9 – Zhi Lan
T hanks to Yao’s expertly forged papers, they passed through the city gate with little trouble and entered Yun City. It wasn’t so different from Zhu City, with plenty of businesses and market stalls and lively crowds. They even passed by the grand opening of a restaurant that celebrated with long strings of exploding firecrackers. In the adjacent street, there had been a wedding procession. The groom rode at the front in red robes, his bride carried in an ornate red palanquin behind him, surrounded by a procession of lively trumpet players and servants.
Zhi Lan was grateful for the noise, as it made talking nearly impossible. She was still recovering from the mortification of that morning.
She had awoken to Shao Qing laying across from her, playing with her hair like they were lovers, his white inner robe gaping open to expose a smooth sliver of muscled chest. It was a terrifyingly intimate sight, and for a moment her heart had stopped beating.
Then he had the gall to ask if she desired his body. Where did men find the audacity to say such things?
Zhi Lan felt heat creep to her cheeks at the mere memory. Perhaps she should have just confessed to physical attraction. Somehow that was less embarrassing than the truth. But Shao Qing seemed to have no capacity for embarrassment, so why should she?
Whenever Zhi Lan fell sick, Ma would lay next to her and stroke her back until she fell asleep. It always made her feel better.
Last night, Shao Qing had been shuddering violently. Zhi Lan was worried that he had caught something, but it wasn’t until he had spoken that she realized he was crying.
“I’m sorry, Su Su,” he had said. There was such pain in his voice.
Zhi Lan had been half asleep herself. Her first instinct had been to comfort him in the only way she knew how. He was clearly a man haunted with terrible regrets, which was more than Zhi Lan had given him credit for. It was quite pitiful. Why else would a careless thief be sorry to the point of tears?
Then it was morning and Shao Qing had gone back to his usual strange self, and Zhi Lan wished she hadn’t done anything at all. She had momentarily grown soft toward him and the darkness of night had made her bold. Besides, Zhi Lan was not immune to the appeal of handsome men. It was a difficult situation for any girl to be in. She had merely lost her head in that moment.
“It’s early,” Shao Qing said, startling her from her thoughts.
“Yes, what about it?” Zhi Lan asked.
After inquiring about directions to Magistrate Li’s manor, they finally stood before the abode in question. It was almost identical to Magistrate Bu’s. Many of the rich had their courtyard houses laid out and decorated in the same styles. This, however, was on another level. The calligraphy pasted on the doors read “Patience and Virtue” while Magistrate Bu’s had read “Fortune and Virtue”. Even the color of the roof tiles matched. They really were in the middle of some sort of petty bureaucratic feud.
The only difference Zhi Lan could gauge was the greenery bursting from over the manor walls. She spotted the boughs of a willow tree setting loose sprightly green leaves into the wind.
Shao Qing studied the outer gates. “It’s not an ideal time to do what we have to do.”
“But if we wait until it’s dark, it’ll take another full day to return,” Zhi Lan said impatiently.
Here she was, in an entirely different city while Master Dan was suffering under Magistrate Bu’s bad temper all by himself. Zhi Lan itched to get this over with. Soon she’d have the painting in hand, appease Magistrate Bu, and continue to benefit from his patronage and make a name for herself. And she’d never have to associate with criminals again. Especially not stinky, callous, and unbearably handsome ones.
“We don’t have to wait until dark,” Shao Qing said. “Today is washing day.”
Zhi Lan blinked. She had nearly forgotten, even though her hair was starting to feel unclean.
Every fifth day was washing day. Everyone in office and most civilians took the day off to bathe, either at the public bathhouses, or if one was very rich, in their own homes. In Zhi Lan’s village, everyone washed up at the river. There was always a lax energy to the day, as if the entire empire had agreed on a collective vacation.
“You’re lucky,” Shao Qing said. “Today is the safest day for thieves, even the novices.”
Zhi Lan was surprised that someone who clearly didn’t bathe remembered what days were washing days. “So...when do you bathe?” she ventured to ask.
He glanced at her. “Does it matter?”
