Authors: Cindy. Pon
Silver Phoenix (4 page)
Hot tears fell on his chubby arm, unhindered. Jin Lian knew this was the last time she would hold him, stroke his smooth cheeks, and breathe in his sweet scent. Assuming either of them survived the night.
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The book lay heavy in Ai Ling’s lap, so massive it covered her thighs. She pressed her knees together, for fear the tome would crash to the ground otherwise. Bound in a brocaded cover of rich crimson, characters embroidered in gold read
The Book of Making
. She didn’t want to open it.
“Take a look.” Mother inclined her head. Black hair spilled over her shoulders in thick cascades, and the subtle scent of gardenia oil drifted with her every movement.
Ai Ling rarely saw her mother’s hair loose. She looked beautiful.
Ai Ling let the book fall open to a random page. Her face flushed at what she saw—a man and woman stark naked, 1
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their limbs entwined. THE DANCE OF THE CRANES was printed neatly above in black ink.
“Mother . . .” She could not bring herself to meet her mother’s gaze.
“Keep looking, Ai Ling. This book is informative, with all the things you need to know about the bedchamber and what it takes to pleasure your husband.”
Her mother put a gentle hand over hers. Ai Ling had always admired her mother’s slender fingers, so deft in embroidering and playing the lute.
“It’s soon time for you to wed. It’s been one year since your monthly letting began.” Her mother flipped the pages, and more nude figures filled Ai Ling’s vision. “It tells you how to gauge your most fertile days, which positions are best—”
“But you didn’t have me until you were twenty-four years!”
Ai Ling wanted to slam the book shut, even as she was riveted to the drawings on the page. The only color came from the lotus pink of the woman’s lips and the tips of her breasts.
“I married late, my heart.” Ai Ling’s mother stroked her hair, tucked a strand behind her ear. “It wasn’t that your father and I didn’t try. We lost one before we were blessed with you. He was born still—without spirit.”
She could have had an older brother. Her mother’s light brown eyes were bright with remembered sorrow.
“I didn’t know,” Ai Ling whispered.
“Now you understand what a true joy you are to us.” She 2
S I LV E R P H O E N I X
touched Ai Ling’s cheek. “Keep the book. Look through it.
I’ll visit in the evenings before bed so we can talk.” Her mother rose, stepped delicately from the platform bed, and bade her a peaceful night.
Ai Ling remained sitting with the book in her lap. Its weight on her legs did not compare to the thoughts which weighed on her heart. After a few moments, she rose, placed
The Book of Making
on her writing desk, blew out the lantern, and slipped into bed.
Rest did not come quickly that night. When she finally drifted into slumber, her dreams were of couples etched in black, moving in jerky motions, passive smiles painted upon their faces, an emptiness within their eyes.
Ai Ling jostled against the plush silk cushions of the sedan seat. Father had hired it for the occasion. She had suspected her parents’ intention when Mother shared
The Book of Making
last month, but she wasn’t prepared for a betrothal so soon. She would be given away, traded off like cattle, fortunate to see her parents perhaps once a year—if her future mother-in-law allowed it.
Her empty stomach turned. She wished she wasn’t alone, being presented as if royalty, under just as much scrutiny.
What would her betrothed look like? With her luck, he’d have squinted eyes and not reach past her chin.
Despite it being in the tenth moon, the days were still hot. She fanned herself, feeling stifled, wishing protocol 3
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allowed her to draw aside the heavy drapes. Muffl ed shouts from vendors offering their wares reached her ears. Ai Ling peeled back the corner of the drape and peered out, spying a cobbler bellowing from his stand. A mother pulled her toddler son by the hand past the sedan, promising a candied fruit if he behaved. Ai Ling was whisked down the main street and allowed the curtain to drop once more, isolating her in a hot muted red.
The sedan stopped too soon. She wasn’t ready. She brushed a nervous hand over her hair, where Mother had placed the delicate jade hairpin from her betrothed among the coils piled on her head. She had always worn braids until today. As a married woman, she would never be able to wear loose braids again. Her stomach clenched, and she fi sted her hands tight to gather courage.
“Mistress Wen arrives!” shouted a deep sonorous voice.
Ai Ling wilted against the cushions. They had hired a master of ceremony? The Goddess of Mercy help her.
The curtains were swept aside, exposing her to the harsh light of midday. She blinked a few times and saw her mother and father, along with, she assumed, Master Wong, Lady Wong, and her betrothed, Liao Kang.
The master of ceremony, a rotund man with a fringe of hair circling his scalp and plump red cheeks, bowed low with surprising grace and proffered one hand. She took it and stepped into the empty street. She dared not look around but wondered if they had somehow cleared the area.
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She walked past her parents and immediately went to Lady Wong, her future mother-in-law, as protocol dictated.
The petite woman raised one arm, clad in a lavender silk sleeve banded in gold. Ai Ling took the woman’s cool hand and pressed it to her lowered brow.
Not a bad-looking girl. Good hips.
Her stomach seized as if someone had hurled a rock at her middle. She nearly reeled but managed to remain standing.
Ai Ling lifted her head in shock, felt the blood drain from her face; but no one else indicated they had heard Lady Wong’s comment.
Lady Wong regarded her with calculation. A palpable sense of disdain poured toward Ai Ling. The woman flicked her gaze up, then down.
Too tall.
She heard it as if it were spoken aloud, but Lady Wong’s rouged lips remained pursed, never moved. Her future mother-in-law inclined her head, and Ai Ling quickly dropped her hand. The tightness within her immediately eased. Had she heard the woman’s thoughts?
She fought to quell her trembling as Liao Kang stepped forward and extended his hand. He was a bamboo of a boy, the barely green type, with large almond eyes in a pale face.
Would this boy see her hair unbound on their wedding night? Her mind flitted to
The Book of Making
. Heat suffused Ai Ling’s cheeks. She took his hand, feeling the damp of her own palm, and allowed him to lead her into the restaurant.
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* * *
He stepped to the space across from her. They remained standing, waiting for their parents. The men seated themselves first, next to each other, followed by their wives, also side by side.
The master of ceremony stood behind their table, announcing in his deep voice the names of both families and the betrothed, wishing them fortune, marital joy, and seven sons in seven years. After what seemed like an hour, the plump man bowed and retreated. Only then did Ai Ling and Liao Kang seat themselves. The server immediately placed the first dish on the table, cold cuts of beef tongue, pig ears, salted silver river fish, and marinated quail eggs. Ai Ling’s mouth felt dry, as if stuffed with raw silk.
She sipped on the cool tea and pretended to eat.
It was after much laughter and reminiscing, when a contented silence fell between the two men, that Lady Wong spoke. “We want to make sure that Ai Ling is a good match for our Liao Kang. He is a sensitive, intelligent boy—our baby.”
Ai Ling caught the smile about to break on her lips. She sneaked a glance at Liao Kang, but he was intent upon pushing the meatball pearls on his plate with his silver eating sticks.
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