My Fair Concubine

chapter Thirteen



Fei Long declared that there would be no lesson for the last few days and Yan Ling was too intimidated to question him about it after he’d coldly put her in her place. Bai Shen didn’t come by for the rest of the week either. She was hoping he would return to set everything right. The two men were almost like brothers—brothers who traded insults and fought and were opposite in every way—but brothers none the less.

If the scoundrel had just returned with a humble apology and a few witty remarks the next day, all might have been forgiven. Instead Bai Shen stayed away and Fei Long continued to shut doors between them. Without her morning or afternoon lessons, it fell upon Dao and Yan Ling to come up with their own routine.

Dao had no complaints. She’d ushered Yan Ling to the market, holding a parasol over her like a dutiful attendant.

‘We don’t have to be so formal,’ Yan Ling protested. It was important for them to maintain appearances, but it still felt unnatural being coddled so.

‘You don’t want to take up any sun and get dark,’ Dao insisted.

She wondered if Dao had been such a nag to Pearl. They were trailed by the burly Huibin, one of the fetch-and-carry attendants who helped with the market purchases and went wherever he was needed. They moved to the shade beneath the row of trees at the edge of the lane. The heat only faded slightly in the wane of the afternoon. She wore a simple robe today, though she would have considered the peach-coloured cotton an unimaginable luxury not a month ago. The fabric was light and more suitable for prolonged activity like the long stroll to the market.

‘Dao, do you have anyone?’ she asked.

‘Anyone?’

They were crowded close to one another so the shade of the bamboo parasol covered both of them.

‘Like a young handsome someone, you mean.’ Dao laughed.

There were two different Daos. In front of Fei Long, the master of the house, Dao was timid, respectful and chose her words with utter care. When the two of them were alone, Dao threw words about like a fisherman scattering rice.

Yan Ling lowered her voice. ‘Yes, so?’

Speaking about such a personal issue out in public made her nervous, but the crowded city seemed a more secure place for secret yearnings than the Chang family home.

‘Who would I possibly be fond of? Old Man Liang has hardly any teeth.’

Yan Ling stifled a laugh.

Dao went on. ‘Those boys in the kitchen and the stables? Or that mule Huibin over there? Worthless.’

Yan Ling cringed and didn’t dare look back to see if the manservant had overheard. ‘Huibin’s not so bad,’ she whispered.

Dao sniffed. ‘You’re right. He’s the best of them. So, no, I haven’t anyone.’

Yan Ling knew that the household adored Dao—adored her for her cleverness and feared her for her sharp tongue.

‘I was just trying to imagine what it must be like,’ Yan Ling said wistfully.

‘It must be the weather.’ Dao sighed.

‘What?’

‘When the spring turns to summer in this city, it does this to everyone. One becomes moody. Starts writing poems.’

Yan Ling smirked. ‘I don’t believe I’ve written any poems lately.’

She gave Dao a playful shove as they turned the corner. She could see the towering gate of the central market at the end of the street.

‘Well, you must not have a special yearning for someone either,’ Dao said.

Her heart skipped faster at just the empty thought, even before she filled it in with a name. With a face. ‘There’s no one.’

‘Otherwise you would have never agreed to come with Lord Chang to the city.’

‘Or agree to be married to a barbarian,’ she added absently.

‘It truly is a beautiful opportunity for you. A dream.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Truly.’

The buzz of the East Market had reached them. They passed beneath the arch of the gates into a sprawl of shops and warehouses. Traffic flowed lazily today, indolent in the sun and slow sticky-syrup time of the afternoon.

The main market was comprised of a grid of two north-south lanes intersecting two east–west lanes. Yan Ling counted four times that she had visited the East Market, yet she hadn’t explored even half of the merchants. Dao would usually grab her hand and drag her along impatiently, bypass the sightseeing to go directly to her favourite spots. In contrast, Yan Ling wanted to see everything. She would spend hours going from one stand to another if left on her own.

Along with the permanent buildings, there were stalls set up within empty lots and draped with canopies to block the sun. Street pedlars also roamed the lanes, hauling a cart of sweet pastries here, a basket of salted eggs there. Every speck of the market was dedicated to commerce.

A display of painted jars at one stand caught Yan Ling’s eye. The small break in her stride was all it took for the grey-haired woman to waddle towards them.

‘Come in, come in, my beautiful ladies!’ The grandmother figure beckoned them closer with a wave. ‘We have perfumes, powders, paint of all colours.’

The shop was a wooden enclosure draped with a blue-cloth canopy overhead. Dao lowered the parasol as Yan Ling stepped inside. A collection of small jars and porcelain containers had been arranged on the counter. She ran her fingertip over the blue-glaze pattern on a round dish that fitted in the palm of her hand. It was so pretty for something so insignificant.

