“The audacity! The disrespect! I’ll have that good for nothing thief hanged at the city gate!” Magistrate Bu’s face was as purple as a plum.
Master Dan and Zhi Lan sat awkwardly in the main hall, their heads lowered as the servants stood by in fearful silence. The parlor was lit by lanterns. Spots of yellow light reflected on the polished wooden floor, blinking out when the magistrate stormed over them in a swirl of dark robes.
“Calm down, my lord,” Lady Bu said in a placating tone. “The constables will find him in due time.”
“What do you know, woman?” Magistrate Bu spat, waving his hand as if his wife was a pesky fly. He resumed pacing, scowling at the maidservant who entered to bring in a tray of tea. She cowered and scampered away.
Zhi Lan couldn’t believe how quickly things went south. Not thirty minutes ago she’d been admiring the courtyard and dreaming of a promising future.
“Mymanor, broken into by a common thief!” Magistrate Bu threw his arms down, the fabric of his massive sleeves snapping harshly behind him. “My masterpiece, gone!”
Master Dan clasped his hands respectfully as he addressed the magistrate. “If I may be so bold to say, my lord, it is only a painting. I am more than capable of creating another piece for you, as many as you desire as long as I am under your patronage.”
Magistrate Bu narrowed his eyes. A dangerous sort of silence pervaded the room. The hairs on the back of Zhi Lan’s neck stood up.
“This isn’t about you, Li Chen,” the magistrate hissed. “I have shown that painting to everyone of importance. They will expect me to have it back. How can I let a merethiefcheat me?”
Zhi Lan wasn’t overly familiar with the ways of officials, but she knew that a magistrate was meant to enforce justice and arrest thieves and robbers. If they were unable to catch a criminal, it would be a demerit, a mark on their record. If they failed frequently, they would be dismissed.
Magistrate Bu was not only risking losing face. He was risking his position.
Master Dan bowed again. “Surely, my lord, it is no fault of your own—”
“I intend to have that painting back, one way or another,” Magistrate Bu said. “You will make me a duplicate. I will give you three days.”
Zhi Lan glanced up, startled. Master Dan looked at a loss for words.
“What’s this? Are you hesitating?”
Master Dan bowed. “It’s an unusual request, for those in my line of work, my lord. I am not a commercial painter. Furthermore, the original took me three months on site. I have no doubt that your lordship will be able to find the thief—”
“I have paid and provided for you, Dan Li Chen. If you can’t copy a mere painting you can hang with that thief for all I care!”
Zhi Lan froze. Surely the magistrate wasn’t serious.
“As you wish, my lord. My student and I will begin working immediately,” Master Dan said evenly.
“Get out of my sight,” the magistrate snarled.
With a low bow, Master Dan took Zhi Lan’s arm and hurried out the hall.
***
ZHI LAN’S HEART WASstill pounding by the time the servants guided them into their rooms. They were housed in the west wing of Magistrate Bu’s massive courtyard manor. Both of them had a lavishly furnished suite to themselves, but Zhi Lan followed Master Dan into his, bracing herself for a sleepless night. The magistrate’s threat rung in her ears, making her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. After all, hadn’t she prayed for a distraction? Some passing immortal must have granted her wish. Or more likely a mischievous spirit, considering the circumstances.
But it wouldn’t do to admit this to Master Dan. Especially not if she had to reveal the reason she wanted the distraction in the first place.
No, it was better to keepthatto herself.
“I suppose we should begin,” Master Dan said with a sigh.
He seated himself at a mahogany table supplied with paper, brushes, and an inkstone. Zhi Lan went to light the candles.
The room was far larger than any room she’d stayed in before, with a study area on a raised platform, a sitting area, and a sleeping area complete with an alcove bed. She would’ve loved to explore the place if she weren’t so anxious.
Master Dan gestured to his trunks which were set before the desk. “The silk.”
Zhi Lan retrieved a bolt of plain white silk, unrolling it to the appropriate length. They worked in silence, cutting the silk to size, then priming it with a liquid mixture of glue and alum with a wide brush. They then spread it on a board, waiting for the sticky substance to dry—only then would the silk be ready to take ink. Zhi Lan had been fascinated when Master Dan first showed her this process. She had done it many times since. Now, she found some comfort in its ritualistic familiarity.
