The Lotus Palace. Jeannie Lin

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СКАЧАТЬ Lui gave me a list of everyone who was at the Hundred Songs that night. Also any patron who has come calling on Huilan. She spoke to the magistrate as well, but I believe she wasn’t nearly as forthcoming with him.”

      With a smug look, Bai Huang pulled out a paper from beneath the fold of his hanfu robe and held it out to her. Yue-ying hesitated before taking it from him. She could only read a little, having memorized the few characters needed for her daily activities. She could write her own name and some basic numbers and read the signboards in the market, but little else.

      The characters swam before her eyes, but she was too ashamed to admit that she couldn’t make any sense of them. “What do you intend to do with these names?”

      “We go through them and look for anyone suspicious. You know everyone in the North Hamlet.”

      “Only the people who come to the Lotus Palace,” she protested. “And not much more than their names and faces.”

      He made an impatient sound. “You’re just being humble because etiquette demands it. Between you and me, I would wager we can account for every name here.”

      Bai Huang took the paper from her and asked for a writing brush. As she went back into Mingyu’s chamber to retrieve the case from her desk, he recounted what he knew about that night, speaking loud enough to be heard from the parlor.

      “The Hundred Songs hosted a banquet for prestigious patrons. The guest of honor was an imperial scholar who just received an appointment to the Ministry of Revenue. Huilan was there to receive the visitors and entertain them with song. Just before the eleventh hour, she retired momentarily to her room. That was the last time anyone saw her.”

      The fine hairs along her arms rose upon hearing the story. The events were still so recent in memory. Yue-ying returned to the parlor and set the wooden writing box before him along with a sheet of paper.

      “If it was like the banquet here at the Lotus Palace, people would have been coming and going all night. It would be impossible to track where everyone was at all times,” she told him.

      “We have to consider everyone a suspect, then.”

      Bai Huang folded back the drape of his sleeve in two crisp movements, exposing forearms that appeared surprisingly strong. She watched with fascination as he opened the case and prepared the ink as if it were a ritual he had done a thousand times. He selected the smallest brush and dipped it into the ink. Then he started reading names off the list, copying each one onto the fresh sheet with a practiced, steady hand.

      There was something compelling about seeing Bai Huang so focused. His brow was creased with concentration and the lines of his profile hardened with determination. He looked nothing like the pleasure-seeking flower prince they all so loved to chuckle about.

      “Fa Zhenggang. I don’t know him,” he said.

      “He’s a painter who lives to the south of the market.”

      “Ah.” Bai Huang looked satisfied as he marked down the detail.

      They continued methodically down the list, which had nearly twenty names on it.

      “Ma Jun. That name sounds familiar. He’s the head of the East Market Commission office,” Bai Huang noted.

      “It’s also well-known that Huilan was a favorite of his,” she pointed out.

      “Is that so?”

      She nodded. “Well-known to the quarter, at least.”

      He looked down at the columns of names and sucked in a deep breath. Each name held its own web of connections and secrets. Suddenly the task appeared daunting.

      “Let’s continue.” He took a moment to shrug out the stiffness in his shoulders before dipping his brush again.

      She wasn’t yet certain Bai Huang’s plan was the best approach, but she was touched someone like him would be concerned with the misfortunes of one lone courtesan within the North Hamlet. She had assumed the women of the Pingkang li were nothing but diversions to men like him, their names and graces interchangeable. This one was a graceful flower or a precious gem, noted for playing the pipa or being an elegant dancer.

      “Lord Bai?”

      He looked up with the brush still poised over the paper.

      “Were you and Huilan...” she took a breath as she searched for a word that wasn’t too improper “...close?”

      “Close?”

      He was making this deliberately difficult for her.

      “Intimate,” she amended.

      He regarded her for a moment before answering. His look was one of complete seriousness. “No.”

      Yue-ying didn’t realize she had been holding her breath. There was so much she didn’t know about him. “Magistrate Li and Constable Wu suspect that you were.”

      “I know this.”

      “I told Constable Wu that I saw Huilan meeting a young man on the day of the earthquake. They were on the bridge by the temple. From where I was, he could have been anyone.”

      “It wasn’t me,” he insisted, seeing the look in her eye. “I’ve only ever spoken to Huilan in public or at the Hundred Songs.”

      She tried hard to recall more clearly. The man’s robe had been blue-gray in color without any additional accents. It was the robe of a scholar. Certainly she’d never seen Bai Huang dressed so simply.

      “I apologize for my boldness, Lord Bai,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to sound so—”

      “Intimate?” he finished for her, eyes dancing.

      She didn’t realize her face could heat so quickly. Best to stop talking. She tucked her hair behind her ear, thought about it, then untucked it in the next moment.

      It wasn’t as if she’d asked if they were involved out of jealousy. She had nothing to be jealous about. Even though he had attempted to kiss her—and it was really nothing more than an awkward attempt—this was Lord Bai, who spouted bland poetry about eyes and lips and graceful willowy figures. She wondered what comparison he would conjure were he to compose poetry about her.

      What had come over her? The boundaries of this conversation had completely slipped away from her. She wasn’t seeking a lover and, if she were, Lord Bai would be the least likely of suitors.

      Thankfully, Bai Huang turned back to the list, with her adding small touches based on what was known in the North Hamlet. By the end of the next hour, they had three sheets of paper spread out on the table.

      “It could be any of these men.” He sighed.

      “Or it could be none of them.”

      He glanced up at her, irritated because she’d spoken the truth. Then he looked back at the sheets, lifting them into the air to dry while he studied the characters. Carefully, he folded up the pages and tucked them into his robe.

      “You СКАЧАТЬ