Chapter 53 The Winter Dragon
THE WINTER DRAGON
The famine had not affected everywhere equally. Though in many parts of the country, it showed itself like blisters and festering wounds, in others, one could hardly tell it was there. The palace was one of them; the capital, another.
And—twelve days north of either—Angkin City.
It was so much busier here than I had ever imagined.
The most populous city in the Northwest, Angkin was nestled between wind-flattened hills and a younger section of the Aricine River, still turbid with mountain silt.
Across it yawned a stretch of unending meadow.
The city sat on the route connecting the rest of the country with the Caeyang Corridor—and, as of recent years, the illustrious Salt Road—and the sounds of commerce and trade boomed like firecrackers.
“Come buy, come buy!” cried a girl laying out silver tureens on a rug; a bearded merchant beside her waved me over to look at his assortment of jewelry and sparkling hairpins.
“I’ll beat his price,” a bull-faced vendor claimed from across the street, but her attention was promptly pulled away by a wealthy foreigner draped in velvet.
Buskers vied for space in street corners, trading flutesong, poetry readings, or character divinations for coppers.
Street-food vendors lined the entire bank of the river, offering pan-fried dumplings, spicy pulled noodles, and sizzling lamb skewers on grills.
Standing here, amidst the crowd of thousands, I could not help but remember my childhood dream—the one of rickety wagons, and thin but dependable horses, and sundries.
“Look for the Violet Heron Tower,” I instructed my servants, while I stayed behind to scout.
There were dragons everywhere in this city. Ice-gray and ferocious, they were carved into statues, painted on banners, and engraved over arched gateways. Some held a sword between their teeth; others bore a red-painted 刀/Dao on their foreheads. A few held bouquets of white lilies in their claws.
The Winter Dragon, I thought.
Since Terren was the one who liberated the city from their occupiers, it was unsurprising that they would celebrate him here.
Through Maro’s testimony, I had learned that Terren had spent many years training here, honing his magic while forging weapons for Cao Myn’s army. I knew that he’d used Angkin as a base for the country’s assault north, to retake Tieza-North from the Lian.
From Empress Sun, I had learned that his mother had ties here. His beautiful, vindictive, and cruel mother, who had wanted to win more than anything because she’d looked back and seen how much she’d suffered.
Lady Autumn, I thought silently, into the cool northern summer, what happened in Tieza?
Why did your son stop breathing, that night in his tower, the instant I mentioned your name?
Not long after, one of my servants returned. “Lady Yin, we have found the place you’re looking for.”
Built into the sides of a hill surrounding the city was an elaborate, gold-and-violet pagoda. At its gates hung an ornate sign with three characters, spelling out the name of the building. Violet Heron Tower.
I heard the music before I even entered the building. Vibrant, sensual music, full of beckoning erhu instruments and entreating zithers. I left my servants and guards and crossed the arched gate alone, still disguised as a scholar’s wife, to scout for truths to feed my poem.
The tower was eight stories tall, open in its interior so that I could see each of its lantern-hung balconies.
From the side of it facing the city, I could see the sunset pouring in from outside; from the side built into the mountain, there shone only yellow lantern light.
A giant waterfall poured from the top floor, out the mouths of two white jade dragons, to plunge steaming into a pool at its base.
There were guests bathing there, between half-submerged statues of painted herons.
Dancing girls barely as old as I was, dressed in scant but shimmering costumes and carrying little dishes and wine in bejeweled glasses, giggled as they draped themselves around half-naked men.
The men had no silk clothes on to announce their high status, but their plump, well-fed cheeks and carefree smiles made their wealth obvious.
My stomach twisted at the sight of all that flesh. It was not hard to guess that this was one of the pleasure houses I’d heard so much about. A place where the childmaking act happened not for a purpose but for entertainment.
I could still feel the echoes of that deep and horrible pain, that night in the bamboo forest. Of the doctor’s warm and inquisitive hands the next day, wandering across me.
“Pretend your work in the capital does not exist,” one of the girls drawled, curling herself over one of the men. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep worrying about official affairs.”
Another had one of the guests’ fingers on her cheek. “I’m very good at keeping secrets,” she said playfully, and gave the fingers a kiss. “Your family at home will never know my name.”
The way the pleasure girls acted made me sick. The dainty way they spoke, like petals unfurling, the deliberate gentleness of every brush of a lip, every touch of a shoulder—I could tell they had been taught to perform, just as I once had.
Not only did she get him to bed us, Empress Sun had said, she also helped us perform for him.
She knew everything. All the techniques, all the wisdom, all the secrets—and she gave it all away freely.
“What are you staring at?”
I started and spun around. An older woman, glaring, had marched over to me with her hands on her hips. She was in her fifties, maybe sixties, but was dressed even more extravagantly than the younger girls. Her face was powdered even whiter, the pin in her hair even shinier.
“Are you the owner of this place?” I asked.
“The exit is that way,” she said, her voice deep and hoarse.
She pointed past the pool—past the bathing guests, the potted indoor bamboo and cherry trees, and the water-painted murals of poetry and mountains—at the arched gate.
She must have seen the way I was looking around and known I was not here to spend money.
She was the owner, then. “I am here to inquire about someone you may know. Lady Autumn.” I had planned to search the place on my own, but perhaps she could help me.
“Did you not hear what I said? Get out. You don’t belong here.” She waved a hand at a pair of heron-masked guards standing by one of the pillars, who started advancing towards me.
A year ago, I might have ducked my head and scurried away, like Ma had once taught me to do. But now I stood firm. Perhaps my heart was heavier now, and it did not move as easy.
“I do,” I told her. “I belong here.” This country, I had decided long ago, this dynasty, they could also belong to people like me. I produced an imperial writ from my sleeve.
She immediately paled. The guards reached us, but blinked with confusion when their mistress got onto her knees and bowed. “Aunt Ahma,” one of them said, “who is it?”
The owner could not read, but she must have recognized Terren’s dragon seal. “This is Lady Yin Wei,” she said. “Wife to Prince Terren, the Winter Dragon, and the Second Son and Heir of the Azalea House. She is our future empress.”
After that, Aunt Ahma was much more amenable. She welcomed my entire party—including my servants waiting outside with the carriages and wagons—with a grand and plastered-on smile.
“You are all welcome to enjoy the establishment,” she said, in a voice genial but edged with nervousness.
“Whether enjoying the baths in public, or taking one of our best girls in private.” She gestured behind her, at the pleasure workers who were dancing or plucking at zithers, at the men who were bathing, feasting, or composing poetry.
Or rather, had been. Everyone in the tower had stopped to stare.
My servants and guards, having been recognized, were no longer anonymous. When they had come in, it had been bearing the banners and striking red livery of the Imperial House, flooding the tower with the scent of azaleas, and lush capitals, and spring.
For a moment, the only sound in the tower was the waterfall.
Then everyone was scrambling to kneel. The pleasure girls, the servants, the guards. Even the naked men in the pool threw on a robe hurriedly and prostrated themselves on the marble floor, all muttering, “May you live a thousand years.”
It surprised me that I was pleased.
In the palace, I had never really felt powerful. I had been derided by the other concubines, subverted by the empress, and tortured by the prince. Even still, I was at his complete mercy. But out here, as far north as Angkin City, my position mattered. With it, I could get anything I wanted.
Now I understood why this vile thing, this thing that we could not even hold in our hands, this power, was something women and men fought so viciously for. Now I had tasted it for myself, and it was as sweet as peaches, as wine.
I left my other servants to enjoy the establishment, as Aunt Ahma had put it, and followed her into her office to speak in private.
One way or another, I was going to find the whole truth.