Chapter 10
Meilin
When Meilin played the zither, she didn’t see the polished paulownia wood of her soundboard nor the mother-of-pearl huī dots meant to guide her hands. Rather, she saw visions. Today, she saw a memory from her childhood—a sunny courtyard covered in snow.
It was too cold to play outside, and Mama warned Meilin that her fingers would freeze, but she didn’t listen and set up her zither in the garden anyway.
Gray had blanketed the sky for a week, but today, yellow rays of light pierced the clouds.
The first plum blossoms of the season were blooming, and she wanted to be there with her music.
She wanted to breathe in the flowers’ subtle, sweet scent before another snowfall buried them again.
When Meilin finished her song, Father had brought her a fur-lined coat.
He draped the coat over her shoulders as he praised the passion in her playing.
For the first time, he spoke to her not in the voice he used when Ming-ming “won” at wéiqí against him, but in the voice he used when evaluating Ailin’s paintings, the impartial tone signaling his opinion as a scholar rather than a parent.
The pride that sprang up in Meilin’s chest warmed her more than the fur coat.
As the last note of “Three Stanzas on Plum Blossoms” faded into the air, Meilin remembered that she was not in the Nuolan Garden of her youth, but in a courtyard of Batong Mansion. She had put on the impromptu performance so Grand-mother Jiang would stop needling Ailin about her marriage plans.
Meilin had been annoyed when the old lady teased her about Master Wei, so she could easily imagine how mortified Ailin must have been to be teased as well.
Grand-mother Jiang’s teasing of betrothals and wedding wine bordered on sarcasm, like love was a joke rather than the bond of a lifetime.
Meilin would do anything to protect Ailin from further mockery.
Meilin looked into the dining room and saw that her plan worked. Her zither playing had broken up the focus on Ailin and become background music for eating, drinking, and chatting. No one looked at Ailin, or Meilin either.
Except for Sandy. The little girl was staring at Meilin. When Meilin cocked her head in confusion, Sandy leaped out of her chair and ran with outstretched arms toward her.
Past her. Meilin spun in her seat to follow the little girl with her eyes.
“Uncle!” Sandy squealed in delight as a muscular man scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.
Meilin was surprised that she hadn’t sensed his approach.
He took up space in such a noticeable way that she couldn’t look away from him.
He was lean and roughly the same height as Enze or Uncle Meng, but the way he stood was so solid.
From his mussed topknot to his armored vest to his dusty boots, he was neither shy nor vain about his appearance. He looked at her with curiosity.
“Have you finished training your recruits today, Captain Bai?” Grand-mother Jiang asked. “You’ve returned in time to meet the newest members of our household. Miss Duan Meilin has been regaling us with a stunning zither performance.”
“I was lucky enough to hear the last stanza,” Captain Bai said as he set Sandy on the ground.
Meilin was surprised by the soldier’s understanding of music.
“And what do you think of Miss Meilin?” Grand-mother Jiang’s mischievous grin made Meilin want to roll her eyes.
Less than an hour ago, the old lady had been teasing Meilin about her feelings for Master Wei.
Now she was teasing Captain Bai about Meilin as if she wanted to create some triangle of drama. Did she truly view them all as jokes?
“Miss Meilin is a talented musician,” Captain Bai replied simply as he let Sandy lead him to the dining table.
His answer was strategic, polite but disinterested, without even a second glance at Meilin.
He was clearly used to Grand-mother Jiang’s goading and had practiced methods of brushing her off. Meilin respected him more for it.
The old lady took Captain Bai’s laconic attitude in stride, summoning servants to bring him the meat and vegetable dishes that had been set aside and kept warm for him.
With the captain’s arrival taking everyone’s attention, Meilin returned to her seat next to Ailin.
With Grand-mother Jiang gabbing to Captain Bai, Meilin hoped not to be teased again.
Captain Bai listened good-naturedly to Grand-mother Jiang as he ate. Unfortunately, the conversation eventually turned back to Meilin and her encounter with the thief.
“Isn’t it terrible that our city is getting so lawless?
” Grand-mother Jiang asked in an undulating voice that sounded more exaggerated than sincere.
