Breaking Bamboo Read online

  ‘I shall have to report your lapses, and recommend the Bureau be closed until the matter is investigated thoroughly.’

  Dr Shih nodded.

  ‘Before you do so,’ he said. ‘Please consider one thing. If the Bureau closes, who will help these people? They are destitute and have no family. You are well known as a good and kind man. Consider who will really suffer, sir.’

  Dr Fung looked at him steadily then watched Mung Po lead a shivering wretch to the infirmary. He frowned. Dr Shih waited with downcast eyes.

  ‘If only the world allowed one to be as good as one wished,’

  sighed Dr Fung. He pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps the irregularities are minor. . .Yes, I shall report that to Dr. . . to the guild. But make sure your accounts are more detailed when I visit in a month’s time! Remember, wind snaps the stoutest pine.’

  Shih understood that gale to be Dr Du Mau. He nodded gratefully and conducted Dr Fung to his waiting carriage, which had attracted a gathering of street urchins and licensed beggars. He remained by the Bureau doors until it rattled away.

  *

  An hour later, Dr Shih lifted his hand to knock on Lu Ying’s door, and let it drop again so it hung restlessly by his side.

  Cao had gone out to the market and Chung was still at the Relief Bureau, pounding medicines. As for Father, no sound escaped his room, not even the interminable conversations he conducted with himself or the demons speaking through his fishes. Probably he was asleep.

  Shih and his nominal concubine had the house to themselves.

  The possibilities of such a situation brought on restless feelings.

  It was as if he could not quite trust himself, though how, or why, he did not care to acknowledge. Shih was well aware that, if he chose, he could apply pressure on Lu Ying to submit herself. Had not Wang Ting-bo himself sanctioned such a union?

  Few men would scruple to pleasure themselves in such a legitimate way; and a barren wife could hardly complain when it was his clear duty to furnish the ancestors with a fresh supply of sons.

  Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Again Shih raised his arm, this time knocking softly on the crude plank door. She did not call out a warning, so he opened the door a crack.

  It was a small room, containing little furniture. A heap of lacquered boxes and chests, relics of her days in the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion, were stacked against a wall. At once he became aware of a musky fragrance.

  ‘Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘May I enter?’

  He heard a rustle of silks within and took it as assent.

  ‘I trust I do not intrude?’

  She sat on the long divan that served as a bed, looking up at him fearfully. For a moment he did not recognise her, then realised why. When he had seen Lu Ying before, her face always wore a white mask of elegant make-up. Today she was uncovered, apart from a fan held over her face.

  The blinds were down except for a crack, allowing a beam of sunlight to pool on the floor. Dust motes circled aimlessly.

  Dr Shih blinked at her in the gloom.

  ‘Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘May we talk?’

  ‘Dr Shih,’ she said, with sudden force. Her voice was melodious in a trained way, its sing-song not quite refined.

  ‘Please return in an hour, when I have had time to prepare myself.’

  His instinct was to obey. Then he frowned.

  ‘That is not convenient. In an hour I must visit my round of patients. Please do me the honour of a short conversation.’

  Lu Ying sighed.

  ‘I am hardly in a position to argue,’ she said.

  Dr Shih perched awkwardly on the only seat available, a large chest decorated with intertwined songbirds.

  ‘You must forgive me for not enquiring about your health more often,’ he said, examining the floor. Finally his gaze settled on the lady. She was no coy girl, that was certain, for all the modesty of a raised fan. As at their first meeting he found it hard to see beyond her beauty. Without make-up, her complexion was flawless, emphasising her green eyes. Little wonder the Pacification Commissioner had noticed her when he entered the women’s quarters. Yet Shih recollected that such coloured eyes were said by some to denote evil intentions.

  ‘Lady Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘Have you everything you need?’

  She lifted her fan slightly so that only her green eyes showed.

  No, Shih could not believe they concealed a malicious spirit.

  ‘I have everything,’ she said, stiffly. ‘You and Madam Cao are most generous.’

  ‘We are concerned for you,’ he said. ‘You keep to yourself too much. I understand how unwelcome your stay here must be.’

