My Fair Concubine

chapter Eleven



It was a familiar scene now. Fei Long was at his desk in the study. She stood before him in a sun-yellow robe as if presenting herself before court.

She bowed slightly. ‘My Lord.’

He acknowledged her with a nod, not standing to greet her.

Excruciatingly familiar. She had been hoping for something different this day after their evening at the theatre. Fei Long didn’t even inspect her appearance to see if it was acceptable, as he usually did. Instead, he was intent on writing. His brush moved in fierce strokes over the paper. He even dispensed with the few lines of polite conversation they usually exchanged. His requirement, not hers. It was one of the methods he used to train her on etiquette.

Perhaps he expected her to initiate the conversation today. ‘What happened to the painting of the cranes?’ she asked.

A large brush painting of a flock of cranes resting beside a pond had adorned the wall beside Fei Long’s desk, yet the space was conspicuously empty today. Fei Long looked up at the blank spot as if unaware until that moment.

‘I’m having it replaced,’ he replied curtly before returning to whatever he was composing. ‘I’m very busy today,’ he reprimanded before she could speak again.

So no change. At least, not for the better. She’d been wondering all morning if her girlish imagination was making too much out of nothing. For hours, she’d waited anxiously, only to come here and face the harsh truth.

Silently, she went to the writing table and seated herself. A scroll had been placed beside a blank length of paper. Fei Long had arranged it so they wouldn’t need to speak at all. Clearly she was to practise copying the characters. She prepared the ink against the inkstone, taking comfort in the ritual when there was little comfort to be had.

It was hard not to be disappointed.

She took the brush from its case, settled into the proper posture and dipped the tip of the brush into the ink, drawing lazy circles to keep her spirits up. A quick glance at Fei Long showed him unchanged, head bent, writing with furious intention. His eyebrows slashed downward in a frown.

With a soft exhale, she positioned her brush and started to write as well, though at a much slower, deliberate pace than Fei Long. With each character, she tried to discern if it was one she knew. She had memorised nearly a hundred of them. It always pleased her when she recognised parts of a simpler character combined to make more complicated ones.

Today the composition seemed to be about rice and farms. Just a report of some sort that Fei Long had pulled from the elder Lord Chang’s papers. She preferred it when it was a passage from a story or a poem.

Yan Ling frowned as she smudged the top of the next line. Her stroke had been too heavy and it ruined the beauty of the whole piece. And so early in the task, too. She hated that. Even reports about rice and millet could still look pretty, in their own way. There was nothing to do but continue.

At the end of the page, she set the brush down in its holder. Her hand was stiff from gripping the brush too hard again. She shook it to try to loosen her fingers, using her left hand to massage the knuckles. At the same moment, she heard Fei Long get up from his chair.

Her eyes flickered to him. She couldn’t help it.

He was packing some items into a leather satchel: a wooden case, some papers. It wasn’t even an hour into their afternoon, yet he was preparing to leave.

‘Should…should I go?’ she asked uncertainly.

He was standing over his desk and staring at the tidy surface as if in a trance. When he turned, it took a moment for him to focus on her. She was far, far from his thoughts.

‘No. Stay.’

He came to her and her pulse quickened, but he was only there to look over her work.

‘Better,’ he pronounced.

She nodded. All she could see was the smear of ink on the ruined second column. She wondered if he really even cared and why it mattered that her characters had to be perfect anyway. Of course, Fei Long was meticulous. He always cared that things were in order. That everything and everyone was in their proper place.

‘Here.’ His voice softened by the tiniest of notes. ‘I’ll show you how to write your name.’

She shifted her chair over to accommodate him and he moved in beside her. With measured grace, he took hold of the brush, dipped it into the ink and started to write on the edge of the practice paper.

Two characters emerged in Fei Long’s bold script, one on top of the other. There was no hesitation in his strokes. It was as if her entire name flowed out as one spoken verse, each lift of the brush a mere pause between words.

