It is a time of celebration in the Pingkang li, where imperial scholars and bureaucrats mingle with beautiful courtesans. At the center is the Lotus Palace, home of the most exquisite courtesans in China…

Maidservant Yue-ying is not one of those beauties.

Street-smart and practical, she’s content to live in the

shadow of her infamous mistress—until she meets the

aristocratic playboy Bai Huang.

Bai Huang lives in a privileged world Yue-ying can barely

imagine, let alone share, but as they are thrown together

in an attempt to solve a deadly mystery, they both start to

dream of a different life. Yet Bai Huang’s position means

that all she could ever be to him is his concubine—

will she sacrifice her pride to follow her heart?

Praise for Jeannie Lin

“Lin combines wit, seduction, skill and intelligence

in a tantalizing take on My Fair Lady.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review,

on My Fair Concubine

“Lin has a gift for bringing the wondrous and colorful world of ancient China to readers.…

Those yearning for new worlds and age-old adventures will savor Lin’s novel.”

—RT Book Reviews on My Fair Concubine

“Drawing on a lushly depicted, exotic backdrop, Lin creates an intriguing romance between well-drawn characters whose secrets lure readers deep into the story.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Dragon and the Pearl

“Beautifully written, deliciously sensual, and rich with Tang Dynasty historical and political detail…exquisitely crafted, danger-filled, and intriguing… Exceptional.”

—Library Journal, Romance Reviews

on The Dragon and the Pearl

“If Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon merged with A Knight’s Tale, you’d have the power and romance

of Lin’s dynamic debut.”

—RT Book Reviews on Butterfly Swords

“Exciting debut…especially vibrant writing…”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Butterfly Swords

“If you are looking for a rich, radiant story slightly different than your standard fare, look no further.… A wonderful tale that leaves one

hungering for more by this author.”

—All About Romance “Desert Isle Keeper” review

on Butterfly Swords

“Lush history, heartbreaking romance, fascinating mystery, and a happy ending!

What more can anyone ask?”

—Patricia Rice, New York Times bestselling author

“Jeannie Lin has done it again. With The Lotus Palace, Lin has gifted us with a heartfelt tale of forbidden love between an unlikely heroine and a hidden hero. I loved every minute I spent immersed in the glistening world Lin creates for her star-crossed lovers in Tang Dynasty China. Her writing shimmers with the sights, sounds and rituals of medieval China, while her characters completely captured my heart. The Lotus Palace is a poignant love story to treasure.”

—Elizabeth Essex, award-winning author

of Scandal in the Night

The Lotus Palace
Jeannie Lin

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I first fell in love with the colorful culture of the infamous Pingkang li, also known as the North Hamlet, while writing the novella Capturing the Silken Thief. This entertainment district has a unique place in history, bringing about a literary culture that revolved around the specially trained women who served as companions, hostesses and fellow poets to the scholars and officials who frequented the quarter for business and pleasure. To simply call them “prostitutes” would be incorrect. To call them “courtesans” seems insufficient. The Western world occasionally refers to them as “Chinese geisha,” a term that ignores the fact that China developed a rich and distinctive courtesan culture that predated the geisha culture in Japan. Chinese scholars have written numerous lines of poetry attempting to capture the complicated and multilayered nature of these clever, talented, elegant and fiery women.

At the same time, the Pingkang li was a place of contradictions. While scholar-gentlemen professed to be enthralled by the courtesans, ultimately these women were slaves. Despite their elevated status and illusion of independence, they were bought and sold as commodities.

The Lotus Palace explores the juxtaposition of this intricate social dance and the art of love versus the challenges of finding true romantic fulfillment. There is a reason so many classic Chinese love stories end in tragedy!

The Pingkang li, with its dual persona of sensual decadence and refinement, became the perfect place for me to explore the many roles that women took on in society, to investigate a murder most foul and to find true love.

To find out more about the drama and romance of ancient China, you can find me online at www.jeannielin.com. I love hearing from readers!

Sincerely,

Jeannie Lin

Acknowledgments

The Lotus Palace would not have been possible without the help and guidance of Bria Quinlan, Inez Kelley and Kate Pearce, who are generous friends and talented authors.

As always, a special thanks to my editor, Anna Boatman, for always pushing me to make the romance deeper and more fulfilling. And to my agent, Gail Fortune.

I never thought we’d get this far, but she has always believed.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE

Tang Dynasty China, 847 AD

AN UNSEEN FORCE threw Yue-ying from her pallet. The entire building shook around her and the rafters groaned until she was certain the Lotus Palace was going to be torn apart. Too startled to move, she crouched low with her hands over her head. They were all going to die.

Suddenly the shaking stopped. With her heart thudding against her ribs, Yue-ying gradually came back to herself. It was dark and she was on the floor in her sleeping area. The walls of the pavilion creaked around her as they settled.

Before she could catch her breath, the shaking started again. A cry of alarm came from outside the chamber.

It was Mingyu. Mingyu needed her.

Yue-ying struggled onto her hands and knees, while a sea of silk tangled around her. Mingyu’s entire wardrobe had been tossed onto the floor. Yue-ying shoved the material aside and stumbled to the doorway, clinging on to it for balance.

There was no door between the two compartments. A gray light filtered in through the windows of the sitting area and Mingyu was standing at the center of it, her long hair wild about her face. She was dressed in her sleeping garment and the pale cloth coupled with elegant lines made her appear otherworldly. She looked more like a ghost than a woman.

Yue-ying started to go to her, but the building lurched again and she was thrown to her knees. Mingyu fell to the ground as well and they scrambled toward one another. In an uncustomary display of emotion, Mingyu embraced her, clutching her close while the walls shuddered around them. At any moment, the roof would come crashing down to bury them.

It was an eternity before the shaking stopped. Afterward there was absolute quiet; a funereal silence as the inhabitants of the Lotus Palace held their collective breath, waiting. She and Mingyu remained on the floor, holding on to one another and too afraid to move. Then the hum of voices began.

Mingyu let go of her abruptly and straightened, smoothing her hands over her shift. Her chin lifted with a regal air and she was the elite courtesan again.

Yue-ying tried not to feel discarded. She should be accustomed to Mingyu’s changing moods after serving as her personal attendant for the past four years. Mingyu could be warm and engaging, affecting a smile that lit the room brighter than any lantern. When she was not surrounded by admirers, she would often become distant, lost in some inner world of her own making.

“Heaven must be displeased,” Mingyu declared.

She peered out the window with a thoughtful and disturbingly serene expression. Mingyu had perfected that look. Even Yue-ying found it difficult to read her thoughts through it.

“That’s only superstition,” Yue-ying replied.

The ground wavered once more, as if in argument. Yue-ying pressed a hand to the wall to steady herself, while Mingyu stood tall and still, a fixed point amid the turmoil.

* * *

EARTHQUAKES WERE NOT uncommon in the capital city, though this was the most violent one Yue-ying had yet to experience. Everything that could fall had fallen. The dressing room where she slept was a disaster: silk robes were strewn all over the floor and the powder table had overturned, spilling pots and jars everywhere. She was lucky it hadn’t fallen on top of her.

Madame Sun set the other girls to work clearing the parlors and banquet room downstairs. The Lotus Palace was one of the larger establishments in the pleasure quarter of the North Hamlet, also known as the Pingkang li. There were seven ladies, courtesans or courtesans-in-training, along with Old Auntie and Yue-ying.

The courtesans all called Madame Sun “Mother” and did whatever she told them. Even Mingyu, who was the most successful and thus most favored of the “sisters”, never disobeyed her. Yue-ying had heard that Madame Sun could be a demonness with her bamboo switch, though she had yet to witness it.

Unlike the others, Yue-ying had no one to answer to but Mingyu. Also unlike the other girls, she possessed no literary or musical skills to elevate herself in status. Her fate had been decided from birth by a bright red birthmark that curved along her left cheek. The stain rendered her unsuitable for the pleasure houses, for who wished to invest time and money to train a courtesan with a ruined face? A prostitute required no such training.

She was a maidservant now, but up until four years ago she had been nothing but a warm body. The Lotus was indeed a palace compared to the brothel where she’d once lived and she no longer hid her face behind a thick layer of powder. No one cared if a servant was ugly, and no one paid any attention to her when Mingyu was present.

Yue-ying focused on setting their quarters back in order, righting the dressing table and picking the robes off the floor. She selected a light one that was suitable for the warm summer weather before shoving an armful of clothing into the wardrobe. Then she sorted through the cosmetics, salvaging what she could.

Later, as she was fixing Mingyu’s hair, another tremor rocked the pavilion. The force of it was slight in comparison to that morning’s quake, but she inadvertently jabbed Mingyu’s scalp with the long pin she was holding.

“Forgive me,” Yue-ying murmured after regaining her balance.

Mingyu remained seated calmly at the dressing table. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Carefully, Yue-ying inserted the pin into a coil of dark hair to keep it in place. She worked in silence, mentally going over the ever-growing list of tasks she needed to accomplish that day.

“What if something happened to me?” Mingyu asked out of nowhere.

The phrasing of the question sounded decidedly odd. “No one was hurt. We were all very fortunate.”

The courtesan was insistent. “I do not mean just this morning. What if something should happen in the future? Earthquakes often occur one after another. What if the next one brings the building down? Or if the ground opens up?”

“You were not afraid of earthquakes yesterday,” Yue-ying reminded her gently.

Mingyu sniffed. “You know I am not speaking only of earthquakes.”

Yue-ying could see Mingyu’s eyebrows arch sharply in the bronze mirror. Even agitated, she was still beautiful.

“Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. There is no need to go searching for tragedy.”

Mingyu said nothing more while Yue-ying finished dressing her in a robe of jade-green embroidered with a floral design. The courtesan resembled the paintings of immortals with her luminous skin and eyes that were mysterious and dark. The silk swirled around her as she strode from the dressing room. Her expression was tranquil, but her movements were anything but.

Yue-ying moved with purpose once Mingyu was gone; sweeping the parlor and making it presentable, propping up the broken screen that covered the bedchamber entrance as best she could. The inner rooms she left to be sorted out later.

She was right to move quickly. It wasn’t long before one of Mingyu’s patrons came to call, even though it was only the middle of the morning. Apparently, the earthquake had woken up the city and everyone was eager to gossip.

Taizhu, an appointed court historian, was an occasional visitor to the Lotus, though he had been coming to speak with Mingyu quite often lately. There was a touch of gray to his beard and his face was creased with more laughter lines than frown lines. For an academic, he was an ox of a man with thick shoulders and arms. The indigo color of his robe spoke of his elevated status as a member of the Hanlin Academy.

Yue-ying went to set a clay pot onto the tea stove in the inner chamber. It took her a moment to light the charcoal inside it. When she returned, the elderly scholar was already standing beside the wall with ink brush in hand.

Taizhu wielded his brush like a swordsman, writing onto the wooden panels in black ink. Afterward, he stood back to admire his handiwork and read aloud:

“‘A new Son of Heaven takes the throne. Who is it now?

Hard to say, when each one seems like the last.

But this time the Earth has chosen to pay homage.

Should we all fall to our knees?’”

With a coy look, Mingyu took the brush from the historian’s hands. She presented an elegant contrast to Taizhu’s warrior pose, with one hand holding her sleeve, her brush flowing in small, graceful movements. The old scholar generously read her addition once she had finished.

