The Lotus Palace. Jeannie Lin
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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