I race all the way to the Cherry Blossom Pavilion, my heart pounding painfully.  The message, which came via the usual street-child, was News.  All safe.

All safe. 

Panting, I lean against the wall by the back-door until the porter lets me in, then run to Yuan Song’s apartment.  He looks up as I appear, picks a piece of paper up off the table and holds it out to me without a word.  I read it, still puffing.  The original document, in code, is on the table.

Arrived Fort, all safe.  We are guests of the first lord.  More to follow.

“Is that all?” I demand.

“Were you expecting a love-letter?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

 “Who’s the first lord?”

“Kong Ling.  A powerful warlord and leader of the southern rulers.  He’s the one who’s been giving the Third Prince financial help.”

“And what’s this Fort?”

“I’ve been looking at a map.  I think it’s the Old Fort, here,” he points to the map with one long finger.  “Just inside the border.  It’s where the defence force is wintering.”

I find I have to sit down.  Yuan Song chuckles.  “Your face is scarlet.  Did you run all the way?”

I’m holding the piece of paper as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.  Yuan Song pours tea and sits down at the table beside me.  “So, our friends are all alive.  Now they have to persuade Lord Kong that they’re a worthwhile investment.  It may not be easy.”

“He says they’re all safe, so Li Wei must have survived the journey.  He’s a very clever man by all accounts.  If he can’t persuade Lord Kong, no-one can.”

“Yes, but remember they’re technically in enemy territory and the southern troops may not be friendly.”

“I expect Shan’s prepared for that.  He and Shao Ru will find a way to handle it.  It’s Third Brother who’s likely to be the weak link.”

“He’ll need to listen to advice, then.”  He holds his hand out for the paper, which I reluctantly hand over.  I give a cry as he holds it to a candle flame and burns it, along with the original message.

“There must be no evidence,” he says.  “I expect there’ll be another message in a few days with more details.  Then we can act.  I hear you’re sharing your home with a boy from the Azalea House?”

“The Azalea House?”  I ask, dazed by the sudden change of subject and still thinking about Shan.

“A low-class male brothel,” Yuan Song says.

“Ah.  Yes.  He’s just a kid.  He was living with a friend of mine but my friend’s mother-in-law had him thrown out and then my friend dumped him.”

“So you took him in.  Will it be stray dogs next?”

“We’ve already got one of those,” I say, recovering my wits.  “Thanks for the tea.  I’m going to tell everyone the good news.”

I hear him chuckle as I leave.

First stop the Liang house.  Mo Jiang hugs me in sheer relief and promises to pass the news on to Liang Zhou as soon as he can.  Xiaxia jumps up and down delightedly and demands details which I can’t give because there aren’t any.  Then I go into Li Lien’s room.  She’s sitting in a chair with some mending disregarded in her hands, listening to the commotion outside.

“Is there news?” she asks instantly, cutting across my greeting.

“Yes, they’re all safe, Shan and your father-in-law and the others.  They’re guests of the southern lords.  We’re expecting more news soon.”

“Safe,” she says, leaning back.  “Safe.”  She lifts the mending to wipe tears from her eyes.  “I shouldn’t be crying because they’re safe,” she says with a little laugh.

“I felt the same.  It’s such a relief after all this time.”

A gurgle comes from the cot in the corner and a small hand waves.  Li Lien puts down her mending, gets up and goes over, bending to pick the child up.  I’m surprised.  It’s the first time she’s shown interest in the baby in my presence.

“So, baby,” she says with a little smile, “Your uncle’s safe.  And your grandfather.  We’re not alone anymore.”

“This child has more uncles than I’ve had army rations,” I say, “She’ll never be alone.  Have you decided on a name yet?”

“I thought Lan, because that was my mother-in-law’s name.  She’d have liked that.”

“It was my mother’s name too,” I say, smiling.

She looks at me kindly.  “Well, that settles it.  Li Lan, in memory of our two mothers.”

Madam Liang comes in and I can’t escape without drinking yet more tea.  Surprising me again, Li Lien joins us at the table, though she’s very quiet.  Little Lan’s handed from person to person like a toy and seems to have no objection.  When I leave, Mo Jiang accompanies me to the gate.  “So we’re waiting for more details, are we?” he asks.  “And then what?”

“Then we start putting things into motion.”

“Well, don’t forget to let me know if I can help.”

“Here I am trying to keep all my friends out of this and you’re all offering to risk your heads.”

“Of course.  That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?  Where are you off to next?”

“Shao Ru’s sister.”

“Don’t get caught by the curfew,” he says, patting me on the shoulder.

Shao Su takes the news that her brother’s safe with a nod and a small sigh of relief.  She thanks me for coming to inform her.  “And I also wanted to thank you, Young Master Zhao, for introducing me to Madam Lei.  She thinks my embroidery can fetch high prices in the western countries and has offered me a very good deal.”

