Silver Phoenix (13 page)

“This must be it,” Chen Yong said finally. They stood before a thick wooden door. Two faded paper door gods with fierce expressions and drawn weapons were plastered on its surface. Dusk neared.

Chen Yong thudded on the dark wood with a heavy fi st.

The huge door swung open immediately.

“What do you want?” A sullen-faced servant peered out, his thin mouth drawn into a frown.

“I’m here to see Master Tan,” Chen Yong said.

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“Who’re you then?” The servant spoke as if he suspected Chen Yong was there to ransack the place.

“I am Li Chen Yong,” he replied in a strong voice.

“It’s late for such an intrusion,” someone interjected from behind the ill-tempered servant. “But I can always make time for the son of an old friend.”

“Master Tan!” The servant bowed low and stepped aside, revealing the man who had spoken. He was tall, as tall as Chen Yong, and although his hair was gray, his face was youthful.

Master Tan grasped Chen Yong’s shoulder with one hand.

“I’ve wondered all these years if we would meet. I see your father in you.”

Chen Yong’s stoic demeanor was fractured by the mention of his birth father. Emotions Ai Ling could not identify flitted across his features before he nodded, without speaking.

Master Tan turned to Ai Ling, allowing Chen Yong time to gather himself.

“Is this lovely lady your wife?” he asked.

“Ai Ling? No,” Chen Yong said, the surprise evident in his voice.

The older man’s eyebrows shot up, his turn to be taken aback. Aware of her discomfort, Master Tan waved one arm toward his manor. “Come in. Welcome.” The old servant pulled the door wide open.

Ai Ling drew in her breath at the sight of the expansive courtyard. Her family’s courtyard could fit in one corner.

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The lattice panels to the main hall were drawn open. Ai Ling and Chen Yong followed their host across the courtyard and into the hall. A long ancestor altar, laden with fruit, rested against the back wall, and the faint smell of incense wove through the air. Opalescent lanterns, already lit, hung in each corner, reminding her of giant sea pearls.

“Please, sit.” Master Tan indicated the carved blackwood chairs across from him. She and Chen Yong both did so in silence.

“Would you like some tea? Have you eaten? You must be travel worn.”

“Tea is fine, Master Tan. You’re kind to complete strangers. We’ve already eaten.” Chen Yong spoke for them both, even as she wondered what food Master Tan had to offer.

She smiled and nodded.

Master Tan raised a hand and winked at her. “Lan Hua!”

Within seconds, a young woman near Ai Ling’s age was by his side. She wore her hair as did many girls of the servant class, the black braids coiled on either side of her head. But her clothing was finer than anything Ai Ling had ever seen on a servant, a silk tunic and trousers in pale blue, embroidered with pink cherry blossoms.

“Please bring tea for our guests. And dinner as well.”

“Yes, Master Tan.” She retreated with quick steps.

Ai Ling grinned. She looked toward Chen Yong, but he was oblivious. Master Tan enquired after her companion’s adoptive family, his studies and recent travel experience.

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She hid her interest in Chen Yong’s replies by studying the calligraphy on the walls, lines from Bai Kong’s classic poetry. The scrolls of landscape paintings reaching the dark wood beams of the ceiling especially intrigued her.

Suddenly a face appeared behind a lattice panel, and Ai Ling half rose in fright. It quickly vanished. Probably a servant, she told herself.

Still, she was glad when Lan Hua interrupted them with a tray bearing teacups. The familiar warmth and feel of the cup calmed her. Ai Ling inhaled the rising steam—chrysanthemum, with a hint of something like mint.

“I sent a letter to the Li manor in Gao Tung last year. I never received a reply. It was your family, yes?” Master Tan asked.

“I apologize, Master Tan. I was unsure when I would be able to make the trip in person,” Chen Yong replied.

They sipped in silence for a moment. Chen Yong cleared his throat.

“Master Tan, you said you knew my father. . . .” His voice trailed off.

Their host did not let him flounder. “It has been years since I’ve seen him. He traveled back to his country soon after you were born. I think about him often. We were like brothers.”

“Where was he from?”

“Jiang Dao. A diplomat sent to the Emperor’s court to open communication between the two kingdoms.”

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Already on the edge of his seat, Chen Yong leaned forward. “And my mother?”

Master Tan placed his teacup back on the lacquered tray.

“Chen Yong, perhaps you would like to eat first, rest? It’s a . . . complicated story.” The older man’s brow creased, his concern obvious.

Chen Yong sat back. He examined his hands without speaking for a few moments, then raised his face. Ai Ling admired the firm lines of his nose and cheekbone, the curve of his brow and mouth.

“I’ve wondered my entire life who I truly am. You can’t tell me soon enough,” he said.

Master Tan nodded. “Your mother was a concubine to the Emperor. No one knew you weren’t the Emperor’s son until you emerged with yellow hair and golden eyes.

Before the eunuchs became aware, you were smuggled out of the Palace. They would have killed you. And your mother, too.”

Chen Yong shook his head, his face taut with disbelief. Ai Ling fought the urge to reach over and touch his arm.

Master Tan leaned forward, his hands clasped together.

His demeanor reminded her of Father. “Your father left court that next morning. He sent a letter and told me that someone had promised to place you with a family who would treat you well. I would have gladly taken you as my son, Chen Yong; my bond with your father is that strong.

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anything more than you existed. And your name. Your mother named you.”

Lan Hua interrupted with rice and an assortment of hot and cold dishes, then retreated from the room. The familiar scents of savory sauces, garlic, and scallions wafted from the lacquered serving trays. But Ai Ling no longer had an appetite.

Chen Yong sank into the silk-cushioned chair. He rubbed his face and covered it with his hands. When he looked up, his amber eyes gleamed.

“How?”

“Your mother was interested in languages. She was educated. Being a favorite of the Emperor’s, she was allowed to be tutored. Your father was one of her tutors. This went against all rules. But it showed how high she was in the Emperor’s favor.

Your father never mentioned the romance, but I suspected.

They were foolish. They fell in love.” Master Tan raised one palm and spread his fingers, as if it was all he could offer.

Chen Yong was quiet. Ai Ling sipped her tea, trying to quell the thundering in her own chest.

“Are they alive still?” Chen Yong asked.

The older man shook his head. “I’ve not received correspondence from your father in more than fifteen years. As for your mother, I know nothing. I wish I could tell you more.” He spoke with regret.

How would an imperial concubine survive such a scandal? Ai Ling kept the foreboding thought to herself. Chen 62

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Yong’s face was a mask now, devoid of all emotion. He sat straight-backed against his chair, hands clutching each armrest so tightly his knuckles were pale. Ai Ling looked away, filled with sympathy for him, not knowing how to help.

Master Tan rose. “Please, I insist that you stay for the night.

We have plenty of room. Please eat. Don’t be modest.”

A young man of twenty years stepped into the main hall and greeted their host.

“Ah, Fei Ming. I was just going to visit you and the little one. This is my son,” Master Tan clapped the young man on the back. “And he just had one of his own. My first grandson.”

Ai Ling and Chen Yong both offered their congratulations.

“Chen Yong is the son of an old friend. And this is Ai Ling.”

Fei Ming made no reply. He avoided looking at either guest. Ai Ling’s scalp crawled. Was his the face she’d seen peering through the lattice panel earlier?