‘Yan Ling,’ he said when it was done.

Her name looked so much more elegant and complex than the girl it represented. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

He set the brush down, but remained beside her. Was he any closer than usual? Was his voice just a touch warmer when he addressed her? She couldn’t know. She would never be able to know for certain.

‘Now you,’ he said.

She tried to mimic his technique in her own deliberate manner. Fei Long waited patiently for her to finish with his head bent close to watch her work. This was his subtle, silent apology. No words. Just a small bit of gentleness to counter his earlier harshness.

‘Good,’ he said once she was done. He straightened abruptly. ‘Keep practising.’

She fought very hard not to watch him leave.

* * *

Old Man Liang was overseeing the porters out front as they loaded the cart. The steward didn’t meet Fei Long’s eye. Instead, he watched over the proceedings as if he were directing a funeral. The crates were lifted and lowered with sombre ritual like caskets into a grave.

‘Lord Chang’s spirit would be sad to see this,’ Liang said. It was the same protest he’d given when Fei Long had told him of the decision.

The loyal steward was afraid of upsetting his master even in death. Liang had been more concerned about keeping the elder Lord Chang ignorant and happy than being direct about the state of the household finances. To give bad news was an offence. The last thing Liang wanted his master to do was lose face, so he hid everything, trying to resolve the issues himself, with disastrous results. The two men were old fools together.

Last came the long wooden box that contained the wall painting of the cranes. The birds had been in that study for all his life. Fei Long had counted them as a boy—there were seventeen. His father had stood over his shoulder, directing his studies, under the watch of the winged creatures.

It wasn’t merely the loss of their family heirlooms that Fei Long mourned. They were forced to sink to the level of traders, bartering with the various antiques and artworks that his father had collected. There was no other way to pay the creditors quickly.

‘Be careful, Old Liang.’

Liang stroked his beard once, then nodded silently. The porters helped the steward climb up into the passenger’s seat of the wagon and the driver headed off. The items were going to an art dealer who lived near the East Market—a man who promised to be discreet.

Fei Long waited until the wagon reached the end of the street before turning in the opposite direction. As delicate as the steward’s task was, his own required even more secrecy. He insisted on going alone, but brought his sword.

The location was to the south of the entertainment district, in a less reputable area populated by hovels and gambling dens. Along the boundary of the poorer neighbourhood, several extravagant residences had risen up, fed by wealth earned off the dice tables and brothels.

A knot formed in Fei Long’s stomach as he travelled to where the streets grew narrow and dank. The buildings were packed together with no space in between. Privacy was for the wealthy. He was looking for a man named Zōu, or the Bull, as they knew him in these parts.

Fei Long stopped before a garishly painted mansion, glaring in green and gold. The architects had copied popular imperial architecture, with dragons curling along the rooftops and an ornate set of doors set with brass rings. Two rough-looking characters stood guard at the front entrance. No doubt Zōu considered his home a palace in the slum, and he, its reigning sovereign.

‘Chang Fei Long is here to see Lord Zōu,’ he said to the guardsmen.

‘What’s your business?’ The taller, rougher of the pair looked him up and down. His gaze paused at the hilt of Fei Long’s weapon.

‘Payment.’

The knot in Fei Long’s gut only tightened as he was let in. Zōu owned several gambling dens and pleasure houses, according to Old Man Liang. For the last three years, Zōu had also owned his father.

Fei Long was brought into the parlour where a middle-aged man reclined indolently on a sedan chair. Zōu was dressed in a robe of gold brocade and turquoise, as ostentatious as his home. It took quite a few bolts of cloth to clothe him as well. His nickname must have come from the squared shape of his shoulders, which seemed to hulk over his neck, much like a bull’s. His face was broad as well. A big man in appearance and manner.

‘The precious son,’ he said with great amusement.

‘Lord Zōu.’ It took some effort for Fei Long to bow to him.

That seemed to amuse Zōu even more. ‘Come sit.’

