Chapter 20 #3
young woman with smiling eyes and hair piled in a pompadour, her dress dark with a fall of lace at her throat. Another beside
it of the same woman, a little older, a more elaborate hairstyle, a collar of pearls. Both were in silver frames. She thought
this was probably Mason’s wife, who had died more than twenty years ago.
Shadows fell on the wall and fluttered as trees outside shook with every gust of wind. Even here, where she had always felt
safe, Lennox Manor still reached out to haunt her. It was because of the diary and the portrait; they had taken up residence
in her thoughts even though she had no interest in finding Rosalie. She had to stop reading the diary, stop letting Rosalie’s
story intrude on her reality.
She had her own future to consider, but how was that possible when she didn’t know who she was anymore?
She had a father but no memory of him. Her father had a family and a clan, but it was a lineage lost to her if she followed his wishes and kept their identities hidden.
She had a royal title, which gave her entry to the Imperial court, but like so many young Chinese, she scorned the antiquated regime that had ruled and ruined China.
She had to know more about her past before she could feel comfortable about the future others were shaping for her.
Master Liu’s villa was in the middle of Shanghai, its garden a tenth the size of Lennox Manor’s parklike setting. The garden
shed was at the very back, almost completely covered in ivy; the vines were clipped away from a large window so that sunlight
could shine through. She had seen Yao go in earlier. She carried a tray with bowls of hot soy milk and scallion pancakes.
“How did you carry me?” she said, entering without greetings or small talk. “You walked for hours—didn’t your arms hurt?”
Yao put down the miniature azalea, hot pink blooms on tiny branches that gave off a scent like incense. “I put you in a baby
sling left behind in the servants’ quarters.”
He’d wrapped her in a maid’s tunic to hide her silk clothes, took off the embroidered red satin shoes, and hoisted her onto
his back. He tied the straps of the sling to his chest, and started walking.
“How old were you?” she said.
“Fourteen and very strong,” he said, grinning. “Fortunately, you were small for an eight-year-old, and unconscious most of
the way.”
“How did you get into the summer house?” she said. “Weren’t there guards?”
“Yes, four guards, just enough to watch the gates,” Yao said. “One of them recognized me because I used to help with the garden work there. They knew nothing about what was happening in the city. The three younger guards had family in Peking and rushed back to protect them.”
Yao never told the guards her identity. What he had seen on his flight out of Peking cautioned him not to reveal anything
of value—including a small princess. All people saw was a boy in straw sandals and ragged trousers running away with a younger
sibling slung on his back, no different from countless other refugees, with nothing of value to rob. Yao and Lisan lived in
the servants’ quarters with the elderly guard for two days until the prince arrived, a humble-looking man in shabby trousers
and cloth-soled shoes.
“Your father realized he was safer as a commoner,” Yao said, “and this made him unrecognizable to the guard, who had always
cast his eyes down and bowed low whenever he crossed paths with a member of your family. I took my cue from Prince Tsai and
never addressed him as ‘Prince’ until we were alone. Your father told the guard he was a clerk from the prince’s household
and I vouched for him.”
Yao had the sad duty of telling Prince Tsai about the fate of his wife and other daughters. Then he led the prince to the
mute little girl, his last remaining child. Before the prince had known what happened to his family, when he still believed
he would find them at the summer house, he had already decided he wanted nothing more to do with the Imperial court. A day
after reuniting with his daughter, he took them to Shanghai, first on foot, mixing in with another group of refugees. Then
they traveled by horse and cart, then by train; when they finally reached Shanghai, they stayed in a cheap hotel until the
prince was able to contact Master Liu.
Master Liu bought the villa and hired servants, new ones without any connections to the Liu clan.
This allowed privacy and concealment for Prince Tsai.
After a few weeks, when Lisan came out of her silence and became aware of her surroundings, the prince decided to slip into a new identity and go overseas, entrusting his daughter to Master Liu’s care.
He would live apart from her for a while because people were on the lookout for a father and daughter.
“You’re wondering why your father didn’t keep you with him,” Yao said. She didn’t reply. “You were still sick and in shock,
Lisan. You needed a stable home and medical attention.”
Then as the years went by, Lisan seemed content living with Master Liu. In her mind, she had never known another home. As
for Master Liu, he was content as well. He’d led a solitary, bachelor life and the villa was a good distance from the rest
of his family; the separation suited him perfectly. The prince remained overseas, traveling to raise money and support for
the Nationalists, always introducing himself as Mr. Zheng, purchasing agent of the Liu Motorcar Import Company.
Yao sipped the warm soy milk, all the while keeping his eyes on Lisan as though worried she might break down.
Prince Tsai. As his child, she owed the prince her duty. But what about her affection? And should she expect affection from
him? She was only a daughter, only a girl. She thought about Lee Ju Ming and how the few times she’d seen Ju Ming with her
father, her classmate had been subdued and respectful, her father distant. But Mr. Lee’s face lit up when Ju Ming’s brothers
were around. He took an interest in his sons’ activities. They were young men, the ones who would carry on the Lee lineage
and take over the family business. Ju Ming and her sister were only daughters, girls who would marry out, their loyalty pledged
to their husbands’ families.
Was this how her father felt about her and her sisters? Had he held them at arm’s length? A mother would’ve loved her child,
boy or girl. But her mother had killed herself and taken Lisan’s two older sisters with her. She couldn’t even fathom this
right now.
Lisan knew she was supposed to feel grateful her father had left her in Master Liu’s care, and after a while perhaps she would be.
Perhaps all would be different after seeing her father again.
But at the moment, her life felt like a rough path bounded by tall hedges through which she could catch only glimpses of some other life, some other road.
“Yao, were you really in Soochow these past years?” she said. “Or have you been here in Shanghai all along?”
“I really did go to school in Soochow,” he said, “and I really did train there in gardening, landscape design, plants, and
penjing. I had the pleasure of working at one of the great classical gardens there. Then Master Liu called me to Shanghai and put
me into the job at Lennox Manor. Fourth Uncle’s doing.”
“How very convenient that Mason Burnett is indebted to Fourth Uncle,” she said. “I suppose it was to keep an eye on me?”
“It was to protect you,” he said, without any sign that he’d heard her indignant tone. “That is my sworn duty, Princess.”
Princess. The first time he’d called her that. The title grated on her nerves and even worse, placed her far too high above him. “Don’t
call me that,” she said. “I want nothing to do with this regime. I’m only an ordinary citizen, like you.”
He bowed his head.
“Masako Kyo says my father admires Japan,” she said, “that he might persuade the monarchy to follow Japan’s guidance.”
“Many Chinese admire Japan since they won the Russo-Japanese War,” Yao said. “It allowed us to realize that an Asian nation
could be the equal of a Western power. But he would never want Japanese interests to rule China from behind the throne.”
“What now?” she said. “What should we do about Masako Kyo? When will I get to see my father?”
Yao dusted off his hands, wiped them on an old towel. “Master Liu will confer with his brother about Masako Kyo. As for your
father”—he hesitated—“Master Liu hasn’t heard from him in weeks. Your father’s missing, Lisan.”