I’m like a cat on hot stones for the next few days, daily expecting a message which doesn’t come.  Will he call me over or will he change his mind?  I re-live that kiss over and over again.  I wonder how the Zhao kid’s doing.  I consider sending a message to ask and then decide against it.  Mustn't seem too eager.  Yuan Song’ll let me know.  Won't he?  All in all, I’m so distracted that I can’t concentrate on anything.  Just as well I have no jobs on at the moment.  On the other hand, there's too much time for worry.  Can't win.

Then when I’m about to give up hope, the message comes.  It says quite simply, Tonight.  Suddenly, I’m calm.  The indecision’s over.  It’ll be tonight.  What comes after – well, I’ll leave that to fate.

When I arrive at the Pavilion in the evening, one of the servants tells me that the Zhao kid would like a word before my appointment with Master Yuan.  I find the lad sitting at his table, wrapped in a grey fur cloak and looking a little peaky.  But he smiles and thanks me for saving his life.  We chat for a few minutes.  I see immediately why Yuan Song’s so fond of him.  He’s got a twinkle in his eye and is engagingly friendly.  He’s obviously forgiven me for knocking him out.  He wants to learn how to use a blowpipe and I promise to teach him.  It’s an excuse to come back here, if I should need one.

I take a deep breath before walking up the steps to Yuan Song’s apartment.  I knock on the closed door, wait for a moment, and then slide the door open.  My heart’s racing with anticipation.

He’s standing by the bed, his hair loose, dressed in flimsy and transparent garments with a robe thrown over his shoulders to keep out the cold.  He doesn’t meet my eye.  He bows and says in an impersonal voice, “The Honourable Sir might care to bathe.  Might I offer my assistance?”  Any trace of intimacy between us has vanished.

He’s treating me like a client. 

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.  Confused, needing to think, I say, “No thanks, I can manage.”  The door to the bathing-room’s open.  I escape through it to find a large tub of hot water, gently steaming, hugely tempting.  People like me don’t get the luxury of a private bath very often.  No point turning my nose up.  I shut the door, strip off, climb in and lie back to consider my next move.

Should I just leave?  This isn’t what I want at all.  When we kissed before, I felt that something significant happened between us.  I might have been kidding myself, but judging from his reaction back then, I don’t think so.  So what’s happened in the meantime?  Why is he doing this?

He’s had plenty of time to back out of the deal if he was uncomfortable with it.  He didn’t.  Is he trying to insult me for daring to proposition him?   But no, all he had to do was turn me down straight away.  He doesn’t seem like the type that would lead me on and then deliberately knock me back.  So why?  Does he suddenly feel threatened?  Surely he can tell I’m not a threat?  Then it comes to me.  By reducing me to the status of a mere client, he’s keeping control of the encounter, making it impersonal.  He’s protecting himself.  Not from me, but from his own feelings.  I sit up with a splash.  That means …..   maybe that means he does have feelings of some kind for me. 

I’m going to have to be very careful. 

Making my mind up, I climb out and reach for a drying cloth.  My hair’s short and dries quickly, springing up under my fingers.  A robe's been laid out for me.  Barefoot, I pad back into the main room.  As I approach Yuan Song, he comes forward, puts his hands on my shoulders and says, in the same neutral voice, his eyes still downcast, “How may I please the Honourable Sir?”

I reach for his hands, bring them down and clasp them together in mine.  “Look at me,” I say.

He hesitates.  Then he looks up and meets my gaze.  His eyes are cloudy and troubled.  I read wariness, doubt, and at the back of it all, something which looks like – is it? - vulnerability.  “You’re not going to do anything for me,” I say.  “I’m going to take care of you.”  And I bend my head to find his mouth.

The same desires as before surge up in me again.  He doesn’t resist as we sink down onto the bed.  The transparent garments float away.  I pull the light quilt over us to keep him warm as I seek out and explore his sensitive areas with my hands and lips.  His skin’s like satin and gives off a barely-perceptible fragrance which reminds me of warm grass and flowers.  He makes no sound, but glancing quickly up at his face, I see that his hand’s pressed to his mouth as if to stifle any gasp or quickness of breath. 