“It matters if I have to smell you.”
He merely shook his head and continued walking down the street. “We’ll wait until it’s closer to noon for the changing of the guard. The servants will be busy in the kitchen and the magistrate will likely be bathing.”
“What do you propose we do until then?”
“I’ll get us a change of clothes.”
Zhi Lan looked down at her white robes and Shao Qing’s pale blue ones. Both were still clean and intact. “Why?”
“White is too conspicuous.”
Shao Qing stuck out a hand, and it wasn’t until a second later that Zhi Lan realized he was asking for money. With a long suffering sigh, she dug into her pouch and gave him the appropriate amount of coin.
“Get us something to eat. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes,” he said, then promptly disappeared into the market down the street.
Zhi Lan scowled at his retreating form and walked into the market after him. A part of her didn’t trust him to go off on his own, but she was hungry. And it probably wasn’t smart to thieve on an empty stomach.
After purchasing two green onion pancakes from a nearby vendor and devouring hers in less than a minute, Zhi Lan spotted a market stall stocked with pots of pigment and brushes. She thought of Master Dan. His brown pigment was almost gone—she hadn’t lied about that in her letter.
Zhi Lan approached the stall. A fresh-faced young man in blue robes beamed at her from behind his wares.
“Anything here that interests you, young miss?” the stall owner asked. “I have pigments from fresh roses that will complement your complexion.” He gestured to the pots of pinks and rouges on one side of the stand.
“Do you have cinnabar brown?” Zhi Lan said.
The stall owner smiled wider. “I do believe your eyes and brows are arresting as they are.”
Zhi Lan blushed and fidgeted. She never could handle such bold-faced market flattery, even if she knew it was all to make a sale. “It’s to paint with, sir.”
“Indeed!” He moved to the other side of the stand with the painting supplies. “Are you an artist, miss?”
“My master is,” she said automatically. Then hastily added, “But I hope to be, someday.”
“A protege, then!” the young stall owner said. “Very well. I do have the color you’re looking for. A mixture of umber and cinnabar for a dimensional brown.” He procured a stick of pigment and set it before her.
Zhi Lan rummaged in her bag, taking out a square of paper. “May I test it?”
“By all means,” the stall owner said obligingly.
He scraped the surface of the stick with a knife, letting the pigment dust collect into a small porcelain dish. Then, he dripped in water until the powder became a dark brown liquid. He gave Zhi Lan a brush from his stand.
Zhi Lan accepted it gratefully. Her nerves calmed as she swirled the brush into the dish and dragged it over her paper, creating a rich, reddish brown stroke. The mark reminded Zhi Lan of a segment of bamboo. She continued with this idea, filling in the rest of the bamboo stalk and its branching leaves.
“The young miss is as talented as she is beautiful,” the stall owner observed. “Is the pigment to your liking?”
“It is, thank you,” Zhi Lan said. It was lovely and smooth, the quality on par with the pigments Master Dan liked to use. She rummaged for her coin purse. “How much?”
The stall owner told her the price. Zhi Lan counted her money, dismayed to find that she was only a few coins short.
“That seems a bit overpriced,” she finally said.
The stall owner’s eyes sparkled. “On the contrary. I only sell premium pigments. My price for something of this quality is quite low.”
This was the usual push and pull of marketplace haggling. Zhi Lan never had the zest for it like some aunties she knew, but she was competent.
“I’ve seen better prices in Zhu City.”
“Ah, but you’re in Yun City now, young miss.”
“Will you lower the price seeing as I’m a first-time customer?”
“Young miss seems to be traveling. I’m afraid you’ll be an only-time customer.”
Zhi Lan continued wheedling him, going from flattery to flirtation to borderline insult. The stall owner remained unmoved. She was starting to run out of cards to play.
At last, she drew in a slow breath. “I’ll paint for you.”
The stall owner raised a brow. “Oh?”
Zhi Lan pushed the bamboo painting she had done toward him. “You may keep this and display it as a demonstration of your product. I’m willing to do another, if you prefer.”