“I’m very glad,” I say, gamely drinking yet another cup of tea.  “And as soon as I hear any more news, I’ll come and tell you.”

“And if you should need help with anything, please ask,” she says.

I’ve left Hao Meng till last because I know he’ll want to go out for a celebratory drink, and so he does.  It comes as a welcome relief from tea.  We drink to the success of Third Brother’s negotiations and Hao Meng offers to help me in any way he can.  My friends all seem determined to get themselves involved in my plans, no matter the cost.  I make it home just before the curfew, to the welcoming smell of food.  Yao Lin’s the last to get the news.  I roll into bed thinking there are a lot of relieved people in the capital tonight.

The next message comes eight days later.  Summoned to the Pavilion, I sit down with Yuan Song to help decode and then digest the concentrated bundle of information.  The negotiations have been successful and Lord Kong has agreed to support Third Brother in return for certain considerations (which are listed) and on condition Third Brother marries one of Lord Kong’s daughters.

“Marries one of…..!” I exclaim.

“It’s fairly usual,” Yuan Song says, “Keeps it in the family.”

With the help of the first Lord’s elder son, Shan and the others have been hired to train the troops in the fort.  This elder son’s apparently an old acquaintance of both Shan and Shao Ru.

“So in effect they’ll be training enemy troops?” I say, feeling a shiver down my back.  “That’s treason.”

“They committed treason the minute your brother took Lord Kong’s money,” Yuan Song's voice is matter-of-fact.

“And who’s this elder son?  Shan’s never mentioned him.”

“The first Lord’s elder son and heir, Kong Guanyu.  The Kong family’s blessed with many daughters but only two sons.  Do I detect a hint of vinegar?”

I feel my face redden.  Smiling, Yuan Song takes a piece of paper out of his sleeve and hands it to me.  “This came with the other.  It’s for you.”

Shan’s writing, signed with a black snake.  I decode it quickly.

Dear heart,

All’s well.  The days are busy.  The nights are very long.  Wait for me.

“The messengers are going back tomorrow, so we need to prepare an answer,” Yuan Song says, kindly ignoring the emotions that must be showing on my face.  “I’ll tell them about your plan.  If you want to write a private reply, go ahead.”

We sit together, writing.  Yuan Song’s brush steadily covers the paper while I sit wondering what to say.  It has to mention no names and sound innocuous in case of interception.

Beloved,

Your sister has a little girl so you are now an uncle.  Grandfather will also be pleased to know this.  My heart beats only for you.  I wait for your return.

I sign it with a small drawing of an orchid, Lord Zhao’s badge. 

Yuan Song hands me what he’s written.  It’s concise and complete.  We put both messages into code.  Finally, Yuan Song puts the messages into envelopes.  “I’ll instruct the messenger,” he says, “And now we can get started with our plans.  I have an idea of how to arrange a meeting with General Chen.  And you should meet my tame artist and discuss how to produce the pictures.  Incidentally, my informants tell me that the Emperor has already provided us with useful material.  He’s been visiting male brothels, among them the Azalea House.”

“Does Xu Yating know?”

“Not yet.  We need to get details.”

“I could ask Xinyi to make enquiries.  He still has friends there.”

“My thought exactly.  A gossip among boys will arouse no suspicions, whereas if you or I were to wade in and try to get information, it would certainly get back to the Palace.  My artist’s name is Qian Hu.  He’s twenty years old and he lives over the Three Fishes restaurant in East Street.  Go and see him.”

East Street’s just inside the red lantern district and is decidedly shabby.  The restaurant looks no better.  I go up the outside steps to the first floor and knock on the door.  Someone yells, “Come in!”

It’s a large bare room with windows all round and it’s easy to see why Qian Hu has chosen it:  the light comes in from all directions.  The furniture consists of a mattress and quilt on the floor, a screen and behind it, presumably, washing articles.  A large table’s laden with paints, brushes, rags and scraps of paper and a young man’s standing over it drawing something.  “Be right with you,” he says, not looking up.

The walls are covered with paintings, roughly pinned up.  I see at a glance that Qian Hu’s enviably talented.  His mastery of form and colour is astounding.  He can paint landscapes, flowers, animals and birds.  His paintings of people are softly erotic:  half-draped beauties look over their shoulders with subtle smiles.  These are a far cry from the pornographic stuff he produces for Yuan Song.  I’m so absorbed in looking that I fail to notice that he’s finished what he’s doing.

“What can I do for you, Young Master?” he asks pleasantly.

I turn to see a sturdy young man with very decided features and a mop of hair which hasn’t seen a comb in a while.  He stares at me and his eyes widen.  One hand reaches instinctively for his brush.

