As she was about to offer Lady Pan tea, a commotion was heard in the corridor. “Lady Pan! My lady!”
It was a small maid, who stumbled into the room, followed by Xiaoting’s own maids, all exclaiming at this breach of manners. Lady Pan twisted. “Sheyue? What is the meaning of this?”
The maid stood tall, her eyes wild and hands working the front of the robe in anxiety. “Lord Pan, my lady. He was coming after you onhis horse.”
Lady Pan went white. “How far is he?”
“No, my lady, no. He had been drinking and his horse threw him. His head hit a rock. He died.”
“He’s dead?” Lady Pan whispered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The maid looked at her. “Very sure, my lady. His manservant was there and saw everything. He managed to get Lord Pan’s body back home.”
Xiaoting murmured some words of sympathy but trailed off when she saw Lady Pan’s face. Her dark eyes were shining not with the unshed tears of grief, but with ecstasy. “He is dead,” Lady Pan whispered. “Dead.” Her voice grew more confident as she repeated the word. “I must return home.”
“Of course.”
Lady Pan looked at the maid. “Prepare my carriage, Sheyue.” She seemed to have forgotten the reason she was here at Xiaoting’s residence, as she left with her step light and head held high.Strange, thought Xiaoting,but a lucky occurrence. The gossip she’d heard said Lord Pan was a monstrous man. Lady Pan was lucky to be rid of him, and Xiaoting had no pity to spare for a man who enjoyed causing fear and pain to his wife and others who could not defend themselves.
Thinking of love and Lady Pan, she went over to the register that sat in the corner of the room and was where she listed all her sales. Lifting her brush, she drew a line through Lady Pan’s name. With a dead true love, it was unnecessary to add her to the list of people Xiaoting had helped when it came time to write the final version of her chapter for generations to come.
The sound of a breaking vase came from the direction of Yingtai’s room, and Xiaoting put her brush down to look at the painting again, tracing the line of sight of the little bird and wondering what she should do about her wayward daughter. Then she leaned in and frowned. The bird wasn’t looking at the other two birds. It was looking higher,to a small break in the branches, as if yearning for freedom. The bird didn’t care at all about the other two. It wished only to escape.
Ridiculous. She was being ridiculous. It was only a painting, and if she looked closely, she could see the errors made with the brush. She had more important things to consider. Yingtai was a child and she had a child’s perspective, limited to what affected her.
With a final look at the painting, Xiaoting gathered her robes and went to look for her daughter. Guilan was due in the workshop. As for Yingtai? She could do as she pleased.
30
Hua Liling
Qing dynasty. Saw the regime change to the Qing dynasty of the Manchu, and her brothers were forced to cut their hair into the queue.
Heart note //Boost eloquence
Base note //Nutmeg
“When are you leaving for work?” Mom asks as I stretch on the couch. It’s snug enough for sleep, but there’s a break between the two cushions that I end up partially wedged into each night.
“It’s Monday,” I remind her. “Store’s closed.” We should do something so I don’t spend the day worrying about dodging questions about my moli, but I can’t think of what.
Mom walks past to look out the window. “Your neighbors are doing their spring planting,” she says. “A bit late, but I suppose it’s the right time for Toronto.”
Like that, it hits me—the perfect way to spend the day. “Do you want to help me plant?” I ask.
“Plant what? Where?” She glances around my apartment.
I fold my legs under me. “I was thinking about putting in a little herb garden in the front of the store, where the broken patio stonesare.”
My mother purses her lips, considering. “You get a lot of sun, so it’s a good place. Do you have ideas?”
“Some lavender? Rosemary? Mint?” I don’t know. I’ve never been in a place long enough to plant a garden.
“Mint has to be in containers or it overruns everything.” Mom is already on her phone. “Get ready. I’ll decide the plants.”
I don’t mind her taking control, and by the time I come out dressed in a pair of jeans downgraded to cleaning clothes because of a stain I couldn’t remove, she’s listed out the herbs we can get, alongside a quick sketch of an appealing ornamental design. Luckily, it’s spring, so we can pick the plants up at almost any corner store. I text Ana our plan and she replies with plant emojis, so I figure she’s on board.
Mom goes to change as I drink the tea she left me. A message from Eric appears on her phone as I sit at the kitchen counter, and I read it without thinking.