  ‘If it is His Excellency Wang Ting-bo’s desire, it is very welcome,’ she replied. ‘I mean, for the moment.’ Then she added. ‘Besides, I am used to waiting.’

  Shih considered this. What exactly was she waiting for? Had she received word from Wang Ting-bo that her exile would soon end? Her words implied as much. No letter had come for her from Peacock Hill, unless it had arrived secretly. Perhaps she was warning him not to demand all he might from her; all that the giddiness in his heart and pulse urged him to demand.

  ‘Nevertheless, I am concerned that you are unhappy,’ he said.

  ‘The change in your situation is extreme.’

  She sat quite still. Only her eyes, staring at the opposite wall, moved to blink.

  ‘I am not unhappy,’ she said.

  ‘If you left your room more often you might be happier still.

  Not that we wish you to spend time away. You may come and go as you please.’

  ‘I know that, sir.’

  Shih hesitated. His eyes travelled down her figure to her feet, then hurriedly glanced away. As though possessed by another’s will, Shih found himself rising, so that he stood quite close to her chair. For all her evasions he sensed her awareness of his power. Where else had Lu Ying to go, after all, if he drove her from Apricot Corner Court? For a moment wide enough to consume a dozen loves, he hesitated. Lu Ying shrank into the divan, her breast rising and falling hurriedly as though in agitation. Then his tense shoulders relaxed, and a puzzled look replaced the hungry, hawk-like expression on his high cheekboned face.

  ‘I shall inconvenience you no longer,’ he said, smiling his usual sad smile.

  Yet still he did not move. So little had been learned! And yet too much. He was left only with questions he dared not ask.

  ‘It is too early to speak of the future,’ he said. ‘Be assured that we will help you establish a new place in life, in as far as we may.’

  ‘This conversation is distressing to me, sir!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am quite, quite content to obey His Excellency until he requires me again.’

  ‘Then we shall leave it at that.’

  He closed the door behind him. It was a relief to return to his familiar shop. He decided not to tell Cao about his conversation with Lu Ying. What was there to say, except the lady was miserable? Possessing that secret knowledge, little as it was, excited him strangely.

  six

  ‘One may often see cheap woodcut prints of the Moon Goddess, Cheng-e, on sale during the Water-borne Moon Festival. Always she is shown as a fine lady admiring herself in a bronze mirror held aloft by a dainty maid while a second prepares tea. Two children admiring a hare stand beside her. The ‘hare in the moon’ uses its pestle and mortar to grind cinnamon bark into magic powder capable of granting immortality, but only the Most Sage know that this fabulous creature sometimes uses dried bamboo rind instead. . .’

  From Diverse Matters of Interest to Curious Minds attributed to Ch’i Po

  Apricot Corner Court, Nancheng. Autumn, 1266.

  After Dr Shih had gone, Lu Ying remained motionless on her divan. Movement might be taken as a sign she wished to renew their conversation. What he wanted was obvious; and dangerously tempting. Yet she must never allow herself to be swayed by a kindly face again. What were such things worth, after all? Lu Ying listened to the creak of oars
as a boat passed on the canal beneath her window, the boatman calling out his wares – purest spring water from Mount Wadung’s blessed streams – and she wondered how much longer she must endure this vulgar house.

  Although Dr Shih’s manners were pleasant, she found his earnest goodwill tiresome. Yet he was attentive in his way – if a little odd – and, despite all the reasons she had for hating him, Lu Ying thought it prudent to appear gracious. At least he showed no signs of forcing himself upon her.

  Lu Ying risked a loud sigh. When she finally left Apricot Corner Court, floating in a gilded palanquin carried by six –no, eight servants – she would toss Dr Shih an absurd present of cash. The guarded pity in his eyes would change to awe. His wife, with her vulgar, lop-sided nose and enormous feet, would bow in consternation. The bells on her palanquin would tinkle, as each step carried her closer to Peacock Hill. . .

  Lu Ying realised she was trembling. Images lingered and faded. She must guard against dreams. Had she not even learned that? She pinched her bare arm with unpitying fingers.

  Once. Twice.

