I don’t hear from Yuan Song for several days. The daylight hours are spent trying to make sense of last year’s accounts, accompanying Madam Lei as she visits her creditors to persuade them to grant her more time, and making feverish calculations as to how the Leis are going to pay off the debt. Even if they sell the amber and the pearls, they’ll be left back where they started, with no money to invest in new business. I count my pieces of silver and wonder how much I might be able to contribute. We assess how many of the Lei family possessions we could sell and how much they could bring in. The answer’s always the same: not enough. Then we get a message from the magistrate’s office. The case against the Zhong family will be held in seven days’ time.
In the evenings, I practise the zither till I regain something approaching my former level of skill. In addition to my mother’s composition and according to Yuan Song’s instructions, I work up a cheerful piece, a dance tune that I’ve adapted and embellished myself. That ought to do. But as the days go by, I feel more and more nervous at the whole idea. Suppose Yuan Song lets me down? Suppose he’s just stringing me along?
“Only one way to find out,” Mo Jiang says, when I meet him in town for a morning’s relaxation in the market. Yao Lin’s with us. He and Mo Jiang have hit it off immediately, as I knew they would. We stroll through the crowded streets, stopping to buy dumplings here and candied fruit there, watching acrobats and fire-eaters, avoiding having our fortunes told and generally behaving like teenagers on the loose.
“Do you want me to come with you again?” Mo Jiang asks.
“Can I come too this time?” Yao Lin asks. “I really want to help.”
“Thanks to both of you, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary this time. In any case, Ah-Lin, you’re too young for pleasure-houses. Wait a couple of years.”
“Lai Xue was thirteen when he went,” Yao Lin objects.
“That’s far too young,” I say. “His brother had no business taking him.”
“They’re a weird family,” Yao Lin says. He sighs. “I wonder how Ah-Xue and Xiaxia are doing.”
“Go and visit,” I say. “I expect they’d be glad to see you.”
“I didn’t think,” he goes on, “That it’d be so boring here in the capital. When we were on the road there was always something happening.”
“Get a job,” Mo Jiang suggests, practically.
“Could I?” Yao Lin’s whole face lights up.
“Sure. Tell you what, we need somebody at the clinic, only a sort of general dogsbody and the pay’s not brilliant, but it’s something to do. I could suggest you to Doctor Liang.”
“That would be amazing,” says Yao Lin.
We’re sitting at a food stall eating noodles. I look at my friends’ cheerful faces and feel happy. It’s warm in the sun and the food’s good. For a moment I forget my worries.
It’s only for a moment, however, because a child runs up and shoves a letter into my hands before running away and disappearing into the crowds. I recognize the method of delivery.
“Yuan Song,” I say. I open the letter. Tomorrow night. Come before sunset.
Mo Jiang and Yao Lin pore over the message together.
“Aren’t you nervous?” Yao Lin asks, “I would be.”
“After Qiu City?” Mo Jiang scoffs, “Let me tell you, this guy went into Qiu Palace alone and sat there all night with a mad king and a corpse, waiting for us to arrive. All he’s facing tomorrow is a bunch of fat, rich men looking for thrills. Piece of cake.”
I have to admit, looking at it this way, that Mo Jiang has a point. They aren’t going to kill or torture me. They’re just going to listen to me play music. I can do this.
However, some of the confidence has leaked away by the time I actually get to the Pavilion late the following afternoon. I’m conducted immediately to Yuan Song’s apartment to find him sitting at his desk, dressed rather formally, dealing with papers. Well, I suppose even pleasure-houses have ordinary business to conduct. He glances up at me and points to a side door.
“Through there. Go and bathe,” he says, before returning to his scribbling.
In the bathing-room there’s a large marble tub, big enough for two or even three. It’s full to the brim with hot water. Flower petals are scattered on the surface. It looks immensely enticing. I shed my clothes and immerse myself with a sigh of pleasure. It’s tempting to close my eyes and fall asleep, but I can’t. I’m here on business. I scrub myself, climb regretfully out, wrap myself in a drying cloth and turn round to see Yuan Song standing in the doorway, which he’s opened without my noticing.
