The Dragon and the Pearl

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She untied the knots while Li Tao leaned back to watch her. His offering was somewhat awkward given the circumstances, yet oddly earnest because of it. The canvas peeled away to reveal a lacquered case inlaid with abalone shell. She gasped when she lifted the lid and saw the musical instrument inside. The arrangement of the silk strings over wooden bridges sent a flutter of delight through her. She’d left her qin by the river with the rest of her abandoned belongings.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘The instrument maker told me this was his finest work,’ Li Tao said. ‘But I have no eye for such things.’

She ran her fingers over the polished surface board, teasing the strings. The clear notes rose in the air with a sense of freedom.

‘You’re glowing.’ His tone held its own hint of pleasure.

She looked to him and wished that she hadn’t seen the quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He was focused on her. Always on her.

‘Did you ever hear me play, Governor?’

‘I never had that honour.’

‘Madame Ling taught me. She taught me everything.’ She lifted the instrument from its case and set it carefully on to the carved legs. ‘In Luoyang, I would play in the front room for an hour each night,’ she said, bubbling with excitement as she adjusted the tuning knobs. ‘Only one hour, nothing more. I would close my eyes and play and all of those men would fall madly in love with me.’

His mouth curved the tiniest bit upwards. ‘Every single one?’

‘Every single one.’

In the entertainment district of Luoyang, she would sit behind a sheer curtain to build an aura of mystery. Wealthy patrons struggled to catch a glimpse of her through the gauze. Some would offer to pay for just a look.

Unless the offer was exorbitantly high, Madame usually refused, laughing at her own cleverness. ‘The picture of you they have formed in their minds is more beautiful than you could ever be.’

Her parents had forfeited her in name and body, thinking she would be betrothed to some merchant. They hadn’t known the well-dressed servants were actually kidnappers who supplied the entertainment quarters. Her den mother, Madame Ling, had given her the surname that would later become known throughout the empire.

Li Tao settled comfortably in his seat as she positioned her fingers over the strings. Suyin attached the ivory guards over her fingers and plucked out three notes, letting herself sink into the sound and vibration.

‘What song would you like to hear?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know any.’

The way he watched her made her heart ache with anticipation. He folded his hands before him, his demeanor relaxed and indulgent for once. The intimacy of the moment struck her—to be playing for him for pleasure with nothing between them. No curtain and none of the artifice of Luoyang.

Except there would always be deception between them. She was plotting her escape and he was looking for some way to use her.

‘You’ll like this one,’ she promised. She looked down to the strings as if that was enough hide the lies. ‘It’s about a battle.’

Lady Ling had the most exquisite hands. They moved in waves over the strings, one hand pulling at the silk strings to test them, the other adjusting the wooden bridges. The scattered notes floated through the air, not yet forming music. Her expression took on a tranquil look. She tilted her head to listen to nuances of tone that were beyond his ears. Maybe that was how she read people so well, catching the subtle meanings hidden in voice and inflection.

Finally she straightened her shoulders and poised her fingers over the span of the strings. She inhaled, gathering herself, and began to play.

The legend was that Ling Guifei had charmed the August Emperor with her music. She commanded the universe when she played, the trees and the stars. That part was poetic nonsense, but the music pulled at him inside and out. The rhythm sent his blood rushing through his veins.

She played with her eyes closed. He closed his own eyes, joining her in the darkness. She had said the song depicted a battle, but nothing of the sort came to mind, no lofty images of horses and banners waving or battalions clashing over hills. Only darkness and a pure sound that filled him, creeping into spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

Desire flooded his body, the dull throb building to an acute pain that would not let go. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair.

Ling Suyin was exactly the sort of person Lao Sou would have recruited: talented, resourceful and cunning. He wanted her regardless—the warmth of her skin, the reluctant willingness of her mouth. He even wanted her detachment and her defiance. Would the Old Man have predicted that as well?

As the final notes struck, he opened his eyes.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ She played on. The second song flowed over his mind like cool water, but did nothing to ease the ache in his body.

‘You play well.’

‘Such ardent praise,’ she reprimanded lightly. Her fingers continued to walk along the strings gently.

‘Don’t you tire of compliments? Look at Jun over there. He won’t blink for fear of losing the sight of you.’

She laughed and the sound puffed up his chest. At the other end of the courtyard, Jun slinked further behind the shrubbery, realising he had been caught. Li Tao couldn’t fault the boy. Greater men had found themselves helpless at this woman’s feet. The music lulled him into the first sense of peace he had allowed himself in long time. He wanted to sink into the dream and accept where it took him.

‘Where do you go every day?’ she asked in a tone of disinterest.

‘Nowhere you would find entertaining.’