An elderly man, presumably the owner, sat in the corner of the shop, fanning himself. He apparently left the selling to his wife.

‘For your lips,’ the old woman cooed. She opened the lid to reveal the cinnabar tint inside. ‘Look here. Such a beautiful colour. So vibrant, perfect for a young lady.’

The clever woman went on to coo about how lovely and flawless her skin looked. The flattery was an obvious and overused ploy, yet it worked. Perhaps she was starved for compliments lately.

‘I saw lower prices at the shop near the south wall,’ Yan said casually.

She continued to look over the display while she battled over the goods with the old woman. It was an elaborate language: a mix of insult, coaxing, denials and promises. An art form where you fought just as hard for a single copper as you fought for a hundred. Finally this was something she knew, something she was good at.

‘I’ll give you a good price,’ the woman cooed. ‘Choose two, I’ll give you a better price.’

They settled quickly with only a few rounds back and forth and Yan Ling and Dao emerged from the shop with the cosmetics wrapped in a parcel of paper. Dao opened the parasol and they both ducked under it, heads close, laughing.

‘That old woman was tough,’ Dao said.

‘Everything was so shamelessly overpriced,’ Yan Ling remarked. ‘But I suppose it is the capital.’

They had bought the cinnabar tint and a bottle of perfume as well as face powder and nail enamel. Their shoulders brushed lightly as they scanned across the stands, seeking out the usual purchases: embroidery thread, a few medicinal herbs for Old Man Liang. The market was a welcome distraction. It had been a long time since Yan Ling had been able to think of anything besides Fei Long.

Until that very moment. Now he was back in her thoughts.

‘There you go again,’ Dao said. ‘Sighing long and loud.’

Yan Ling hadn’t realised she made a sound. ‘I was just thinking of how much I’ll miss you when I go,’ she lied.

‘Silly girl,’ Dao scolded, touched. ‘But you’re going off to marry a prince. A mysterious and exotic prince.’

‘I don’t think he’s a prince,’ Yan Ling argued. ‘Just a tribal leader of some kind.’

‘We were just debating between the stable and the kitchen boy, remember?’

They laughed together. By then, it was time to return. Her feet had begun to ache and they still had a long walk back through the residential quarters. The two of them left the market with Huibin following doggedly behind. Halfway home, the crash of cymbals and drums broke through the afternoon haze.

‘Isn’t it late for a wedding?’ Yan Ling remarked.

‘Must have been an auspicious hour.’

They paused at one end of the street to watch as the wedding procession approached a residence. The groom was dressed in a blue robe with a broad red sash draped over his shoulders and tied in front. A train of attendants bearing gifts followed behind him along with an empty sedan lifted by four porters.

Dao sniffed enviously. ‘I’ve always dreamed of being married.’

‘Why can’t you marry?’

‘What, with no family to make the match? No prospects? A fat, old magistrate once asked the elder Lord Chang for permission to make me his concubine, but the lord refused, thank the Goddess of Mercy.’

Dao’s explanation shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. Yan Ling’s prospects had been even worse when she had been at the teahouse. That was why her master and mistress were so eager to be rid of her. They had no hopes of marrying her off and she’d only be trouble when one of the local boys got her pregnant.

It had been easy to leave her village behind. She didn’t have anyone she wanted to hold on to. No one to go to the market with. No one who would carry her to bed and cover her with a blanket so tenderly. Even if he acted as if it never happened the next day.

When had she started to expect so much more?

The procession reached the bride’s house, which was marked by red draping over the door. The family came out to greet the groom. Everyone was dressed in their finest for the happy occasion. Finally the party disappeared into the house while the sedan waited outside. There would be tea and gifts and ceremony within before the bride emerged, ready to be taken to her new home.

Dao sighed and took hold of her arm affectionately as they walked back. ‘You really are fortunate, you know.’

‘Yes, very fortunate,’ she echoed hollowly.

* * *

‘Close your eyes.’

Her nose twitched as Dao dusted the pale powder over her face.

‘Stop making such faces. You’ll cause wrinkles.’

Yan Ling had spent that morning bathing and then washing her hair. It was now held in an elaborate design with combs and pins that Dao had spent over two hours twisting into place. After that, Dao had sat her down and pulled out an array of creams, paints and powders.

The powder brush teased over the tip of her nose and she sneezed. ‘It tickles,’ she protested.

‘Be still for one moment, will you?’

Yan Ling finally thought of the room as her own, though she still wasn’t accustomed to having so much space to herself. She always felt more comfortable when Dao was there with her. She opened her eyes to see Dao mixing a paste with a dark blue-green tint on a shallow dish. It was much like grinding ink. Dao used a thinner brush with a fine point this time.

‘This dye is made from sea shells. Very expensive. Close your eyes again.’

‘Have you done this before?’ Yan Ling asked.

