скачать книгу бесплатно
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.
