China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

come? Could it be about Nio? Had he heard something? Was it possible?

“Of course, by all means, we should be honored,” she heard Elder Son saying. “We were about to eat, if you will join us.”

—

The men sat around the table: Shi-Rong, young Peng, Elder Son, and her two boys. She and Mother served them. Her son’s new wife, a cheerful peasant girl they all liked, was looking after Shi-Rong’s two servants, who were to be housed in the barn. Bright Moon had been told to stay in her room.

Shi-Rong was treating Elder Son with a friendly courtesy that he certainly didn’t deserve. California Son was telling Peng about America, while Ka-Fai was smiling amiably at everyone.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Mother whispered when they were in the kitchen together. When Mei-Ling silently nodded, Mother explained: “I never really got a good look at him that time before. Not enough to recognize him. But when I saw your face just now…”

“Why is he here, Mother? Could it have something to do with Nio?”

“It might be Nio, if he’s alive.”

—

Bright Moon appeared, just as they were finishing the meal. Curiosity got the better of the young girl, and she came out of her room to see what was going on.

Shi-Rong stared at her in surprise. “Who is this beautiful young lady?”

“My daughter,” Mei-Ling said.

“I see.” He gazed at them both. “She looks just like you.”

“Her father’s pride and joy,” said Mother. “My younger son, sir. He adored the child.”

“Adored?”

“He died a year and a half ago.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” Shi-Rong bowed his head, but he continued to look at Bright Moon. “You are binding her feet, I see,” he remarked.

“Beauty like this shouldn’t go to waste,” said Mother.

“Certainly not.” Shi-Rong nodded his approval.

The girl opened her mouth as if to speak. She still complained about her feet, almost every day. Was she about to embarrass them by venting her feelings to a mandarin? Mother gave her such a look that even Bright Moon wisely decided to remain silent.

“An excellent meal,” Shi-Rong said politely. “And now I shall stroll by the pond for a little while.” He turned to Mei-Ling. “Perhaps the mother of this lovely child would accompany me.”

—

Shredded clouds, high in the sky, caught the light of the third quarter moon as they walked down to the bridge in silence.

What did he want? Mei-Ling wondered.

They stepped onto the bridge and walked towards the middle, where he paused. He pointed down at the reflection of the moon in the water. She nodded, to signify that she had seen it.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “have you heard anything from Nio?”

So that was it. He was after Nio again.

“Nothing.” She looked at him sadly. “You want to arrest him?”

“No. I just wondered what happened to him. We were not always enemies, you know.”

“I have heard nothing in five years.”

“Then he’s dead. Maybe at Nanjing.”

She knew how the Taiping had at last been broken. The Ever-Victorious Army, as they were called—armed with barbarian rifles and cannon—had smashed them. Finally Nanjing had been taken. The Heavenly King was dead. The slaughter had been terrible.

“I know he loved you,” Shi-Rong continued. “If he were alive, I think he would have come by now.” He smiled sadly. “The Taiping will never be a threat again. So I wouldn’t arrest him if I did see him, unless he forced me to. Actually, it was you I came to see,” he continued quietly.

“Me?” She looked astonished. “Why?”

—

It was fate, he thought. It had to be fate. When he set out on his journey, he had known only one thing: He needed a change. A couple of years away from a not-very-happy marriage until he got a promotion that might put his wife in a more affectionate temper. A time to reflect, live for himself a little.

And perhaps find some companionship.

From time to time he’d wondered whether to take a concubine. Law and custom allowed it. People almost expected it of a man in his position. Many a respectable family down on their luck would have been happy to supply him with one of their daughters—well brought up, with bound feet and a smattering of culture—on reasonable terms.

Sometimes concubines and wives got along quite well. But he couldn’t see it working with his own wife. It would cause her pain. There would be anger. Endless anger. He might not feel that he was loved, but he had no wish to cause his wife more pain.

The solution was to take a temporary concubine, just for the period he was away. This, too, was perfectly acceptable. Any middle-aged mandarin might be expected to regain his youth with a pretty girl. And there were plenty of pretty and elegant women in the big cities who were well trained to fill such a role.

So why had he turned south and made a detour, which added two hundred and fifty miles to his journey, to reach an obscure hamlet that might or might not contain a peasant woman with unbound feet with whom, years ago, he had spent a moonlit night sitting by a pond while she told him the story of her life?

Her beauty. Her honesty. That had impressed him. Her intelligence. And something else, something magical that he couldn’t define. Maybe it was just the moonlight, but he didn’t think so. It had haunted him.

And now that he had this little period of freedom, he had just wanted to find her again, to see if she was how he remembered. He was quite ready to find her changed or find her magic gone in the broad daylight, so to speak. Most likely of all, to find that she was unavailable.

But he had almost gasped when he saw her just now. She was everything he remembered. Perhaps more.

And she was widowed. And therefore, presumably, available. It had to be fate.

—

He paused a moment. “I am sorry that you lost your husband. But you have two fine sons at