“I haven’t got anything that everyone else hasn’t got,” I say, a touch defiantly.
“No, but it’s all so pretty,” he replies, a smile in his eyes. “Come through when you’re dry and we’ll dress you.”
He disappears before I can ask what he means, but I soon find out. I emerge to a hive of activity. Three or four young men are milling about sorting garments in a ferment of excitement. I’m seized by eager hands and pushed down into a chair, while Yuan Song seats himself in a leisurely fashion and watches the fun.
“The hair,” one boy exclaims, “We have to do something about the hair.”
A pair of scissors appears. My hair has grown a little since I had it cut somewhere back up the road. With much chattering, it’s combed, snipped here and there and then dried. The boys, a couple of whom aren’t much older than Yao Lin, are treating me like a doll to be dressed up. Someone produces perfume, which is dabbed on in various places, some of them unexpected. Then garments are shown, not to me, but to Yuan Song, who makes a selection. A pair of transparent trousers is held up in front of me.
“No way!” I exclaim.
“They won’t show much,” one of the boys says earnestly. “Only if you take off the robe.”
“Put them on,” says Yuan Song.
This is hugely embarrassing, but there’s no choice, and the boys around me seem to take it all for granted. The trousers fit snugly round my hips and leave nothing to the imagination. Over them goes a sleeveless robe in red, which when fastened, leaves my chest exposed almost down as far as my navel.
“I can’t perform dressed like this,” I protest.
“Indeed, Young Master, you look beautiful,” one of the boys says, and the others hum in agreement.
Yuan Song gets up and advances to stand in front of me. “This is a pleasure-house, not a music society,” he says. The boys chortle. He goes on, “You’re suitably dressed for the occasion. Now for the jewelry.”
A box is brought and offered to him, open. He selects anklets, bracelets and finally a necklace, which he fastens round my throat himself. His fingers brush the back of my neck and send a shiver running through my whole body, as he no doubt intends. Then he takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face a tall bronze mirror which is standing in a corner of the room.
“Look at yourself,” he says.
The image in the bronze makes us look as if we’re underwater, I in my bright robe at the front and his beautiful face, oddly intent, behind and slightly above me. The boys have cut my hair so that it slants down across my forehead and hugs my cheek. Even I have to admit that the effect’s stunning. Murmurs of admiration come from the boys watching us.
“Master and Young Master look so well together,” says one, perhaps more naïve than the others.
Yuan Song’s hands drop from my shoulders and he turns away. “Well done. Now off with you all,” he says and the boys scatter like leaves in the wind, taking all the brightly-coloured garments with them.
“Nervous?” Yuan Song asks, walking to his desk and sitting down.
I think about the night in Qiu Palace. “A little. When will you arrange the meeting with my friends?”
“We’ll talk about that after your performance,” he answers, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to cheat you. Would you like a cup of wine?”
“Better not. Tea perhaps?”
Tea’s brought. I’m grateful for the hot fragrance in my mouth. Yuan Song folds his papers and stacks them, then stands up.
“I’m going to arrange the stage,” he says. “Someone will come for you in a little while. All you have to do is walk onstage, make yourself comfortable and start playing. Oh, and there’s this.”
He reaches behind the desk and brings out a hat with a jeweled veil. “Don’t forget this.”
Left to myself, I walk to the mirror and try the hat on. The veil hides my face down as far as my jawline. The anklets and bracelets give the effect of shackles. Even I can see that I’m dressed for the purpose of provocation. I wonder what Shan would think if he could see me.
The summons comes quite soon. I follow the servant out through the garden, into the main building, and into a huge reception room. The door by which I’ve entered gives access to a small circular stage, upon which is a zither table with the instrument lying on it. It’s Yuan Song’s zither. The stage is lit with lanterns. The sides and back are hung with curtains, leaving the front open to the room. From the heat of bodies, the sound of shuffling and the buzz of conversation, I can tell that the room’s packed solid.
