Cindy Pon: Silver Phoenix

Her mother wiped her eyes. “He teased, of course. And always kissed me after.” She smiled and laid her craftwork down. “This wears on me. I think I’ll retire.” She rubbed her brow with slender fingers.

Ai Ling bade her mother good night but remained sitting in the courtyard, head tilted toward the evening sky. Her cat, Taro, emerged from behind the jasmine, leaped across the stone floor in one breath, and twined his lithe body about her ankle.

She petted him, felt his rumbling purr even before she heard it. Her mind wandered to the image of her parents in youth, both outcasts, alone until they found each other. She couldn’t imagine the same fate for herself—couldn’t fathom the fortune of ever falling in love. Ai Ling pulled the heavy courtyard door open to find Master Huang, stroking his long gray beard. She almost cried out at the sight of him. She had spent the evening after their encounter the previous week shut in her bedchamber, too queasy to eat, unable to speak of it with her mother. When asked if she felt ill, Ai Ling blamed it on her monthly letting, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Is your mother in?” Master Huang asked without smiling.

She pressed her palm against the wooden door, stopping the trembling of her hand. She cleared her throat before speaking.

“Yes, she is. I will call her.” She refused to address him by name.

She hated the thought of allowing this man into their home, but there was no way of turning aside someone of his stature. She stepped inside the main hall. Feeling the weight of his leer on her back, she straightened her frame even taller.

“Mother? Master Huang is here to visit.”

Her mother emerged from the kitchen area, patting her hair with one hand. She was dressed in gray cotton house clothes, but managed to look regal.

“Master Huang. What brings us this honor?”

“No, I was rude to arrive unannounced. I met Ai Ling in the market and thought I would pay a visit.”

“Please, sit.” Her mother gestured toward an elm-wood chair. “Ai Ling, some tea.” The pause before she answered him was not lost on Ai Ling. She should have told Mother what had happened—but how could she have explained hearing Master Huang’s thoughts, if they were his thoughts?

Ai Ling retreated into the kitchen. She could see the back of Master Huang’s head and her mother’s profile through the arched doorway. Her mother looked uncomfortable, sitting with her back rigid and her hands clasped before her.

“Master Wen being gone for so long has been a burden, Lady Wen. Is there any news?” Master Huang asked.

Ai Ling held her breath, a jar of loose jasmine tea leaves in one hand.

Her mother studied her hands. “You are kind in your concern for our family. I know my husband will return in good time.” Her mother’s voice grew softer as she spoke. So soft that Ai Ling had to lean toward the doorway to hear. She swallowed the knot that caught in her throat.

Master Huang pulled something from his robes—a scroll. He unfurled it. “I regret having to do this. Your husband owes me a great sum. And I need to collect on it now.”

“This can’t be, Master Huang. My husband never mentioned borrowing from you.”

The merchant rolled up the scroll, knowing full well that her mother could not read what was written on the paper. “Husbands don’t divulge all matters to their wives, Lady Wen. What your husband was involved in was part of the man’s world. Nothing he would have shared with you.”

“My husband told me everything.”

Master Huang shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s my word against yours. This scroll contains your husband’s signature and seal. It’s a large sum.”

He leaned forward and whispered close to her mother’s ear. Ai Ling bit her lip to see him behave with such familiarity. Her mother remained composed, but blanched at his murmurs. Master Huang leaned back, the smug look on his face clear even to Ai Ling.

“There’s a possible solution.” Master Huang rubbed his hands together. “I’m aware there have been failed attempts in arranging a suitable marriage for your daughter. I believe she just turned seventeen? Not a young girl at the most desirable age to prospective families . . .” He trailed off, allowing the words to sink in. “I’m offering to take Ai Ling as my fourth wife in exchange for the money owed me. She’s a pretty girl. And seems agreeable and intelligent enough.”

Ai Ling dropped the jar. It thudded and smashed. Tea leaves scattered as she burst into the main hall.

“No, Mother, no!” She realized too late that she had shouted.

“Ai Ling!” Her mother’s pale face jerked toward her just as the merchant’s did. Ai Ling ignored him, and instead knelt in front of her mother and took her hands in her own.

“You can’t. You mustn’t. Not without Father here. Not to him.”

She knew she was breaking every rule of decorum. But if she thought her failed betrothals were wretched, being sold to this brute for birthing purposes was an infinitely worse fate.

“Ai Ling, this is unacceptable. Apologize to Master Huang.”

Ai Ling looked into her mother’s face and saw for the first time how tired she appeared, how much she had aged in the six months Father had been away. Ai Ling realized with shock that her mother’s hair was now more gray than black.

Her chest tightened with love and pain. She rose and turned to the merchant. “I’m sorry for my outburst, Master Huang. I just don’t want—”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Master Huang interrupted. “You’re a financial burden to your mother. An extra mouth to feed. An extra body to clothe. You are an embarrassment to your family, loitering about at seventeen years when other girls your age have already borne children.”

Ai Ling’s face grew hot; the fire spread to the tips of her ears and roots of her hair. But Master Huang was not finished.

“Your only saving grace is that pretty face. You’re too tall for my taste, but I can overlook this fault. I held your father in high esteem, despite the scandal at court. I offer you my home out of generosity and in fondness for an old colleague. Consider yourself fortunate. That face won’t be pretty forever.”

Ai Ling felt rooted to the floor, unable to turn her gaze from the merchant. Master Huang misunderstood and smiled, revealing teeth stained from pipe smoking. He winked at her.

“You have a temper. But nothing that can’t be tamed. One suckling babe at each teat should do the trick.” The man threw his head back and roared at his own wit.

Ai Ling jabbed her nails into tight fists, clenching her teeth until her jaws ached.

“Consider my offer, Lady Wen. I’ll give you two days. It is I who is doing you a favor.” Master Huang rose and snapped open his fan before stepping out into their courtyard, unescorted. He did not look Ai Ling’s way again. That evening, they dined in strained silence. Ai Ling knew her mother would not succumb to Master Huang’s coercion. She was certain he lied about the debt, and although she could have read everything written in that scroll, it would not have changed the situation. Master Huang fraternized with all the officials in their small town, plying them with wine and gifts. It was his word as a powerful merchant against theirs, two helpless women. Without Father, there was no one to protect them.

Master Huang was rich and did not need more money. He wanted her . . . to make a son for him. The thought brought a sour taste to her mouth, a mixture of panic and fury. She would leave home before ever stepping into his bedchamber. She could go look for her father and bring him back. She wanted to both laugh and cry—the idea was ludicrous. But she refused to stay, to suffer that brute’s bullying.