Madam Lei returns late in the afternoon.  The merchants’ association was sympathetic but like the magistrate, of little practical help.  Sympathy is, after all, cheap.  A delegation will be sent to Zhong Jun to represent its displeasure.

“Fat lot of use that’ll be,” snorts Lei Qing, “But at least they’ve renewed Mother’s license to trade in the capital, so we can sell our amber.”

“You can sell the pearls too,” Yao Lin says.  “Use the money to pay off the debt.”

Madam Lei’s looking exhausted.  “That may not be necessary,” she says, “We’ll have to see what assets we can sell off.   We’ll manage somehow.”

“Bloody Zhongs,” growls Lei Qing, whose vocabulary has expanded during the journey from Emporium City.

I’ve told the Leis that I’m going to Liang Zhou’s again this evening, but privately I take Yao Lin aside and let him know my real destination and why I’m going there.  He looks at me in awe.  “Can I come too?”

I have to laugh.  “Not this time, Ah-Lin.  A friend’s going with me for protection, but I’m letting you know in case anything happens.”

“Right.  Let’s hope you get a lead.”  He hesitates and then says, ”Um - Ah-Jing?  Can I meet your friends some time?”

“Sure thing.  Next time I go to Liang Zhou’s, you can come along.”

“Great,” he says, beaming.

That evening as we make our way to the Cherry Blossom Pavilion, I have to admit to being a little nervous, even with Mo Jiang’s solid presence beside me.  I leave him to wait for me in a bustling tavern opposite the pleasure-house and go down a poorly-lit side alley to the back door.  A large porter’s on duty.  I tell him I have an appointment with Yuan Song and he grunts and summons a pretty adolescent boy, who leads me along corridors and into a private courtyard.  The boy knocks on the door of a lit room, slides the door open and steps back to let me through.  The interior of the room is warm and faintly scented.  The furnishings are luxurious.  I avert my eyes from the large canopied bed and look round for my host.

He’s reclining on a couch, his long hair loose over a green long-sleeved robe open to below his waist, revealing smooth bare skin beneath.  Under that he’s wearing trousers in a transparent material which show off his long legs from mid-thigh down.  He’s reading a book, which he puts down as I turn to look at him.  In the flattering light, he seems inhumanly beautiful.

“Young Master Zhao, welcome,” he says.  There’s a slight, almost imperceptible pause before he says “Zhao”.  He continues serenely, “Or should I say Your Highness?”

Every hair on the back of my neck is standing up.  “How do you know who I am?  And how did you find out where I live?”

 “I recognized you from a description given me by a mutual friend,” he says calmly.  His voice has a musical quality, effortlessly seductive.  “I was told you were coming to the capital and which caravan you were travelling with.”

My mind flips through the possibilities.  Only one person was in a position to give him all that information.  “Lady Han?”

He laughs.  “A clever guess.”

“You’re a friend of Han Ming’s?” I demand, somewhat reassured.

“I am.”

“And having recognized me, you had me followed home from the cloth merchants’ street?”

“Right again.  Would you care for some tea?”

Without waiting for my reply, he claps his hands and a servant comes in with tea-things on a tray, which he places on the low table standing in front of the couch.  I approach and sit gingerly on the only available seat, directly under the unnerving pale stare.

“Will you do the honours?” he asks.

His eyes don’t leave me as I summon up my long-disused skill, pouring the tea and presenting it to him formally.

“Gracefully done,” he remarks.

I pour my own cup and sit back.  “You said you have information?”  

He blows on the surface of his tea to cool it.  “You’re looking for two men.  I know where they are.”

I make an eager movement, but he continues, “I know where they are, but I can’t tell you and it wouldn’t do you any good if I could.  But I could arrange a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“But there’s a price.”

Of course there is.

“I have silver.” I say.

“Boring,” he says gently.  “What else can you offer?”

“What would you accept?”

He pauses, drinks, puts his cup down and looks at me with a subtle smile.

“It’s more a question of what talents you have that could interest my customers.”

Maybe I should offer to kill somebody for him?

“I can play the zither.”

He raises an elegant eyebrow.  “Well enough for an audience?”

“Yes.  But perhaps your customers are music critics?”

He lets that pass.  One long finger points to a side-table.  “There’s a zither there.  Play for me.”