“A trade of service,” the stall owner mused. He took the painting with two fingers, holding it up to the light. “Yes. I am amenable to this proposal.”
Zhi Lan breathed out. “Perfect. I’ll—”
An arm reached past her and placed a smattering of copper coins on the stand. Zhi Lan turned around.
Shao Qing stood with a bundle of green fabric under his arm. Wordlessly, he took the cinnabar pigment stick and turned on his heel. Zhi Lan apologized profusely to the surprised stall owner, emptied the rest of her coin purse into his hand, and ran after Shao Qing before he disappeared into the crowd.
“He was willing to lower the price if I did a painting for him!” Zhi Lan said breathlessly when she made it to his side. She waved her empty coin purse before his face. “Now we have no money!”
Shao Qing barely flinched. He took the green onion pancake in her hand and began to eat. “He was willing to lower the price for a picture of bamboo?”
Zhi Lan didn’t appreciate his dismissive tone. “Yes.”
“Bamboo isn’t anything special.”
“Paintings make everything special. They’re interpretations of the world, not replicas,” she insisted. “An artist can coax the beauty out of the most common objects.”
Zhi Lan herself didn’t appreciate the stately, dignified lines of bamboo until she attempted to translate them into brushstrokes on paper. Nor the graceful fan of a sparrow’s wings. Nor the silly plumes on her own chicken, Pu’er. Paintings took the small, lovely things an artist observed and emphasized them for all the world to see.
Shao Qing didn’t seem as if he understood.
Zhi Lan made an impatient noise. “In any case I was making great progress haggling until you interrupted me.”
“Why bother haggling? It’s unlikely a businessman would take anything less than what he intends to sell his products for.”
“Have you ever shopped at a market?” Zhi Lan asked, aghast. “Haggling is the norm.”
“It’s pointless to go through all that effort only to save a few coins.”
“Money is difficult to come by.”
“There’s nothing easier to come by than money,” Shao Qing countered.
Zhi Lan thought that was rich coming from a thief who had just spent her money. “Only because you come by it unfairly! Other people labor and sweat for their coin. You reap the profits without any of the work.”
“I labor and sweat during a heist. Is that not work?” Shao Qing said. “One could argue a magistrate sitting in his manor reaps profit without labor.”
“A magistrate enforces order and justice in his city!”
“His constables enforce order and justice. And the magistrate you left seems to care more about being slighted than doing his job. The one we’re going to now engages in illegal transactions.”
“Do you take pleasure in having no principles?” Zhi Lan cried, stamping her foot.
“Principles can only make one’s life more difficult and blind you to truth,” Shao Qing said with his usual sangfroid. “You’re willing to steal to retain your position. There are easier ways for a woman like you to get what she wants.”
Zhi Lan scowled darkly. “And what ways would that be?”
He didn’t seem to take her tone as a threat. “Simple. Become Magistrate Bu’s concubine and you’ll be drowning in fortune for the rest of your life.”
“It’s that easy, isn’t it?” she said bitterly.
“Yes, it is.”
“If you were a woman, would you marry for wealth?”
“Of course. It’s the smart thing to do.”
Zhi Lan’s blood felt hot to the point of boiling. No doubt the scoundrel thought he was being helpful. But what made her even angrier was that Shao Qing was right. If the end goal was fortune, the smart thing to do would be to marry—or even become a rich man’s concubine, his “little wife”. But Zhi Lan was unwilling to give herself to a man in exchange for wealth and comfort.
Many would call her stupid for such a decision. It wasn’t practical. It wasn’t realistic. She was doing herself a disservice. And yet, Zhi Lan had principles. She knew betraying her own principles would truly be doing herself a disservice. She had seen too many women get burned going down the practical path, living out the rest of their lives with men they disliked, or men who only cared for their beauty. If Zhi Lan were to marry, it would be for love, not fortune. She would rather suffer discomfort in her body than in her soul.
But a part of her wished she didn’t have principles, or that they were different. That she could’ve done the practical thing when she was given the opportunity to.
