her once again, halting her movement.
“What do you think, Little Moon?” he asked.
Mingyu’s mouth pressed tight at the casual endearment. Yue-ying glanced at Bai Huang. Dark eyebrows framed his face, giving him a serious expression that was contrary to his usual carefree manner. The nobleman had never spoken directly to her in such company before.
“Has the earthquake provided you with any signs?” he persisted.
The room fell silent. Old Taizhu affected a shallow cough and sipped his tea in silence. Bai Huang was the only one unperturbed. He continued to look at her, smiling crookedly as he waited for an answer. His gaze on her was insistent, but not unkind. Yue-ying looked nervously to Mingyu before answering.
“I was frightened at first,” Yue-ying admitted. “But sometimes rain falls and sometimes the earth moves. That was all it seemed to me.”
“Yue-ying.” The courtesan’s command was soft, yet somehow sharp. “There is no need for you to remain here. You are free to continue with your other duties.”
Yue-ying immediately set the pot down without refilling Lord Bai’s cup and retreated toward the door.
Mingyu regained control of the conversation quickly. “Old Taizhu, have you considered that the earthquake might have been a warning to those bickering factions in court rather than our gracious Emperor?”
Bai Huang would find himself cut out of the conversation for the next hour, perhaps for the whole afternoon if Mingyu decided he deserved it. They continued on to more pleasant topics: the upcoming festival on the double fifth and the number of candidates who had passed the exams that spring.
Was Lord Bai deliberately trying to provoke Mingyu? Or had he simply forgotten that the courtesan was very strict about anyone being so familiar with her attendant?
As Yue-ying reached the door she turned to see Lord Bai staring at his still-empty cup. After an expectant pause, he reached over to pour for himself since Mingyu wasn’t being amenable. As he sat back, the young nobleman directed his gaze across the room and caught her watching him. He raised the cup to her in salute, eyebrows lifted.
Her heartbeat quickened and she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Yue-ying might have been unaffected by his beauty, but she wasn’t completely indifferent. Any other woman would have been flattered by his show of interest, but she merely turned, head held high, and exited the parlor.
Lord Bai knew exactly what he was doing.
* * *
BY THE TIME Yue-ying went downstairs, the public gong had sounded eight times in the distance to signal the Goat Hour. At a brisk pace, she was able to reach the walls of the East Market within the next half hour. The merchants went about their business as usual, though apprehension hung over the stalls and shops.
Yue-ying moved through the rows ruthlessly, gathering the things that Mingyu needed as well as requests from the other girls. The courtesans didn’t have the leisure of being able to browse the markets. They were often entertaining late into the night so their days were better spent resting up.
Despite this small measure of freedom, Yue-ying didn’t believe in dawdling. A craftsman had visited the Lotus once, showing off a fountain that served wine. The contraption was tall, built in the shape of a mountain, and had a mechanism to draw wine out of a built-in well without the use of hands and pour it into a waiting cup. He had opened the encasing for her, revealing the wheel and levers inside. It was an illusion that everything operated so smoothly on the outside, while on the inside there was constant turning and toil. She was that wheel.
By the time the market gong sounded the start of the Monkey Hour, her basket was full and she’d finished her rounds through the shops. Her last visit was to the local temple. Mingyu was convinced that the earthquake was an ill omen and wanted Yue-ying to give an offering on her behalf.
The temple courtyard was crowded that afternoon, almost as if it were a festival day. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t the only one who felt that the angry heavens needed to be appeased.
Yue-ying went to the fish pond at the center of the courtyard to pay her respects to the tortoise who lived among the rocks. This would be her one indulgence in her busy day. The ancient creature lifted his head high as if to examine what all the commotion was about. His skin was rough and dusty and there were wrinkled folds on his neck.
“Old Man Tortoise,” she called softly and considered it a good omen when his eyes flickered languidly toward her.
The whorled patterns on his shell resembled the octagonal pattern of the Taoist bagua symbol. Yue-ying had heard it told that the tortoise was over a hundred years old. He had come from a faraway land, across the ocean. Those black eyes had seen more than she ever would.
She had enough on her mind today without Lord Bai trying to complicate things for his own amusement. Mingyu had been agitated for days and nothing Yue-ying said or did could soothe her.
“Why is Mingyu never happy?” she asked the ancient creature.
The tortoise had no answer and Yue-ying’s moment of rest was over. She left him to his afternoon sun and continued on to the main altar room. As she paused outside to remove her slippers someone ran into her, toppling her basket.
Gasping, Yue-ying scrambled to salvage her goods. The lychees she’d bought were delicate and very expensive. The round fruit was scattered all over the bamboo mat and she hurried to pick them up before they were trampled.
“Watch yourself.”
She recognized who it was even before looking up. Huilan was another of the famed beauties of the quarter. Her voice was often compared to the trill of a song thrush, but she didn’t sound so pleasant now.
The courtesan stood like an empress over her. “Oh, it’s you.”
Yue-ying kept her temper under control. “Perhaps we can all show a little more care.”
Huilan’s hair was an unusual shade of brown with hints of red, giving her an exotic quality that she had become known for. She knelt in a graceful sweep, but, rather than helping, she merely picked up a rough-skinned lychee between two fingers and straightened. “Are these in season now?”
With a sigh, Yue-ying packed everything back into her basket while continuing to kneel at Huilan’s feet. Finally she stood.
“They were at the front of the farmer’s quadrant in the East Market. There were only two baskets of them and the price was very steep,” she reported, carefully maintaining a cordial tone.
Huilan made a sound of acknowledgment and let the lychee drop into the basket. “How is Mingyu, anyway?”
For a moment, her tone sharpened. A strange look crossed her face, but then it was gone. The so-called Four Beauties of the North Hamlet weren’t necessarily in competition with one another, but they were mentioned and compared so often that a subtle rivalry had emerged. Though Huilan was outwardly sweet-voiced and sweet-faced, she was as shrewd as Mingyu when it came to maintaining her elevated position.
“She is well.”
“Hmm...good to hear it.”
Huilan turned away, concluding their exchange with no further attempt at politeness. She glided across the courtyard in a cloud of yellow silk and disappeared through the gate.
Yue-ying nudged off her slippers and entered the shrine. A spicy, camphor-laced scent filled the room from the incense smoldering on the altar. Setting her basket aside, she took three sticks of incense from the holder at the altar and held the ends to the candle flame until they ignited, releasing the fragrant oil in the coating.
Clasping the incense between her palms, she bowed her head as the smoke curled a lazy spiral around her. She tried to form a coherent prayer, but all she could think of was the angry rumble of the earth that morning and Mingyu’s pale and frightened expression. So she asked the goddess Guan Yin to look over and protect them, in any way she might see fit.
When