I get up and go to the table.  The instrument’s beautiful, polished, expensive, decorated with carvings of flowers.  I can’t help smiling as I run my fingers along the satiny wood.

“You like my zither?” he asks.

“How not?  It’s so beautiful.”  Like you, I nearly say.  I make myself comfortable and glance up.  “I’m rusty.  I’ve been on the road for six months and there wasn’t much occasion for practice.”

“Do your best,” he says.

I play the piece that I played for Lord Zhao back at Eagle Rock last year.  Yuan Song’s a good listener, silent and still.  As the last plangent note dies away, he stirs and says, “You can indeed play the zither.  I’ve never heard that piece before.  Who composed it?”

“My mother,” I say, without thinking, still held by the music.

But he lets that pass too.  “I think we’ve found our currency,” he says, his voice suddenly brisk.  “If you play for my customers one evening, I’ll arrange a meeting with your friends.  Do we have a deal?”

Do I have a choice?

“Yes, on one condition.  No-one can see my face.”

He taps his perfect jawline with one finger.  “That could work,” he muses, “A mysterious veiled beauty – yes, indeed, that could work.  You should prepare two pieces:  the one you just played and something more sprightly.  I’ll make the arrangements and let you know the date and time.  It’ll take a few days, so practise in the meanwhile.”

“Y-yes,” I say, a little dazed at this speedy conclusion. 

We both rise.  He’s half a head taller than I am.  With difficulty I drag my eyes away from his smooth throat and chest.  He sees me looking.  There’s a smile lurking in his eyes.  “I’m glad to have met you, Young Master Zhao,” he says.

“I’m not sure yet whether I can return the compliment,” I say, “But thank you for your help all the same.”

He laughs, a sound of genuine amusement, and claps his hands again.  The silent servant appears as if by magic.  Before I leave, I turn and say, “Are my friends well?”

“Very well,” he replies. 

And before I know it, I’m out of the scented warmth into the cool air of the autumn evening. 

Typically, Mo Jiang has found congenial companions, but as I appear, he excuses himself and rejoins me.  “Well?”

“He knows where they are but he can’t tell me, so he’s going to arrange a meeting.”

“How much will that cost?”

“I’ve agreed to play the zither one evening for his customers.”

“In the brothel?”  Mo Jiang exclaims.  People turn to stare and he lowers his voice.  “Isn’t that dangerous?  You’ll be recognized.”

“I’ll be veiled.  It could have been worse.  He could have asked me to pay with my body.  It’s not as if I’d have had much choice.”

“How do you know he’ll keep his word?”

“I don’t.  But I think he will.  He’s not what I expected.”

“What’s he like?”

“Beautiful, clever, devious.  But he appreciates music.”

Mo Jiang harrumphs.  

As we walk home, I find myself for the first time thinking about another man than Shan.  Yuan Song’s seductiveness has had its effect on me, as I expect it does on everyone he meets.  The ice-grey eyes, the languorous movements, the alluring voice, even his scent: everything about him is calculated to evoke desire.  That is, after all, his business.  I wonder to myself what his life has been like.  A courtesan’s path is rarely scattered with rose-petals.  There must have been hardship, cruelty, abuse, all hidden now under that smiling, calm exterior. 

I want to know more about him.

Mo Jiang insists on seeing me to my door, though it means a long walk for him.  Once inside, I find Yao Lin awake and eager for news, so I tell him the results of the evening.  His reaction’s much the same as Mo Jiang’s.  It’s a while before I get to sleep and when I do, my dreams are very confused.

Morning brings another crisis.  A person appears, accompanied by two men-at-arms, to inform Madam Lei that a mortgage on her house has come to term and that the money must be paid or else the house will be forfeit.  I’m still in bed when this happens, but Yao Lin rushes in to wake me up and gives me the details as I hurriedly dress.

“A mortgage?  Signed by the Zhongs?”

“So he says.”

“No way.  The house didn’t belong to them in the first place.”

Still tying my sash, I follow Yao Lin to the main courtyard, where a very animated debate’s taking place.  The holder of the mortgage, a respectable middle-aged man of some consequence, is red-faced and shouting.  Madam Lei’s steward is shouting back.  Arms are waving.  There’s an interested crowd of servants and sedan-chair bearers.  Madam Lei’s trying to intervene, but no-one’s listening to her.