Dao snorted. ‘Many times! Don’t worry. I’ll make you as pretty as a spring flower.’

‘You sound like the old woman from the market.’

The tip of the brush traced delicately along her eyelid. There was something soothing and decadent about being pampered.

‘Do you know why I was so angry yesterday morning?’ Dao said. ‘That green vase in the front parlour was gone.’

‘The large one that’s as tall as I am?’

She nodded. ‘I was certain that someone had broken it, but was afraid to say anything. I interrogated everyone about it and no one knew anything.’

‘That’s odd.’

Yan Ling opened her eyes as the brush lifted. Dao looked at her carefully, turning her head this way and that. Her dimple deepened as she pressed her lips together. Then she

nodded in approval.

‘And then this morning, I found something else missing. An ivory figure of the Weaver Girl.’

This sounded alarming. ‘Are you certain?’

‘It was my mother’s favourite. Of course I noticed it was gone.’

The revelation was a shock. Fei Long would be furious if he found that one of the servants was stealing from him, but all the servants seemed so forthright and loyal.

‘I can mention it to Fei Long today,’ Yan Ling offered.

‘Fei Long?’

She blushed. ‘Lord Chang.’

‘Hmm.’

Yan Ling narrowed her eyes in warning and Dao fluttered her lashes in response. The girl could be precocious when she wanted to be.

‘We shouldn’t trouble the lord with such insignificant matters,’ Dao said dismissively, lifting her brush again. ‘I’ll discuss it with Old Man Liang first.’

‘You don’t need to be afraid of speaking to him.’ Yan Ling closed her eyes as the tip of the brush outlined her eyelid. ‘Lord Chang is quite reasonable.’

‘It’s not fear. This is out of respect.’

Had the servants been so distant from the elder Lord Chang? Yan Ling marvelled over the divide between Fei Long and the household servants. She’d always been aware of her place in the teahouse, but everyone, even her master and mistress, had been of humble birth. Perhaps this had put them on more common ground. She resolved to bring up the missing items with Fei Long.

‘I had a thought about what you were saying yesterday,’ Yan Ling ventured.

‘What was that?’ Dao chose another brush and dipped it into the vermilion tint.

‘Wait, that’s too dark.’

Dao muttered something about her being too timid and leaned in to outline Yan Ling’s lips. The fine brush glided carefully over her mouth, sending a tingle down her spine. She supposed she could always take one look in the mirror and wipe it away.

She couldn’t go to Fei Long so blatantly painted and perfumed, though she wished she was brave enough to do it. He’d take one look at her and be stricken. He’d see her with new eyes. And then…

And then she had no idea what next. What could he give her other than a single look of desire? One look and nothing else.

But she wanted so much to have that one look.

She turned her attention back to Dao. ‘You were talking about marriage. Perhaps Lord Chang could help you. He can stand as your guardian and accept proposals for you.’

‘Shush! I need to get your mouth just right.’ Dao’s expression hardened as she bent close. ‘There are no proposals for me, Yan.’

‘Of course there will be. You’re so pretty. Men would fight over you for those dimples alone.’

‘I can draw some in for you, if you like them so much,’ Dao teased.

‘What about Bai Shen? He’s very handsome.’

‘Li Bai Shen? He’s beautiful and no one knows it better than Li Bai Shen himself. But you are an absolute failure at matchmaking.’ Dao sat back with a satisfied look and set her brush aside. ‘There.’

Yan Ling peered into the mirror at her new face. ‘I look so different.’

She recalled Lady Min’s reaction when she’d taken her first look at a woman who was her and wasn’t her at the same time. Lady Min had removed all feminine artifices, going so far as to cut off her beautiful hair. Yan Ling had come to take on all that Min had left behind.

Could she really be the lady in the mirror? Staring at her shaped eyebrows and painted lips made the enormity of her task come to light. One sitting before Inspector Tong was nothing compared to the months, the years ahead.

‘I won’t be able to fool everyone,’ she said quietly. ‘Not for ever.’

Dao attempted to reassure her. ‘The Khitans have never seen a Tang princess. Who’s to tell you how to do this or that?’

Yan Ling peered into the mirror again, trying not to compare herself to the little tea girl in her mind. The woman who looked back was elegant and confident. Her secrets were her own. Perhaps they would add to her allure.

Everything that used to feel so hard only weeks ago wasn’t so difficult any more. She could talk correctly and managed to move with some grace. She even remembered not to slouch when she sat.

The tea girl was nothing but a thin shadow in the corner. She’d never had a proper mirror in the back room of the teahouse. All she’d seen of her old self were occasional glimpses in passing, dim reflections in pools of water. Yan Ling had never known what she’d looked like to others. That girl didn’t exist any more. Maybe she had never truly existed at all.

