her within shouting distance. “Come and let me apologize properly.”

She turned. The look on her face was pure exasperation, but it didn’t matter. He’d won a small victory.

The sweep steered the boat toward its assigned spot on the dock and the rowers lifted their oars and let momentum carry them the last stretch. A dozen boats were laid out along the canal, each one carved and painted like a celestial dragon from head to tail. By the next double hour, the officials would assemble to start the race.

Yue-ying stood on the dock, looking down at him. A vermilion sash circled her slender waist, in contrast to the muted colors in the rest of her dress. Her hair was arranged to fall over one shoulder, leaving one side of her face and neck exposed. The unmarked half, he noted with interest.

He remained in the boat while the crew disembarked to stretch their legs and rest before the starting gong. Yue-ying stepped aside to let them pass, watching them go before returning her gaze to him.

“What are you doing out here so early, Little Moon?”

“Please do not call me that.”

“It’s just an endearment. Between friends.” The first character of her name was “moon”. He thought it nominally creative of him.

Her eyes narrowed on him. “If you insist on making trouble for me, I will have to leave. Lord Bai.”

The honorific was clearly added only as an afterthought. She was getting quite bold for the servant of a servant, he thought with amusement.

“Miss Yue-ying,” he corrected obligingly. “Please forgive me.”

She appeared to accept his humble offering. “I’m getting an accounting of the dragonboats for Lady Mingyu. In case anyone wants to discuss which one she thinks will win.”

“Very clever! Your mistress sent you out here to do that?”

“I thought it might come up. How is your crew feeling today, might I ask?” She looked the boat over from head to tail as she spoke.

“Strong as the west wind,” he boasted.

“Will you be rowing as well?”

His chest might have puffed out a little. He smirked as she tried to assess his physique, the calculations clicking in place inside her head. Yue-ying had been completely indifferent to his appearance before then. Did she judge him a strength or a handicap in terms of the rowing?

“Ah, I would be nothing but added weight. I’ll be placing a few of my own wagers and watching from a comfortable place away from the sun,” he admitted.

“Well.” She angled a sly side-glance to her left. “Definitely bet against the orange dragon, then.”

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued.

“And Chancellor Li’s boat, the blue dragon, was just constructed last month. He wanted to have the most magnificent vessel in the water, and he will, but that dragon head looks awfully heavy.”

“And who will win?”

“Green,” she said without hesitation. “And perhaps gold.”

“Why those two?”

She shrugged. “I like the colors.”

Her eyes were alight with mischief. Huang had the sudden urge to take hold of the trailing end of that red ribbon around her waist and reel her in close.

“Have you ever been on a dragonboat?” he asked instead. He held out an inviting hand to her, but she shook her head.

“Thank you for the kind offer, Lord Bai, but my mistress is waiting.” The momentary playfulness he’d glimpsed in her had been firmly banished to the frontier.

“Come, for just a moment. To make up for my behavior the other day,” he coaxed.

“I prefer to stay on land.” She looked nervously over the water. “Someone recently drowned not too far from here.”

He hadn’t heard any news of that, but there were waterways throughout the city. It couldn’t be too uncommon.

“You’ll be safe in here. I’ll see to it myself,” he assured her, flashing her a grin.

Yue-ying sighed, long and loud so he could hear. “Is there a letter or some trinket you wish me to bring to Mingyu?”

It was true he had asked her to pass along little tokens in the past. Mingyu probably expected something by way of an apology after he’d broken the unspoken rule of paying attention to anyone other than her. As if having to sit through an evening while the beautifully cold courtesan either ignored him or verbally eviscerated him weren’t punishment enough.

Yue-ying looked back to the street again and he realized sadly she had only been talking to him because she was required to do so out of courtesy. She was humoring him like everyone else in the North Hamlet. This was exactly the reaction he’d deliberately cultivated, but he sometimes regretted it was so.

“How fortunate that you’ve reminded me.” He pasted on his cheerful, witless expression. “I must bring Lady Mingyu a gift tonight at the banquet. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Whatever you see fit, Lord Bai.”

Yue-ying wasn’t interested in prolonging the conversation any longer. She bowed and turned away. The flutter of the red sash allowed him to track her movements long after she’d become another head in the crowd.

