Jeannie Lin - Capturing the Silken Thief

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Tang Dynasty China, 823 A.D.

Musician Jia needs a valuable book of poems by a famous courtesan to buy her freedom…and she believes Luo Cheng has taken it. Her attempt to steal the book from him fails, but the tall and powerful scholar unexpectedly offers to help her quest! But when they finally find the book—and the arousing poems and artwork inside—Jia’s longing for freedom is replaced with a new kind of desire for Cheng…

Dear Reader,

Capturing the Silken Thief was inspired, surprisingly, by my time as a student at the University of California, Los Angeles. Everyone was filled with such hope for the future and all things were possible.

The many late nights and that restless energy of those college years fed into my vision of what the North Hamlet in Changan must have been like during the 9 thcentury. Scholars and beautiful courtesans and song girls intermingled. The drinking and music would continue late into the night.

One of the most popular short stories of the Tang Dynasty tells of a romance between a scholar and a song girl. Capturing the Silken Thief revives this classic pairing and it was a refreshing change for me to write a different sort of hero from my usual swordsmen. I hope you’ll find this distant land and the characters that inhabit it not as foreign as they at first appear to be.

More historical background and information on my stories can be found online at http://www.jeannielin.com. I love hearing from readers!

Special thanks to Stephanie Draven and Amanda Berry for lending their keen and critical eyes to this story on such short notice.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

Tang Dynasty China, 823 A.D.

Luo Cheng turned his back on the chorus of cries and the rosy glow of the lanterns that swung over the doorway of the drinking house. The entreaties from his fellow scholars were well-meaning enough, but the pleas to stay and be sociable quickly died away, fading behind gales of laughter and carousing.

How did his fellow scholars manage to stay out drinking all night, every night, and hope to pass the imperial exams? He’d woken up with his face pressed into the pages of a book for three days now, after having fallen asleep in the middle of another treatise on statesmanship and duty. And heaven knows, there were many. The empire had an abundance of paper and these politicians were intent on writing on all of it.

At twenty-five years, Cheng was no longer the young prodigy that the local magistrate had boasted about to his exalted peers. Any man, no matter how humble his birth, could become a ranking official by proving himself in the civil exams. The hopes of his entire county had been behind him when he passed the provincial test three years ago. He had journeyed in triumph to the capital only to fail at the imperial level. If he failed again, Cheng would not only lose face, he’d have to lose several body parts to repay Minister Lo for sponsoring him.

He slung the sack of books over his shoulder and headed toward the southern gate of the ward. A soft, feminine voice floated from the pavilion doors at the end of the street. The words of the song rose over the plucked notes of stringed pipa. The lute-like instrument had become one of the most popular in the drinking houses.

The light of the last lantern slipped by him as he ventured toward the edges of the pleasure district. His apartment was located in a quiet corner of the ward, through winding streets. The pavilions with their retinue of entertainers had sprouted up around the student centres of the city. The two populations fed on each other: the scholars with their cash and nights of leisure, the courtesans with their enchanting smiles and soft, scented skin.

It was only after he passed the third corner that he realized the group on the other side of the street had been following him. He glanced briefly in their direction before turning away. They didn’t look like scholars, but they didn’t look like street thugs either.

The footsteps quickened behind him. Cheng tightened his grip on his knapsack and turned to see five black shapes converging on him like a pack of rats. There was no getting out of it now. He swung his pack hard at the head of the gang. The weight hit the leader square across the face and the scoundrel fell back with a grunt.

Damned fools were attacking the poorest student in the district.

Cheng punched the next one in the nose. There was some advantage to being a country boy. The imperial capital had educated him in custom and civility, but he still knew how to handle himself in a brawl.

“Give us the bag.” A sharp-nosed fellow hedged back as he issued the demand.

“Dog-born bastards,” Cheng spat.

They lunged for him once again.

Someone threw an arm around his neck. Cheng wheezed as the weight pressed against his windpipe. He was going to get knifed right there for a couple of history books and three copper coins.

With a roar, he threw the one clinging to him over his shoulder. Suddenly his left eye exploded with pain and he staggered back, cursing from the blow.

“Let’s go,” one of them shouted.

The footsteps scrambled away as the pain rang in his skull. Blinking furiously into the darkness, Cheng spat out a few insults involving pack animals and body parts.

By the time he could see again, the alleyway was clear. Music continued to flow from the entertainment district behind him as he searched the ground for his satchel. Gone.

The books that Master Wen had lent to him. The essay on statesmanship that he needed to submit before taking the imperial exams. The last of his luck.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

He considered having a drink. A strong one. But his three coins weren’t enough to buy a flask of wine or the courtesan to pour it for him in this part of the city. Cheng pressed a hand to his eye. The area around it throbbed dully as he trudged back to his apartment.

It was five days until the imperial exams. That commentary had taken him over a week to compose the first time. He had better start writing.

Jia checked the desk, the cabinet, the little tight corners behind the bed. She’d been crawling around on her hands and knees, searching for clever hiding spots, too nervous to light even a tiny oil lamp.

The room was square and tidy, with a scant few personal belongings packed away in the wooden trunk. She flipped through a book she found at the bottom, squinting to stare at the characters. It wasn’t what she was looking for. The scholar must have kept the journal with him after snatching it. She set the lid back down and turned to slip out, when the door rattled.

Death and destruction, he wasn’t supposed to return yet!

Her gaze darted left and right, frantically searching for a place to hide. She’d run her hands over the entire apartment. It was as sparse as a monk’s cell.

She could run. Just bolt right by him once the door opened and hope she startled him enough that he wouldn’t call for the city guards.