"Or the horse his rider." The T'ang was looking seriously at his son now. "I don't say this lightly, Han Ch'in. I was worried for you. But you showed great character. You did not let the beast have her own way. You controlled her." He nodded and momentarily looked at his younger son. "Control. That's the key. To beasts and men."
For a moment longer Han Ch'in stared down at his horse's face, petting the animal, calming her. Then he looked up again and met his father's eyes. "I didn't think you would be here, Father. I thought you would be arranging things. The reception. ..."
The T'ang smiled faintly at his son, then grew more serious. "That's all in hand. No, I came because I need you both, two hours from now, in the Hall of the Seven Ancestors. It will be formal, so dress accordingly."
Han frowned. "What is it, Father?"
Li Shai Tung studied his eldest son a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of him proudly. "Later, Han. I'll explain things when you're there."
Han Ch'in bowed in the saddle, answering for them both. "As you wish, Father. We shall be there."
"Good. But before then you've a visitor." He smiled. "Fei Yen has arrived. She's waiting for you in the Palace."
Yuan looked across at his brother, watching him. Han bowed to his father, then, unable to hide the grin that had settled on his face, turned his horse and began to move away across the hillside toward the river and the bridge. Halfway down he turned in his saddle and called back.
"I'll see you there, Yuan! Bring Hsueh Chai and old Chou. In the meadow by the lake. We'll have a picnic."
FEI YEN was standing on the bridge, her maids surrounding her. One stood behind her, shading her mistress with a huge silk umbrella. Another stood at her side, languidly waving a large fan. A third and fourth, their pastel greens and blues matching the colors of the day, waited nearby. Thirty paces off, in the shade of a great willow, stood her aunts and great-aunts in their dark silks and satins, watchful, talking quietly among themselves.
Fei Yen herself was looking out across the lake; watching the warm spring breeze ruffle the water and bend the reeds at the shoreline. Her face, in the sunlight filtered through the umbrella, seemed like a silken screen of pinks and oranges, her dainty features hidden from Li Yuan, who stood on the bank below, looking up at her.
She was beautiful. He had no need to see her clearly to know that. He had only to remember the last time she had come here to the orchard. Had only to recall the way she smiled, the way her bright pink tongue poked out from between those pearled and perfect teeth. How dark her eyes were, how delicate the contours of her face.
He looked across at Han and saw how his brother looked at her. Saw both the awe and the love there in his face. And understood.
Servants had set up a small rounded tent in the middle of the water meadow. The Arab was tethered just beyond it, its head down, grazing. In front of the tent they had set down stools and a low table, on which was placed a wine kettle and three small glazed tumblers. Farther off, conspicuous in the center of the meadow, stood an archery target.
Han Ch'in came forward, striding purposefully across the short grass, like some strange upright, elegant animal. He had changed from his riding clothes into looser silks of peach and vermilion. Hsueh Chai had braided his hair with golden thread and he wore a simple gold necklet of interwoven dragons. Watching him, Yuan felt all his love for his brother swell up in him. How fine Han was; in his own way, how beautiful. How his dark eyes flashed as he came to the stone flags of the narrow bridge. Eyes that never for a moment left his future bride.
Fei Yen turned, facing Han Ch'in, and came out from beneath the shade.
Again Yuan caught his breath. She was like china. Like perfect porcelain. Her skin so pale, so perfectly white; her nose, her lips, her delicate ears so finely molded that, for a moment, she seemed like a sculpture come to sudden life. Such diminutive perfection. Then, as she met Han on the gentle downslope of the bridge, he saw her smile, saw how her dark eyes filled with fire and knew, with all the certainty his young soul could muster, that he was lost to her. She was Han's. But he would love her even so. As he loved Han. And maybe more.
Over tea their talk was of court matters. Yuan, silent, looked up at Fei Yen through his lashes, strangely, overpoweringly abashed by her proximity. When she leaned forward, the pale cream of her sleeve brushed against his knees, and he shivered, the faint sweet scent of jasmine wafting to him from her.
"They say Wang Sau-Leyan has been up to mischief," she said softly, looking up past her fan at Han Ch'in. "Ten years old! Can you imagine it! His eldest brother caught him . . ."
She hesitated, giving a soft, delicious laugh.
"Go on. . . ." said Han, leaning forward on his seat, his booted feet spread, like two young saplings planted in the earth, his hands placed firmly on his knees.
"Well. . ." she said, conspiratorially, "it's said that he was found with a girl. Stark naked in his father's bed!"
"No!" said Han, delighted. "His father's bed!"
Wang Sau's father was Wang Hsien, T'ang of City Africa. Wang Sau-Leyan was his fourth son and his youngest.
"Yes!" Fei Yen clapped her hands together. "And listen . . . the girl was only a child. And Hung Mao too!"
Han Ch'in sat back, astonished; then, slowly, he began to laugh.
Yuan, meanwhile, was watching her. Her voice was so sweet, so pure in its tones, it sent a shiver down his spine. He was oblivious of the sense of her words; to him her voice seemed divorced from all human meaning. It had that same, sweet lyrical sound as the erhu; the same rich yet plaintive contralto of that ancient instrument. And as she talked he found himself fascinated by the movement, by the very shape, of her hands. By the strange pearled opalescence of her nails, the delicacy of her tiny, ice-pale fingers, no bigger than his own. He looked up into her face and saw the fine, cosmetic glaze of her cheeks and brow, the silken darkness of her hair, threads of fine silver catching the afternoon's sunlight.
Han Ch'in leaned forward, still laughing. "What happened?"
Fei Yen sat back demurely. Thirty paces off, the group of aunts, waited on by servants from their own household, were fanning themselves vigorously and straining to hear what was making Han Ch'in laugh so lustily.
"His father has banished him for a year. He's to stay in the floating palace. Alone. With only his male servants for company."
Han Ch'in looked down, sobered by the news. He shook his head, then looked up at Fei Yen again. "That's rather harsh, don't you think? I mean, he's only a boy. Not much older than Yuan here. And after all, it's nothing really. Just a bit of high spirits."
Fei Yen fanned herself slowly, her eyes briefly looking inward.
Then she smiled and tilted her head, looking directly at Han. "But his father's bed ... Surely, Han . . .?" She raised her eyebrows, making Han guffaw with laughter once again.
"Listen," he said, getting up. "I plan to issue a challenge. After the wedding. To all the Families, Major and Minor. To all the sons and cousins." He glanced across at Hsueh Chai, who was standing with the maids beside the entrance to the tent. The old servant came across at once, bringing a short hunting bow and a quiver of heavy, steel-tipped arrows. Han Ch'in took them and held them up. "Twelve arrows. And the highest score shall win the prize."
Fei Yen looked past him at the target. "And you think you'll win?"
Han, Ch'in laughed and looked at the bow in his hand. "I don't think I'll win. I know I will."
Her eyes flashed at him. "My three brothers are good shots. You must be very good if you're better than them."
Han Ch'in drew the strap of the quiver over his shoulder, then turned and marched to a point marked out on the grass. Taking an arrow from the quiver, he called back to her. "Watch!"