Huang didn’t know what he would have done if she’d stepped onto the dragonboat with him. Nothing too scandalous. She was Mingyu’s attendant, after all, and he couldn’t afford to be shut out of the courtesan’s circle. It was just that he genuinely liked Yue-ying. She was clever, engaging, imperfect and intriguing. It was unfortunate he had to deceive her the way he did.

* * *

B
Y
MIDMORNING
,
the crowds were layered thick along the Grand Canal. Awnings fashioned from canvas and bamboo had been set up. Beneath the shade, the ladies could be seen fanning themselves as they waited for the race to begin.

“Lord Bai!”

He turned to see Zhou Dan weaving through the crowd. Huang and the cook’s son had grown up in separate sections of the same household, with a year separating them. Huang was the older of the two. Though they were the same height, Huang was broader at the shoulders while Zhou was lean, giving him the illusion of appearing slightly taller.

“You weren’t at your quarters,” Zhou Dan said, out of breath. He handed Huang a parcel wrapped in paper. “From your father.”

As far as he knew, Father was still at his post in the mountains of Fujian. A quick inspection revealed a sealed letter along with a stack of cash notes, so-called “flying money” sent from afar.

“Try not to lose so quickly this time,
little
Lord Bai.” Zhou Dan flashed a grin with too many teeth.

“Is it any better to lose slowly, bit by bit?”

The servant laughed. “Just as long as you don’t have to flee to the provinces again.”

“Send my regards to my mother and sister,” Huang said dryly.

Zhou waved as he disappeared into the crowd, off to enjoy the festival.

The Duanwu Festival signaled the start of the summer. The sight of peach blossoms along the main avenues had faded to be replaced with branches laden with fruit. The names of scholars who had passed the imperial exams had been announced with great ceremony at the end of spring, beginning a period of celebration for the few who had triumphed. For unsuccessful candidates, there were also a number of consolation parties. Pass or fail, everyone drank.

The candidates who had been granted the official rank of scholar would be petitioning the Ministry of Personnel for appointments and then they would wait. And wait. During the wait, they would frequent the taverns and pleasure houses of the Pingkang quarter, trying to catch the eye of someone with influence. Many court officials frequented those very same banquets and gatherings. It provided Huang with an opportunity to mingle among the officials and hopefuls, though he wasn’t looking to gain influence or secure an official position.

The late Emperor Wuzong had become unpredictable during the last years of his reign, developing an unstable temperament after ingesting too many potions in his quest for immortality. Multiple factions had developed within the imperial court and they spent more effort warring with each other than administering the empire. The former Emperor had added to the feud by banishing the more levelheaded officials to the far corners of the empire.

Though his father had been sent away from the capital, Huang was able to stay close. His past reputation as a wastrel made it easy for him to be deemed as harmless and his willingness to toss cash about made him a favored guest at every pleasure house. He simply exaggerated the persona into the Bai Huang that everyone in the North Hamlet now recognized.

He dressed in overembellished silks in the brightest colors. He laughed at everyone’s jokes, even and especially when they were directed at him. He was the beloved fool. The flower prince of the Pingkang li.

Several scholars called out to him as he passed by. A group of young ladies from one of the pleasure houses waved their scarves to get his attention. He gave them a smile, but passed on.

The East Market Commissioner had cornered a place near the ending point of the race. His entourage was set up beneath a large tent beside the canal. Huang searched among the party for Lady Huilan, the famous courtesan.

He found her seated on a pillow in the center of the tent. Huilan had been named one of the Four Beauties of the Pingkang li after a highly celebrated contest during the banquet season last summer. Her features were slightly elongated and her hair was the color of rosewood. Verses dedicated to Huilan mentioned her highly prized moon-pale complexion set against eyes like the sun. They called her the Precious Orchid of Silla. According to local fable, she’d learned how to sing as a child in that faraway kingdom before being brought to Changan.

Huilan sang lyrics from a popular poem about two dueling dragons while plucking out an accompanying melody on the pipa. Her silk and smoke voice carried through the crowd. Huang caught her eye and then turned to the waterway as if to watch for the dragonboats. Drums began to beat downstream at the start of the hour. The race had begun.

Eventually, Huilan freed herself and stepped away from the tent. Casually, Huang wandered toward the food stands at the same time, stopping before one that sold pickled and preserved plums.