Li Yuan took his hands. Small hands, like a woman's, the skin smooth, almost silky, the fingernails grown long.
"I need to see my wife, Honored Father-in-Law. 1 must talk with her."
A faint breeze was blowing off the water. Fallen leaves brushed against their feet then slowly drifted on.
Yin Tsu nodded his head. Looking at him, Li Yuan saw the original of his wife's finely featured face. There was something delicate about it; some quality that seemed closer to sculpture than genetic chance.
"Come through. I'll have her join us."
Li Yuan bowed and followed the old man. Inside it was cool. Servants brought ch'a and sweetmeats while Yin Tsu went to speak to his daughter. Li Yuan sat there, waiting, rehearsing what he would say.
After a while Yin Tsu returned, taking a seat across from him.
"Fei Yen will not be long. She wants a moment to prepare herself. You understand?"
"Of course. I would have notified you, Yin Tsu, but I did not know when I could come."
The old man lifted his chin and looked down his tiny nose at his son-in-law. Unspoken words lay in the depth of his eyes. Then he nodded, his features settling into an expression of sadness and resignation.
"Talk to her, Yuan. But please, you must only talk. This is still my house.
Agreed?"
Li Yuan bowed his head. Yin Tsu was one of his father's oldest friends. An affront to him would be as an affront to his father.
"If she will not listen, then that will be an end to it, Yin Tsu. But I must try. It is my duty as a husband to try."
His words, like his manner, were stilted and awkward. They hid how much he was feeling at that moment: how much this meant to him.
Yin Tsu went to the window, staring out across the lake. It was difficult for him too. There was a tenseness to each small movement of his that revealed how deeply he felt about all this. But then, that was hardly surprising. He had seen his hopes dashed once before, when Yuan's brother Han had been killed.
Li Yuan sipped at his ch'a, then put it down. He tried to smile, but the muscles in his cheeks pulled the smile too tight. From time to time a nerve would jump beneath his eye, causing a faint twitch. He had not been sleeping well since she had left. "How is she?" he asked, turning to face Yin Tsu.
"In good health. The child grows daily." The old man glanced across, then looked back at the lake. His tiny hands were folded together across his stomach.
"That's good."
On the far side of the room, beside a lacquered screen, stood a cage on a long, slender pole. In the cage was a nightingale. For now it rested silently on its perch, but once it had sung for him—on that day he had come here with his father to see Yin Tsu and ask him for his daughter's hand in marriage.
He sat there, feeling leaden. She had left him on the evening of the argument. Had gone without a word, taking nothing, leaving him to think on what he had done.
"And how is Li Shai Tung?"
Li Yuan looked up blankly. "I beg your pardon, Honored Father?"
"Your father. How is he?"
"Ah," he breathed in deeply, returning to himself. "He is fine now, thank you. A little weak, but. . ."
"None of us are growing any younger." The old man shook his head, then came across and sat again, a faint smile on his lips. "Not that we would even if we could, eh, Yuan?"
Yin Tsu's remark was far from innocuous. He was referring to the new longevity process. Already, it was said, more than a thousand of the Above had had the operation and were taking the drugs regularly—without concrete evidence of the efficacy of the treatment, without knowing whether there were any traceable side-effects. Such men were desperate, it seemed. They would grasp at any promise of extended life.
"Only ill can come of it, Yuan. I guarantee." He leaned forward, lifting the lid to look into the ch'a kettle, then summoned the servant across. While the servant hurried to replenish it, Li Yuan considered what lay behind his father-in-law's words. This was more than small talk, he realized. Yin Tsu was talking to him not as a son but as a future colleague. It was his way of saying that whatever transpired they would remain friends and associates. The interests of the Families—both Major and Minor—superseded all else. As they had to.
When the servant had gone again, Yin Tsu leaned forward, his voice a whisper, as if he were afraid of being overheard.
"If it helps at all, Li Yuan, my sympathy's with you. She acted rashly. But she's a headstrong young woman, I warn you. You'll not alter that with bit and bridle."
Li Yuan sighed, then sipped at his ch'a. It was true. But he had wanted her both as she was and as he wanted her; like caging fire. He glanced up at Yin Tsu and saw the concern there, the deep-rooted sympathy. And yet in this the old man would support his daughter. He had sheltered her; given her refuge against her husband. He might sympathize but he would not help.
There was a sound, movement, from the far end of the long room. Li Yuan looked up and saw her in the doorway. He stood up as Yin Tsu looked around.
"Fei Yen, come in. Li Yuan is here to see you."
Li Yuan stepped forward, moving to greet her, but she walked past him, as though he were not there. He turned, pained by her action, watching her embrace her father gently.
She seemed paler than he remembered her, but her tiny form was well rounded I now, seven and a half months into its term. He wanted to touch the roundness of { the belly, feel the movements of the growing child within. For all her coldness to him, he felt as he had always felt toward her. All of it flooded back, stronger than ever; all the tenderness and pain; all of his unfathomable love for her.
"Fei Yen. . ." he began, but found he could say no more than that. What could he say? How might he persuade her to return? He looked pleadingly to Yin Tsu. The old man saw and giving the slightest of nods, moved back, away from his daughter.
"Forgive me, Fei, but I must leave now. I have urgent business to attend to."
"Father..." she began, her hand going out to touch him, but he shook his head.
"This is between you two alone, Fei. You must settle it here and now. This indecision is unhealthy."
She bowed her head, then sat.
"Come," Yin Tsu beckoned to him. He hesitated, seeing how she was sitting, her ' -head down, her face closed to him; then went across and sat, facing her. Yin Tsu stood there a moment longer, looking from one to the other. Then, without another word, he left.
For a time neither spoke or looked at the other. It was as if an impenetrable screen lay between them. Then, unexpectedly, she spoke.
"My father talks as if there were something to decide. But I made my decision when I left you." She looked up at him, her bottom lip strangely curled, almost pinched. It gave her mouth a look of bitterness. Her eyes were cold, defiant. And yet beautiful. "I'm not coming back, Li Yuan. Not ever."
He looked at her, meeting her scorn and defiance, her anger and bitterness, and finding only his own love for her. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman. All he would ever want.
He looked down, staring at his perfectly manicured nails as if they held some clue to things.
"I came to say that I'm sorry, Fei. That I was wrong."
When he looked up again he saw that she had turned her face aside. But her body was hunched and tensed, her neck braced, the muscles stretched and taut. She seemed to draw each breath with care, her hands pressed to her breasts as if to hold in all she was feeling.
"I was wrong, Fei. I ... I overreacted."
"You killed them!" She spat the words out between her teeth.