  Her glance flicked from corner to corner. It seemed all her life had passed in narrow rooms. Even the widest grew close when morning and night were spent waiting for a visit or summons. Then one fell prey to yearning, despair at the limits of four walls. One imagined what was happening beyond, rivals biting each other like toads in a box. Eagerness for any rumour, however unreliable, made one flatter and bribe the servants.

  Oh, she knew all about rooms! How every object becomes intimate: a favourite vase where one arranges and re-arranges flowers, never content with the result; or the silken covers of a divan, its colours and textures; sounds, too, maids on their rounds clattering buckets, splashes of dripping rain, the silence of snow.

  One became sensitive, just as she had learned the rustling language of the mulberry tree behind Father and Mother’s house as a little girl. A wise tree, witness to a dozen generations. Each autumn Mother had sold its leaves to a silk-worm merchant.

  Lu Ying listened to Dr Shih’s house. It was a quiet, achingly dull sort of place. In the room next door Lord Yun was muttering. The fat apprentice could be heard whistling as he visited the storeroom they used for chamber pots. No doubt they sold the household waste to a dung merchant. Anything for a little cash. This brought an unpleasant idea. Henceforth she would throw her own into the canal beneath her window, even though it was illegal, because the common people used it for drinking water. No one in this place must ever conceive of her as like them.

  Lifting the curtain a little, Lu Ying looked out furtively. On the opposite bank of the canal, a girl with absurdly large jade mountains was yawning and stretching outside Ping’s Floating Oriole Hall. The girl offended her, though she could not say why.

  Lu Ying let the curtain fall and returned gracefully to her seat. One’s deportment must be ineffably elegant. One should act as though being constantly observed. In the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion, there had been enough spy holes to make that probable, day or night.

  She resorted to her favourite cure for low spirits.

  The porcelain pots and jars of cosmetics were half-empty, though she contrived a hundred ways to spare them. When Lu Ying first came to Apricot Corner Court, following Dr Shih in a hired carriage, her supplies of make-up had seemed plentiful.

  After all, it would not be long before Wang Ting-bo summoned her home. Everyone knew he could not live without her. She could recall a thousand instances of power, it was why people feared her. But days became a week, then a month, and her stock seemed less secure.

  Lu Ying held back from a letter requesting fresh supplies, though Wang Ting-bo could hardly refuse. She understood the situation perfectly. In a moment of weakness he had made an absurd oath, manipulated by that fox-fairy of a First Wife.

  Given his position, a decent interval must pass before her recall. After all, he was no use to anyone if he failed to maintain his standing. She had been willing to smile obediently and play along, for a while.

  Thirty days into her banishment, the joke tasted vinegary. Lu Ying found herself walking up and down a room crowded with boxes of clothes and knick-knacks. So little space, one could hardly find the most necessary things. Every dawn brought the certainty of a summons back to Peacock Hill. She dressed and applied make-up, sure the evening would find her in his company. When that happened, Lu Ying was determined to be gay and delightful, to disguise reproach, to pour joy through his eyes and mouth. After that, how his wife and scheming nephew would pay! She had learned all their harsh tricks now.

  If only Wang Ting-bo possessed more virility, more essence of yang! Despite First Wife and half a dozen concubines he had only managed a single son. When she returned to Peacock Hill, everything would change. Reputable magicians and doctors would be consulted until boys were conceived one after another. . .

  In the meantime she must wait. Dragging hours became an enemy one could only oppose with frustration. She was used to loneliness. Was not everyone alone? But however hard Lu Ying tried to avoid the fact – and indeed she struggled – Wang Ting-bo had assigned her to a mere doctor, a quack lacking even a degree from the Imperial Medical Academy. It was incomprehensible. And the petty neglects she suffered! To be obliged to eat when Dr Shih’s household ate, even if that meant a tray brought to her room. (She refused to accept food under any other circumstances). And what food it was!

  Her pride felt like a delicate painting lying in scraps on the floor. But the more she suffered to maintain Wang Ting-bo’s face, the greater would be her reward.

