Magistrate Li returned the bow, his lips slightly upturned when Zhi Lan stammered her thanks. “You had better stick to your ink and brush, young miss. I do not think you share the same talents as my grandson.”
Master Dan sighed when the magistrate went to speak to Lady Bu. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to face your parents after this, Zhi Lan. It’s like ever since we got here there has been nothing but trouble.”
“Well...we don’t have to stay any longer,” Zhi Lan said. “Lady Bu says we can leave tomorrow.”
“It’s for the best,” Master Dan said with a shake of his head. “What do you say we go north? I hear there are butterfly migrations through the forest. You can practice painting them.”
Zhi Lan smiled weakly. “I’d like that.”
Lady Bu ordered more refreshments to be brought to them as Master Dan and Zhi Lan planned their route northward, discussing the inns along the road and the money they had left to spend. Zhi Lan was growing more optimistic as Master Dan described the paintings he wanted to try his hand at and the new techniques he would show her once they came across worthy subject matter.
Eventually, Magistrate Li took his leave. When Lady Bu stood and announced her desire to rest, Zhi Lan realized the parlor was empty.
Shao Qing was gone. And she hadn’t even said goodbye.
19 – Shao Qing
The following weekswent by in a blur.
Shao Qing was tucked into a carriage with Magistrate Li, Lady Bu, and the man who was his father. When they arrived at Magistrate Li’s manor—through the front gates this time—a woman ran out and embraced him, weeping. The servants called him “Young Master Li” and dressed him in fine silk robes. He was given a room and enough food to fill his belly ten times over. He took baths weekly in clean, hot water.
When the bewilderment had worn off, it was as if he had taken a knife to his chest and everything he had suppressed rose to the surface like an unforgiving tide. For days he thought of Su Su and cried himself to sleep.
They hadn’t been blood-related after all. Yet she was just as dear to him.
He recalled one night when they had lain on a bed of dry grass, their stomachs tight with hunger, gazing at the stars through a canopy of overgrown bamboo. Su Su had been fussy and restless, still at the age where she needed to be entertained.
Half-asleep, Shao Qing had pointed to the night sky and drew invisible lines with his finger, connecting made-up constellations.
“That is the great hero, Mu Chen. He rides on an eight foot tall horse and saves all the starving children from the streets,” Shao Qing said. “One day he’ll come for us and take us to his giant mansion.”
Su Su gasped. “An eight foot tall horse? How will we ever get on?”
“Mu Chen has very long arms,” Shao Qing said haphazardly. “He won’t even have to dismount to grab us.”
“I wonder what the mansion will be like,” Su Su said, her large eyes glimmering. “Do you think we’ll have a feast every day? And a great big peach tree to climb and pick from?”
