Читать книгу The Lotus Palace - Jeannie Lin, Jeannie Lin - Страница 9

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.