Authors: Cindy. Pon
Silver Phoenix (56 page)
“What happened after you returned to the Palace, Master Wen?” Chen Yong asked.
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Her father stared into his wine cup. “The Emperor took Jin Lian’s story of the deformed stillbirth at face value. He saw it as an ill omen. His attentions were diverted with the birth of a son by another concubine. Zhong Ye, however, was suspicious. He was enraged that his careful manipulations were for nothing.”
Her father’s kind face hardened as he spoke. “He had his spies root for information and pieced together the story as best he could. He was no fool, and probably surmised the truth. Zhong Ye convinced the Emperor to have me tried for treason—supposedly I had been plotting to poison him until he was so incapacitated, I could rule in his stead.
“There was no evidence, and the Emperor did not believe it truly. But Zhong Ye had his ear. He manipulated and cajoled, whereas I always gave my honest opinion and advice. It was he who was the puppeteer, but the Emperor could not acknowledge it. Zhong Ye had been the adviser even to the Emperor’s own father; how could he disregard him?”
Ai Ling remembered his gray eyes, and almost smelled his spiced cologne. Her heart raced, and she reached for her jade pendant.
“I was cast from court in disgrace, barely escaping execution. My own family refused me.” His expression was pained now, and Ai Ling’s throat tightened with fierce love for him.
“After this, I sent a letter to your father, Master Li. Only he knew the truth behind your birth. We decided it wouldn’t 325
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be safe to tell you your history, Chen Yong. Not as long as Zhong Ye lived. We were too fearful of how far he would go for vengeance.” Her father took another sip of wine. “I never corresponded with Master Li again, though I wondered about you all these years.”
Chen Yong glanced down at his hands. “I asked my father once, when I was thirteen years. He said he knew nothing, not even the person who delivered me to his doorstep. He died last year.”
Her father’s eyes widened. “Ah, I didn’t know. I am so sorry. He was a great colleague, and so kind. I knew you would be safe with him, that he would protect you.”
“A few months later a messenger arrived from Jiu Gong, carrying a letter from Master Tan. He didn’t know my father, but they shared a mutual acquaintance, who had spoken of me. He wondered if I was the same Chen Yong he knew of.
I had to find out what he knew.” Chen Young rolled the jade beaded bracelet between his fingers, finally looked up to meet her father’s eyes.
“My life is indebted to you, Master Wen,” Chen Yong said, his voice steady as always. “But why—why did you risk your own life, your position at court, to save me?”
“How could I not help? You were an innocent newborn.”
“And did my birth father ever write?” Chen Yong asked after a pause.
Her father shook his head. “I suspect any letters addressed to me and sent to the Palace were confi scated and read.”
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The disappointment showed so clearly on Chen Yong’s face. He tucked his mother’s jade bracelet back in his robe.
“Master Wen”—the uncertainty in his voice made him sound younger—“what else can you tell me about my mother and father?”
Ai Ling rose quietly and slipped out of the cozy study.
She wanted to be alone—needed to prepare herself. Chen Yong was leaving the next day. When would she ever see him again?
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Ai Ling tapped on Chen Yong’s bedchamber door at dawn.
He was already dressed. She wasn’t surprised; he always rose early. His silk tunic was the color of wet sand.
They walked into the kitchen and pilfered red bean and lotus paste buns from the giant bamboo steamers. Ai Ling plucked out four buns with wooden eating sticks and wrapped them in a deep purple cloth for later. She also filled two flasks with hot tea and wrapped some salted pork with scallion flatbread in another muslin cloth. The persimmons in a cobalt bowl on the windowsill caught her eye. She grabbed two.
“Are we going far?” Chen Yong asked, laughing. Ai Ling 328
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responded by handing him the bundles and fl asks to carry.
They passed her mother and father, taking tea in the main hall.
“You’re up early, Ai Ling.” Her mother smiled, her face beaming with pleasure.
Father sat beside her, with Taro nestled in his lap. “I’m sure Chen Yong and Ai Ling have much to catch up on.” He winked at his daughter as if they shared a secret. Ai Ling’s eyes widened in consternation.
“A peaceful morning to you.” Chen Yong bowed to her parents, saving Ai Ling from speaking.
“Enjoy your day together,” her mother said.
Her parents exchanged a glance. The twinkle in Father’s eyes and the small curve on Mother’s mouth were not lost on their daughter. Ai Ling spun on her heel and stepped from the main hall, before her parents did anything more to embarrass her.
The gravel in the courtyard crunched beneath their feet.
Chen Yong pulled open the main door, and they slipped into the narrow alleyway, still damp and cold from the previous evening.
They strolled side by side toward the small gate of the town.
Ai Ling weighed her words before she broke their comfortable silence. “I’ve dreamed about her . . . Silver Phoenix.”
Chen Yong slowed his stride, turned to see her face. “What were the dreams about?”
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“They’re hazy, unclear. I always wake with a sense of urgency.”
With her hair damp from sweat, her heart galloping.
“You cannot draw meaning from them?”
She shook her head.
They walked past the rickety guardhouse, but a comment from the man on watch slowed her stride.
“Out early this morning, eh?” A dark, gaunt face peered from the hut. Ai Ling saw the familiar awe in his expression as his head bobbed in sudden recognition. “Mistress Wen!
Out for another one of your strolls?” He cocked his head toward Chen Yong, then noticed her glare. “Enjoy yourself, miss.”
Chen Yong lifted one dark brow as they walked through the gates. “What was that about?”
“It’s been like this since I’ve returned. The town people consider me both martyr and oddity—someone they can gossip about at the markets.”
“What do they know of our journey?”
“Only that I wed a corrupt adviser to the Emperor, and that he died on our wedding night.”
“You’ve not spoken of what happened to anyone?” Chen Yong tilted his face to her, and she looked him square in the eyes.
“I’ve spoken to Father and Mother about it some. But who else can I tell? No one would understand, or believe me.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” Chen Yong said.
Ai Ling led him down a less traveled path, barely the width 330
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of a palm, winding between tall golden wild grass which reached beyond their knees. “It is fine,” she said and realized how terse she sounded. She drew a breath and turned, causing Chen Yong to nearly collide into her.
“They treat me with reverence, smile from a distance.
The older women who knew me before my journey are kind. Their daughters, the few who are unmarried, try to befriend me, but”—Ai Ling gave her head a slight shake, feeling her single braid sweep against her back—“but I’m not interested.”