“‘This humble servant thanks the kind gentleman for precious words.

From a revered talent who has studied the Four Books and Five Classics.

But the tea has not yet been poured,

Is common courtesy no longer taught in the Hanlin Academy?’”

He burst out laughing. “Lady Mingyu thinks I’m a grumbling old man.”

It was a common game in the Pingkang li, the dueling of words back and forth. Yue-ying slipped past them and headed back to the inner chambers to see to the tea. She had little grasp of the sort of language the scholars enjoyed.

The water was ready. Yue-ying measured out tea leaves into two cups and set the pot beside them on the tray. Another guest arrived as she returned to the parlor and she nearly ran into him, tea and all.

Bai Huang was a well-known fixture of the entertainment district. He was a night owl, a flirt, a spendthrift and an eternal student, having failed the imperial exams three times. He was dressed in an opulent blue robe and his topknot was fixed with a silver pin.

“My lord—” She started to mumble out an apology while trying to keep from spilling the tea.

She was met with easy laughter as the young aristocrat reached out to steady the tray. His hand closed over hers and her pulse did a little leap, despite itself.

The corners of his mouth lifted, gracing her with a sly smile, before turning to the others. “Only tea?” he asked with disappointment. “Where’s the wine?”

Taizhu waved him over. “Ah, the young Lord Bai is always good for a few laughs.”

Bai Huang carried the tray over to the party himself, forcing Yue-ying to follow him in an attempt to retrieve it. Her ears were burning by the time she managed to wrest the tray from him, but the nobleman was oblivious.

“When I was awoken this morning by the earthquake, my immediate thoughts went to you, Lady Mingyu,” he said. “I worried for your safety and could not be consoled until I saw with my own eyes that you were unharmed.”

Taizhu snorted. “Your poor suffering heart.”

Mingyu placed a warning hand on Taizhu’s sleeve, but Bai Huang merely accepted the remark with a chuckle. He remained deaf and blind to insult, like a contented frog in a well.

Lord Bai had taken to openly courting Mingyu over the past few months, composing effusive poetry about his loneliness, his sorrow, his aches and his pains, which he would publicly dedicate to Mingyu, reciting verses whenever present company allowed.

If he never had to speak, then Bai Huang and Mingyu would have been perfectly suited. He was the picture of masculine beauty with prominent cheekbones and a strong, chiseled jawline. His eyes were black and always able to catch the light, highlighting the perpetual quirk of amusement on his lips. He bore the high forehead that was considered a sign of cleverness, but anyone who had come across Bai Huang knew better.

Yue-ying made her own effort to keep the peace by pouring hot water over the leaves and setting out the cups. There was no better reminder to be civil than tea. She had to fetch another cup for Lord Bai. After preparing his drink, she glanced up to catch him watching her. The look was there for only a moment before he took his tea.

“Up so early, you scoundrel?” the old scholar taunted. “After last night, I thought you would still be pickled in rice wine at this hour.”

“Your concern touches me deeply, Lord Bai,” Mingyu interrupted in a soothing tone.

He looked obliviously pleased. Taizhu shook his head, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose. Yue-ying went downstairs to fetch a plate of red bean cakes from the kitchen as it seemed the men would stay awhile. When she returned, the old historian had turned the conversation back to the imperial court.

“This is an opportunity to advise the Emperor that he must change course. Heaven has given us a sign. Earthquakes and floods have been known to topple dynasties,” the historian pointed out sagely.

Bai Huang was already shaking his head. “A sign of what? It sounds more like superstitious doomsaying,” he said with a bored look.

“What does it matter if it’s superstition or not? If such a disaster gains the Emperor’s attention, then it can be used as a means to an end,” Taizhu argued.

“This morning’s disaster serves as a better excuse for a couple of friends to complain over tea,” Bai Huang contended, lifting his cup. He attempted to drink, then frowned and peered into it, finding it empty.

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.

* * *

BY 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

THE DUANWU FESTIVAL 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.

* * *

BY 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.

A moment later, Huilan was beside him. “Two,” she said to the vendor, keeping her gaze directed forward.

He paid for the plums, pushing a folded paper across the stand along with his copper. The vendor smoothly took the coins while the paper disappeared into Huilan’s sleeve. The festival atmosphere provided opportunity for young men and women to mingle. To anyone watching, they were just another couple exchanging a love letter.

“What information did you have for me?” he asked.

“You’ll get it tomorrow.” Outwardly, her expression remained pleasant.

Several days ago, she had asked for his help to leave the quarter. She had been cryptic about it, offering information that she promised he’d find valuable. It hadn’t sounded like the usual courtesan’s plea to redeem her from a cruel foster mother. Huilan had acted genuinely frightened.

She showed none of that fear now. She was eerily calm as she took the skewers of plums from the vendor. “I must go. The commissioner paid for a musician for the hour. I don’t want him complaining to Mother.”

“Can you not speak here? Is there a better place for us to meet?”

Huilan shook her head and smiled mysteriously at him. As she turned to go she paused to touch a hand to his sleeve, just over his wrist. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Bai. You are very kind.”

With that, she floated back toward the minister’s awning, a vision in red silk.

He remained nearby for a while longer, in case Huilan had a change of heart, but when she made no further attempt to communicate with him, he continued upstream along the canal. A group of exam candidates called him over to share wine. None of them had passed this round of examinations. Some of them would return to their homes; others would stay on to make another attempt. The setback was treated like a well-worn battle scar. They were young and invincible.

These young men were the same set who sought sport at the gambling houses and courted the young, lesser-known beauties of the Pingkang li. Huang had once taken on the city with the same exuberance, but he’d become much wiser and more reserved. Some might say he’d been taught a lesson he’d never forget.

A gasp of excitement rose from the crowd as the dragonboats came into full view. There were over fifteen in the race. They presented a dramatic sight side by side, all painted in different colors like a rainbow flying over the water. The rowers in each vessel pulled in unison while the beating of the drums set out a steady rhythm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Huang caught sight of a vermilion sash set against a leaf-green robe. Yue-ying stood beside her mistress now, holding a bamboo parasol to shade her from the sun. Lady Mingyu was carrying on a conversation with several scholar-gentlemen who appeared completely enraptured by her words while Yue-ying remained quiet in the background.

What would she be like when freed from beneath the hand of her dictatorial mistress? He wanted very much to speak to her alone again and find out.

He looked back to the racing dragons. As Yue-ying had predicted, the blue dragon was trailing and the orange was in the middle of the fleet, with little chance of pulling ahead. Her two choices for favorites were in the lead; green and gold. He doubted those were merely her favorite colors as she claimed. Yue-ying had shown herself to be neither whimsical nor impulsive.

First Huilan had sought him out with her veiled promises. Then a clever little maidservant had him completely beguiled. That was the problem when dealing with the ladies of the North Hamlet. Every look and word had two meanings. They did it deliberately to taunt young, impressionable scholars. As if women weren’t enough of a mystery already.

CHAPTER THREE

THE DAYTIME ACTIVITIES of the festival centered on the Grand Canal and dragonboat races, but once the sun went down the pleasure houses competed for the evening crowd. The Lotus Palace benefited from being one of the most recognizable establishments in the Pingkang li.

The building itself was two stories high and contained a number of parlors and a banquet hall suitable for entertaining, but the topmost tier was what gave the Lotus Palace its name. The deck was open on all sides, providing a view of the night sky. An octagon of painted beams supported the eaves, which curved upward to resemble the petals of a lotus flower. It was the perfect setting during the spring and summer for gazing at the moon and composing poetry over cups of warmed wine.

In addition to their usual patrons, the new county magistrate was hosting a banquet there—his first public gathering since taking office. Magistrate Li Yen had the disadvantage of not only being young for a man in his position, but appearing youthful as well. He was twenty-five years of age and it was widely believed he was only given his position due to family connections.

Yue-ying wondered whether the magistrate and his constables had discovered what had happened to the body in the river. The boat had been docked somewhere upstream and was dislodged by the earthquake, carrying the corpse down the waterway. There was little talk of it in the Pingkang li other than a few murmurings that he was likely a laborer who had been attacked by a street thief.

With the coming of the festival, the story was forgotten in favor of happier news. Tonight, Madame took the responsibility of greeting every guest and all of the courtesans were busy entertaining. That left Old Auntie and Yue-ying to make sure there was enough food and drink to keep things lively.

An area had been set up on the top floor for the banquet. Mingyu would serve as hostess while two of her courtesan-sisters attended to provide music and pour wine. Yue-ying was busy lighting and hanging lanterns onto the eaves.

“The Xifeng wine,” Mingyu reminded her as the time neared. Down below, they could already see the festival crowd beginning to gather.

Yue-ying headed for the stairs. The parlors on the second and first floors were filling quickly and the chants of a drinking game rang out. She passed by Auntie, who was balancing two trays of food.

The passage to the cellar was through the kitchen. It was a small area down a set of steps. She hung her lantern onto a hook on the wall as she went to the corner where the quality wines were kept. The jug was packed in straw and Yue-ying had started to dig it out when she heard a voice from behind. She spun around, pulse jumping.

“Is it the tremor of the earth, or the sight of you that unsettles me?”

Bai Huang had a shoulder against the doorframe. The lantern light revealed his characteristic grin.

“Lord Bai.” She breathed deep to steady herself. “The banquet is upstairs. You should join it.”

“I saw you coming down here and wanted to know your opinion,” he said.

Despite his pleasant tone, every muscle within her tensed. Yue-ying had long considered Bai Huang to be harmless. He was well mannered and carefree, nothing more than a bored aristocrat seeking diversion. His improprieties bordered on the ridiculous rather than the sinister, but noblemen did not follow maidservants into dark cellars with good intentions.

“Do you like the verse I recited?” he asked. “I composed it after our last meeting.”

“Your poetry is very dull, as always.”

He straightened a little, eyes wide with surprise. She regretted her bluntness immediately. Someone like her was never allowed to insult a man like Lord Bai, but her heart was beating too fast to think clearly. She needed to make it clear that she wasn’t Mingyu. She wasn’t a part of his games of courtship and seduction.

Back in the brothel, the men didn’t come to her for conversation. Though the customers were often merchants and tradesmen rather than gentlemen, scholars didn’t by any means find whorehouses beneath them. Men of rank might exercise good manners in public, but they experienced the full force of lust like any other man. Alone here, without Mingyu’s protection, Yue-ying was as helpless as she had once been, lying beneath men who weren’t looking for talent or beauty.

Keeping her shoulders squared, she started toward the exit. She wouldn’t show any weakness. She would show no emotion at all and he would see there was no sport to be had here.

Bai Huang remained at the doorway, his expression now more contemplative than flirtatious. She would have to get past him. She held her breath. Don’t slow down, she told herself. Keep moving.

At the last moment, he shifted his weight to block her path. “You didn’t get your wine,” he remarked softly.

She stilled like a hare under a falcon’s gaze. His beauty made him seem suddenly more villainous. He wouldn’t even have to use force. Lord Bai likely thought he could lure any manner of woman into his arms and they should be grateful for it.

“Move aside,” she said, her mouth pressed tight. Then she wondered if he was the sort of man who thrived on the conquest. She’d known those as well. She softened her tone. “If you please, Mingyu will be wondering where I am, Lord Bai.”