I march up and say in my Imperial voice, “What’s going on here?”

Gratifyingly, they all turn and gape at me.  The middle-aged man waves a document.  “Young Master, I have a signed contract here.  Sir Zhong borrowed money from me and gave this house as collateral.  Since he hasn’t paid me back by the due date, the house is legitimately mine.”

“Show me.”  I hold a hand out for the document and he meekly hands it over.

Briskly, I say, “I’m afraid this document’s worthless.  Sir Zhong didn’t own this property and had no right to mortgage it.  You’ve been cheated, sir.”

“Didn’t own the property?” he repeats, bemused.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Madam Lei says patiently, “This house is the property of the Lei family and I have documents to prove it.”

“You mean that my money’s gone?”  The poor man’s voice fades away.  Before anyone can move, his eyes roll up and he falls straight back in a faint, to be caught in the nick of time by one of the servants, rather quicker than the others.  There’s a short interval of pandemonium before he can be revived.  We help him inside and Madam Lei calls for tea.

“My money,” moans the unfortunate creditor, clutching his brow, “My daughter’s dowry!  How can I explain to my wife?”

“If you take my advice,” I say, “You’ll take the Zhong family to court and force them to repay you.  The Lei family will back you up.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.  That’s all I can do.” He takes a sip of tea and starts to perk up.  “How dare they?  I thought the Zhongs were respectable people, but this….”

“Shameful indeed,” I say, shaking my head, “And if I were you, I’d take action straight away.  No doubt the Zhongs owe money to other people as well.  It’s best to be first in the queue.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll go directly to the magistrate.  Thank you for your advice, Young Master.”

We put him into his sedan-chair and see him out of the gate, still puffing and clucking.  Then we heave a collective sigh.

“What next?” says Yao Lin.

What’s next is unexpected.  Another sedan-chair lurches in through the gate, bearing an elderly man, well-dressed, grey-haired, who asks for me by name.  His own is Geng De.  Once seated, with yet more tea in front of us, I say cautiously, “If I may ask, Sir Geng, how do you know of me?”

“Doctor Liang told me where to find you.  As to how I know of you, may I speak freely?”

“Of course,” I say, startled.

“I know your father.  I’m his commercial representative in the capital.  He mentioned you many times in his letters last winter.  He also mentioned how grateful he was to Doctor Liang for having treated his injuries.  I heard that Doctor Liang had returned to the capital, so I contacted him and we’ve been exchanging news.  He told me that your father’s safe but was unable to give me any details.  So I came to find out what’s happened to my old friend.”

There’s genuine worry in the face in front of me.  So I tell him about my last encounter with Lord Zhao and see the distress ease.  “Thank goodness,” he says, “Thank goodness.  I was so very afraid, when I heard that the Second Prince, that is, the Emperor, had sent troops to the north-western borders.  My friend’s safe.  I’m so glad.  Thank you, Young Master Zhao, you’ve eased my mind.”

“I can pass on any message you may have, but it’ll take some time to get to him.”

His brow wrinkles again.  “The problem is that I’m getting old and my health isn’t what it was.  Also, I have no sons to take over my business.  I’m afraid that I won’t be able to continue acting for him here for very much longer.”

I smile, rather ruefully.  “I don’t think it’ll matter much for the moment.  I doubt if he’ll be risking trading till things settle down, if they ever do.”

He takes a sip of tea and puts the cup down.  “I was wondering, Young Master, if perhaps you yourself might consider handling this end of the business on your father’s behalf?”

I stare at him, surprised.  “I really hadn’t thought about it.”

“Perhaps you might think about it now?”

“I will, but I don’t know if I’m going to be staying in the capital for very long. Everything’s very much up in the air.”

“I understand,” he says, “But please consider it.  I won’t take up any more of your time, but I’m very happy to have met my old friend’s son.  Feel free to call on me at any time.”

“Thank you, Sir Geng, I will.”

Thoughtfully, I watch the sedan-chair bobbing through the gate.  This isn’t a bad idea.  Earning a living writing letters and selling herbs would be nothing compared to becoming a trader.  One can earn a great deal of money and the work’s interesting and adventurous.  It’s certainly worth considering.