“Thieves commit crimes on public streets while damsels must rely on the chivalry of civilian gentlemen! Where are the imperial soldiers when we need them? It was a good thing young Wei was there, or else the lovely Miss Meilin would have lost her precious hairpin.”
Captain Bai clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly at Grand-mother Jiang’s critique of the imperial army. Meilin wondered if anyone else noticed how it marred his otherwise handsome face. His good looks differed from Master Wei’s in the way that a mountain differed from fireworks.
“I’m sorry to hear that such an incident occurred in this neighborhood today,” Captain Bai said, his reply measured.
“I will talk to the county magistrate and see if the security for this area can be increased. In the meantime, I suggest staying home more often since the magistrate’s office has been slow to respond to petitions lately. ”
Grand-mother Jiang laughed. “You officials are all the same, each blaming the other for inefficient governance while telling us common folk to fend for ourselves. What do we pay taxes for? How can people like us stay home when there’s work to be done outside these walls?
Shops must be surveyed; trades must be made!
Dear Captain, can you yourself not spend more time here to increase our security? ”
Captain Bai opened his mouth, but his young niece spoke first.
Sandy sounded older than a child her age when she defended him. “Uncle needs to train troops to prepare for the next Wōkòu raid. He can’t stay home with us even if he wants to. Otherwise, he would.”
As Captain Bai patted Sandy’s head, his demeanor instantly shifted from defensive warrior to mother hen.
Meilin was surprised to see his gentleness.
She expected military officers to be crude and rough.
The imperial army might have been indispensable to the empire’s defense, but everyone knew that soldiers were an unreliable lot in general.
Officers were usually hereditary conscripts or those who took the military exams because they didn’t have enough talent for the civil service exams.
“Do you think the Wōkòu will attack Suzhou again?” Uncle Meng asked, changing the direction of the conversation. “Your troops beat them back soundly this past autumn.”
Captain Bai nodded. “We drove them away temporarily, but all reports say they’re hiding in Songjiang. It’s only a matter of time before they strike again. Suzhou is too great a prize for them to stay away.”
The captain was not an eloquent speaker, but he was so knowledgeable that Meilin found herself fascinated by the discussion.
Since Master Wei was not present to talk about his plays, Captain Bai talking about pirates was the only thing protecting them from dullness on one front and Grand-mother Jiang on the other.
As the sky outside darkened, Meilin found herself wishing the captain wouldn’t stop speaking.
“Do you have any other stories?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” Captain Bai frowned as he turned toward her.
Meilin shifted in her chair, worried she had acted too forward. She hadn’t meant to demand something of him that he didn’t want to share, but the events he talked about reminded her of the literary works she loved.
“I was merely wondering if you had other adventures to share,” she explained, hoping he would understand her.
“Adventures?” Captain Bai pronounced it like a foreign word, making Meilin cringe.
“Maybe you can talk about your time in Beijing,” Uncle Meng suggested. “The children love that story too.”
“Is it really something worth repeating?” Captain Bai asked.
Meilin saved her breath, but as the others around the table expressed their interest, Captain Bai conceded.
He proceeded to describe his time as a young soldier taking part in the imperial military examinations in Beijing four years earlier.
When surprise forces led by Altan Khan of the Mongols set the capital’s outer districts on fire and threatened the city gates, Bai and other examinees were sent to fight, eventually driving the Mongols north across the Great Wall.
For his performance in battle, Bai earned the position of captain and was sent to Suzhou to deal with the Wōkòu pirate raids.
Despite Captain Bai’s dry style of speaking, Meilin found herself captivated by his story, her imagination drifting to the folktale of Lady Mèng Jiāng crying down the wall. “What was it like to see the Great Wall?”
“At the time I saw it, the wall was broken from many recent battles, so it was rather pathetic. In general, I think walls are far less effective border security measures than good policies.”
Captain Bai’s response shocked Meilin out of her reverie. She furrowed her brows in confusion. Why was he speaking of security and policy when she was asking about myths and legends? “Can you explain what you mean?”
“The Mongols want goods like silk while we want more quality horses. No one likes fighting for fighting’s sake. If the emperor were more willing to open markets on the border, then both sides could benefit from trade.”