China by Edward Rutherfurd (latest novels to read TXT) 📗

It is with great distress, honored sir, that I must inform you that a disaster has occurred. Our plans are ruined.

I flatter myself that I have few enemies. But one enemy, who formerly tried to destroy me, and who has never ceased since then to place every obstacle in my path that he can, is a certain Mr. Liu, a palace person of great power and importance. Somehow, by what means I have been unable to discover, he came to know in advance of the salt inspector’s position and of my interest in the matter. The very night before I was going to mention it to the empress, he obtained an audience with her and secured the post for a candidate of his own. When I spoke to her the next morning, she laughed and said, “Bad luck, Lacquer Nail. I just gave it away to a friend of Mr. Liu’s. You’re too late.”

There is nothing I can do, honored sir. If I hear of something else, I shall endeavor to let you know. But there’s nothing on the horizon at the moment. Accordingly, I am returning the down payment with this same messenger.

This is a heavy blow for both of us, and I can only express my deep regret.

Shi-Rong let out a great cry of anguish. His chance of riches gone. The wedding of Bright Moon a great hole in his purse. As for the extra gift of money for Mei-Ling, it was not even to be thought of.

1887

Guanji didn’t have a plan. He’d generally found that in matters of the heart, it was better not to make plans. If something was meant to happen, it would, one way or another. If not, not.

If there was a woman he was interested in, he’d be charming, he’d let her know he admired her, but that was all. The next move was hers—if and only if she chose to make it. That was the challenge and the art.

Normally, widows were his game. Much safer. But this case was different. He wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. There were difficulties to be overcome, danger, uncertainty. It would require patience. But he had plenty of time. At least he thought he had.

He was still in his fifties, a widower in robust good health with two handsome grown-up sons and a daughter already well married. That gave him freedom. As a Manchu, he was given the respect that came from his great clan and his high rank. He had all the money he required and a delightful house in one of the most beautiful and fashionable places in the world.

His neighbors on West Lake called him the general. It was true that he’d briefly held a general command, and he might have gone further. He might even have been granted a title if he’d won a great battle. But seven years ago, he’d chosen to retire with a comfortable pension, and since then he’d enjoyed a very pleasant life.

It might be supposed that his nickname, the general, carried with it a hint of mockery. Soldiers, after all, were considered crude fellows, far below scholars in status. But amongst the Chinese literati—the poets and scholars who liked to gather in the delightful region around Hangzhou—he found himself well regarded. His cultivated uncle was still remembered; many of the local gentlemen and scholars had been aware of Guanji since he was a boy and knew that he’d shown literary promise as a student. If now, in his retirement, he chose to live the life of a cultivated gentleman on West Lake, they were glad to welcome him.

—

Mr. Yao had only just acquired his lakeside villa. His business in Jingdezhen had continued to flourish. His twelve-year marriage to the lovely Bright Moon had produced three fine sons and a daughter. The family succession was assured. He had to wait only another fifteen years or so before handing the potteries over to his oldest son; and in the meantime, he had a nephew who was perfectly competent to run the business day to day.

So he could afford to take two or three months off each year, to live the leisured life of the gentleman he had become. What better way of doing so than setting himself up in a fine villa on the fashionable West Lake, a good ten days journey away from the smoking chimneys of his potteries in Jingdezhen?

And if he wasn’t quite sure what to do in this aristocratic place once he’d got there, the merchant meant to find out.

He’d been glad therefore, on a visit with his wife and children to a famous nearby temple, to be introduced by the temple priest to a distinguished neighbor, the general, who had politely expressed his pleasure that the villa, which had been left empty and neglected for some years, now had an owner at last. Would the general care to visit, Mr. Yao had asked, and perhaps suggest improvements he could make? The general had been delighted. He had business to attend to in Hangzhou, but a date for his visit had been fixed for ten days after his return.

And now here he was.

—

“The setting is really excellent,” Guanji remarked as the two men toured the grounds. They were right on the waterfront.

“I’ve ordered a boat so that we can go out on the lake,” Mr. Yao said.

“There are particular places on the water recommended for viewing the moon, sunsets behind the pagoda on the hill, and so forth,” Guanji told him. “I’d be glad to show you when the boat arrives.” And your pretty wife, too, he thought to himself. He’d met her only briefly at the temple, but had seen enough to make him accept the invitation to visit the merchant’s villa with pleasure.

“Thank you, General,” Mr. Yao replied.

Like many Chinese gardens, the grounds of the waterside villa were divided into numerous smaller spaces, which provided both