Silver Phoenix

2

Life slowed in Father’s absence. There were no more lessons, no more discussions of poetry, history, or philosophy. No patient teacher guided her hand, showing her the strength needed for the bamboo stroke or the delicate dance of orchid leaves on paper. Each day, Ai Ling practiced copying her favorite passages from classical texts to improve her calligraphy. Often she sat in the front courtyard and found a muse—a peony in bloom, a bird pecking at seeds strewn before her—and painted, Father always in her thoughts.

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 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 surreptitiously 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 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 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 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 dragonfly.

“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 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 refill 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 flickering lantern light.

“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.

Her kind, intelligent father cast out by his own family? This was why she grew up without doting grandparents, isolated from relatives. Why her mother hushed her whenever she asked why they never visited. How could they believe the worst of the gossip, whatever it may have been? Did they not know their own son?

“And then you had me?” Ai Ling asked.

Her mother threaded silver now, accent color for the dragonfly wings. Her face softened. “Yes. When we lost our firstborn, I blamed myself, believing that the curse of ill fortune continued. And then we were blessed with you.”

“Did you want more children, Mother?”

“Of course we did. You were such a joy. Your father used to tote you around in a silk sling to show you off. I still have it tucked in a drawer somewhere.”

“That’s a funny thought!” Ai Ling chuckled, forgetting the pin clasped between her lips.

“We tried but without luck. After two years, I implored your father to take a second wife. But do you know what he said?” She leaned in close as if sharing a secret. “He said, ‘Why would I want another woman in the house? I’m already outnumbered as it is.’” They laughed together, loud enough for the crickets to cease their song.

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.

Mother would be so worried . . . but it would free her from Master Huang’s manipulations. He knew they had no money. And there would be one less mouth to feed.

In the late hours, as the crickets chirped outside her window, Ai Ling sat on her bed, a packed knapsack beside her, and surveyed the cozy room by lantern light. Taro climbed in to join her. He nuzzled her hand, tilted his head to have his chin scratched.

“I’m leaving, Taro, to bring Father back. You’ll have to look after Mother while I’m away.” She stroked the short gray fur down his back and trailed her fingers along the tail. “I’ll miss you.” She kissed the spot between his pointy ears.

Yet she didn’t move from her bed, feeling her heart hammer wildly. She grasped the jade pendant in her hand. Was she doing the right thing? Should she be the dutiful daughter, offer herself to Master Huang, and take the burden off her mother?

Ai Ling couldn’t do it.

She picked up her ink stick and slowly ground it against the square stone. What could she say to Mother to make her understand? After a few moments, with a trembling hand, she dipped her brush and wrote two sentences in clear, simple script.

I have gone to search for Father. Do not worry for me.

She signed her name and placed the ink stone over the small note. She hoped her mother could decipher the simple characters. And if she couldn’t, Master Huang would.

She blew out the lantern and slid the lattice panel shut behind her. The flat-faced mutt next door erupted in wild barks, and Ai Ling froze, her nape damp with sweat. Silence returned as she hurried past her mother’s dark quarters, the tears flowing freely now.

Forgive me, Mother.

She eased the courtyard door open and stepped into the silent alley. She dared not look back; Ai Ling walked as fast as she could toward the moonlight. And away from everything she had ever known and loved.