Cindy Pon: Silver Phoenix

He poured more tea for her. “I was housed in very opulent quarters and locked in.” He clenched his fist. “Zhong Ye threatened to kill you if I tried to escape, tried to aid you. I’m so sorry, Ai Ling.”

“It’s not your fault. It didn’t happen like I thought it would.” She prodded at her food with the eating sticks. “I don’t know what I expected.”

He too had stopped eating and straightened his back. “I know what happened to my mother now.”

She saw again in her mind the beautiful woman with the haunting eyes.

“What was it like?” he asked, after a moment of silence.

Ai Ling averted her face, feigned interest in selecting more morsels for her plate.

“I thought I heard her speak through me,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Who?”

“Silver Phoenix.” She rubbed her brow. “I wish I knew her story—her whole story.”

“It’s enough for me to know yours.” Chen Yong smiled.

She was suddenly limp with exhaustion.

“It’s a few hours before morning. You should sleep,” he said.

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll stay by your side.”

Ai Ling rose and climbed into the sumptuous bed. She burrowed under the thick blanket. Chen Yong would keep watch over her. She gave herself to slumber before another thought could form. Ai Ling awoke to find sunshine filtering through the lattice windows. Chen Yong sat on a chair beside the bed, his head bent over a well-worn book bound in dark leather.

“What’re you reading?” she asked, her voice rasping.

Chen Yong glanced up. “You’re awake.” He grinned, despite looking weary. “It’s a philosophical text by Long Kuei.”

“Oh.” Ai Ling stretched. “Did you sleep?”

“No. Your father came a short while ago to say Master Cao has arranged carriages for our journey home.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed. “And Zhen Ni brought you fresh clothes to change into.”

Ai Ling climbed with reluctance from the bed and examined the clothes. A simple tunic and trousers, made of lavender silk with pearl buttons. Her hand reached for her jade pendant from habit, but grasped nothing.

“My necklace,” she said.

“Did you lose it?”

She searched through her knapsack and found her necklace. Ai Ling cradled the pendant in her palm—the jade had clouded over, an opaque white.

“Can you help me put it on?” she asked.

She bowed her head and Chen Yong stood behind her, fumbling a little with the delicate gold clasp. The heat rose to her face when his fingers brushed against her nape.

“Thank you,” she murmured, without turning to him. Ai Ling picked up the new tunic and trousers but paused before entering the bath chamber.

“Chen Yong, I’m grateful you stayed with me.”

“I promised I would until the end, didn’t I?” He winked at her and smiled. She knew he was one to keep his promises. They took their morning meal in the reception hall outside the dressing chamber. Then her father led them to the outer courtyard, near the gate through which they had entered the Palace. A tall man dressed in a deep blue scholar robe greeted them—Master Cao.

“I’ve arranged royal carriages for your passage home,” Master Cao said. “A courier has been sent to the Emperor, giving news of Master Zhong’s passing. Of natural causes on his wedding night.” He laced his long fingers together and turned to Ai Ling. “Quite sad, indeed. The grieving bride has been sent home to her family.”

Her father clasped his old colleague’s hand in both of his. “We can’t thank you enough.”

Master Cao shook his head. “The entire kingdom is in great debt to your daughter, old friend. Zhong Ye outlasted dynasties, he could not be destroyed. Those who have tried were executed . . . or murdered.” The adviser dropped to his knees and bowed before Ai Ling.

Astounded, she reached down to the older man and touched his shoulder. “Please, sir, rise. I only did what I had to.”

Master Cao rose. “Know you did more than that. We’ll always be here to serve you, Mistress Wen.”

Not knowing what more to say, Ai Ling bowed and walked to the carriage that had drawn up outside, just beyond the moon gate. She climbed in and sat down. As she waited for her father, another carriage pulled up, and she suddenly understood. Chen Yong would be taking his own journey home.

He approached her carriage as if summoned by her thoughts. “It’s strange to say farewell.”

“You return home now?” She looked down at her clasped hands, tried to speak in a steady voice. “Why not stay at ours for one night? It’s on the way.”

Chen Yong shook his head, the morning sun bright behind him. Dark shadows marked the curves beneath his eyes, making his cheekbones more prominent. He was leaner than when she had first met him. Their journey together seemed to have chiseled his features, sharpened the last remnants of youth. “I need to tell my family about Li Rong.” He spoke softly, his voice raw.

Li Rong.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

These words finally brought the tears she had tried so hard to hold back, and she raised her face. “Will I see you again?” She gripped the open window of the carriage, fought the urge to reach for his hand.

He drew a step closer. “Yes, you will.”

She wanted to believe him. Chen Yong moved away from the carriage as her father climbed inside, and Ai Ling leaned back. He always kept his promises, she reminded herself, as their carriage rumbled away.

After days of constant travel, Ai Ling and her father finally pulled through the gates of their small town of Ahn Nan. There were tears in her father’s eyes as he hugged her mother fiercely.

Her mother swept Ai Ling into her arms. “I’m so thankful you are both home.”

Ai Ling let herself sink into her embrace. Mother, who had always appeared so strong to Ai Ling, felt frail.

Her mother waved them into the main hall. “I was worried to the bone about you. You’re as pigheaded as your father in so many ways.”

Her father laughed loudly—which brought youth back to his lined face. Her mother smiled, her body leaning toward his.

“I couldn’t marry Master Huang, Mother. And I couldn’t put you in the position to choose, either. I knew you wouldn’t let me go alone.”

Her father’s laughter ended abruptly. “Ai Ling told me he came and threatened you.”

“Yes. He wanted Ai Ling as a fourth wife to pay for the debt you owed,” her mother said.

Father slammed a closed fist into an open palm, anger coloring his face. “It was a lie.”

Her mother nodded, still as elegant as ever. “We knew. But there was no way for us to contest him. He brought the contract with your seal on it.” Her mother caressed Ai Ling’s face, her fingers felt rough against her cheek. “I was worried senseless, but I know you. I don’t fault you.”

Ai Ling grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

“Don’t be. You brought your father back. And Master Huang didn’t bother me again. He died soon after you left.” Her mother’s voice lowered. “They think he was murdered.”

The Life Seeker. Ai Ling recalled the entrancing song of the woman in Lao Song’s restaurant; that first day away from home, so long ago. She knew she should feel pity or remorse for Master Huang’s passing. But she did not.

They sat down, and Ah Jiao brought in a tray of teacups for everyone. Ai Ling gasped in surprise and jumped to her feet to hug the servant. Her mother laughed with pleasure. “She returned without pay when she found out you had left.”

“You’ll be paid triple that for your devotion and loyalty, Ah Jiao,” Ai Ling’s father said.

Ah Jiao’s broad face colored, and she wrung her hands. “It’s so good to have you and Mistress Wen back, master.”