The Hidden Blade (21 page)

“Little Dragon,” he called, clearing some crumpled papers from the table.

A boy of about sixteen appeared instantly, startling Ying-ying. He must have been nearby if he answered the summons so quickly, but she had not been aware of him at all. The rather illicit excitement of making Master Kuo-tung’s acquaintance must have rendered her oblivious to everything else.

“I have some jasmine tea. I hope Bai Gu-niang does not think it too humble,” said Master Kuo-tung.

“Only if it isn’t too much trouble,” she answered, casting another look at the boy. He was almost as tall as Master Kuo-tung, fair of complexion and good-looking. But he did not have the correct demeanor for a servant: He stood with his back and neck straight, no nodding head, no obsequious smile.

Master Kuo-tung related instructions to Little Dragon in a foreign tongue. To Ying-ying’s astonishment, Little Dragon answered in the same language.

“He has been learning French from me,” said Master Kuo-tung after Little Dragon’s departure, in reply to the question she had yet to ask.

“Does Master Kuo-tung hail from France then?” Ying-ying felt a flicker of disappointment. For some reason she had thought him an Englishman, like her fa— like the man in Mother’s photograph.

“No, I came from England,” he said, nudging a tray of snacks toward her.

So he
was
an Englishman. She felt a quiver of nerves.

“But in my country, many educated men speak French,” he continued. “I teach both the young masters English and French, but most of their time is spent studying the Chinese classics.”

There were schools that taught foreign languages, but only those who aspired to be no more than lackeys attended, since the merit tests that determined a young man’s future in officialdom still relied exclusively on Confucian learning. Ying-ying had no idea Da-ren was this progressive in his thinking, having his own children learn foreign languages.

“Did Da-ren also instruct Master Kuo-tung to teach Little Dragon?”

“Little Dragon assists me when I hold classes for the young masters. Most of what he has learned he picked up on his own—he seems to have a particular affinity for French.”

“So he is not a student of Master Kuo-tung’s?”

The question puzzled the Englishman. Then he laughed. “I keep forgetting the concept of ‘student’ is very different in China. If you are asking whether he has kowtowed to me and whether I have formally accepted the grave responsibility for his tutelage, then no, he is not my student.”

She had not noticed the sadness in his eyes until his laughter dissipated. Now she wondered how she hadn’t seen it from the very beginning. It wasn’t obvious, not the hollow-eyed grief in her mirror following Mother’s death. More a sorrow that had become less acute with time—but there nevertheless.

For some odd reason, he reminded her of Mother. She, too, had a habit of sitting with a book open before her, looking off to some distant time and place.

“Is it lonely for Master Kuo-tung to be far from home, far from family and friends?”

The moment the question left her lips, she regretted it. His eyes widened, as if he were taken aback—she hoped he didn’t think her a very nosy girl, though that was probably exactly what she was.

And then he smiled. “Yes, sometimes it is.”

There was relief in his voice, as if he not only didn’t mind, but was glad that someone had asked that question.

She exhaled. She couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone who was so easy to talk to—except Bao-shun, maybe. But Bao-shun, though good-natured and willing to indulge in a bit of silliness from time to time, always treated her as a child. This foreigner, however, spoke to her as if she were his equal.

“Has it been long since Master Kuo-tung left England?”

“Two years.”

“Master Kuo-tung has been traveling for that long?” She could very well believe it.

He smiled again and shook his head. “No, I arrived in Peking at the beginning of the year—and that’s after stopping at quite a few places along the way. I could probably go around the entire world in six months, if I wanted to.”

Now this was shocking. “Six months? The whole world?”

There were places under the control of the imperial court that would take six months to reach.

“If I took steamers and trains as much as possible.”

“So Master Kuo-tung could be back in England in…” She wasn’t sure exactly how far England was from China.

“Three months, more or less.” He sighed. “But I can’t go back yet—and maybe not for some years to come.”

“Why not?”

Once again she regretted her question. He had been very, very kind to indulge her curiosity, but now she had truly overstepped the bounds of propriety.

“I have offended a very powerful man,” he answered quietly.

“Oh,” she said, at once thankful that he had replied and saddened on his behalf. “That happens a great deal here in China. Has Master Kuo-tung ever heard of Jiayu Pass?”

“No, I have not.”

“It’s the westernmost gate of the Great Wall. And those who offend the court are exiled beyond, where there is nothing but wasteland and desolation. They weep and lament by the gate, but they are not allowed back inside.”

Master Kuo-tung rolled his pen under his fingers. “In that case, I must count myself fortunate. In my exile I am allowed to sit in this beautiful garden, study Chinese poetry, and make friends.”

It was odd for him to call her a friend—he was a generation above her; were he Chinese, she would be addressing him as Uncle. But the solace he took in her company felt so genuine that she scarcely knew what to do with herself. She selected a piece of candied kumquat from the tray of snacks on the table so she could go for a bit without talking.

Little Dragon arrived with the tea service. Adroitly he poured boiling-hot water into the red-sand clay teapot, whirling it around to warm the interior.

“I know I offered Bai Gu-niang jasmine tea,” said Master Kuo-tung. “But I also have tea from Darjeeling, which is much beloved by the English. Would Bai Gu-niang be interested in sampling a cup?”

She had no idea the English drank tea; nor had she ever heard the name Darjeeling. “I will be delighted to try.”

“I don’t think I have come across another young person so courteous since…” He shook his head slightly and turned to address Little Dragon in French.

Little Dragon gave her a stony look, as if it were her fault that he was being asked to fetch a different kind of tea. He left and returned a minute later, set the tea to brew, and withdrew.