She added the honorific as an afterthought, hoping not to anger him. And then she’d mentioned her mistress’s name in desperation. If he’d merely forgotten himself for a moment, then he could remember himself now. She hoped Bai Huang was the sort who would be willing to laugh away a misunderstanding if she didn’t make him lose face.

“So my poetry is dull, you say?” His tone was curious, thoughtful and with a hint of interest. “Why are you the only one who has ever told me that?”

“This humble servant misspoke. I beg your pardon.”

She considered once again hurrying past him, back into the light and the crowd upstairs, but he was keeping his distance and his posture was relaxed. His hands were lowered by his sides and he was doing nothing more than watching her, waiting for an answer.

“Why are you the only one who doesn’t laugh at me along with the others?”

“I wouldn’t dare—”

“I don’t believe that’s the reason.”

Bai Huang smiled, his expression warm. He even made as if to step aside. Like a fool, she relaxed her guard and started for the stairs only to be pulled roughly against him. She braced both hands flat against his chest, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his lips to hers.

Yue-ying twisted in his grasp. The moment his hold loosened, she struck him across the face as hard as she could.

The sound of that slap resounded through the cellar, followed by an ugly silence. He stared at her, stunned. She was equally frozen, not quite believing what she had just done. Only the sting of her palm confirmed it.

Her heart pounded as she waited for him to retaliate. She’d hit a nobleman. A man so high above her, she’d surely be beaten for the insult. But Lord Bai merely straightened, dropping his hand slowly from his cheek. His eyes remained on her the entire time. He looked startled, almost boyishly contrite. His lips parted with the beginnings of a question.

Leaving the lantern, she rushed past him and stumbled up the stairs in the dark. She hurried through the kitchen, expecting to hear him charging after her at any moment. At the main hall, she stopped and bent, pressing a hand to her ribcage as she tried to catch her breath.

“Yue-ying?” Ziyi, one of the younger girls, stopped to check on her. “Are you all right?”

She glanced once more over her shoulder. Though the nobleman was nowhere to be seen, her heart was still beating fast and she willed herself to calm down. “I just need to get back,” she lied.

With a deep breath, she climbed the stairs to return to the banquet on the upper floor where she was met by the cool night air and the glow of lanterns. She stood there, blinking and lost as if the Lotus had suddenly become a foreign land.

The guests were seated on pillows arranged around several low tables and the celebration was already under way. Mingyu caught her eye from the center of the gathering. Though Mingyu was in midconversation with Magistrate Li and the old historian Taizhu, she stopped and started to rise.

“What happened?” Mingyu demanded as Yue-ying came to her.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered.

It really was nothing to speak of. She was unharmed and it was better for everyone if she didn’t make trouble.

Lord Bai appeared at the top of the stairs. He paused for a moment to scan through the banquet and it wasn’t long before his gaze centered on them. With a wide grin, he sauntered over.

“Any room here?” he inquired casually, as if he weren’t addressing the county magistrate and an official of the Hanlin Academy.

“Young Lord Bai,” the magistrate greeted. “This banquet is to thank Lady Mingyu for an introduction to the quarter. Any friend of hers is certainly welcome.”

“Lord Bai, if you please.” Mingyu held out her hand in invitation, but her mouth formed a hard line.

Magistrate Li graciously offered the seat beside him and Yue-ying edged away as Bai Huang came near. He didn’t even glance her way as he sat down. To Yue-ying’s relief, Mingyu asked one of the girls to retrieve the wine and took it upon herself to pour. Yue-ying retreated back a few steps.

It was just a kiss, she scolded herself. It was over and done with and the nobleman didn’t seem intent on exacting revenge for her slap. The best thing to do was to forget about it.

“What happened there?” Magistrate Li asked, gesturing toward his face.

Bai Huang placed his fingertips beneath his eye and felt along the reddened scratch beneath it. She hadn’t realized she’d left a mark.

He seemed as surprised as she was. “This? I received this on the way over here. Made the mistake of cornering an alley cat.” His eyes flicked momentarily to her. “A well-deserved punishment.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Was he playing with her still? Despite his advances being unwelcome, she was left scandalized. It was as if she’d stolen away deliberately to meet him, as if they now shared a secret. She wanted no part of it.

The nobleman had returned to his usual tricks. He complimented Mingyu effusively, likening her to a peach blossom.

“But peach blossoms are known for being so delicate and their season is quite brief,” Mingyu replied coolly.

Bai Huang blinked at her, befuddled. “A lily, then?” he offered.

The party laughed at the exchange and he continued to look bewildered for a moment before breaking out into a grin, pleased that he must have said something witty to evoke the response.

Out in the open, he hardly presented an intimidating figure. His robe was overly flamboyant, his posture laid-back. He drank too much and threw money around. He enjoyed his special place as the beloved fool of the Pingkang li, but Yue-ying had never found him amusing. His humor always seemed too forced to her. His efforts lacked spontaneity.

Magistrate Li picked up the conversation, perhaps feeling obligated as the banquet’s sponsor. “Lord Bai, your love for verses must be in your blood. I hear that you are related to the poet Bai Juyi. His passing was a great loss.”

“A distant relation,” the nobleman replied. “Though proud of the association, I would be ashamed to boast of it. Blood matters little next to merit, wouldn’t you say?”

Mingyu glanced up from her conversation with Taizhu. The two listened with mild interest.

“No one would disagree with that,” Li said amiably.

“Now, the magistrate has something to boast about. What’s this? Attaining the rank of jinshi at only nineteen years of age? I must drink to you.”

The magistrate laughed and denied any special status. When not in his official robe, he could certainly be mistaken for one of the many students in the quarter with his pleasant manner and youthful face.

“He’s too humble,” Taizhu said. “Not only did he pass the palace exams, Li Yen earned the rank of selective talent, third overall in his class.”

Bai Huang insisted on raising his cup to drink to Li’s accomplishment. “I should ask the magistrate for advice,” he said boisterously. “What tricks did the magistrate employ to score so well?”

Magistrate Li’s ears flushed red at the tips, though that might have been from the drink. “No trick really.”

“This humble student can’t seem to pass no matter who he bribes.”

Bai Huang’s jest was met with nervous laughter from Li Yen as well as the other attendees. Taizhu scowled at him. Again he played the fool, or did he? His self-effacing smile was a bit hard at the edges.

Yue-ying was never part of such conversation. She was to remain silent and wait to be useful, always watching and always listening. It gave her an opportunity to scrutinize Lord Bai’s seemingly senseless questions and his overflowing enthusiasm. He wasn’t a know-nothing who was trying too hard to impress. He was trying very deliberately to provoke a response. But why?

She would have continued to dismiss him as well, until that horrible mockery of a kiss. Her view of him was forever changed.

“Now I wonder why there are no imperial exams for women?” Mingyu chimed in, filling the tense silence.

Her suggestion was met with equal parts chuckling and enthusiastic support.

“A new exam would need to be designed. With a different set of questions,” Taizhu proposed.

“Why should the process be any different for a woman? I would welcome the privilege of being able to fail the imperial exams.” She gave Bai Huang a sly look and he beamed.

“Let us enforce a new rule.” Mingyu held up her hand dramatically and everyone quieted to listen. In this social gathering, she was official hostess and acting magistrate. “This is a festival night. Anyone who mentions exams or appointments or politics—” she cast Taizhu a pointed look, which he accepted with good humor “—must take a penalty drink and be subjected to a punishment of the group’s choosing.”

Everyone raised their cups to make the decree official and, with that, peace was restored. Yue-ying was moving around the table to refill cups when another arrival stepped onto the pavilion deck. Mingyu stared at the man in the dark robe without recognition.

“Wu Kaifeng, the head constable,” Yue-ying informed her.

She had mentioned the body found in the river, but Mingyu hadn’t been particularly interested in the crime or the presence of a new constable. It was bad luck to speak of death, so the Pingkang li went on as if a corpse hadn’t recently drifted ashore practically at their gate.

Constable Wu came directly to them. His gaze passed over the gathering and he managed a stiff bow. Afterward, he straightened and stood rigidly, uncomfortable with the surroundings. Though he held an appointed position, he was still a working man, subservient to nearly everyone present. He addressed the magistrate.

“Sir, there is a matter that needs your attention.” His austere countenance cast gloom over the banquet just as it had by the river.

“Please excuse us.” Li Yen stood and the two men moved to stand beside one of the columns.

After a brief exchange, the magistrate returned. “My apologies for leaving so early. Lady Mingyu.” He bowed once to her, before turning to Bai Huang. “Lord Bai, I am happy to have met you, but regret that we didn’t get to converse at any length. Perhaps you would like to walk with me?”

Bai Huang tilted his head in surprise. A confused smile touched his lips, but he stood and took his leave as well, leaving behind more than one set of raised eyebrows.

* * *

THE EVENING WAS warm and all the lanterns of the North Hamlet were aglow, prolonging the festival atmosphere of the day. It would have been a good night for walking, except it was difficult to feel comfortable with Li Yen beside him and his dark and brooding servant trailing behind.

It was well-known that the Li and Bai clans supported different factions in the imperial court, with Chancellor Li Deyu dominating the court for the reign of the last two emperors. A distant relation, the magistrate would insist.

“This was my first Duanwu in the capital,” Magistrate Li remarked as they continued down the lane. “I found the festival very enjoyable.”

“A good day indeed,” Huang concurred. “My dragonboat won today so I have a heavy purse to show for it. Are we headed to the center of the Three Lanes?”

“My apologies for this delay. Has Lord Bai ever been to the House of a Hundred Songs?”

The hairs on the back of Huang’s neck rose. “The Hundred Songs boasts a few of the most talented courtesans in the district...outside of Lady Mingyu, of course.”

“I promised to make an appearance there tonight,” Li said smoothly. “If you don’t mind accompanying me?”

Li turned onto the central lane and Huang followed dutifully, keeping his guard up. The magistrate’s soft-spoken manner hid a well of ambition.

The Hundred Songs was always a cheerful place. Huang was known there as well. The house wasn’t nearly as grand in style or reputation as the Lotus Palace, but pink lanterns and carved phoenixes gave it a romantic look. The atmosphere inside was busy, but more muted than the revelry they had left behind. The hostess greeted them with some reserve.

“Why so quiet this evening, Little Plum?” Huang asked with a smile.

Mei ducked her head and beckoned them to follow her. Music floated throughout the halls, a harmonious blend of the rain-song sound of the pipa and the trill of a flute. The three of them followed the courtesan to the second floor. Huang became more aware of Constable Wu’s heavy step behind him. Just ahead of him, Magistrate Li was chattering about music.

“Our household employed an old musician who played the pipa,” Li was saying. “He tried to teach me once, but I had no talent for it.”

The magistrate was filling the silence with nonsense—this from a man known for being very skilled with words. They halted at a door midway down the hall and Mei met his eyes briefly, before lowering her gaze and stepping aside.

As he followed Magistrate Li into the chamber, Huang was very much aware they had gone directly to the quarters without any question or introduction. He also knew who typically entertained in these rooms. The sitting area was empty, but the curtain to the inner chamber was open.

Huilan was lying on the bed, her head thrown back.

Huang went to her. Her name caught in his throat, his head pounding while he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. A faint hope flickered in him as he took hold of her wrist, but he already knew. He had known the moment he’d seen her. Huilan’s complexion was no longer moon-pale and luminous. It was colorless. The stillness about her went beyond sleep. There was no way to describe it, but he recognized the aberration of it immediately.

