seen his pupils darken with a flash of interest.
Insufferable bastard.
She was furious, embarrassed, then furious again, ignoring the fact that it was her ruse that had started it. He should have at least questioned her story. She wasn’t dressed in the finest silk robes of the elite courtesans, but she hardly resembled one of the lowly tea house prostitutes. And certainly not one foolish enough to sneak into a man’s private chamber uninvited. These scholars and their arrogance.
“You should go.” He appeared more weary than arrogant as he stepped aside.
“I should go,” she echoed, not quite understanding why she hadn’t gone already. She started for the door, but then turned. “I’ve given you my name.” Well, not quite. “What’s yours?”
“Luo Cheng.”
She watched as he turned his back to her to set the oil lamp onto the desk. This one certainly wasn’t built like the pampered scholars that came and went year after year through the academic halls of the capital. Curiosity took hold of her.
“Like the famous general,” she ventured.
He regarded her with an odd look over his shoulder. “Yes, like the general,” he sighed.
Indeed Cheng looked more suited to the imperial army than the civil exams. A quick scan confirmed that he’d returned empty-handed. Her cronies must have succeeded in stealing the book. She would return to her quarters, pay her troupe members, and receive the spoils.
Cheng had seated himself at the desk. He pulled out half an ink stick, then paused with the black stub in his hands.
“Miss…er…Rose?”
“Yes?” She was staring.
He wasn’t so frightening in the light. In fact, he seemed somewhat earnest and vulnerable. From what little she’d heard of him, she’d expected a wastrel. The North Hamlet pavilions were filled with eager students and enough wine to fill the Great River that cut through the centre of the city. They would stay until their pockets were empty of cash, not even knowing if it was night or day outside the curtains of the drinking houses. Yet Cheng had come back to his chamber early and she didn’t smell any liquor or perfume on him. He seemed ready to work, except for her intrusion.
“Do you need me to escort you home?” he asked uncertainly.
The model of politeness and chivalry too. She suddenly felt guilty she’d had him robbed, but for all his manners, he was more a thief than she was. The book hadn’t belonged to him. He’d taken it from the Lotus Pavilion.
Of course, it didn’t belong to her either—but it did now! She’d paid for it, or at least she’d paid to get it. Paid dearly from her meager earnings in hopes that her gamble would be rewarded.
“Take care.” She affected a bow as she retreated to the door. “Master Luo.”
He was watching her from the desk as she closed the door. Finally free, Jia hurried from the courtyard and escaped onto the street. She followed the glimmer of the lanterns back to the heart of the district. Drinking houses and tea parlors lined either side of the street, marked by colourful banners.
As a musician, she was accustomed to the comings and goings of the North Hamlet. Strangers arrived, became fast friends in an hour, and didn’t remember a thing the next morning. You couldn’t trust anyone in the entertainment district.
Cheng didn’t know what a treasure he’d had in his grasp. Most likely he’d taken it as a souvenir after one drunken night in the Lotus Pavilion—though Jia was certain she’d never seen him there, or at any of her other performances, now that she thought of it.
She returned to the musicians’ hall where her troupe stayed. A string of tattered yellow lanterns marked the front gate. The troupe was out in the open courtyard, sharing a jug of wine beneath the stars.
“Goddess of Beauty and Light!”
Jia affected a tigress snarl at them and they laughed. She supposed it was better than the other names they used to tease her. Grandmother. Hag. Spinster. She was
Insufferable bastard.
She was furious, embarrassed, then furious again, ignoring the fact that it was her ruse that had started it. He should have at least questioned her story. She wasn’t dressed in the finest silk robes of the elite courtesans, but she hardly resembled one of the lowly tea house prostitutes. And certainly not one foolish enough to sneak into a man’s private chamber uninvited. These scholars and their arrogance.
“You should go.” He appeared more weary than arrogant as he stepped aside.
“I should go,” she echoed, not quite understanding why she hadn’t gone already. She started for the door, but then turned. “I’ve given you my name.” Well, not quite. “What’s yours?”
“Luo Cheng.”
She watched as he turned his back to her to set the oil lamp onto the desk. This one certainly wasn’t built like the pampered scholars that came and went year after year through the academic halls of the capital. Curiosity took hold of her.
“Like the famous general,” she ventured.
He regarded her with an odd look over his shoulder. “Yes, like the general,” he sighed.
Indeed Cheng looked more suited to the imperial army than the civil exams. A quick scan confirmed that he’d returned empty-handed. Her cronies must have succeeded in stealing the book. She would return to her quarters, pay her troupe members, and receive the spoils.
Cheng had seated himself at the desk. He pulled out half an ink stick, then paused with the black stub in his hands.
“Miss…er…Rose?”
“Yes?” She was staring.
He wasn’t so frightening in the light. In fact, he seemed somewhat earnest and vulnerable. From what little she’d heard of him, she’d expected a wastrel. The North Hamlet pavilions were filled with eager students and enough wine to fill the Great River that cut through the centre of the city. They would stay until their pockets were empty of cash, not even knowing if it was night or day outside the curtains of the drinking houses. Yet Cheng had come back to his chamber early and she didn’t smell any liquor or perfume on him. He seemed ready to work, except for her intrusion.
“Do you need me to escort you home?” he asked uncertainly.
The model of politeness and chivalry too. She suddenly felt guilty she’d had him robbed, but for all his manners, he was more a thief than she was. The book hadn’t belonged to him. He’d taken it from the Lotus Pavilion.
Of course, it didn’t belong to her either—but it did now! She’d paid for it, or at least she’d paid to get it. Paid dearly from her meager earnings in hopes that her gamble would be rewarded.
“Take care.” She affected a bow as she retreated to the door. “Master Luo.”
He was watching her from the desk as she closed the door. Finally free, Jia hurried from the courtyard and escaped onto the street. She followed the glimmer of the lanterns back to the heart of the district. Drinking houses and tea parlors lined either side of the street, marked by colourful banners.
As a musician, she was accustomed to the comings and goings of the North Hamlet. Strangers arrived, became fast friends in an hour, and didn’t remember a thing the next morning. You couldn’t trust anyone in the entertainment district.
Cheng didn’t know what a treasure he’d had in his grasp. Most likely he’d taken it as a souvenir after one drunken night in the Lotus Pavilion—though Jia was certain she’d never seen him there, or at any of her other performances, now that she thought of it.
She returned to the musicians’ hall where her troupe stayed. A string of tattered yellow lanterns marked the front gate. The troupe was out in the open courtyard, sharing a jug of wine beneath the stars.
“Goddess of Beauty and Light!”
Jia affected a tigress snarl at them and they laughed. She supposed it was better than the other names they used to tease her. Grandmother. Hag. Spinster. She was
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