The Bull was no nobleman, but it was etiquette to treat one’s enemy with respect, at least upon first engaging. A young woman with brightly painted lips brought them wine as Fei Long took a seat.

‘I won’t be long,’ Fei Long said, declining the wine. He pulled the wooden case out of his satchel and placed it on the table between them.

‘What, no finesse? You must have a drink. This is the start of our association, after all.’

He didn’t want to be associated with this slum lord any more than he had to be. Fei Long knew that the city guards and magistrates turned a blind eye on such illicit activities, but men like Zōu were a disease.

‘Let us be plain with each other.’ Fei Long slid the wooden case across the table. ‘Here is your payment for the month and I want to discuss terms for resolving the entirety of my father’s debt.’

‘Terms?’ Zōu barked out a laugh. ‘I rather like the current terms as they are.’

Of all the creditors, his father’s debt to Zōu was the greatest and the most unfathomable. Fei Long found out that Old Man Liang had been making monthly payments for over a year, yet the debt had not decreased.

‘How much does my father owe you in total, my lord?’ He forced the honorific out through gritted teeth. ‘This debt will be settled.’

At that, Zōu’s smile dissipated to be replaced with a cold, shrewd look. ‘Your father is dead,’ he sneered. ‘This is money you now owe me, my lord.’

‘And I intend to pay our debt, but you will no longer bleed us each month. Tell me how much.’

Zōu shook his head patronisingly. ‘Fei Long, my friend. You would do well to learn to be more like your father. He was a spirited fellow. The room always glowed brighter when he arrived. We regret his loss.’

‘The number,’ Fei Long demanded.

Zōu didn’t blink. ‘Two million cash.’

Hot anger speared through him. ‘You lie.’

‘Two million,’ Zōu repeated calmly, ‘since you’ve shown yourself to be so inflexible.’

‘There is no way my father could owe you that much.’

‘What do you wish to see, my young lord? Proof? Your father was always a cheerful, charismatic fellow. We’d drink, trade jokes. “Bull,” he’d say. “Just between friends, I don’t have your money today.” “No problem,” I’d say. Never a problem. I have marker after marker, stamped with your father’s seal. I have marker after marker that he signed when he couldn’t pay for those first markers. The Bull is a businessman, not a cheat.’

Fei Long’s stomach turned. This is what Liang had been afraid to tell him.

‘There must be—’ he shoved the words out ‘—some deal we can arrange.’

‘There is no deal. The Chang family owes and it must pay. You see, your father was a remarkable man. As a gambler, he was always a failure, but he had such powerful friends behind him. There was always more money to be found somewhere. Why, I hear you had several expensive gifts delivered to your beloved sister from the Emperor himself.’ Zōu nodded smugly. ‘I think I like the arrangement we had. Why change such a beautiful partnership?’

Fei Long clenched his fists so tight they shook. His father had let himself be trapped by this demon. He couldn’t let it go on. He wouldn’t.

‘This is something we’ll no doubt need to discuss.’ He regarded the slum lord evenly. To show his anger would be a weakness. ‘For now, I’ll take one of those markers.’

Zōu’s smile dropped. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘My father owed you money and I’ve paid part of his debt. Return the marker.’

‘You don’t understand, young Lord Chang. This monthly payment is merely interest.’

‘I do understand. Money lenders are not allowed to collect excessive penalties. Abusive usury is quite illegal. I’ll have the marker now…or should I consider what other illegal activities you practise?’

They locked gazes. The den lord’s eyes beaded within his rounded face.

‘You did mention how my father had some very powerful friends,’ Fei Long said lightly.

Zōu’s mouth twisted. ‘Orchid! Bring the box.’

The Bull continued to scowl at him while his painted concubine brought over a lacquered box inlaid with mother of pearl. He opened it and, without looking, fished out a wooden marker and tossed it across the table.

‘I’ll see you again next month, Chang Fei Long.’