He sank down to his knees on the floor, unable to take his eyes off her. Her throat was bruised. Someone had ruined it forever. She would never sing again.

“She’s dead,” he said heavily, a part of him feeling dead as well. He’d just seen her that morning.

“You knew her?” Magistrate Li asked.

“Everyone knew Huilan,” he replied sharply. “She was one of the Four Beauties.”

The other two men were watching impassively by the door. Huang clenched his fists as anger heated his veins. They had known Huilan was dead and brought him there to watch his reaction. She’d been left alone all this time.

A knot formed in his chest. He was confused and horrified and at a loss for anything intelligent to say.

“Perhaps you should come out here,” Magistrate Li suggested quietly.

Huang nodded. He took one final look at Huilan. She was the youngest of the Beauties. Her cheeks were gently rounded, which evoked a fresh-faced innocence. The violence was all the worse for that.

* * *

“DID YOU SPEAK with Huilan earlier today?” Magistrate Li asked.

They were in the sitting room just outside the courtesan’s chamber. Huang looked up from his tea, which had gone cold. “At the Grand Canal during the race.”

Li nodded gravely. “She was so full of youth and beauty. Such a tragedy. Do you come to the Hundred Songs often?”

“Once in a while. Huilan sang the last time I was here.”

Huang ran a hand over his face. Huilan had been evasive that morning, but he should have insisted she explain herself. He should have never let her leave alone. He should have remembered the look of fear in her eyes when they’d first spoken.

“Were you her lover?” Li continued.

So this was an interrogation, then.

Huang straightened and met Magistrate Li eye to eye. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Well acquainted, then.”

Li was grasping at something. The constable came forward from his station in the corner and held out a folded paper. Magistrate Li looked it over before placing it onto the table between them.

“This was found lying beside Lady Huilan’s bed.” His finger rested over the red seal stamped onto the paper. “Is this your family’s mark?”

Huang knew what it was without looking. The paper he’d given Huilan was an official permit used to travel outside the gated wards after curfew.

“Did she use this to go to you at night?”

“I told you, we were not lovers,” he said evenly.

Magistrate Li stared him down. “How did Lady Huilan come to possess this pass?”

“She must have taken it from me.”

“Without your knowledge?”

His lips lifted sardonically. “I often drink too much.”

Huilan had asked for his help to leave the quarter. He often moved freely through the wards at night, one of the privileges of the aristocracy, and he’d assumed that was why she’d gone to him.

“Madame Lui can speak to the extent of my association with Lady Huilan,” Huang said. “The life of a courtesan isn’t very private.”

At that moment, the headmistress entered with Mei and a younger girl, two of Huilan’s courtesan-sisters. There were tears in the older woman’s eyes.

“Madame Lui.”

She clasped her hands around his. “You find who did this. She was like a daughter to me!”

Madame Lui had been a great beauty herself in her youth and remained a handsome woman now, despite the redness around her eyes. She sniffed into a handkerchief.

Magistrate Li came over from the sitting area and addressed Mei. “I understand that you were the first to find her.”

The young courtesan nodded. “We were entertaining a large party in the banquet room. Huilan was acting as hostess while I was there to assist her. Everyone was in a happy mood and drinking wine for the festival. After an hour, Huilan complained of a headache. She told me to play a song and keep the party occupied while she went upstairs to rest for a little while, but she was gone for so long I finally went up to check on her. The moment I opened the door, I knew she wasn’t sleeping.” Mei’s voice cracked and she buried her face in her hands.

Magistrate Li gave her a moment before continuing. “Miss, who was in the banquet room?”

“Commissioner Ma and a few of his friends. I...I don’t remember everyone’s name.” She looked helplessly to Madame Lui.

“They are all regular patrons who have come here many times,” the headmistress told them.

Huang wondered why the second girl had been brought in, but Magistrate Li didn’t question her the same way he had spoken to Mei. Instead, the constable went to her. Towering a full head and shoulders over the younger girl, he spoke to her in a quiet tone. She looked over at Huang and shook her head.

Li turned back to him. “I apologize for intruding, Lord Bai. You understand such questions must be asked. We must continue our conversation at another time.”

He bowed in kind. “Of course, Magistrate Li.”

If it weren’t for his lineage, Huang was certain he would have been dragged to the prison house. He started toward the door, trying to remember everything Huilan had told him. As he passed an end table he noticed a writing box lying open behind the vase. The brush had been set over the top of the case and the ink appeared fresh.

Li Yen’s voice rang after him. “Before you go, Lord Bai.”

He turned to see both men watching him.

“I should ask you where you were earlier this evening—as a matter of procedure, of course,” Li assured him.

“At the Lotus Palace,” he replied easily. “Conversing with the magistrate himself.”

“Yes, but I do recall you were a bit late arriving.”

“I had forgotten.” Huang faced him without flinching. “I was delightfully delayed downstairs. A conversation with a charming young lady.”

He had followed Yue-ying into the wine cellar hoping for a private moment away from the parlors and banquets. The plan was to be charming, to humble himself, make her laugh. But he had been mistaken about how he’d be received. Apparently, he was mistaken about many things lately.

“Ah, your alley cat?” Li recalled.

“Yes.” Now was not the time to play the fool. “The very same creature.”

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS AN obsessed patron who had done it.

It was a thief who was interrupted while trying to steal her jewels.

It was the ghost of a scholar who had killed himself out of love for her.

Or maybe it was a jealous rival, who saw how the young and talented Huilan was rising in popularity in the North Hamlet.

“Nonsense!” Mingyu snorted when Yue-ying recounted all the theories she’d heard.

“About the ghost or—”

“The gossipmongers always have to infuse rivalry into everything. As if we’re filled with envy and ready to tear at each other just because we’re women. I’m devastated by Huilan’s death. She was so sweet-natured to everyone.”

Mingyu appeared genuinely distraught as Yue-ying finished pinning her hair. She chose an understated look for Mingyu today, foregoing ornaments and jewels in her hair and only using a light trace of color on her lips and cheeks. They had found out the day before about Huilan’s death and the entire quarter was in mourning.

“The worst of it is there is a murderer in the Pingkang li and we don’t know who it is. How can any of us feel safe?”

Yue-ying sighed. For all her worldliness, Mingyu was so sheltered. “The stranger in the canal was also murdered, yet no one seemed to be alarmed then.”

“I thought that was an accidental drowning.”

“One does not accidentally drown and then climb back into a boat,” Yue-ying pointed out.

“Oh,” Mingyu said, dismissing the loss of that life with a single word. She glanced once at herself in the bronze mirror, decided what she saw was satisfactory and stood. Mingyu spent very little time preening or fixating on her appearance. “Well, I hope that Magistrate Li will find whoever did this quickly so Huilan’s spirit can be at rest.”

Mingyu left the dressing area while Yue-ying stayed behind to straighten the combs and pins and makeup pots. She had heard little about the mysterious body in the boat while she was certain the North Hamlet would be talking about Huilan long and loud. There would be a flood of verses lamenting her early passing, the silencing of her song, her tragic beauty.

She felt sadness over Huilan as well. How could she not? Huilan had been close to Yue-ying in age and so full of life. The rumors said Huilan had been strangled to death. She had died struggling and afraid, her final breath forced out of her. For that to be the last thing one felt on this Earth—

Yue-ying wiped away the tear that fell unexpectedly down her cheek. Strange to feel so deeply over someone she barely knew, someone she rarely spoke to. The last time Yue-ying had seen Huilan, they had engaged in a silly, meaningless conversation about the availability of lychees. So much of the banter of the tearooms, the pleasure houses and banquet halls was without any true meaning or purpose.

But how could she have known to say something meaningful to Huilan that morning? That it would be her last chance to do so?

Mingyu was calling her from the parlor. Yue-ying straightened to go to her, wondering if she should tell Mingyu how beautiful she was, how naive she could be, how much Mingyu’s distant nature sometimes hurt her and how much Yue-ying cared for her.

* * *

THE HUNDRED SONGS was a short walk from the Lotus. The colorful banners in front had been replaced with white drapery, signifying that the house was in mourning. The sound of chanting and the hollow tap of the prayer drum could be heard from the street. She and Mingyu had just reached the front door when a dark figure at the street corner caught her eye. Constable Wu started toward her, looming larger with every step until she was hidden in his shadow.

“Miss Yue-ying, if I may speak with you.”

She glanced over her shoulder, but Mingyu had already disappeared into the Hundred Songs to join the other mourners.

To her relief, Wu Kaifeng directed her to the nearest teahouse rather than the magistrate’s yamen, but it was difficult to relax with his iron gaze fixed on her. His height was exaggerated by his build, which was long and lean. His facial features were elongated as well, with an eagle’s nose and high cheekbones that tapered down to a sharp chin. He wasn’t an attractive man. He wasn’t entirely ugly either, but if she had to choose—she would say his face fit his position. It was an intimidating face, not one that evoked pleasant thoughts.

The server brought two bowls of the house tea and Wu gave her a chance to take a sip before speaking.

“I have questions about Lord Bai Huang. I understand you are familiar with him.”

It wasn’t posed as a question, but she nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.”

“He is close to your mistress as well?”

That raised her defenses. “Lord Bai and Lady Mingyu are no closer than the moon to the stars.”

“But he’s been courting her.”

“That’s what scholar-gentlemen do as a pastime. They ride horses, they compose poetry and they court beautiful ladies.”

Wu raised his eyebrows. They were black and as intimidating as the rest of his face.

She didn’t know why she’d spoken so cynically. It was possible Bai Huang was genuinely taken with Mingyu. She was exquisitely beautiful, with a dancer’s grace and a poet’s wit, and she made a livelihood out of captivating men.

“Why do you ask about Lord Bai?” she inquired.

“Our investigation into the death of Lady Huilan is hindered by one unfortunate fact: we suspect an aristocrat from a well-respected and powerful family.”

All the air rushed out of her. “But Lord Bai doesn’t seem to be the sort,” she gasped.

“Do you know many killers, Miss Yue-ying?” Wu asked pointedly, and it was a sharp, finely honed point at that.

She fell silent, but her mind was not at all quiet. Surely an affair between Bai Huang and Huilan couldn’t have escaped notice, but everyone had their secrets in the Pingkang li. His association with the House of a Hundred Songs could be more intimate than anyone realized.

“Bai Huang is the son of Bai Zheng-jian, a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Defense,” Wu said.

Yue-ying nodded. This was all commonly known in the quarter.

“Though the elder Lord Bai is assigned to a military post in Fujian province, the family maintains a household in the capital. I hear it told that Bai Huang only recently returned to the city, not even a year ago.”

He finished his report and looked to her expectantly.

“All I know is there was some trouble a few years ago and he was sent away,” she offered. “Something about gambling debts. I was new to the Pingkang li then.”

“Interesting. Anything else?”

The constable’s constant gaze unnerved her. She swore he had the eyes of a snake, never blinking.

She thought back to the previous days. So much had happened that month with the earthquake and then the dragonboat festival the week after.

“Huilan met with someone on the first day of the new moon,” she recalled. “A young man. He was on the bridge near the temple.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Did you recognize him?”

She shook her head. “I was too far away to see.”

He paused to consider the information, prolonging the silence for so long that she began to fidget. That day had been the first time she had seen Constable Wu as well.

