Chapter Thirty-Two
NEAR THE eleventh hour, the Palace of Endless Prosperity was alive with raucous activity.
The hue and cry of those who were intoxicated by the approach of New Year had hammered at Xian’s ears as he sat beneath the fussing of attendants.
They had set a dian zi upon his head, the hat ring decorated with flowers of gold and the stunning blue of inlaid Kingfisher feathers, and pinned tight in his hair, which was threaded through with tiny sapphires.
A veil of gold had been affixed to the edges of the crowning dian zi, and was lower on his nose than those he normally wore and liked, but at least the fabric was opaque.
He’d not eaten much, a bite or two of his meal, the duck too rich for his troubled stomach.
The seamstress had done what she dared with the modesty panel, lengthening it and weighing down its hem with lead pellets so it sat firmer against his thighs and would not lift as the rest of the dress was so inclined to do.
Kai-Ming remained with him, touching up the kohl at his eyes, and encouraging him to take a sip of huangjiu to calm his nerves, when the knock at the door came.
‘Your highness, I am to escort you to his lordship.’
‘One moment please,’ he called back.
‘His lordship is waiting on you,’ came the strained reply.
‘Of course.’
But Xian refused to be hurried. He unwrapped the slippers from the folds of the gown he’d intended to wear this night.
‘Oh, your highness,’ Kai-Ming gasped. ‘They are more beautiful than my eyes can believe.’
He smiled at her awed expression, her heavy-lidded eyes now wide, her hands pressed to her chest. ‘I have a shoemaker who is like no other. The very best of men.’
Xian stepped into the slippers as easily as dipping his toes into water. Their fitting was not so calming as when Lim held them, but the comfort that came with having the shoes on his feet could not be denied. Xian thanked Kai-Ming again, wishing her a prosperous New Year.
‘And to you, Prince Xian. May fortune shine on you.’
Xian followed the waiting escort. The attendant scuttled along, his pace brisk, the stiffness of his changsan robe reminding Xian of a ship’s sail tight with wind.
His queue swung like a pendulum at his back in a sharp, exacting tempo as he guided Xian to a set of concealed stairs at the far end of the hallway; wooden steps that wobbled with the touch of their feet.
He was taken down several passageways, each with the same feel of being secondary thoroughfares, the sub-par walkways considered suitable only for servants.
The same sort he’d spent years using in Kunming.
Xian struggled to take a full breath; the corseted structure of his gown was uncomfortably tight, and his fear of exposing himself constricting.
The uncommunicative man headed into a passageway that was protected by raised walls and covered by wisteria overhead; its lilac and honey scent at least more pleasant than many others that assailed him.
Xian held the copious folds lifted, hopeful he’d make it without staining or tearing the fabric.
Finally, the man stopped at a doorway framed by two large lanterns. The heavy wooden door took the attendant some effort to shift open.
He turned, gave Xian a perfunctory bow, and gestured for him to enter.
Xian stepped into a dark space, blinking against the sudden shift from the brightness of the lanterns. His vision blurred, and Xian shook his head, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, every detail of the room was apparent; though coloured dully, and with no source of light evident.
He stood at the back of a modest stage, a long drape of red curtains before him, behind which the loudness of voices suggested an audience already in attendance.
Xian touched his fingers to his nose, wrinkling it against the waft of hill censers filled with tan xiang; but even those incense burners failed to cover the pungency of the crowd.
He edged a curtain aside, breathing in the scent of hemp from the ropes that lifted them high towards the ceiling. The fabric was thick and blocked most of the light that came from a ring of lanterns set upon the front of the stage — a raised platform which would be his dance floor.
The modestly sized room was only marginally bigger than Mandarin Feng’s overcrowded chamber and was already filling; people settling upon the lush silk cushions and thickly woven rugs beneath two ostentatious candelabra with porcelain parrots at their centres, three golden arms each, and held thick red candles.
Guests entered through a doorway framed by chunlian; the auspicious calligraphy wishing all a prosperous new year.
Xian would be satisfied with happiness.
He clung to the curtain, one eye upon his audience.
Men and women from near and far. Some he recognised; others were strangers.
All were dressed in their finest robes and gowns for the New Year Celebrations, with kohl-rimmed eyes and reddened lips, oil-slicked queues and bejewelled hair and fingers.