Suddenly, all the lights in the main room go out, leaving only the stage lit. Behind me, Yuan Song’s voice says, “You’re on.” I feel a quick pat on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he says.
I walk out into the circle of light and hear a sound like a collective drawing-in of breath. A low buzz of comment starts, but as I seat myself and run one finger across the strings, the sounds of conversation are abruptly cut off and silence falls.
In that absolute silence, I play my mother’s composition. When the last note falls, the silence holds for a measurable time before applause breaks out. I’m taken aback by the volume of the enthusiasm and worry suddenly how I’m going to get started on my second piece, but all it takes is a lifting of my hand and the audience falls quiet again. My second piece lightens the mood. It has a catchy rhythm and I can tell the listeners are enjoying it. As I finish and the applause crashes around me again, I wonder how I’m going to get off the stage, but Yuan Song has taken care of that too. The stage-lights go out and a hand takes me by the elbow and guides me off the stage and back through the door. Servants begin to re-light the candles in the main room as a groundswell of comment rises.
I’m expecting to see Yuan Song but he’s not there. Instead a servant bows and says, “Please follow me, Young Master.”
We’re not going back to Yuan Song’s courtyard. Instead, I’m ushered into another corridor, a door is pulled back and the servant steps back to allow me to go in. It’s a big room with a conference table in the middle. As I pull my hat off, the man standing by the window turns round. For a moment the world stops.
“Shan!” My voice is a thin bleat.
He strides forward, his face furious, grabs me by the shoulders and snaps, “Jinhai, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I don’t know what I was expecting when we met again, but it certainly wasn’t this. I’m so taken aback, I can only stammer “W-what?”
Before he can say anything else, the door slides open again and four men come in. Shan seizes a cloak from the table and whisks it round my shoulders, still looking ferocious. One of the men is Shao Ru, one is Yuan Song. The third is a man I don’t know, who looks like a soldier. The fourth person takes a step forward, his face aghast and exclaims “Jinhai!”
I realize that I’m not the only person who’s been set up here. Clutching the cloak and summoning up as much dignity as possible under the circumstances, I bow and say, “Greetings, Third Brother. I hope you’ve been well since we last met.”
Yan Jianhong, third son of the old Emperor, the Third Prince, is white with shock. “You’re alive? But we heard there’d been an assassination. You escaped? But how? And why did no-one tell me?” He glares round at Shan and Shao Ru.
I think very fast. “I ordered them not to. I survived one assassination attempt. I mightn’t be so lucky next time. Xu Yating’s very persistent.”
The glare subsides slightly. “Then the body that was returned to the capital….?”
“The assassin. Sorry. I didn’t know they’d do that.”
“Who killed him?”
“I did.”
My brother’s lost for words. Shao Ru has a constipated look which I know means he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Yuan Song’s considering me thoughtfully. The military-looking man’s uncertain whether or not he’s supposed to give the Imperial salute. I daren’t look at Shan.
Yuan Song takes charge. “Now we’re all here,” he says conversationally, moving towards the table, “Why don’t we sit down?”
“Wait,” I say, “Why are we all here? What’s going on?”
I look at Third Brother, the brother who has allegedly spent his entire life shut up because of ill-health, the brother of whom no news has been heard since the Second Prince’s coup. He looks perfectly healthy, not much changed in looks since I last saw him several years ago, a little taller perhaps and heavier. He has the family nose. He was kind to me when we were children.
And then I realize what’s going on, what in fact is the only thing that could be going on. “You’re planning to take the throne,” I say.
A kind of current runs through the room, something like the effect of swords being drawn, though nobody moves. Suddenly the game’s changed. There are two Imperial Princes here. One is planning to take the throne. Everyone’s thinking, what’s the other Prince going to do?
There are two men here who would fight to the death to protect me. My brother has one supporter. I can’t guess where Yuan Song would stand if it came to a choice. Everyone’s waiting for me to declare myself.
I smile. “I can’t think of anyone who would make a better Emperor than Third Brother,” I say. “You have my total support. What’s the plan?”
