The Lotus Palace. Jeannie Lin

      CHAPTER SIX

      HUANG WALKED YUE-YING to the front doors of the Lotus Palace, at which time she bowed, called him Lord Bai and disappeared abruptly through the curtains. He was left wondering whether she’d only accompanied him because he was noble-born and wealthy enough that she was obligated to defer to him. He hoped it wasn’t true. He was growing rather fond of her honesty.

      He was so used to lies that his time with Yue-ying seemed like the only real conversation he’d had for months. If only he hadn’t muddied the waters with that failed kiss in the darkness of the Lotus Palace cellar.

      Before returning to his rented quarters, he stopped by the Hundred Songs to present a gift of silver. The house was still in mourning and would remain so for the traditional forty-nine-day period. During that time, the Hundred Songs would have to rely on the generosity of their patrons to keep everyone fed.

      “Lord Bai! How good of you to come.” Madame Lui approached dressed in her white mourning robe. She clasped both of his hands in hers. “We were all so frightened last night.”

      “Frightened? Why was that, Madame?”

      “Sit and have some tea and I’ll tell you.”

      It would be rude to simply come by, leave his gift, then go, so Huang sat down in the main parlor with Madame Lui while the girls brought tea and a small plate of rice flour cakes.

      “What happened last night?” he asked again once the formalities had been settled.

      “We heard footsteps upstairs.” Madame Lui leaned closer and lowered her voice, not to keep any secret, but to impress upon him the seriousness of what she was describing. “In Huilan’s bedchamber.”

      He remained skeptical. “Did you go to see who it was?”

      “It was in the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep except for two of the girls who remained awake for the vigil. They were so scared, they couldn’t move. And then, you won’t believe what happened next.”

      “What happened?” he prompted.

      “One of the candles on the altar split its wick.”

      “That is strange.” Huang injected more wonder into his tone than he truly felt. “How long did the footsteps move about in Huilan’s room?”

      “The girls said the footsteps walked about ten steps and then halted. They ran to wake me up and at that point, I heard them as well, rushing down the hall. Huilan has come back! Her spirit is very strong.”

      Madame Lui’s fears weren’t so far-flung. For seven days after death, Huilan’s spirit was believed to fly free while loved ones kept a vigil night and day over her earthly body. It was believed that sometime during that period, the spirit would return home. A murdered soul tended to linger, clinging to the life that had been ended before its time.

      He preferred to find a rational explanation for what had occurred. “Madame, may I ask permission to go into Huilan’s chamber?”

      “Of course! She won’t be upset—you were a friend.”

      Not good enough of a friend. He should have stayed by her side or taken her somewhere safe.

      After he finished his tea, Madame Lui led him up to the apartments. Though she opened the door for him, she remained outside in the hall, daring to only peek in. Huang was careful to scan the room before stepping inside.

      From the outer parlor, nothing appeared to have changed since the tragic night. The magistrate and the constable had searched the chambers, but he doubted anyone had come into the room since.

      “What did the footsteps sound like?” he asked, peering into the bedchamber. Ghost or no ghost, he felt a shudder run down his spine at the sight of the bed. He couldn’t forget the image of Huilan stretched lifelessly across it.

      “They were muffled,” Madame Lui called out. She was still hovering outside the door. “They moved quickly and then suddenly stopped.”

      Huang paused at the window. The shutters were closed and he took the trouble of opening them to peer down into the lane below. He pulled them shut before returning to Madame Lui.

      “I have a request. I know it may be too much to ask.”

      “Anything,” Madame Lui insisted. “Lord Bai has been so kind to us.”

      “May I stay here tonight?”

      The headmistress looked startled. “Of course, my lord, but—”

      She must have thought better of whatever question she wanted to ask. It was an odd request, but not too outrageous. And he was known for indulging in whimsical pursuits.

      He shared the evening meal with Madame Lui downstairs. They were joined by the lovely Mei, who was the leading lady of the Hundred Songs now that her courtesan-sister was gone. Though the mourning period was hardly a time for flirtation, Mei took pains to be charmingly attentive while Madame Lui prodded her to refill his wine cup and place choice morsels onto his plate.

      Quite early in the evening, Huang excused himself, claiming he’d had a tiring day. The entire household gathered to watch him go up the stairs. It was eerie; all the ladies dressed in white mourning robes, their dark eyes wide and fixed onto him.

      He took only a single lantern with him. Once inside, he closed the doors and looked about the parlor. It remained a mausoleum to Huilan. Her writing was still on the walls alongside verses from her admirers.

      Moving to the inner chamber, Huang looked briefly through what was left of Huilan’s personal belongings for any hint to what had happened to her. He found only womanly things: hairpins, jars of cosmetics and articles of clothing packed away in a dresser.

      There was one change from the last time he’d been in the room. Her writing box lay on top of the desk now instead of out in the sitting room and the brush had been cleaned. A few sheets of colored paper remained inside. The brush had been damp with ink the night of Huilan’s death. She must have been writing a letter of some sort, but all of the papers in the box were blank. Anything of interest had probably been confiscated by the constable during his investigation.

      With his brief search completed, Huang extinguished the lantern and lay back on the bed to wait. The room was left in darkness, without even the glimmer of the moon to accompany him. In the stillness, he could indeed sense Huilan’s spirit. Not her ghost. Not the chill of the air or any pale, wispy visions. Rather, he felt the brief and tenuous way she’d affected him. His resolve strengthened as he lay in the same place where she took her last breath. As eerie as it was, it grounded him.

      Yue-ying and likely the entire Pingkang li now suspected him of being Huilan’s lover, but he’d only spoken with her a few times. She had asked for his help, but had been reluctant to give him details. She didn’t yet know if she could trust him. When someone went looking for someone to rely on, they certainly didn’t think of Bai Huang.

      “I’ll find who did this to you,” he said to the darkness. “I swear it.”

      The moment he finished speaking, he heard the scraping sound of nails against wood. He wasn’t one to be afraid of ghosts, but his heart hurtled against his chest and he shot up into a sitting