“I didn’t pay much attention to Lord Bai’s exploits in the past,” she continued, feeling the need to say something. It was unsettling to have Wu staring at her. “He used to have a bad reputation, a reputation for being reckless, but when he returned, his reputation transformed into something more—” She struggled for a word. Wu Kaifeng waited. “Impulsive. Ridiculous.”

She felt bad speaking poorly of Lord Bai to a stranger. Constable Wu took a long drink of his tea and glanced downward at the remaining leaves, as if scrying for an answer.

“Miss Yue-ying, I am letting you into my confidence and you must consider this information very carefully. A young man who could not be identified was seen at the Hundred Songs the night of the murder. Lord Bai met with the courtesan earlier that same day. An item that belonged to him was later found in her chamber beside the body.”

A shiver ran up her spine. “But he was at the Lotus Palace that night.”

“That brings up another interesting point. Magistrate Li recalls that Lord Bai arrived late and uninvited to the banquet.”

“He wasn’t as late as it seemed. I saw him earlier. Downstairs.” She blushed, realizing how it would look to the constable. “And when he came up to the banquet, he sat directly next to Magistrate Li and started a conversation. What criminal would do that?”

“A bold one, for certain,” Wu said thoughtfully. “One who believes he is above suspicion. There was a scratch on his face that night. I saw it myself.”

“That was my doing. We had a...a disagreement.”

“That is not quite how Lord Bai told it.”

His tone told her enough about Bai Huang’s side of the story. She could feel her cheeks heating under the constable’s scrutiny.

Wu pressed on, “Are you certain he didn’t have that scratch when he arrived?”

“I’m certain. I struck him hard across the face.”

But she had hit him in the darkness of the cellar. She hadn’t been able to see his face clearly. Doubt began to creep in like a festering wound.

“I commend you for that.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes were unusually bright. “An aristocrat of Lord Bai’s stature isn’t easy to accuse. His father’s connections within the imperial bureaucracy are very powerful and Magistrate Li has warned me that we must step carefully,” he said with a touch of ire. “In the meantime, be wary of him, Miss Yue-ying. I know when a man is hiding something.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE DEALER LIFTED the clay tumbler over his head and shook it while he chanted in a singsong: “Here, here, bet high, bet low.”

The final wagers were placed onto the table as the dice rattled around inside the tumbler. With a flourish, the dealer set the dish down, paused dramatically, then lifted the lid to reveal the numbers. The result was met with a few cheers, more groans, some curses.

Huang swiped a hand over his forehead and stared at the candle flickering on the table behind the dealer. It was an oven in here tonight and he was having a tough time of it. A runner came by offering a cup filled with what would have been called water if not for the few flecks of tea floating in it. He waved the boy away in irritation.

“It must be a lucky night for you, Lord Bai.”

Wu Kaifeng came up alongside him just as the dealer shoved a pile of coins in front of him. Huang stared at the cash warily before pushing it all back onto the table beside the character for “Low”.

He pasted on a smile before turning to the constable. “So it seems. Let’s see if it continues.”

Occasionally someone he knew from the Pingkang li would come into the gambling den, but he had no desire to hold up appearances tonight. He glanced once again at the candle. There was only a stub left.

Sometimes he lost quickly and would simply get up and leave. Those were the rules. But sometimes he won, and those were the hardest nights of all.

“Do you play, Constable?”

Though Wu stood at the table, he had yet to take out any money. He looked over the painted characters on the table, each representing a wager, and then over to the three dice inside the clay bowl. The dealer shrank back as Wu’s gaze raked over him.

“No,” he replied after an uncomfortably long delay.

It was rare to meet someone with such a disconnected sense of social politeness. Though his words and gestures were not incorrect, they always came a touch too late or off-rhythm, as if he had to think of things others took as natural.

“It’s quite easy,” Huang said. “You put your coins down on the table and they take them away.”

“All bets in!”

The dealer set the bowl down and lifted the tumbler to a general outcry. The total was high this time and Huang’s wager disappeared. Another round started promptly after.

“I could never see the appeal of gambling,” Wu said. “Too much uncertainty.”

The problem was Huang liked the unpredictability. He liked the guessing and wagering and not knowing. No, it was incorrect to say he liked any of it. That implied there was some enjoyment or pleasure involved. He supposed there had been, at one time. Now he knew that he didn’t just like the risk, he needed it. It was never about the money.

Tonight, the battle had been especially hard. With a new Emperor on the throne and Huilan’s recent death, there was too much cluttering his mind. A night of diversion at the tables was very tempting. Unfortunately, Huang knew it was impossible to play only a few rounds to take his mind off things. He always followed a strict, unbending regimen he’d set for himself.

Wu looked around the dimly lit room. “So this is where you go on nights you don’t spend drinking.”

Obviously, the constable had come here to investigate him and couldn’t be bothered with subtlety.

Huang affected a grin. “I’ll drink tonight as well.”

Wu was not amused. “You play the third night of every week.”

His smile faltered a little. “A good night for it.”

“And always from the eleventh hour to the twelfth,” Wu continued. “Always this table. Exactly a thousand copper coins.”

The dealer cast a glance toward Wu before he began hawking out the next round.

Huang shrugged, though the room seemed to have gotten hotter. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck. “Gamblers and their superstitions, you know.”

Wu nodded, but there was very little in the way of camaraderie in it. “It must be working tonight. You look to have nearly three times that in front of you.”

“More wagers? Bet now!” the dealer crowed.

The candle had melted down to a pool of wax.

Huang pushed the entire stack of coins over the square marked “Triple”.

Wu’s eyes narrowed on him. “I may not be knowledgeable about this game, but I would assume that is a highly unlikely outcome.”

At least he’d managed to surprise the demon. “If the dice are with me, I’ll be a wealthy man,” Huang replied with a grin.

“You are already wealthy, Lord Bai.”

They listened to the rattle of the dice. As the tumbler was set on the table, Huang felt that familiar rush, the boiling of his blood as he waited to see the result. Exquisite anticipation. Nothing else in the world felt as good as this. Not good wine, good food. Not even a beautiful woman. At moments like this, he knew he would never be free of this urge.

The dealer lifted the top off the bowl and Huang’s heart almost stopped. Two fives and a three. He didn’t want to think what he would have done if that last die had landed another five instead of the three.

There was nothing left but the wick on the candle. He turned as the dealer raked back all of his winnings of the past hour, leaving Constable Wu at the table to form whatever conclusions he chose.

* * *

YUE-YING SPENT THE next few days preparing Mingyu for an upcoming journey. General Deng was Mingyu’s most prestigious patron. He had held a position in the capital before being transferred to Guangdong province where he currently served as military governor. Whenever he returned to Changan, Mingyu pushed all other engagements aside to see to him.

“The general will be sending an escort for me,” Mingyu had told her. “We will be traveling to the nearby hot springs. There is no need for you to accompany me.”

Yue-ying ignored the abrupt dismissal and started packing a trunk with all the necessary clothing and personal items Mingyu would need. She made sure to include all the jewels and trinkets the military governor had gifted to Mingyu.

This wasn’t the first time Mingyu had left her for such an assignation. It was publicly known that she and General Deng were lovers. Yue-ying could understand why Mingyu desired privacy during their time together. Perhaps Mingyu held deeper feelings for the governor than she admitted.

Once Mingyu was gone, Yue-ying was left with more idle time than she was accustomed to and no one to pass it with. Over the years, she had become friendly with the other courtesans in the pleasure house, but none of them were close. Mingyu was the only courtesan who had a personal attendant, which put Yue-ying in a unique position at the Lotus Palace. It also kept her apart from the others.

To remain busy, she set about sorting the rest of the clothing and accessories, bringing out the lighter garments from storage in preparation for the hottest part of the summer season. A pile was started for items that needed mending or other repairs. When she was arranging Mingyu’s slippers, she found a pair tossed in the bottom of a trunk. The embroidered pattern had been splattered with mud.

With a sigh, she took a damp rag to it. Mingyu was so careless sometimes. Such beautiful and luxurious items held little value to her.

A knock came from the outer chamber, interrupting her task.

“Miss Yue-ying?” a familiar voice called out.

She shot to her feet. Lord Bai stepped into the parlor just as she poked her head out from the dressing room. The slipper was still clutched in her hand.

“That’s not to throw at me, is it?” he asked, his lips quirking.

Bai Huang was a suspect in Huilan’s murder, but Constable Wu didn’t have any strong evidence. Wu had also warned her Bai Huang was hiding something, but he wasn’t a violent man...yet when he’d cornered her in the cellar, he’d certainly appeared menacing.

She had been staring at him for too long while she weighed the arguments. “Lady Mingyu is not here.”

“I know. I came here to see you.”

For a moment, she considered telling him to go away and shouting for help if he refused, but Madame would think she had gone mad. Bai Huang was a frequent and generous customer.

“Were you at the Hundred Songs the night of the festival?” she asked, edging closer to a ceramic vase on an end table.

“I was here. Don’t you remember?”

“Before you came to the Lotus.”

She glared at him, her irritation rising. She supposed it benefited him somehow to adopt the persona of the fool, otherwise why would he do it so often and with so much enthusiasm?

“I wasn’t at the Hundred Songs. I swear on my grave.”

“Why did you tell Magistrate Li you were with me?” she demanded

He looked confused. “Because I was with you?”

“Not in the way you implied.”

“I said that I was delightfully delayed by—” he paused to recall the exact words “—a charming young lady.”

“Delayed?” she asked through her teeth. “Delightfully?”

The dog. She dropped the slipper and took hold of the vase.

A light dawned in his eyes. “You think I murdered Huilan?” he asked incredulously. “Do you truly believe I’m capable of doing such a horrible thing? And to someone as gentle and kind as Huilan. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I don’t believe you killed her.” She kept the vase between them. “But I don’t think you’ve been completely truthful.”

“I am trying to find whoever did this and bring him to justice,” he insisted. “I came here to ask your help on that very matter.”

“Why would you need my help?”

He eyed the vase in her grasp. “Shall we discuss this over tea?”

She was overanxious. Constable Wu might be right that she didn’t know many killers, but she had known men who were capable of it. She remembered a brothel owner who had beaten one girl to death and was only forced to pay a fine for the crime, the ruling being that he hadn’t intended to kill her. She knew in her gut Bai Huang wasn’t like that.

She set the would-be weapon down and went to light the tea stove. He sat out in the parlor as she worked. Peering out from the screen, she saw him running his hands back and forth over his knees, standing, then sitting again and looking around as if to search for some possible inspiration to start a conversation. It was disarming to see him like this, so uncertain.

Lord Bai Huang probably expected tea to miraculously appear when he asked for it, with no extra effort or delay. Once she had the fire started in the stove, she ladled water into the pot and set it on top. With nothing to do but wait, she returned to the parlor and seated herself. It was unusual to be sitting across from a gentleman, eye to eye.

“Why do you need my help?” she asked again.

“You’re familiar with the quarter. People know you and trust you.” He paused, looking at her intently. “And you have a good heart.”

She fidgeted. “I don’t understand why you can’t let the magistrate handle things.”

By now, she was certain Bai Huang wasn’t half the fool he presented in public, but she still didn’t think he was more qualified than Magistrate Li and his constables.

“First, the pompous Li Yen and the evil-eyed Wu Kaifeng are new to the city. People don’t trust them. They won’t be able to act as quickly as you and I. Second, Magistrate Li has his own agenda. I don’t trust him. And third—”

He paused for a long while on the last point. His dark eyebrows folded into a frown.