The fragrance that wafted from the teapot was a darker, deeper scent than what she was accustomed to. “Oh, it is red tea.”

“Yes. In English we call it ‘black tea.’ This particular variety is grown in the foothills of the Himalayas.”

The Himalayas formed the southern boundary of Tibet, and she could not remotely imagine the climate in Tibet as suitable for the cultivation of tea. Then she realized he must mean foothills on the
other
side of the great mountain range.

“This tea is from India?” she marveled. She knew nothing of India, other than that it was hot and the birthplace of the Buddha.

“Yes, indeed. I drank a great deal of this tea in England. Now, not so much—it makes me long for home.”

At the end of his words, he bit his lower lip, as if embarrassed.

His homesickness echoed in her. “I miss my home too,” she confessed. “My home is only few
li
away, but I don’t think I will ever see it again.”

This was something she could not have told anyone else in Da-ren’s residence. Gossip would spread and people would think her ungrateful. But she felt completely safe speaking to this outcast foreigner, with his young face and melancholy eyes.

He poured tea for both of them. “Will you tell me something of your home?”

She did. As she sipped his fragrant brew, she described the pomegranate trees with flowers like flames, the goldfish that glittered under the sun, and even Mother’s parakeet that spoke better Mandarin than he did, which made him laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

He, in turn, told her about a house in the south of England, situated amid rolling green hills, that he had loved to visit. There he would ride, paddle rowboats, and sometimes hike for great distances with his friends.

“I have visited in winter, of course, when it was cold and rainy—we used to stay inside, drink Darjeeling tea, and talk all day long. But for some reason, whenever I think of my friend’s house, it is always warm, always summer.”

She didn’t know why, but his words brought tears to her eyes. “I remember my home in all seasons, but I think I understand what you mean.”

She no longer recalled Mother’s sighs and frowns. Instead she remembered the time Mother taught her how to play dominoes. The time Mother had given her a full-fledged compliment for coming up with the second half of a couplet. And the time Mother, in a particularly good mood, had sat Ying-ying down to brush out her hair and recoif it into a more sophisticated arrangement.

Ying-ying had worn her hair in the same style ever since.

Before Master Kuo-tung could answer, Little Dragon arrived at his side and spoke to him. Master Kuo-tung turned to Ying-ying, an expression of surprise on his face. “I am told that my lunch has been delivered—I did not realize it was so late. Would Bai Gu-niang care to join me?”

Ying-ying leaped up. It was already lunchtime? She had better rush back, or Amah might never let her out again. Hastily she thanked Master Kuo-tung for his hospitality. He in turn invited her to return for tea anytime.

“My lessons with the young masters are in the afternoon. My mornings are quite free. And it would be my good fortune and privilege to have Bai Gu-niang’s company again.”

She dared not promise anything, but all the way back to her own courtyard she could not help skipping. And she need not have worried about lunch: It had not been delivered yet, given that their courtyard probably ranked last in importance in the entire compound.

Amah was in the midst of a set of breathing exercises, seated cross-legged on her bed. She opened her eyes when Ying-ying poked her head in the door.

“I didn’t run into Shao-ye,” Ying-ying told her.

Amah nodded, closed her eyes again, and went on with her practice.

Four days later, when Amah allowed Ying-ying out again, she headed directly for the garden at the northwestern corner of the residence.

Master Kuo-tung, as he’d promised, was in the exact same spot. He rose as he saw her, a wide smile on his face.

Chapter 14

Catherine Blade

Ying-ying took the piece of paper out of the redwood box, the one that contained all the mementoes from Mother’s days with her English protector. She was fairly certain the writing on the paper was English, which Master Kuo-tung would be able to read.

And then he would be able to tell her what it said.

She put the piece of paper back again. Maybe it was better for her not to know.

A few moments later she had the piece of paper in her hand again. And then again it was back in the box.

“If you aren’t going for your walk, you can come and stir this potion for Master Keeper Ju,” Amah said from the next room.

Three months after their move to Da-ren’s residence, Amah had already gained a measure of renown among the senior servants for her medicinal skills. Every few days she would be concocting a brew for someone. Four days ago she cooked up something for Mrs. Mu-he’s arthritis, before that for a household scholar’s weak liver, and now a special preparation for the majordomo’s headaches.

“I might spit in it, if I did,” Ying-ying answered.

She had not forgiven the majordomo for how he had received them.

“As highly placed as he is, he is still a servant, and takes his cues from his master,” came Amah’s rebuttal.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Da-ren didn’t value her, and therefore no one else did.

Except for Master Kuo-tung. With him she never felt that she was lesser, or out of place.

She opened the redwood box, took out the piece of paper, put it up her sleeve. Then she shrugged into Mother’s cape.

As she adjusted the fasteners under her chin, Amah came into the room. Lately things had become less tense between them. The credit, to Ying-ying’s thinking, lay largely with Master Kuo-tung. Amah let her out only once every four or five days, but that meant the rest of the time she had her next visit with Master Kuo-tung to anticipate, which made an astonishing difference. Even lessons on medicinal herbs had become easier to tolerate.

“You should make some potions for yourself,” she told Amah. “Your color doesn’t look too good.”

She had become thinner and her skin now had a gray undertone.

Amah waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll drink medicine when I need to, and not before.”

She came forward and set the last two fasteners in place on the cape. Then she stepped back and inspected Ying-ying. “You are growing up. It isn’t advisable for you to spend so much time with the foreigner.”

Ying-ying had never mentioned Master Kuo-tung to Amah. Did Amah hear about it from the other servants or had she followed Ying-ying without her knowledge? The latter, she decided. Amah would have said something if Ying-ying had become a topic of gossip.