This must be how she was able to pry secrets from the most powerful men in the empire. He had no skill for filling silence with conversation, but he found himself wanting to do so. To reciprocate the moment she had created.

‘I received another imperial summons to appear before Emperor Shen in Changan,’ he stated. Nothing secret about that, it being an imperial proclamation.

The gentle music faltered before continuing. The notes took on a hint of shrillness beneath the soft warmth.

‘Then you must go and make peace with Emperor Shen.’ Suyin stared down at the instrument.

Was that concern he detected?

‘Once they have me in Changan, it’ll be the death of me.’

‘If you don’t go, they’ll hang you as a traitor.’

‘They behead traitors, Ling Guifei,’ he replied mildly.

She flattened the strings with her hand to stop the sound. ‘Why do you insist on calling me that?’

‘To remind myself that you are not mine.’

Silence hung between them.

‘But you don’t want me,’ she said, her tone cutting. ‘Other than for one night.’

‘One night can last a very long time.’

The blush in her cheeks caught him off guard. He had assumed such flirtation was second nature to a seasoned courtesan.

‘I don’t wish to see you hanged … or beheaded.’

‘Not without a fight,’ he promised.

‘War and death. That’s all men like you know.’ She pushed the instrument aside and sank back as if it no longer held any joy for her.

‘This summons is an ambush. The imperial court has all the power in Changan. I’ll face whoever comes for me here, on my own terms.’

Suyin fell silent. She tapped her fingertips thoughtfully against the tabletop as she struggled with her next words.

‘Please reconsider,’ she said finally.

‘There’s nothing to consider. Gao has the court in his palm,’ he said.

She made an impatient sound. ‘I told Auntie you wouldn’t listen to anyone.’

That left them at a standstill, staring at each other across the field of battle. But she wasn’t quite the enemy. He traced the shape of her mouth and the curve of her throat. Suyin’s breathing quickened in response. No one else dared to suggest that he back down. Certainly no one had counselled him regarding his own welfare.

She was beautiful.

She was complicated.

There wasn’t a thread of trust between them, yet he still wanted her. Discipline and caution meant nothing when she was near.

‘Tell me one thing,’ she said. ‘What does the dagger mean?’

‘It’s a reminder.’

‘Of what?’

‘Shibao.’

‘The siege against Tibet.’

Of course she knew the history. She had been Emperor Li Ming’s consort for fifteen years. She’d shared the sovereign’s bed. Resentment flowed like poison through Li Tao’s veins. Jealous of a dead man. There wasn’t a more worthless emotion.

‘One of the worst defeats of the empire,’ he said.

‘But you were commended for your bravery. Everyone knew your name after that battle.’

‘It was undeserved.’ He wasn’t being humble. If she meant to appeal to his sense of honour and duty, it didn’t exist. ‘In the end, all debts must be paid. The message of the dagger is that no one can be careful for ever.’

If only she knew the truth behind the legends. He was no hero. He was tempted to tell her everything, but with the old empire falling to ruin around them, it made no difference any longer.

Chapter Six

Shibao, Tibet—ad 74514 years earlier

Facing death on the battlefield was different from facing death in the dingy corners of the city. In battle, the sheer crush of bodies made survival unpredictable. Skill meant nothing in the thick of it. Planning, valour, strength … nothing. That was what made this task all the more challenging. He could come out alive or he could succeed in his mission. One or the other, but not both.

By now, Li Tao knew what the eve of battle felt like, knew the taste of it in the air. He’d been inserted into the growing forces of the imperial army for the last five years. In his first battle, he hadn’t even been issued a sword, but the Emperor’s continued excursions into foreign lands to gain territory had given Li Tao plenty of opportunity to climb the ranks. Today, he lined up shoulder to shoulder among the first battalion, stationed near the dragon banner on the fields of Shibao. In the distance, the flags of the Tibetan kingdom waved in challenge.

The August Emperor himself walked the line. This was no fattened monarch who watched over the battle from a hilltop in the distance. The Emperor would ride where the battle was thickest, urging men forwards with his will. To all who witnessed it, he was truly invincible, the Son of Heaven.

Li Tao had to admit the Emperor was a natural leader of men. He was at his best amidst the stamp of horses’ hooves and the clash of swords. His detractors scorned that he was far more comfortable on a saddle than on the throne. Several attempts on his life had been made in the imperial palace, but all had failed. His death today would be a kindness, a warrior’s death.

Like every other man, Li Tao bowed low as the Emperor passed by. Inexplicably, the Emperor halted. His face displayed weary lines from sleeping in the same tents as his men and eating by the same cooking fires. The studded bands of his armour were dulled with dust and blood.

‘What is your name, swordsman?’

He straightened. ‘Li Tao, Imperial Majesty.’