Some, those from afar, wore crowns adorned in sparkling gems, and multiple strings of pearls graced their necks and wrists, though some of the Western women had chosen búyào to wear — jade hairpieces dangling with coral and opals and gold links.
The room bulged at the seams with wealth, and Xian’s sensitive ears stung with their conversations.
He shrank back, letting the curtain fall back into place. But it did not shield him.
‘Feng claims the prince untouched.’
A hum of wanton interest followed. ‘Indeed, and so badly marked he would stiffen even likes of you, my friend, with your appetite for the grotesque.’
Coarse laughter came, with the clinking of cups. ‘I’m willing to pay the fee to see if it is true, but Feng taunts me. Claiming he is not yet for sale.’
‘He does not know how deep your pockets go for your pleasures then.’
Xian covered his ears against the harsh, resounding laughter, and edged into the shadows.
He smelled Sir William before he saw the man; a distinct tang, honey and bitter almonds combined. But overlaying that, the waft of Moutai, the strongest of the baijiu spirits, and tobacco laced with something unpleasant.
‘Whatever are you doing hiding in the shadows, little fox prince?’
In truth, it was the Englishman who must have been hiding, his appearance sudden and strange. Xian heard nothing of his approach. He was just there.
‘Sir William.’
‘My word, don’t you look just good enough to devour?’ His aura had dimmed since the banquet, and the glazed look in his verdant eyes had Xian edging back.
‘You’ve had much to drink.’
‘Much?’ He sniffed, pulling a face of feigned indignation. ‘I’ve barely begun. A fine time for daemonic blood, this is. One can consume so very much. I say, would you mind if I kissed you again?’
‘I’d mind very much. And you know it.’
William swept off his protest with a lazy wave.
‘Don’t be so prudish. This time shall be for enjoyment only, and you’ll soon abandon your preference for your own company, I assure you.
’ He stepped forward, almost falling into Xian’s arms; a thin dusting of white was evident around the Englishman’s nostrils.
Whatever else he might be, Sir William Black was extremely intoxicated.
He snatched at Xian’s hand, murmuring lewd suggestions of what he would do once they were alone together.
Xian delivered a sharp slap to the Englishman’s cheek. ‘Don’t touch me.’
The jerk of the man’s head was near comical, his perfect curls bobbing. The Englishman squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them. Flames, actual flames, flickered in the man’s eyes, rising from the blackness of his pupils.
Despite the intimidating glare, Xian held his tongue. The thought of apologising made his skin itch.
Sir William’s full pink lips parted, and Xian braced for the shout that was sure to come; the call for the mandarin to deal with his reckless performer.
‘What a naughty boy you are, Prince Xian.’ He rubbed at his cheek.‘Perhaps you shall let me whip you soundly for it? In the nicest way, of course.’
Xian glared at him. ‘You will not whip me, Sir William, but I must—’
‘Don’t you dare.’ The Englishman threw up his arms, the yellow embroidery on his chaofu glinting in the dull light.
‘If you apologise I will throw up on those wonderful shoes of yours.’ His frown was deep.
‘Weren’t you fawning over their maker?’ He pointed one finger into the air.
‘Aha! That is why my charms are falling flat with you. I met the man, took his silly bucket of lotus pods. Delicious, might I add. Best I’ve had.
But back to important things. You found each other, did you not?
He has beat me to it, leaving you wet between the cheeks and so lost to love that you still turn down an evening of pleasure with me… me!’
‘Sir William,’ Xian bristled, struggling to keep his voice down. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You are not undeniable.’
‘Normally I bloody well am…mostly. I cannot stir a desire that does not exist to begin with. Perhaps it’s because you are huli jing.
I’ve not bedded a fox…I don’t think. Maybe you’re immune to perfection?
’ He sniffed, and his eyes widened. ‘Oh, have you tried madak yet? Tobacco and opium, mostly out of fashion here now, but by the gods, I shall give it a resurgence.’ He rubbed his nose, smearing it with the remains of the powder before touching his finger to his tongue.
‘My snuff bottle is quite empty. I think I shall find some more.’
He swivelled around to face the door and almost collided with a musician carrying a set of bianzhong.
The brass bells rang out against one another as the flustered man apologised, bowing and shuffling backwards towards where others were finding their places with their instruments on the opposite side of the stage.
‘Sir William, there is less than an hour until midnight.’
‘Clever boy, you can tell the time. Good for you.’