‘Right. You’re right,’ she told Dao, stronger the second time. She grabbed the powder and brushes excitedly. ‘Now let me try on you.’

* * *

Yan Ling paused before the door to the study. She pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to run her tongue over them. She could feel the waxy gloss of the vermilion tint and taste the clove oil in the balm. Dao had re-applied the colour right before her afternoon lessons.

Why did it feel as if it had been an entire age since she’d last been here? She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. All she had to do was concentrate all her energy on appearing natural. And relaxed, too. Gently, she tapped on the door before letting herself in.

Fei Long was at his great cherrywood desk. As always, he was at the end of reading some important note or finishing a last stroke on a letter before shifting his attention to her. His expression was thoughtful and distant, but soon he would look up. For a few heartbeats, his attention would only be on her. She used to hate it so.

He finished scanning the page before closing the book. When his black eyes settled on her, Yan Ling’s stomach fluttered and her pulse jumped. She clasped her hands before her, but then remembered that this made her look too docile. She unclasped them and dropped them to her sides.

‘How are you today, my lord?’ Her greeting came out a little thin.

His gaze swept briefly over her face. The frown line between his eyes sharpened.

‘What is this?’ he asked slowly.

Her face burned so hot that she doubted she needed the rouge on her cheekbones. His eyes narrowed in on her and she wanted to shrink away. The door was right there at her back. He appeared somewhat displeased…but Fei Long often looked that way when really he was just deep in thought.

‘We purchased some make-up at the East Market yesterday. Dao put it on me,’ she added weakly.

And now she was like a little child, blaming someone else.

His lip curled. ‘You look ridiculous.’

Her heart squeezed tight. Then it plummeted, like a crushed and ruined butterfly.

‘Well, we were just trying it out to see,’ she muttered.

In so few words, he had scattered all of her confidence, all of her hopes. Her chest hitched and an alarming pressure gathered at the bridge of her nose. Yan Ling sat down at the writing desk and fumbled for the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve. Keeping her face angled away, she swiped at the offending tint.

There was no pleasing Fei Long. Not looking at him, she scrubbed at the tint until her lips were raw. She wanted it off, all of it. The powders, the perfume and all pretence that she could be a lady worth any notice.

‘Yan Ling.’

He rose from his desk to move towards her. She stared down at the handkerchief as her vision blurred. It was smudged with red.

She stood in a panic, keeping herself turned. ‘I have to go.’

‘Yan Ling.’

His voice was louder this time. Closer. She tried to slip past. Wouldn’t look even when his hands closed around her shoulders.

In the next moment, she caught a glimpse of Fei Long’s face, of his dark and tortured eyes. A muscle tensed along his jaw before he lowered his head.

Her breath rushed from her at the first touch of his mouth. His hand lifted to slide over the back of her neck while his kiss soothed over lips still sensitive from the rough scouring she’d given them. Yan Ling trembled, confused. A lost sound escaped from her.

With that, Fei Long broke the kiss. His fingers lingered on the side of her neck while he looked at her, an unspeakable question in his eyes. He was breathing hard.

Her thoughts came too fast. This was more than just the press of lips together. Fei Long’s touch burned away all memory of Bai Shen’s kiss. There was no mistaking this. Fei Long desired her. He desired her the way she desired him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but he said nothing. He started to pull away, but she couldn’t let that happen. Not after she’d yearned for him for so long.

She came to him, tilting her head up. Her heart thudded with so much force she shook with it. She wanted so much to glance away. To hide. Fei Long was so masculine and so beautiful that it frightened her.

He took her chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb caressed her cheek and her chest seized.

‘Yan Ling.’ The third time he’d said her name, and each time so different. This was the one that pierced her. His voice burrowed so deep that she ached inside.

She dug hers fingers into the hard muscle of his arms as his head lowered. He tipped her chin gently to receive the kiss and a breathless hunger took over as he claimed her with his mouth. Harder this time. He used his tongue to taste her and she gasped—excited, frightened. With his hands against the small of her back, he pressed his body hard against her, making her knees go soft. Whatever came next, she wanted it.

Suddenly, his hands tightened over her hips. He held her so fiercely it was nearly painful. She could feel the heat of his skin and the taut coil of muscle and sinew through his robe. A shudder ran through him.

He pulled away roughly then, holding her at arm’s length when he couldn’t get enough of her only moments earlier. His chest heaved as he stared at her as if he didn’t know what had just happened. But she knew, in every part of her, to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

‘Forgive me,’ he breathed.

It was the first time he’d apologised since she’d met him. For the one thing she’d wanted more than anything else for him to do.

With surprising calmness, Fei Long went to the door. Before she understood what was happening, he’d left her. Yan Ling remained alone in the study with her heart caught in her throat. The heat of his embrace slowly ebbed from her skin until she was left cold.