Five years ago, a nobleman had passed through her village. It had been an unfruitful year in the fields due to drought, and Ma had been pregnant with her fourth child. The days were miserable, but Ma, with her cheerful nature, tried her best to lift everyone’s spirits. She’d made puppets out of fallen chicken feathers for her brothers and let Zhi Lan put on a bit of her rouge—a luxury Ma herself rarely indulged in.
Zhi Lan had wandered out that day with flushed cheeks and lips, her spirits marginally lifted. She didn’t realize she had caught the passing nobleman’s eye until he waved an imperious hand out the window of his carriage. Zhi Lan noted his silk brocade sleeve and stopped, wondering what an older man of such importance would want with her.
He had asked her to come home with him and become one of his concubines. Zhi Lan had only been fifteen—and refused him staunchly.
The nobleman, undeterred, followed her back to her cottage, hoping her parents would give a different answer. But Ma and Ba bravely turned him away. He had left in a huff.
Their neighbors watched this all from their windows, and later, one auntie had come by to say that Zhi Lan had been quite foolish indeed.
“Your girl is of age to be married anyway! Why not to a rich man? It would be a blessing to have such high connections during these hard times!”
Her parents would hear none of it.
For the next month, there was hardly enough food on the table. Ma lost the baby. Zhi Lan had been racked with guilt. Some days she wondered where her family would be if she had accepted the nobleman’s offer. They’d be living in the city, dressed in silk instead of hemp, with their bellies full every day regardless of whether it rained or not. She would have an extra sibling.
Ma and Ba told her to stop lingering on such thoughts.
“Why bear the guilt? You didn’t cause the drought. Unless you are secretly the Dragon King and withheld rain from us,” Ma had joked. She placed her hand on her belly in a sad, wistful sort of way. “This child was not meant to be. Perhaps it will find us in its next life.”
“No daughter of mine will be a concubine to some lecherous old weasel!” Ba exclaimed. “We villagers work for everything we have. We reap our own rewards. We bear our own losses. Hold on to that pride, Lan’er.”
Guilt was like an ink stain on a white sleeve. One could wash most of it away, but traces of it would still linger. Zhi Lan had learned to forgive herself, to stand with her principles. To be proud, like her Baba said.
But grim thoughts always lurked in the back of her mind. How long could she continue on as a painter’s apprentice, hardly making any income at all? What if her pursuits crashed and burned and there was no other path to take? She would’ve been better off marrying that nobleman after all.
And now look where my principles have brought me , Zhi Lan thought dryly, stopping before the walls of Magistrate Li’s manor. They had made it back a little before noon. The passersby were sparser than before. Shao Qing shook out the green bundle in his arm, revealing two roughspun robes.
“Why green? Isn’t black standard for thieving?” Zhi Lan asked.
“It’s daytime. Black is as conspicuous as white. Green will blend into the foliage.” Shao Qing offered the smaller one to her.
Zhi Lan held the fabric up to the willow tree sticking out of the walls. “But this isn’t even the right shade!”
Whereas the willow leaves were bright and sprightly, the robes Shao Qing had picked out were a dull olive.
“I can’t tell,” Shao Qing said.
Zhi Lan huffed and shook her head. Being angry at him was a waste of energy. Besides, what did he know of being a woman? She slipped on the olive robe and tightened the fabric belt. Shao Qing did the same.
The front gates of the manor creaked open. Zhi Lan scrambled back, her heart leaping to her throat. Shao Qing placed a hand on her shoulder and steered them to the adjacent wall, where they could peek out without being spotted.
“Don’t act guilty before you’ve committed the crime,” he murmured into her ear. The gesture was unintentionally intimate.
Zhi Lan tried not to notice how his breath tickled her cheek. “This isn’t a crime,” she whispered back. She was technically taking back Master Dan’s painting on his behalf. It was justified. But the longer she stood there, the less it felt like justice.
The guards at the gate were chatting with a group of servants. Zhi Lan was too far away to hear what they were saying. Shao Qing squeezed her shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Go where?”
He looked up. Zhi Lan followed his gaze.
“Over the wall.”