The Concubine's Daughter (33 page)

“When the tomb is ready, you will summon priests from the temple; they will bring gongs and trumpets, an abundance of offerings and many expensive joss sticks. You will provide a large roast pig, and many dishes
of fresh fruit. You will burn a paper mansion, a motorcar, many servants, and a barrow full of paper money. A funeral service will be held at my mother’s grave in the ginger field and a rail of iron set in stone to forever protect its sanctuary. You will have her family name engraved upon a tablet of finest ivory and presented to me with all due ceremony.”

The cunning of Yik-Munn had not completely deserted him even now. It showed momentarily in his failing eyes, belying his pitiful whimpering. “If I have forgotten the exact spot, and your brothers are not willing—if I am unable to find such artisans, if the priests refuse such a service—what will be your penalty?”

Li ignored his question. “Then you will pay whatever it costs to see this done as speedily as you once honored the great Goo-Mah. When this is done, you will find my mother’s family and demand from them her ancestral tablets and what images they may retain. You will give to me any photograph or likeness of her that you still possess and anything that may have once belonged to her.”

He clasped his hands, aghast at her demands, afraid of her anger. “This is impossible. The Ling family have left their
huang-ha
, I do not know the name of their new village or its province. I have no knowledge of …”

“Then you must find them; those who knew them in Shanghai will tell you.” She laughed lightly. “Pretend they owe you money; that will help you find them quickly.”

Her manner left no room for barter, and he was suddenly seized by the full extent of his humiliation. He rose so quickly that his taipan’s chair almost overturned and his official’s hat fell to the floor. His hands extended like claws; a thin lock of hair rose from his head like the plumes of an aging parrot. “Who are you to demand such things of me?” He tried to spit but could not find saliva, only a rasp of hatred leaving his distorted mouth. “You are of my blood; I will have your respect, not your insults.” He drew himself up defiantly. “I will call in your brothers to teach you something of filial piety.”

Li’s reply was cold and immediate. “There are those aboard the ship who would not allow this. I can fetch them now if you threaten me
again.” Yik-Munn sank back into his seat, staring balefully at his daughter.

“I am no longer a helpless child and now have the protection of someone whose power you cannot begin to imagine. If you are not willing to accept these terms, we will call a meeting of merchants in this room and I will tell them how you treated me as an outcast, how my mother was driven to a hideous death by your hand. I will report the binding of my feet, which is against the law of China, and see that you are ruined.” She waved away his further attempts at feeble protest.

“I do not expect this to matter among those who know no better, but I will bring officials of my close acquaintance from Macao who will sentence you to the punishment you deserve. I am also sure of Number-Three Wife’s cooperation as your unpaid comprador. I have seen with my own eyes how you cheat those who buy your spices. Your name will be laughed at in every tea house as the fool who dared defy a fox fairy. Your ancestors will be unforgiving for all eternity and you will be lost forever to the ghosts of shame.” She picked up her sunshade in readiness to leave.

“When my mother’s place of rest is sanctified and blessed, when her ancestral rights have been honored and fulfilled, you will hear no more from me on this or any other matter. You will owe me nothing … not even a word of good-bye.”

It was with mixed feelings that Li left the mouth of the Pearl River on the following evening. The ceremony had been arranged as she had asked, with no one else present but Number Three. There had never been such a burning of paper offerings—the biggest, brightest, and most expensive the village joss house could provide. A mansion of many rooms, a troop of servants to fulfill her every wish, a gorgeous palanquin with four strong bearers, chests of gold and silver and rolls of banknotes had whirled above the ginger field and into the bluest of skies, to surround the spirit of Pai-Ling and restore her to her rightful place in heaven.

Li thought with pleasure of Little Pebble and the
mung-cha-cha
happily
settled in the House of the Kindly Moon. Number Three had willingly agreed to visit them often and to teach them what she could, and would be paid by the Double Dragon for her services. Li had made sure that a room was provided for her use, and hoped the little house by the river would become a welcome haven from the disintegration of the House of Munn.

Despite all these satisfactions, Li was unable to sleep, The feelings that touched her heart when she thought of Ben were far more than gratitude. She went forward to the prow of
Golden Sky
, watching the green fire of phosphorous flaring from the bows, the distant lights of Macao strung like a glittering necklace on the dark horizon, until the bright moon and the soft sea breeze had cleansed her soul of unrest.

“Fire in the water. That’s what I thought it was when I first went to sea as a boy.” Ben joined her, his bare feet soundless on the deck. The specters of a past he could scarcely imagine, the wrongs she had made right with such dignity, had left him deeply moved. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him with a sense of belonging she had never known.

“Does love mean gratitude?” she asked, just loud enough to be heard.

“It can do,” he answered as quietly.

“Does it also mean thinking only of one person above all others … in the morning when you listen for the first birds, and at night when you close your eyes? And if this person fills the hollow of your heart so completely there is room for no other … is this also what is meant by love?”

“What I know of it,” Ben whispered. “I believe it is.”