“Third, I swore to Huilan I would help her. I owe this debt to her.”

He looked away. Yue-ying stood and returned to the stove to allow him his privacy. Had he been in love with Huilan? She was the sort of woman that would inspire such devotion in a man. And Bai Huang had shown himself to be the romantic sort.

She scooped tea leaves into two cups and poured the hot water over them, covering the cups with a lid to let the tea steep. Bai Huang sat wordlessly as she set his cup before him. They took a few sips and he seemed to relax, though she remained anxious. It wasn’t her place to have tea with gentlemen. Suddenly she was aware of her posture and the placement of her hands and feet, knowing everything must be all wrong.

Their eyes met and an odd sensation traveled up her spine. They both spoke at once.

“About the other night—”

“We don’t need to speak of it—”

Silence. Again a look between them that left her so confused, more so than his kiss had done. That kiss was forced upon her and there had been no finesse to it. Not even the barest attempt to seduce her into enjoying it. She absolutely would not apologize for the scratch that still marred his perfect face. He deserved it. But the Bai Huang she was looking at now seemed an entirely different man.

He smiled crookedly at her. “I know I’m a scoundrel sometimes.”

His tone was unexpectedly intimate. Heat rose up her neck until her face burned hot.

“What exactly did you need me to do?” she asked, noting to herself that she hadn’t yet agreed to help.

“Madame Lui gave me a list of everyone who was at the Hundred Songs that night. Also any patron who has come calling on Huilan. She spoke to the magistrate as well, but I believe she wasn’t nearly as forthcoming with him.”

With a smug look, Bai Huang pulled out a paper from beneath the fold of his hanfu robe and held it out to her. Yue-ying hesitated before taking it from him. She could only read a little, having memorized the few characters needed for her daily activities. She could write her own name and some basic numbers and read the signboards in the market, but little else.

The characters swam before her eyes, but she was too ashamed to admit that she couldn’t make any sense of them. “What do you intend to do with these names?”

“We go through them and look for anyone suspicious. You know everyone in the North Hamlet.”

“Only the people who come to the Lotus Palace,” she protested. “And not much more than their names and faces.”

He made an impatient sound. “You’re just being humble because etiquette demands it. Between you and me, I would wager we can account for every name here.”

Bai Huang took the paper from her and asked for a writing brush. As she went back into Mingyu’s chamber to retrieve the case from her desk, he recounted what he knew about that night, speaking loud enough to be heard from the parlor.

“The Hundred Songs hosted a banquet for prestigious patrons. The guest of honor was an imperial scholar who just received an appointment to the Ministry of Revenue. Huilan was there to receive the visitors and entertain them with song. Just before the eleventh hour, she retired momentarily to her room. That was the last time anyone saw her.”

The fine hairs along her arms rose upon hearing the story. The events were still so recent in memory. Yue-ying returned to the parlor and set the wooden writing box before him along with a sheet of paper.

“If it was like the banquet here at the Lotus Palace, people would have been coming and going all night. It would be impossible to track where everyone was at all times,” she told him.

“We have to consider everyone a suspect, then.”

Bai Huang folded back the drape of his sleeve in two crisp movements, exposing forearms that appeared surprisingly strong. She watched with fascination as he opened the case and prepared the ink as if it were a ritual he had done a thousand times. He selected the smallest brush and dipped it into the ink. Then he started reading names off the list, copying each one onto the fresh sheet with a practiced, steady hand.

There was something compelling about seeing Bai Huang so focused. His brow was creased with concentration and the lines of his profile hardened with determination. He looked nothing like the pleasure-seeking flower prince they all so loved to chuckle about.

“Fa Zhenggang. I don’t know him,” he said.

“He’s a painter who lives to the south of the market.”

“Ah.” Bai Huang looked satisfied as he marked down the detail.

They continued methodically down the list, which had nearly twenty names on it.

“Ma Jun. That name sounds familiar. He’s the head of the East Market Commission office,” Bai Huang noted.

“It’s also well-known that Huilan was a favorite of his,” she pointed out.

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “Well-known to the quarter, at least.”

He looked down at the columns of names and sucked in a deep breath. Each name held its own web of connections and secrets. Suddenly the task appeared daunting.

“Let’s continue.” He took a moment to shrug out the stiffness in his shoulders before dipping his brush again.

She wasn’t yet certain Bai Huang’s plan was the best approach, but she was touched someone like him would be concerned with the misfortunes of one lone courtesan within the North Hamlet. She had assumed the women of the Pingkang li were nothing but diversions to men like him, their names and graces interchangeable. This one was a graceful flower or a precious gem, noted for playing the pipa or being an elegant dancer.

“Lord Bai?”

He looked up with the brush still poised over the paper.

“Were you and Huilan...” she took a breath as she searched for a word that wasn’t too improper “...close?”

“Close?”

He was making this deliberately difficult for her.

“Intimate,” she amended.

He regarded her for a moment before answering. His look was one of complete seriousness. “No.”

Yue-ying didn’t realize she had been holding her breath. There was so much she didn’t know about him. “Magistrate Li and Constable Wu suspect that you were.”

“I know this.”

“I told Constable Wu that I saw Huilan meeting a young man on the day of the earthquake. They were on the bridge by the temple. From where I was, he could have been anyone.”

“It wasn’t me,” he insisted, seeing the look in her eye. “I’ve only ever spoken to Huilan in public or at the Hundred Songs.”

She tried hard to recall more clearly. The man’s robe had been blue-gray in color without any additional accents. It was the robe of a scholar. Certainly she’d never seen Bai Huang dressed so simply.

“I apologize for my boldness, Lord Bai,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to sound so—”

“Intimate?” he finished for her, eyes dancing.

She didn’t realize her face could heat so quickly. Best to stop talking. She tucked her hair behind her ear, thought about it, then untucked it in the next moment.

It wasn’t as if she’d asked if they were involved out of jealousy. She had nothing to be jealous about. Even though he had attempted to kiss her—and it was really nothing more than an awkward attempt—this was Lord Bai, who spouted bland poetry about eyes and lips and graceful willowy figures. She wondered what comparison he would conjure were he to compose poetry about her.

What had come over her? The boundaries of this conversation had completely slipped away from her. She wasn’t seeking a lover and, if she were, Lord Bai would be the least likely of suitors.

Thankfully, Bai Huang turned back to the list, with her adding small touches based on what was known in the North Hamlet. By the end of the next hour, they had three sheets of paper spread out on the table.

“It could be any of these men.” He sighed.

“Or it could be none of them.”

He glanced up at her, irritated because she’d spoken the truth. Then he looked back at the sheets, lifting them into the air to dry while he studied the characters. Carefully, he folded up the pages and tucked them into his robe.

“You said Huilan was acting oddly at the temple,” he said. “Let’s start there.”

* * *

THE TEMPLE COURTYARD was empty that morning and the old tortoise was out of his lair once more, asleep beneath the shade of a rock. The altar room was open for worshippers to come and go as they wished with the ever-present curl of incense smoke being the only sign that any shadow of a soul was about. The two of them loitered about until a middle-aged nun in gray robes came to greet them.

Yue-ying pressed her palms together and bowed respectfully. “Elder Sister.”

Bai Huang stood apart from them as she asked the nun about Huilan. Afterward, she bowed once again as thank-you and farewell before returning to Bai Huang.

“The nuns say that Huilan came every month, always on the first,” Yue-ying reported. “The earthquake happened on the first as well.”

They left the temple and walked together to the nearby bridge and looked down into the water. Bai Huang gripped the wooden rail, his hand placed inadvertently close to hers, while she held her breath, uncertain of whether she should move away or not. He was always testing the boundaries between them; inviting familiarity.

“Her young man probably met her here every month,” he said.

“Huilan must have used the temple visits to get permission to leave the Hundred Songs,” she surmised.

Most of the courtesans were bonded servants or slaves to their den mothers. Their personal time was carefully guarded.

“I wonder if he knows that she won’t ever return.” The water reflected a ripple of light over his face and his expression looked distant. “On the first day of next month, he’ll wait here for her, anxious and lonely.”

Bai Huang had a scholar’s heart, all full of drama and tragic longing. But such romantic ideals were a luxury of the upper class.

They had passed a peasant woman sitting beside a basket at the bridge’s entrance. Yue-ying broke away from Bai Huang to go to her.

“Scallion cakes, miss!” The woman repeated her hawker’s cry.

Yue-ying recalled that same cry when she’d been passing by after the earthquake. “Are you here every day, Auntie?” she asked.

“Every day from sunup to sundown,” the graying woman said. Her gaze shifted behind Yue-ying. “Unless it’s raining. Scallion cakes, sir?”

“Are they delicious?” Bai Huang came up to stand behind Yue-ying.

“The best, my lord.” The woman lifted the lid of her basket to show off the flat, yellow pancakes.

“I’ll have two.”

“Why not make it four?” the woman urged, taking in Bai Huang’s fine robe. “You’ll wish you had more as soon as you’re done.”

Yue-ying could hear the smile in his tone as he answered, “Four, then.”

“Do you recall seeing a young woman, about the same age as me?” Yue-ying asked as Bai Huang handed over his coin. “Pale-skinned, brown hair. Very pretty. She came here at the beginning of every month.”

“I know who you’re speaking of. Skin white as snow. Every month, without fail.”

“Was there ever anyone with her?”

“Ah, yes! A young fellow.”

Yue-ying glanced at Bai Huang. “Similar in look to him?”

“Oh, no. My lord here is much taller. And much more handsome. This man was round of face. His clothes were plain.”

They left with their scallion cakes and a description which, unfortunately, could fit any number of men in the ward.

Bai Huang pointed a finger at her. “You didn’t believe that it wasn’t me meeting Huilan,” he accused.

“Not true. I was just using you as a point of comparison.”

He snorted.

“And the woman charged you extra for the scallion cakes,” Yue-ying said out of the corner of her mouth.

“She-demon.”

He split the cakes with her and took a hearty bite. Yue-ying nibbled at hers and wondered whether the she-demon he referred to was her or the peasant woman.

“So Huilan had a secret lover,” he concluded.

“Someone without means. Otherwise he could have courted her openly at the Hundred Songs. He might have been frustrated, unable to have the woman he desired. That could push a man to commit murder.”

Bai Huang regarded her silently. “This sort of behavior is something you’ve experienced yourself?”

“Not directly.”

But she’d witnessed it. Such things were inevitable when women were bought and sold as property. When commerce was confused with sex and emotion. To pleasure seekers, the North Hamlet was supposed to be a place of beauty, poetry and music. All of the courtesans worked to perpetuate that illusion, but Yue-ying was no courtesan.

“The sadness of it is, such deaths are usually at the hands of angry patrons or lovers.” Her mouth twisted cynically. “Some men mistake it for passion.”

CHAPTER SIX

HUANG WALKED YUE-YING to the front doors of the Lotus Palace, at which time she bowed, called him Lord Bai and disappeared abruptly through the curtains. He was left wondering whether she’d only accompanied him because he was noble-born and wealthy enough that she was obligated to defer to him. He hoped it wasn’t true. He was growing rather fond of her honesty.

He was so used to lies that his time with Yue-ying seemed like the only real conversation he’d had for months. If only he hadn’t muddied the waters with that failed kiss in the darkness of the Lotus Palace cellar.

