Li Yuan watched his brother a moment longer, then looked down. Sunlight through the branches dappled the earth beside his hand. Leaf shadow lay across his flesh like a discoloration of the skin. He shivered and closed his eyes. Sometimes he felt he understood too well. If he were in Han's place, Fei Yen would have been enough for him; he would have needed no other. He looked back at his brother, keeping his thoughts to himself, knowing that Han would only tease him if he knew. You're only eight, he would say. What could you possibly know of love?
"Even so," Han said, looking at him again, "Fei Yen will be special. My first wife. And her sons shall inherit." He nodded, satisfied with the justice of the words. Li Yuan saw how his brother was watching him—smiling, a deep love in his eyes— and looked down, warmed by it.
"They'll be fine sons, Yuan. Good, strong sons. And the first of them will have your name."
Han Ch'in reached out and held his brother's ankle. "He'll be strong, like me. But I hope he'll also be wise, like you."
"And pretty, like Fei Yen," Yuan said, looking up at his brother through his long, dark eyelashes.
Han looked away into the distance, a faint smile on his lips, then nodded. "Yes . . . like Fei Yen."
"Do you mind if I sit here?"
Wang Ti blushed and looked down, cradling the child to her and rocking it gently. All four tiers of Chang's Restaurant were packed, few spaces remaining at the tables. Her table, on the second tier, overlooking the bell tower, was one of the few not fully occupied.
"No. Please do."
She had seen the man much earlier, moving between the crowded market stalls at the end of Main. Like the others in the crowd, she had watched him momentarily, then turned back to her shopping, impressed by the sheer size of him. Now, as he sat across from her, she realized just how big he was; not just tall but broad at the shoulder and the chest. A real giant of a man.
"What's good here?"
She looked up and met his eyes. Blue Hung Moo eyes.
"It's all good. Chang's is the best here on Twenty-six. But you might try his green jade soup."
The big man nodded and half turned in his seat, summoning the nearest girl.
"Master?"
"I'm told the green jade soup is good. Bring me a large bowl. Oh, and some chicken drumsticks and noodles."
The girl bowed, then turned and went back inside to the kitchens.
"Do you eat here often?"
He was facing her again, a faint, polite smile on his lips.
She looked down at the sleeping child, safe in the harness at her chest. "When I can afford to," she answered quietly. "Which is not often, I'm afraid."
The man followed her gaze, smiling. "He's a good child. How old is he?"
She stroked the child's brow, and looked up, her smile broadening momentarily. "Ten months."
He leaned forward, looking into the child's sleeping face. "I bet he's his father's darling."
She laughed. "Yes! Chen's like a child himself when he's with Jyan."
"Jyan? A pretty name for a child."
She smiled. "And you? You speak like a man who has sons."
The big man sat back and laughed. "Me? No . . . one day, perhaps. But for now . . . well, my job keeps me on the move. It would not do to have ties."
She looked at him sympathetically a moment, noticing his features properly for the first time. He had a big, open face, the long nose blunted at its tip, his jaw pronounced and his lips full. His dark hair was cut brutally short, making her wonder for a moment what it was he did. But it was not an unkind face. When he smiled it softened. She decided she liked him.
"And that's what brings you here?"
"My job? No, not this time. I'm looking for someone. A relative."
She laughed again; softly, so as not to wake the child. "I think I'd have seen any relative of yours about."
His smile broadened. "Oh, don't judge all my clan by me. This"—he put one hand on his chest—"they say I inherited from my grandfather. My father's father. My mother was a small woman, you see. Small in size, I should say, for she was a giant to her sons."
She looked down, pleased by his filial piety. "And your father?"
For a moment the big man looked away. "I never knew my father. He left before I was two years old."
"Ah . . . like my Chen."
The giant looked back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "You understand, then?"
She bowed her head slightly. "Itrs sad. ..."
"Yes, well. . ."He turned. The serving girl was standing at his side, a tray of steaming food balanced on one hand. He moved back from the table, letting her set out the bowls in front of him. "You've eaten?" He looked at the woman facing him, concerned. "If not, might I buy you lunch?"
She shook her head hastily. "Please, I ... well, I thank you kindly, but Chen would not permit it."
He raised a hand. "I understand. Forgive me. ..."
She looked up, smiling. "Thank you. But we have eaten. And now.. ."
The big man was already spooning his soup down vigorously. "Hmm. This is delicious. As good as anything I've tasted."
She smiled, watching him, enjoying his enjoyment. "As I said. Chang's is the best."
He looked across at her, then set down his spoon and stood, seeing she was getting up. "Can I help you?"
She shook her head. "No, please. I can manage. I'm quite used to it, I assure you."
He gave a slight bow with his head. "Then take care. It was a pleasure talking with you."
"And you."
Karr sat there a moment, watching her go. Then, nodding to himself, he looked down at the soup and began to eat again. Reaching for one of the drumsticks he paused, laughing softly to himself. Jyan! He'd named the boy Jyan! Then, more thoughtfully, he gazed back across the broad corridor, remembering the woman's face, her smile; but mostly remembering what she had said.
There's time, he thought. Time enough for all things. Even sons.
HAN C H' IN approached the fence at a gallop, the Arab flying beneath him, its sleek neck pushing forward with each stride, its jet-black flanks moving powerfully, effortlessly across the hillside, its tail streaming behind it in the wind.
Yuan, watching from the pavilion half a li away, held his breath. It was the biggest of the fences, almost the size of the horse; a construction of stone and wood, with the ground dropping away beyond. Han had fallen here before, the last time he'd attempted it. Fallen and bruised his ribs badly. Now, fearlessly, he tried the fence again.
Without checking his pace Han spurred the Arab on, yelling wildly as it stretched and leapt. For the briefest moment it seemed he had misjudged. The horse rose mightily, its forelegs climbing the air, but, at its highest point, its pasterns seemed to brush the fence. As it hit the ground on the far side it stumbled and threatened to go down.
Yuan cried out, putting his knuckles to his mouth. The horse seemed to stagger, its momentum threatening to topple it dock over poll. In the saddle Han Ch'in hung on grimly, pulling tightly at the reins, straining to keep the Arab's head up, drawing the horse to the right, into the gradient. The Arab fought back, fear making its movements desperate. Its nostrils flared and it whinnied noisily, contesting with Han's sharp yells of command. Slowly its rump came round, its long, dished face flicking to the left as if in pain. As Han Ch'in eased off, its head came up sharply, and it seemed to dance, then settle, slowing to a canter.
Yuan turned, looking up at his father. "He's done it! Han's done it!"
"Yes. . . ." Li Shai Tung was smiling, but his eyes revealed just how worried he had been.
Han Ch'in turned the horse again, reaching down to pat its neck, then spurred it on toward them. Drawing up in front of them, he threw his head back proudly, then reached up to comb the hair back from his eyes, looking to his father for approval.
"Well done, Han. You proved yourself the master of the beast!"
Han laughed, then looked down at the Arab's face. "Maybe. But she's a fine horse, Father. Any of the others from our stables would have fallen back there. A rider is sometimes only as good as his horse."