I’ve never taken this much care over a lover before, but I reckon this person has suffered from a serious lack of tenderness and I’m going to make it up to him.  And finally I’m rewarded.  I hear a very faint gasp, and his hands suddenly reach out to me.  It’s been clear for a few minutes that he’s been struggling against his body’s response.  I lean up to kiss him and he gives way all of a sudden, clasping his arms round my neck.  Words of love come to my lips, but I swallow them down.  This isn’t the time.  Instead I press my advantage and he responds so fiercely that I nearly give in to more primitive urges and fling care and caution out of the window.  Afterwards, as he lies shaking in my arms, his face pressed against my chest, the words of love rise again, and again I repress them.  I can’t burden him with my emotions.  He has enough burdens already.

He moves to get up, but I gently push him back down again.  “Stay put.  I’ll get the water.”  I bring a basin and cloths.  Then I look for and find cups and a jug of wine.  He hasn’t said a word so far.  But as I lie down again next to him, he says, “Who are you, Duan Bai?”

I lean up on one elbow and take a strand of the long brown hair in my fingers.  He watches me, his face quiet now, his eyes clear.

“Who am I?  A sword for hire, like my father and uncle.  Grew up surrounded by assassins, spies and all the kinds of people who do dirty jobs for money.  My mother wanted me to get out of it, so she made sure I got an education, but I take after my Dad.  I like to come and go as I please.  All I wanted was to follow him and my uncle into the business.  They’re both dead now.  My mother and aunt live in a village not far from the capital but I don’t go there much.  Too many reproaches.  I send them money from time to time.”

“What kind of jobs do you do?”

“Bodyguarding, escorting wagons, recovering stolen goods, knocking out Emperors.”  I grin, and with the long lock of hair, I tease the end of his nose.  He screws his face up like a child and sneezes.  I resist the urge to grab him.  This is enough for the time being.  But I don’t want to leave yet.  “Can I sleep here?” I ask.

“If you like.  But I don’t sleep very well.  I’ll disturb you.”

“I’ll risk it.”

As we settle down to sleep, I wonder what his story is.  I’m not going to ask questions.  I’ll wait till he tells me.  Though I might have a word with the Zhao kid about it tomorrow.

I’m wakened in the middle of the night by a disturbance next to me.  Yuan Song’s moving restlessly, muttering indistinct words.  Without thinking, I reach out and gently pull him towards me.  “It’s all right, I’m here.”  The words come out without any thought at all.  He mutters a bit more and then quietens down.  We sleep.

I wake to find him moving around, dressing.  He comes over and sits on the bed, and I feel a surge of sly satisfaction at the sight of the red marks on his throat.  “My people will bring breakfast for you.  I have to go and check on Jinhai.” 

“Jinhai?  I thought his name was Zhao Jing?”

He stares at me, appalled at the slip, his face a vivid shade of scarlet.  I catch at his hands.  “It’s all right, you can trust me.  I’m in this up to my neck too.  Are you telling me that kid’s the Sixth Prince?”

He looks round quickly, but fortunately we’re alone.  He nods, the colour fading from his face.  I lower my voice, just in case.  “So he wasn’t assassinated?  And when you talked about his lover, you meant that guy who took Qiu City?  But isn’t he dead too?”

Yuan Song shakes his head.  “He’s in the south.”

My voice is a mere squeak.  “With the Third ….?”

He puts his fingers quickly over my mouth.  Then he nods.

“Ye Gods and little fishes,” I say, stunned. 

The rattle of crockery announces a servant with a tray.  “I’ll explain everything later,” Yuan Song says, getting up quickly.

“I’m coming back this afternoon to show the kid how to use a blowpipe,” I say hopefully.

He smiles, but says no more, leaving.

It’s possibly the best breakfast I’ve ever had.  The servant tells me the bathwater’s hot, so, not wanting to waste it, I take another bath.  As I leave the Pavilion and make my way through the busy streets, I’m wondering what I’ve got myself into.  I can hear exactly what my Dad would have said.  “Thinking with your dick, eh, Ah-Bai?  See where that gets you.”

Well, Dad, it’s too late now.