Before returning to his rented quarters, he stopped by the Hundred Songs to present a gift of silver. The house was still in mourning and would remain so for the traditional forty-nine-day period. During that time, the Hundred Songs would have to rely on the generosity of their patrons to keep everyone fed.

“Lord Bai! How good of you to come.” Madame Lui approached dressed in her white mourning robe. She clasped both of his hands in hers. “We were all so frightened last night.”

“Frightened? Why was that, Madame?”

“Sit and have some tea and I’ll tell you.”

It would be rude to simply come by, leave his gift, then go, so Huang sat down in the main parlor with Madame Lui while the girls brought tea and a small plate of rice flour cakes.

“What happened last night?” he asked again once the formalities had been settled.

“We heard footsteps upstairs.” Madame Lui leaned closer and lowered her voice, not to keep any secret, but to impress upon him the seriousness of what she was describing. “In Huilan’s bedchamber.”

He remained skeptical. “Did you go to see who it was?”

“It was in the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep except for two of the girls who remained awake for the vigil. They were so scared, they couldn’t move. And then, you won’t believe what happened next.”

“What happened?” he prompted.

“One of the candles on the altar split its wick.”

“That is strange.” Huang injected more wonder into his tone than he truly felt. “How long did the footsteps move about in Huilan’s room?”

“The girls said the footsteps walked about ten steps and then halted. They ran to wake me up and at that point, I heard them as well, rushing down the hall. Huilan has come back! Her spirit is very strong.”

Madame Lui’s fears weren’t so far-flung. For seven days after death, Huilan’s spirit was believed to fly free while loved ones kept a vigil night and day over her earthly body. It was believed that sometime during that period, the spirit would return home. A murdered soul tended to linger, clinging to the life that had been ended before its time.

He preferred to find a rational explanation for what had occurred. “Madame, may I ask permission to go into Huilan’s chamber?”

“Of course! She won’t be upset—you were a friend.”

Not good enough of a friend. He should have stayed by her side or taken her somewhere safe.

After he finished his tea, Madame Lui led him up to the apartments. Though she opened the door for him, she remained outside in the hall, daring to only peek in. Huang was careful to scan the room before stepping inside.

From the outer parlor, nothing appeared to have changed since the tragic night. The magistrate and the constable had searched the chambers, but he doubted anyone had come into the room since.

“What did the footsteps sound like?” he asked, peering into the bedchamber. Ghost or no ghost, he felt a shudder run down his spine at the sight of the bed. He couldn’t forget the image of Huilan stretched lifelessly across it.

“They were muffled,” Madame Lui called out. She was still hovering outside the door. “They moved quickly and then suddenly stopped.”

Huang paused at the window. The shutters were closed and he took the trouble of opening them to peer down into the lane below. He pulled them shut before returning to Madame Lui.

“I have a request. I know it may be too much to ask.”

“Anything,” Madame Lui insisted. “Lord Bai has been so kind to us.”

“May I stay here tonight?”

The headmistress looked startled. “Of course, my lord, but—”

She must have thought better of whatever question she wanted to ask. It was an odd request, but not too outrageous. And he was known for indulging in whimsical pursuits.

He shared the evening meal with Madame Lui downstairs. They were joined by the lovely Mei, who was the leading lady of the Hundred Songs now that her courtesan-sister was gone. Though the mourning period was hardly a time for flirtation, Mei took pains to be charmingly attentive while Madame Lui prodded her to refill his wine cup and place choice morsels onto his plate.

Quite early in the evening, Huang excused himself, claiming he’d had a tiring day. The entire household gathered to watch him go up the stairs. It was eerie; all the ladies dressed in white mourning robes, their dark eyes wide and fixed onto him.

He took only a single lantern with him. Once inside, he closed the doors and looked about the parlor. It remained a mausoleum to Huilan. Her writing was still on the walls alongside verses from her admirers.

Moving to the inner chamber, Huang looked briefly through what was left of Huilan’s personal belongings for any hint to what had happened to her. He found only womanly things: hairpins, jars of cosmetics and articles of clothing packed away in a dresser.

There was one change from the last time he’d been in the room. Her writing box lay on top of the desk now instead of out in the sitting room and the brush had been cleaned. A few sheets of colored paper remained inside. The brush had been damp with ink the night of Huilan’s death. She must have been writing a letter of some sort, but all of the papers in the box were blank. Anything of interest had probably been confiscated by the constable during his investigation.

With his brief search completed, Huang extinguished the lantern and lay back on the bed to wait. The room was left in darkness, without even the glimmer of the moon to accompany him. In the stillness, he could indeed sense Huilan’s spirit. Not her ghost. Not the chill of the air or any pale, wispy visions. Rather, he felt the brief and tenuous way she’d affected him. His resolve strengthened as he lay in the same place where she took her last breath. As eerie as it was, it grounded him.

Yue-ying and likely the entire Pingkang li now suspected him of being Huilan’s lover, but he’d only spoken with her a few times. She had asked for his help, but had been reluctant to give him details. She didn’t yet know if she could trust him. When someone went looking for someone to rely on, they certainly didn’t think of Bai Huang.

“I’ll find who did this to you,” he said to the darkness. “I swear it.”

The moment he finished speaking, he heard the scraping sound of nails against wood. He wasn’t one to be afraid of ghosts, but his heart hurtled against his chest and he shot up into a sitting position.

The sound came from outside. The shutters creaked as they swung open and a sliver of moonlight spilled into the chamber. He held himself still, holding his breath, as a hand appeared, then an arm. Soon the entire silhouette of a person stepped from the window onto the floor.

He launched himself at the black figure, colliding with arms and legs and something very definitely corporeal.

“On my mother!” the intruder cried before Huang clamped a hand over his mouth.

The man was slight of build. Huang pinned him facedown to the floor with his knee lodged between the man’s shoulder blades. The sound of footsteps rushed toward them out in the hallway.

“Lord Bai!” Madame Lui’s voice trembled with alarm from the other side of the chamber door.

“It’s nothing,” he called out, affecting a laugh while keeping a lock on the intruder’s arm. “I fell down in the dark. Quite embarrassing.”

“Do you...do you need anything?” Propriety and the fear of ghosts kept the ladies from entering.

“I’m fine. Back in bed now. My apologies for startling you.” He gave the intruder a warning shove, pressing his face against the floorboards when the man started to struggle.

Once the footsteps receded, he let go of the man’s head, allowing him to raise it from the floor.

“Who are you?” the stranger demanded.

“Who am I? I should be asking you that question.”

The man didn’t answer. Huang had noted the tree just outside of Huilan’s window and figured out how the “ghost” had gotten inside. The first time the women had heard footsteps, the intruder must have made it to the hallway, before being startled by Madame Lui, after which he ran back to the room and out the window again.

“Did you not hear me?” Huang shook him roughly. “Who are you and what business do you have here?”

“I’m not a thief. I came because—” His voice broke and the next part came out rough with emotion. “Because I wanted to see Huilan one last time.”

* * *

HUANG LIT THE LANTERN. He even managed to procure a flask of wine and some cups from a cabinet in the parlor. Then he poured the wine and let the heartbroken stranger do most of the talking. His name was Wen Tse-kang. From his robe, he appeared to be a student. From the roundness in his cheeks, he appeared to be from one of the younger classes.

“I loved her.” Tse-kang let his tears fall down his face without shame. “We loved each other.”

“You know what happened to her,” Huang said, keeping his tone neutral.

“I heard of the news the morning after. Some of my colleagues were whispering about a beautiful courtesan who had been tragically killed. I ran all the way here, praying it wasn’t Huilan, telling myself that in no way could it be her. But it was.” He covered his face as his features twisted with grief.

Huang’s instinct told him this student wasn’t the murderer. His grief and confusion were genuine. But at the same time, he remembered Yue-ying’s warning about lovers being capable of violence. All it took was one moment of blind passion. They couldn’t be so quick to dismiss anyone from the list of suspects.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Tse-kang looked up, as if just seeing Huang for the first time. “Are you one of her patrons? I don’t care if you have me arrested and beaten. I still don’t regret coming here.”

Definitely a youthful and impassioned scholar.

“I’m not one of her patrons, but I do have some influence in the North Hamlet,” he lied. “I’m not going to have you arrested as long as you tell me everything I want to know.”

“The last time I saw her was at the dragonboat races by the canal. I had only a moment to speak to her. She looked beautiful that day. She always looked so beautiful.” The young scholar stared down at his hands. “I don’t know why she ever looked at me twice.”

“What did you say to her?”

Tse-kang looked directly at him as if he had nothing left in the world to fear. “I told her the preparations were ready. That we could go that night. That was our plan—her plan. She was going to leave this place and we would go together. Get married.” His chin lifted defiantly. “We were supposed to meet at the bridge by the temple, but she never came. I thought she had changed her mind.”

The plan sounded plausible. There was more freedom to move about at night during festivals. Huilan had the pass that he had provided in order to get through the ward gates, but there was still the vastness of the city to contend with and then the open road beyond that.

“When did she start talking about leaving the capital?”

Tse-kang thought back. “Maybe a month ago. The first time she brought it up briefly when we met at the bridge. I protested that my studies weren’t finished. What could I have to offer a woman like her as a failed student?”

Huang shifted in his seat, being the quintessential failed student himself, but said nothing.

“Huilan brushed the suggestion aside so quickly that I assumed she had been daydreaming. But the next time we met, she had thought of the details. She would sell her jewels and find a boat going east. She would hire a bodyguard if she had to. It sounded so dangerous, I knew I couldn’t let her go alone. So we started planning to leave together.”

Huilan would have needed a considerable amount of money, much more than she could have collected from pawning a few jewels or silken robes, yet she hadn’t asked him for any silver when they had struck their bargain.

“Did Huilan tell you why she had to leave so quickly?”

“I just thought she wanted a new life.” Tse-kang wiped his face with a sleeve. “She wanted to be free.”

* * *

“ANOTHER POOR SCHOLAR fantasizes about a beautiful courtesan falling hopelessly in love with him,” Yue-ying pronounced the next day with a roll of her eyes. “You know those romantic tales are all written by men.”

Huang smiled. “Poor scholars need something to aspire to.”

They were sitting on the second floor of a busy teahouse in the East Market. Yue-ying had insisted they meet there rather than at the Lotus or in the three lanes of the Pingkang li.

“There are certainly women who want to leave the North Hamlet and certainly many of them dream of becoming a wealthy man’s wife or concubine.” She tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke. “But an elite courtesan doesn’t dream of running away with a humble scholar blindly out of love. Huilan had many admirers. She had a level of security and comfort and a reputation within the Pingkang li which she had rightfully earned.”

No matter how much Huang thought he knew the courtesans of the North Hamlet, no matter what their public personas might reveal, they kept part of themselves guarded away. That was why he needed Yue-ying’s insight.

“So something happened a month ago,” he continued. “Something that worried her. She needed to leave here fairly quickly.”

“Madame Lui would have a record of all of Huilan’s engagements and visitors.” She paused to think. “There was a banquet around midspring. I remember this gathering because Huilan forgot the words to a song. She was very upset by it.”

Huang frowned. “It was about that time when she first approached me.”

He had been drinking at the Hundred Songs with a couple of midlevel bureaucrats and Huilan had appeared through the curtain like a goddess through the clouds.

“I tried to think of something suitably impressive to say,” he recalled. “She was known as the Orchid of Silla so I attempted to tell her she was beautiful in the language of Silla.”

