Breaking Bamboo by Tim Murgatroyd

you.’
    ‘Perhaps we should go back?’ she suggested, in alarm. ‘I should not have left him.’
    Yet she did not rise.
    ‘I am afraid what will happen if he grows weaker,’ he said. ‘I have watched so many strong people fade. I am worried for you.’
    He continued to flick stones into the water.
    ‘You must realise there is a plan to marry you off to one of your cousins,’ he continued. ‘I believe the boy’s name is Wen.’
    Her hand flew to her mouth. Could Father really want that for her? Wen was the least of her cousins – in every conceivable way.
    ‘I believe your father does not like this match,’ said Shih, loyal as ever to the master who had been so kind to him. ‘Dr Ou-yang desires only the best for you. When he has gone, someone must provide for you.’
    His earnest face was softened by the declining sun. Her fluttering heart felt uncomfortable, yet its restlessness was oddly pleasant.
    ‘Why can’t another provide for me?’ she asked, amazed at her boldness. ‘Am I so unattractive that no one will have me?’
    They had turned to each other, faces very close, trying to read one another’s souls. She heard herself whispering, quite shamelessly, as though someone bolder than herself spoke through her mouth: ‘Why should it not be you?’
    Then that shameless mouth was kissing his, tentatively at first, until it came naturally and her eyelids fluttered like her heart.
    Afterwards, Shih begged her forgiveness. He seemed distressed.
    ‘I have betrayed my master,’ he muttered. ‘I am a despicable chaperone!’
    He gasped with surprise when once more she pressed her lips against his own.
    ‘Then we betray him together,’ she said.
    They returned to the shop, secretly brushing shoulders on the Imperial Way, as though touching by accident. The neighbour keeping watch by Father’s bedside told them he had not stirred.
    That evening she entered Father’s bedchamber and cried out in fear. Shih appeared in the doorway and hurried to the sick man’s bed. Father lay flat on his back, mouth open as if about to speak, yet quite peaceful, his eyes staring into emptiness.
    Shih took his master’s pulse then gently pulled down Dr Ou-yang’s eyelids. Apart from a buzzing fly, the room was silent. Outside, two friends talked excitedly as they passed beneath the window. Cao caught the words, ‘ more silver than the God of Riches ’, then the voice faded. Shih watched the first of a procession of tears run down her face.
    ‘I must tell your uncle,’ he said. ‘He will arrange a noble funeral. Sit with your father until I return. We shall remember his many kindnesses forever.’
    But the funeral had been plain rather than noble. Uncle did not even bother to inform Dr Ou-yang’s fellow physicians in the guild, though Shih ensured word got around. A score of senior physicians accompanied the dead man to his pyre and Uncle seemed surprised by their presence.
    After the funeral he returned to Dr Ou-yang’s shop and spent hours searching the rooms for hidden valuables. Whatever he found was deposited in a lacquered chest. Then he ordered Cao to fetch tea and examined her closely.
    ‘Niece,’ he said. ‘Your father made arrangements concerning your future. Did he tell you of them?’
    She shook her head, eyes lowered.
    ‘Well, that does not matter. You are to marry Fifth Cousin Wen. This house and its contents are your dowry.’
    He did not ask if she was pleased. She stood trembling before him, unable to look up.
    ‘I will collect you tomorrow and take you home. As for the apprentice, inform him he must leave the house at dawn, when I will settle any outstanding wages.’
    After he had left, weighed down by the lacquer box, Cao rushed to Shih and told him what Uncle had decided. He paced the room angrily.
    ‘I am not distressed for myself,’ he said. ‘Only for you. I cannot believe your father seriously intended you to marry this man. There is a stench of greasy money behind all this. Yet it is