  So she applied make-up to feel better, painting her own face white, paying particular attention to her neck. Soon she was pale as a ghost. The mirror revealed a strange, frightened mask.

  Grief rather than beauty.

  Lu Ying turned to her eyes, darkening lashes and lids with blends of kohl, traces of rouge. The eyes in the mirror blinked.

  She tried several smiles. Broad and thin, decorously amused, a saucy arch of the lips. Her expression reverted to hardness and she made it playful again. Rouge brought life to her cheeks, followed by a reckless dose of fragrance.

  For a long while she stared at her reflection. Then she paced up and down, waiting for Wang Ting-bo’s knock on the door.

  The make-up might summon him like a spell or charm.

  At once, she felt a thrill of power. He would re-discover her loveliness and gasp! She almost heard him swearing to divorce his wife and make her. . . she dared not think what.

  Lu Ying grew aware tears were ruining her perfect make-up.

  Always she had been stupid! Clever, dainty women wrote noble letters or poems to express their grief at being abandoned. She was stupid, walking up and down this tawdry room. Then Lu Ying realised she must remind Wang Ting-bo of her existence.

  She must send a splendid present. A fine gift to rekindle the joys he had abandoned.

  Lu Ying heard a boat passing on the canal beneath her window. A voice called out in gentle mockery and oars creaked.

  It was the spring-water seller returning; his wares soon sold in the market place. Oh, she must not surrender to the loneliness enveloping her like fog! Too easy to grant intimacy to someone comforting.

  The brightness of day softened into evening, then night, until she was forced to wash away her precious mask, for it made her skin itch.

  *

  A headache woke Lu Ying from painful dreams. She had been back on Peacock Hill, obliged to bow while First Wife admonished her in an exasperated drawl. Her heart beat quickly until she recognised the plain room in Apricot Corner Court and she rubbed a throbbing pulse on her forehead.

  Lu Ying recalled this was a doctor’s house. Well then, let him practise his trade. She had plenty of money for a fee. Wang Ting-bo had filled a whole lacquered box with cash before she left the palace.

  As ever, preparations were necessary. An hour later, Lu Ying shuffled into the corridor on silken slippers, wincing extravagantly. At once she encountered
the doctor’s father, a fine-looking old man, furtively creeping down the steep staircase from the tower room. He looked uneasy, then puffed out his chest.

  ‘My fellow prisoner is well, I trust?’ said Lord Yun.

  Lu Ying massaged her forehead without touching the skin, in case it smeared her make-up.

  ‘I do not know if Lord Yun finds me quite well,’ she said, pouting.

  She knew the story of his rescue from the Mongols and remembered glimpsing the old man’s saviour, the one they called Captain Xiao, a most attractive fellow, stronger and broader chested than the doctor who so closely resembled him.

  But Lu Ying had never favoured military types – though she suspected their simplicity might be intriguing.

  Lord Yun seemed not to have heard.

  ‘I have been spying out the extent of our prison,’ he whispered. ‘It is a remarkably common place.’

  Then he examined her in a way she found unpleasant.

  ‘I know how to make a lovely lady better,’ he said. ‘But Bayke will not allow it.’

  She bowed, remembering the warning that Lord Yun’s mind was not whole, and shuffled to Dr Shih’s shop. Here, Madam Cao was filling out a ledger of accounts. There was no sign of Dr Shih.

  ‘Madam Cao,’ she said, plaintively. ‘I would not interrupt you, except for my extreme discomfort.’

  Cao blinked at her, a brush laden with ink poised above the ledger. Reluctantly, she laid it on the wooden rest.

  ‘Is Dr Shih available for a consultation?’ Lu Ying asked.

  ‘He’s occupied at the North Medical Relief Bureau.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The name meant nothing to her guest, as Cao evidently realised, for she said: ‘It is a place for poor people when they are sick.’

  Lu Ying considered such an idea.

  ‘How do they pay for their medicine?’ she asked.

  ‘They don’t. It is done by charity.’

  ‘How strange.’

  She recollected the vanished days before she joined Wang Ting-bo’s household. There had been nothing like that in the village. When poor people fell sick they either died or recovered.