“Can – can I paint you?” he says, like a child asking for a treat.

“No,” I say, “I can’t have my face known.  But I’ve come to offer you work.  Yuan Song sent me.”

“Oh yes, he mentioned something.  Sorry, I can’t offer you tea because I’ve run out.  What’s it about?”

“Can anyone overhear us?”

“No, the restaurant’s not open at the moment and nobody else lives here.  Why?”

“Because what I’m about to propose could get us both killed.”

He grins.  “Sounds interesting.  Tell all.”

I explain.  He listens.  A thoughtful look spreads over his face.  “I’ve got no time at all for this Emperor or his mother,” he says finally.  “This pointless war with the south has convinced me that they’re going the right way about ruining the country.  So count me in.  When should we start?”

“Right away.  I think it’s best if you come to my house.  That way there’ll be no incriminating evidence here.  By the way, can I buy one of your paintings?”

“Can you…?  Of course you can.  Which one?”

“The swans.”

He grins.  “That’s one of my favourites.”

“I’ll pay you right away.  Will you mount it and deliver it for me?  It’ll give you an excuse to come to my house.  I’ll provide the paper for the drawings, but I expect you’ll want to bring your own brushes.”

“You’re an artist yourself?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Compared to you, I’m a dabbler,” I say frankly.

He laughs.  “I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

I like straightforward people.

He turns up next day as promised, with my painting and a box of brushes.  Yao Lin’s at work, but I introduce Qian Hu to Xinyi, who’s so excited at the idea of a guest that he immediately starts preparing a feast.  We sit down to discuss what the themes of the drawings are going to be. 

“They have to be funny,” I say, “Because then people will talk about them.  So we need common themes:  little boy stealing cakes pursued by angry mother with broom, or caught climbing over the wall to play hooky, that sort of thing.  And they have to be recognizable as the Emperor and his mother.”

He takes out a brush and draws for a few minutes before pushing the paper over to me.  I can’t help laughing.  He’s got them to the life:  Yan Rong’s Imperial nose and habitual sneer and the Dowager Empress’s hawk-like features and thin mouth.

“How many?” Qian Hu asks.

“Let’s say four themes and half a dozen of each.”

“Who’s going to put them up?”

“I am.”

“On your own?  All in one night?”

“All my friends have volunteered, but I don’t want them risking their necks.”

He grins.  “Won’t work.  You’ll need teams of two people, one to carry the paste-pot and brush and the other to put the notices up.”

“Ah, I hadn’t thought about paste.”

“I thought not.  Listen.  When I was a student, my friends and I used to stick posters up all the time, criticizing the government.  I know all the best places.  And take it from me, you’ll need at least three teams of two people to do all that.  Are you only going to do one shot?”

“No.  This’ll be our opener.  Then we move on to more serious stuff.”  I tell him about the Emperor’s visits to the male brothels. 

“Ah, that’s more in my line,” he says, grinning, “We could get a lot of mileage from that.”

The sound of Xinyi singing in the kitchen reaches our ears.  Qian Hu looks up, and glances at me.  “You two together?” he asks casually.

“No.  Just house-mates.”

“Ah,” he says. “Right.”

Xinyi appears, holding a chopper.  “Lunch is ready.  And I’ll help put up the posters.”

“So will I,” says Qian Hu, grinning, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Xinyi has outdone himself and Qian Hu eats till he can’t eat any more.  “My goodness,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I haven’t had a meal like this in months.  Many thanks, Young Master.”

Xinyi blushes and mutters something indistinct.

“Yiyi,” I say, “Do you still have friends in the Azalea House?”

He nods.  “Yes, I had two good friends.  I think they’re still there.  Why?”

“We need information and I wondered if you’d mind meeting up with them and finding out what they know about the Emperor.”

His eyes sparkle.  “I could invite them to a tea-house.  There’s one we used to go to when we had time off.  What do you need to know?”

“Anything about his bed habits.”

“All right.  I’ll be glad to help.”

We work all afternoon.  Qian Hu produces the originals and I help copy them as well as I can.  Xinyi keeps us supplied with tea and snacks.  By the end of the day we have all the pictures done.  The afternoons are shortening, so Qian Hu has to leave to get home before the curfew.  He crosses Yao Lin, who’s on his way in and I introduce them.  Over supper, Yao Lin looks at the pictures and bursts out laughing.  “These are great.  They’ll get right up the Emperor’s nose.  How are you going to put them up?”

“Qian Hu says we need six people.  He has experience from his student days.  He and Xinyi have volunteered.”

Yao Lin grins.  “Then there’s you and me, and then Mo Jiang and one other person.  Maybe Hao Meng will help.  It’s all coming together.”