Jeannie Lin - The Lotus Palace

Bai Huang was a well-known fixture of the entertainment district. He was a night owl, a flirt, a spendthrift and an eternal student, having failed the imperial exams three times. He was dressed in an opulent blue robe and his topknot was fixed with a silver pin.

“My lord—” She started to mumble out an apology while trying to keep from spilling the tea.

She was met with easy laughter as the young aristocrat reached out to steady the tray. His hand closed over hers and her pulse did a little leap, despite itself.

The corners of his mouth lifted, gracing her with a sly smile, before turning to the others. “Only tea?” he asked with disappointment. “Where’s the wine?”

Taizhu waved him over. “Ah, the young Lord Bai is always good for a few laughs.”

Bai Huang carried the tray over to the party himself, forcing Yue-ying to follow him in an attempt to retrieve it. Her ears were burning by the time she managed to wrest the tray from him, but the nobleman was oblivious.

“When I was awoken this morning by the earthquake, my immediate thoughts went to you, Lady Mingyu,” he said. “I worried for your safety and could not be consoled until I saw with my own eyes that you were unharmed.”

Taizhu snorted. “Your poor suffering heart.”

Mingyu placed a warning hand on Taizhu’s sleeve, but Bai Huang merely accepted the remark with a chuckle. He remained deaf and blind to insult, like a contented frog in a well.

Lord Bai had taken to openly courting Mingyu over the past few months, composing effusive poetry about his loneliness, his sorrow, his aches and his pains, which he would publicly dedicate to Mingyu, reciting verses whenever present company allowed.

If he never had to speak, then Bai Huang and Mingyu would have been perfectly suited. He was the picture of masculine beauty with prominent cheekbones and a strong, chiseled jawline. His eyes were black and always able to catch the light, highlighting the perpetual quirk of amusement on his lips. He bore the high forehead that was considered a sign of cleverness, but anyone who had come across Bai Huang knew better.

Yue-ying made her own effort to keep the peace by pouring hot water over the leaves and setting out the cups. There was no better reminder to be civil than tea. She had to fetch another cup for Lord Bai. After preparing his drink, she glanced up to catch him watching her. The look was there for only a moment before he took his tea.

“Up so early, you scoundrel?” the old scholar taunted. “After last night, I thought you would still be pickled in rice wine at this hour.”

“Your concern touches me deeply, Lord Bai,” Mingyu interrupted in a soothing tone.

He looked obliviously pleased. Taizhu shook his head, fingers pinched to the bridge of his nose. Yue-ying went downstairs to fetch a plate of red bean cakes from the kitchen as it seemed the men would stay awhile. When she returned, the old historian had turned the conversation back to the imperial court.

“This is an opportunity to advise the Emperor that he must change course. Heaven has given us a sign. Earthquakes and floods have been known to topple dynasties,” the historian pointed out sagely.

Bai Huang was already shaking his head. “A sign of what? It sounds more like superstitious doomsaying,” he said with a bored look.

“What does it matter if it’s superstition or not? If such a disaster gains the Emperor’s attention, then it can be used as a means to an end,” Taizhu argued.

“This morning’s disaster serves as a better excuse for a couple of friends to complain over tea,” Bai Huang contended, lifting his cup. He attempted to drink, then frowned and peered into it, finding it empty.

As Yue-ying bent to fill the empty cup, Bai Huang startled her once again, halting her movement.

“What do you think, Little Moon?” he asked.

Mingyu’s mouth pressed tight at the casual endearment. Yue-ying glanced at Bai Huang. Dark eyebrows framed his face, giving him a serious expression that was contrary to his usual carefree manner. The nobleman had never spoken directly to her in such company before.

“Has the earthquake provided you with any signs?” he persisted.

The room fell silent. Old Taizhu affected a shallow cough and sipped his tea in silence. Bai Huang was the only one unperturbed. He continued to look at her, smiling crookedly as he waited for an answer. His gaze on her was insistent, but not unkind. Yue-ying looked nervously to Mingyu before answering.

“I was frightened at first,” Yue-ying admitted. “But sometimes rain falls and sometimes the earth moves. That was all it seemed to me.”

“Yue-ying.” The courtesan’s command was soft, yet somehow sharp. “There is no need for you to remain here. You are free to continue with your other duties.”

Yue-ying immediately set the pot down without refilling Lord Bai’s cup and retreated toward the door.

Mingyu regained control of the conversation quickly. “Old Taizhu, have you considered that the earthquake might have been a warning to those bickering factions in court rather than our gracious Emperor?”

Bai Huang would find himself cut out of the conversation for the next hour, perhaps for the whole afternoon if Mingyu decided he deserved it. They continued on to more pleasant topics: the upcoming festival on the double fifth and the number of candidates who had passed the exams that spring.

Was Lord Bai deliberately trying to provoke Mingyu? Or had he simply forgotten that the courtesan was very strict about anyone being so familiar with her attendant?

As Yue-ying reached the door she turned to see Lord Bai staring at his still-empty cup. After an expectant pause, he reached over to pour for himself since Mingyu wasn’t being amenable. As he sat back, the young nobleman directed his gaze across the room and caught her watching him. He raised the cup to her in salute, eyebrows lifted.

Her heartbeat quickened and she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Yue-ying might have been unaffected by his beauty, but she wasn’t completely indifferent. Any other woman would have been flattered by his show of interest, but she merely turned, head held high, and exited the parlor.

Lord Bai knew exactly what he was doing.

* * *

BY THE TIME Yue-ying went downstairs, the public gong had sounded eight times in the distance to signal the Goat Hour. At a brisk pace, she was able to reach the walls of the East Market within the next half hour. The merchants went about their business as usual, though apprehension hung over the stalls and shops.

Yue-ying moved through the rows ruthlessly, gathering the things that Mingyu needed as well as requests from the other girls. The courtesans didn’t have the leisure of being able to browse the markets. They were often entertaining late into the night so their days were better spent resting up.

Despite this small measure of freedom, Yue-ying didn’t believe in dawdling. A craftsman had visited the Lotus once, showing off a fountain that served wine. The contraption was tall, built in the shape of a mountain, and had a mechanism to draw wine out of a built-in well without the use of hands and pour it into a waiting cup. He had opened the encasing for her, revealing the wheel and levers inside. It was an illusion that everything operated so smoothly on the outside, while on the inside there was constant turning and toil. She was that wheel.

By the time the market gong sounded the start of the Monkey Hour, her basket was full and she’d finished her rounds through the shops. Her last visit was to the local temple. Mingyu was convinced that the earthquake was an ill omen and wanted Yue-ying to give an offering on her behalf.

The temple courtyard was crowded that afternoon, almost as if it were a festival day. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t the only one who felt that the angry heavens needed to be appeased.