Silver Phoenix (6 page)

Spring gave way to summer. The longer days dragged.

Father had been away for three months, and Ai Ling and her mother had received no letters from him. This wasn’t 13

Cindy Pon

unusual, as it was difficult to find a messenger willing to carry word to their far-flung town. Still, her mother worried, even as Ai Ling reassured her while hiding her own concern.

But by the seventh moon, not knowing how far she would have to stretch the family savings, her mother dismissed their two house servants. Mei Zi and Ah Jiao waved and smiled on their last day, trying to feign cheer. “We’ll come back as soon as Master Wen returns,” Mei Zi said. The two women were like family. Ai Ling saw her mother surrep-titiously wipe away tears as she prepared dinner that evening.

Without the house servants, Ai Ling and her mother began visiting the market square to buy fresh produce and other necessities. After several trips, she ventured out alone, entrusted with a list of items to purchase, while her mother stayed home to manage the household books.

Ai Ling’s first foray from home without a chaperone was short. She hurried to buy the items she had listed on the thin sheet of rice paper. But as each week passed, she became emboldened. She took the time to explore her little town—the side streets with fried fish cake and sticky yam vendors, the old woman with a hunched back and three missing teeth displaying intricately embroidered slippers.

Ai Ling discovered that she enjoyed this independence, this newfound freedom.

She was examining a fine slipper stitched with butterflies 14

S I LV E R P H O E N I X

one summer morning when someone tugged on her braid, then swept a palm across her back. She leaped to her feet to find Master Huang standing behind her, much too close.

The merchant smiled, a smile that did not reach past his thin mouth.

“Your single braid caught my eye, Ai Ling. Should you be wandering unchaperoned?”

She stepped back. Master Huang was a successful merchant by trade, but ruthless and cruel as a person. Ai Ling knew the town gossip. The man was near fifty, and all three wives had failed to give him a son. He had three daughters, two from his first wife, one from the second, and nothing but tears and threats of suicide from the third. The last wife was seventeen years, the same age as she.

“Mother trusts me to do the shopping.” Ai Ling lifted her chin.

“Surely your house servants can manage such menial tasks?” His leer broadened. A small breeze carried the scent of liquor and tobacco to her nose. She fought the urge to take two more paces back, even as the merchant leaned toward her. “Ah, yes. How rude of me. I heard your servants were let go. When will your father return from the Palace, Ai Ling?”

Furious, she bit the inside of her mouth. One could never be rude to an elder, no matter how loathsome. She simply shook her head.

“He was very brave to return to the Palace, considering he 15

Cindy Pon

barely escaped execution twenty years back,” he cooed.

Father nearly executed? Her face tingled as the blood drained from it.

“You didn’t know?” Master Huang reached out a hand to steady her. The cruel slant of his mouth betrayed his show of concern. At his touch, Ai Ling felt a tightening in her navel and a dizzying sense as if she were hurtling toward him.

I wouldn’t mind seeing this one in my bedchamber.

She heard it as if he had spoken aloud, then felt a hard snap as she fell back within herself. She shuddered. The merchant squeezed her wrist, and she pulled hard, stumbling backward.

“Don’t touch me,” she said in a shrill voice.

The older man’s eyes narrowed for one heartbeat. Then he threw his head back and laughed. She turned and ran, not caring which way she went.

The days melded into one another. Mother and daughter established a routine, and Ai Ling found that she had become used to her father’s absence. That fact disquieted her.

Most nights, after dinner, they pulled chairs from the main hall into the courtyard, and worked on embroidering or sewing by lantern light. Ai Ling enjoyed this time the most, with the long day behind them, perhaps bringing Father closer to his return.

A sliver of moon shone the night she asked her mother about her own betrothal. Her mother smiled into her 16

S I LV E R P H O E N I X

embroidery. Her fingers danced over a delicate pattern of lotus flowers with a dragonfly hovering above. Ai Ling worked on a new sleep outfit for herself. She chose a soft cotton in celadon from the fabric shop, perfect for summertime.

They sat amid potted dahlias in deep purples and brilliant oranges, brought to bloom by Ai Ling. She had clapped in delight when the first bud unfurled, revealing its gorgeous color.

“It wasn’t arranged,” her mother said.

That much Ai Ling knew, but never the details of their romance.

“Your father had just left the Emperor’s court.”

“The scandal,” Ai Ling said.

Her mother inclined her head and continued with her tale.

“He was thirty years and still unmarried, refusing to take a wife while at court. After leaving, he came to my city in search of employment. He offered to tutor the children of families willing to hire him.” Her mother paused to thread emerald green for the dragonfl y.

“What happened to Father in court? Will you never tell?”

Ai Ling furrowed her brow as she stitched her nightshirt.

She had the right to know.

“That is something you need to ask your father,” her mother said.

Ai Ling didn’t reply. Her mother was right.

“My mother died giving birth to me and my father not 17

Cindy Pon

long after, from illness.” Her mother bent closer to her embroidery.

“My grandparents took me in. But I grew up with the weight of my parents’ deaths on me.” She paused and lifted her elegant head to admire the moon. Ai Ling felt her sorrow, smothering the exquisite scent of jasmine, dimming the starlight above.

“My mother was considered bad luck, a poor wife, having died in childbirth, but even worse, taking her young husband to the grave with her. I grew up believing I was the cause of such ill fortune. Nobody made me think otherwise.” The crickets chirped their familiar song as her mother sipped cool tea. Ai Ling quickly rose to refi ll her cup.

“At twenty-one years, I was still unmarried, never having been promised to anyone. I wasn’t a priority among the grandsons who needed to bring home good brides and the granddaughters who needed even better husbands and families to be sent to.”

Ai Ling imagined her mother as a spinster. The bad-luck girl no one could be rid of. Her heart went out to her mother.

It wasn’t fair. It never was fair.

“I took on the role of second mother to many of my little nieces and nephews. So I was there the day your father came to interview for the tutoring position, bringing the children in to meet him. He was very good with them. I knew then he would be a good father.” Her mother smiled, her features illuminated by the fl ickering lantern light.

18

S I LV E R P H O E N I X

“He proposed the betrothal to my grandfather three months later.”

“But what happened in between?”

Her mother laughed, throwing back her head so the silver ornaments in her hair tinkled. “That is between your father and me.”

“You fell in love.” Ai Ling said it almost accusingly.

“Yes, we did. It happened under unusual circumstances. I suppose we were both castoffs, me the unlucky orphan girl and he the scandalous scholar ousted from court. Grandfather hesitated; he did care for me. But I spoke to him and gave my consent. We were wed and left my family six months after. I was already with child.”

“And you moved to Ahn Nan?”

“To this very house.”

“What about Father’s family?” Ai Ling spoke from the side of her mouth, a sewing pin between her lips.

“We stopped there first before coming here. But no one would answer the door when we knocked, even as we heard whispers from within.”

Stunned, Ai Ling looked up from her work. “Yes. The Wen family disowned your father, believing the gossip from court. It broke his heart. He hasn’t spoken of it to this day,”

her mother said.