Yue-ying was taken aback. “You speak Sillan?”

Too late he realized his mistake. The know-nothing Bai Huang wouldn’t have such a command of languages. “I once encountered some dignitaries visiting from the Kingdom of Silla in a drinking house. I learned a few choice phrases over wine—though most of them weren’t exactly respectable.”

She seemed satisfied with his explanation, or rather annoyed with it. Which meant she believed him. For some reason, he wasn’t at all relieved.

“Huilan wasn’t really from the Kingdom of Silla,” she said impatiently. “It’s merely a story that Madame Lui conjured up to lend an air of exoticism to her prize courtesan.”

“Well, Huilan did reply in Sillan,” he noted. “We exchanged a few pleasantries, before speaking in Han again. At first there was nothing unusual about the conversation. She inquired about my family and my travels outside of Changan. Then she asked about leaving the ward.”

“Could she have been looking for you to redeem her?” Yue-ying asked, sipping her tea.

“I thought so at first, but she had wealthy protectors already.”

“It’s quite a different thing for an admirer to visit a courtesan in the entertainment district as opposed to bringing her home as a concubine,” she pointed out. “As far as I know, no one had made a bid for her.”

“Do you ever think of it?”

“Of what?”

“Of leaving the Pingkang li.”

“I don’t spend time dreaming, Lord Bai.” She smoothed her hair down over the side of her face, her fingers just grazing over her birthmark. “Besides, I have a good life here. What did you want to know about the gathering?”

He could see why she was overlooked in the shadow of her famous mistress. Not because of her appearance. Mingyu had a softly curved and sultry beauty whereas Yue-ying was thinner in the face, fine-boned with a restrained sensuality that intrigued him. But Yue-ying was constantly hiding herself, trying to make herself small. Even in conversation, she couldn’t stand to speak of herself for more than a few words at a time.

That brief moment when their lips had touched in the wine cellar continued to torment him. His heart had been pounding, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation before she had soundly put him in his place with a slap across the face. He had thought he was finally getting close to Yue-ying, when he was never further away.

“Who was there at the banquet?” he asked, forcing himself back to the matter at hand.

“The banquet was sponsored by an official from the Ministry of Commerce. There were merchants and wealthy businessmen in attendance.” Yue-ying rubbed a hand over her temples. “Will you add those to the names from the Hundred Songs? The list keeps growing.”

They both sipped their tea, temporarily at a standstill. It was possible Huilan had seen or heard something important. Influence was traded at such gatherings. Secrets were exchanged. It was one of the reasons Huang spent so much time wandering happily from parlor to parlor. If only Huilan had seen fit to confide in him. If only everyone in the North Hamlet didn’t speak in such cursed riddles all the time.

“Let us concentrate on this gathering for now. Tell me everything you can remember about Huilan that night.”

He’d seen how carefully Yue-ying observed everyone and everything around her. If something significant had occurred, she would have made note of it; he was confident of that.

Yue-ying placed her palms together and propped her chin on top of them, eyes closed. He watched with fascination as the thoughts flitted across her face.

“The event was located on a pleasure boat docked in a waterway to the north of the East Market. I didn’t recognize most of the guests. Some of them were from foreign lands.” When she opened her eyes, her expression appeared troubled. Her fingers traced a restless pattern over the wood, back and forth. “I left early that night. I had forgotten about that.”

“You said Huilan was upset,” he prodded.

His question snapped her back to attention. “It was strange. Huilan was playing the pipa and she stopped midsong. Something had distracted her. She finally managed to finish the song, but she was very flustered afterward. Mingyu tried to calm her. I think that was when Mingyu decided she had too many problems to worry about and sent me home.”

“Problems?”

“I’m afraid of boats,” she confessed. She moved on quickly. “Mingyu returned later that night, but didn’t say anything. She was exhausted because it was so late.”

“Did you notice anything at the banquet that might have made Huilan nervous?”

“Not particularly. Maybe someone said something untoward to her. Merchants can be a crude lot. Many of them are too uncultured to know the difference between a courtesan and a prostitute.”

Once again, her hand strayed to her cheek. He had watched over the past half hour while she absently tucked, untucked and rearranged her hair, inadvertently drawing attention to the part of her she most wanted to obscure. The bloodred mark that made her so unique. She was always fidgeting and trying to cover her face or angle herself away. Unable to ignore it any longer, he reached out and pressed his hand gently over hers to stop her.

Huang knew he’d made a mistake when her fingers stiffened beneath his touch and she pulled away entirely, sitting as far back in her chair as she could, shoulders straight. “I should be getting back.”

He paid for the tea and had to make an extra effort to follow her as she deftly wove around the tables and moved down the stairs. He caught up to her, but remained silent as he matched her pace down the street.

“If people see us together in the North Hamlet, there will be talk,” she said, keeping her focus straight ahead.

He was forced to direct his statement to her unmovable, unwavering profile. “You don’t have to worry about your reputation with me.”

There was a pause before she pulled ahead. He caught only the trailing end of her reply.

“I am more concerned with what people will think of you, Lord Bai.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

HUANG WENT TO the gambling den on a different night this week. Let the unpleasant Constable Wu ponder about that.

He still lit a candle and set it behind the dealer before taking his seat. He also had his usual sacrifice of a thousand coins, held together by strings of a hundred. There was additional silver in his purse tonight and he could feel it weighing on him. It was a dangerous temptation for him to bring so much money near a dice table, but he needed information.

The dealer greeted him with a toothy smile. Huang tossed a string of coins onto the square marked “High”, not bothering to untie it to parcel out a smaller bet. He gave another string to the dealer.

“Gao,” he requested, using the single name that his associate went by. The dealer nodded and made a signal to the doorman.

Play continued after that with the clatter of the dice, the call for more bets, the scattering of coins over the table. He lost the first string and losing made him want to lay down even more money. There was a time years ago when he had watched the cycle repeat until the black characters on the table blended together. He had finally emerged from the den to find that the sun was out and two days had passed.

He laid down his bets a little slower after the first one. Sometimes it took Gao a while to appear and once his thousand coins were gone, he would have to leave. He couldn’t risk staying with that extra silver on him.

Huang needn’t have worried. After only three rounds, a wiry, hawkish man appeared. He walked through the den with the ease of familiarity before coming to stand at the dice table.

“Lord Bai.”

“Lord Gao.”

They both mocked one another. One corner of Gao’s mouth perpetually drooped downward, but the rest of his face was smiling.

Gao carried a knife and worked for a money-lender, but operated on his own as well. He was knowledgeable about the world of crime bosses, gambling dens and other illegal, but tolerated activities within the city. Without question, Gao was an unsavory character, but Huang figured it was better to continue on with the one cutthroat he knew rather than venture out and make connections with additional cutthroats.

“I think he’s doing something to the dice,” Huang muttered, eyeing the dealer as he shook the tumbler.

“Are they speaking to you tonight?” Gao asked.

They weren’t friends, but Gao knew his mind in a way no one else did. The dice had just rolled three, four and five. He hadn’t bet that combination, but those numbers had always pleased him in a nonsensical way. That sort of strange connection with the dice and the numbers and even the sound of coins kept him coming back.

“A courtesan was killed in the Pingkang li,” Huang began.

“I heard.”

“I want to know who did it.”

Gao turned to him, still smiling. “It wasn’t me.”

Huang looked back to the table to place another bet. “You’re insufferable.”

Their association went back several years, back to the time when Huang had been a hapless scholar seeking a good time.

“I could have aimed a little to the left that night, you know. Gone a little deeper,” Gao said mildly.

“Do you want me to thank you?”

“No, I want your silver.”

They lowered their voices, but didn’t move away from the table. All of the gamblers were intent on the game anyway. It really was the safest place for him to meet with someone like Gao.

Huang passed him a tael of silver, cast into the traditional boat shape. Gao turned it around once to inspect the markings before tucking it away.

“I think Huilan heard or saw something she wasn’t supposed to,” Huang told him. “I want to know if someone was hired to kill her.”

“She was important to you.”

The quiet tone of Gao’s remark made him pause. “I wouldn’t be asking if she wasn’t.”

He’d learned to admit as little as possible to Gao. He’d also learned not to be blinded by the other man’s outward friendliness.

“I also need to know more about these men. Have they been corrupted? Are they taking bribes?” He provided the names of the Market Commissioner and the official from the Ministry of Commerce. The two bureaucrats who had been at the merchant banquet when Huilan had faltered in her singing.

“Those are a lot of questions for one silver ingot.”

Huang slipped him another boat without argument.

“Come back in a week,” Gao said.

“I always do.”

Gao responded with a laugh. “That’s good. You be careful walking around with all that silver, my friend.”

He most certainly would be careful. He never came here anymore without carrying at least a knife. In the three years since he’d become the target of a ruthless money-lender, he’d even learned how to use it.

* * *

THE MARKET WASN’T too busy that morning. Yue-ying was nearly done with all her purchases when she heard footsteps quickening behind her. They hit a near run before slowing down at her side.

“What a pleasant coincidence this is, seeing you here like this,” Huang remarked, only a little out of breath.

“Lord Bai.” She greeted him with an air of coolness, switching her basket to her other arm and setting it conspicuously between them, though she could feel her skin warming. He was certainly persistent.

He fell into step with her. “What did you mean the other day?”

“What conversation was this?”

Yue-ying turned her attention to a nearby fruit stand and started picking through a basket of plums. A day had passed since their last meeting. Mingyu had not yet returned from her assignation with General Deng at the hot springs, but that was no excuse to remain idle.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Huang admonished.

She listened with only half an ear as she selected out an assortment of plums and peaches.

“That’s twice the amount it was yesterday!” she protested when she heard the tally.

The produce vendor was unwilling to budge. His shrewd gaze flickered momentarily to Bai Huang, who reached into his sash and fished out a few coins. He handed them over without a second glance.

“Why would you be worried about my reputation if we’re seen together?” he asked again.

She walked on, headed a few stalls down. “Because I have no reputation to speak of.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know who you are, Lord Bai. And you know who I am.” She told herself she wasn’t ashamed of her past, yet she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“You’re Lady Mingyu’s maidservant.”

With an impatient sound, she stopped in the middle of the lane and turned on him. “Perhaps there is some benefit for you to behave the way you do. Maybe it allows you to avoid responsibility for your actions, but people will only overlook so much. And even you are not so thick-skulled.”

He looked startled by her strong words. Startled, and oddly pleased. “Assume I am so thick-skulled,” he said. “Why can’t we be seen together? I’ve seen you many a time.”

“At the Lotus Palace,” she pointed out. “In Mingyu’s parlor.”

“So...”

“There are many reasons for a gentleman to come calling on a courtesan like Mingyu. There is only one reason a man such as yourself would seek out someone like me.” He continued to stare blankly at her, waiting to be convinced. She sighed. “Associating with a talented woman who can compose poetry and quote literature enhances a scholar’s reputation. An aristocrat engaging in relations with a servant is nothing but an embarrassment, to himself and his family.”

Bai Huang must have known she was formerly a prostitute. It was no secret, yet he didn’t appear embarrassed to be seen with her.

“Don’t you see what people will make of it? Mingyu refused you so you settled on her lowly maidservant. Everyone will assume I’ve swindled you. You’ll be ridiculed.”

His smile was directed inward. “I’m already ridiculed.”

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