She turned to face him, her arms reaching up to him, feeling his embrace tighten about her. “If you still wish me to be your
tai-tai
, Young Lord, I will do so with all my heart and the fullness of my soul—”

He stopped her words with a first kiss. “Yes! I would be a proud and happy man if you will become my
tai-tai
… . But only if you will call me Ben.”

B
ack at Sky House
, Li fell into a sound sleep. When she awoke the following morning, it was later than usual. A square yellow envelope lay on the floor, slid beneath the door; it bore no name or address. There was something strangely sinister about its appearance that made her hesitate to touch it. She tried to think why it was there and who could have delivered it. It could only be from Ben, she decided with a rush of relief.

She picked up the envelope, to find a wax seal on the underside that bore characters she did not recognize. Breaking it, she withdrew a folded square of the same stiff yellow paper. The center was missing from the front fold; an irregular hole, neither cut nor burned, framed a single Chinese character of the same ancient script as the seal. There was nothing more.

The envelope looked small and unimportant in Ben’s large and capable hands. Li watched closely as he examined the slip of yellow paper with the hole in its center. She had taken it directly to the study, and was now seated before him. He stared at it in silence, holding it gingerly by its edges, sniffing it carefully, then placing it on the desk. His expression told her nothing. For a moment he did not speak, looking out to the garden.

The weather had changed overnight; the sky was overcast, and spurts of wind tugged at the trees. A log fire glowed in the iron grate. Li felt as
though a great distance had opened up between them. She had a sudden need to go to him, to pledge her support, reassure him … but his face did not allow it.

She tried to keep the uncertainty from her voice. “It troubles you. Can you tell me what it means? If we are to become one, we must share all things.”

The expression on Ben’s face did not change as he turned in his chair to look at her. It was as if he had never smiled at her, she thought.

“You are right. There is something I have not spoken of that I should have.” He leaned forward, his voice as guarded as the look in his eyes. “You have heard of the triad … the black society?”

She nodded. “I have heard of it.”

“There is such a society known as the Yellow Dragon,” Ben went on. “Its southern lodge is in Hong Kong, but its brothers are everywhere. It is their mark on the seal.” His face was drained of color, his eyes flicking away to search the turbulent sky. But in that fraction of time, she had been startled by the mixture of fear and fury she had glimpsed in them.

He made a physical attempt to throw off the moment. “It is an empty warning, nothing more. From time to time I am reminded by such talismans. The Yellow Dragon overlord and I had dealings in the past, but reached an understanding.” He picked up the paper, absently turning it over in his fingers. “This could have been sent by anyone wishing to cause trouble, perhaps someone from inside the house. I will speak to Ah-Ho. If it is someone among us, I will know and it will be dealt with.” He had regained something of his composure, straightening in his chair.

“But the warning was sent to me, not to you. I must know its meaning. The hole is not cut by a blade or burned by a flame. How is it made and what does it say?”

He left his chair, led her to the leather couch closer to the fire, and sat beside her. Taking both her hands in his, he kissed them tenderly, holding them to his cheek before he spoke. “What I am about to tell you is known only to one other, Indie Da Silva. If you decide, when I have finished, that you wish to take no further part in my life, I will understand
without question and make sure that you are properly provided for and protected.”

“If there are things that I should know, then I shall listen and share with you whatever must be faced,” Li answered.

For over an hour, Li-Xia listened to the story of the feud between Ben’s father and Titan Ching, the Shanghai overlord who had declared a blood oath on the House of Devereaux thirty years ago. Ben had always known that the reason his father had fled Shanghai with him as an infant was not fear of the Boxer Uprising, but the oath that condemned his firstborn son to death.

“There are complex rules governing such vendettas, calling for ritual execution of a boy between the ages of three and ten by any of the Yellow Dragon soldiers throughout the Chinese underworld. If I survived my first ten years, the oath was supposed to be withdrawn and the vendetta at an end. There are exceptions, however; if a boy is thought to show the inclinations of a warrior with the heart for revenge, the Incense Master, the personal advisor to the dragon head, can extend the blood oath a further eight years.

“By the time I returned to Shanghai, both my father and Titan Ching were dead, so I went to the new dragon head, his son, J. T. Ching, and challenged the oath, offering to prove myself in a
ku-ma-tai
, or fight to the death.” Ben paused, knowing how dramatic his words must seem.

“To me, a life under constant threat was not worth living. I had become something of a bare-knuckle fighter, a champion in the Western sense, and luck was with me. When I defeated their senior boxer, the holder of the golden sash, it was agreed that honor had been served and the blood oath between the House of Ching and the House of Devereaux was over.”

He indicated the vaguely ominous paper. “I do not believe this talisman is from J. T. Ching. Traditional authenticity is important to the triad; they pride themselves on the refinement of their rituals. This is too crude.” The steadiness of her gaze, so intensely absorbed she had barely blinked, made him look away.

His hesitation to continue was more ominous to her than his words. “Then from whom? I have a right to know what you suspect.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as though to clear it of unwanted images. She waited until finally he went on. “My enemies are more than I can count … but I think there is only one mad enough to have a hand in such a thing as this. His name is Chiang-Wah, known on the waterfront as Chiang-Wah the Fierce.”