China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

—

Second Son was tired that night, and Mei-Ling thought he had fallen asleep until he spoke. “I know you love Nio. I’m sorry about Mother.”

With a little rush of relief, she burst out in an anguished whisper. “I felt so bad. I promised him I’d go to meet him. But I suppose I can’t now. I’d never do anything to upset you.”

“I don’t mind if you see Nio. It’s Mother who minds.” And he put his arm around her as her tears flowed. By the time she stopped, he was fast asleep.

—

All things seem possible in the morning. It was only when she awoke, slipped into the courtyard, and saw the morning mist that Mei-Ling realized what she could do. For what she saw, as she peeped out from the gate towards the pond, was not the mist of the day before, but a thick white fog. Impenetrable. Comprehensive. Like a cloak of invisibility sent her by the gods. The sort of fog in which, if you were foolish enough to enter it, you might be lost at once.

So she had an excuse. She’d stepped out and gotten lost. Just wandered along the path and gotten lost. Who could possibly prove where she had been? Nobody could see.

She went back into her room. Her dear husband was still asleep. She wanted to kiss him, but she was afraid he might wake. Quickly putting on a pair of loose leggings under her tunic, she stepped into her clogs, took a shawl, and slipped out of the room. As she went through the yard, she could hear the village elder snoring from the divan. Obviously he had stayed the night. The door to Willow’s room was not quite closed. Was her sister-in-law watching? She hoped not. Moments later, she was outside, enveloped in the fog.

It was lucky she knew exactly where the little footbridge was, because she couldn’t see it. After a couple of fumbles she found the handrails and started across. She could smell the reeds in the mud. The wooden boards creaked beneath her feet. Would anyone hear, in the house?

At the far end, she stepped onto the path and turned right. Beside the path, thick green bamboo shoots towered over her. She could hardly see them, but drops of dew from their leaves fell softly on her head as she made her way over the rutted track that led around the edge of the hamlet. A faint tangy scent rose from the ground. She knew, without needing to see it, when she was passing a small grove of banana trees.

And it was just then that she heard the sound. A faint creaking coming across the water behind her. Someone was crossing the little bridge. A cold fear stabbed her. Had Willow seen her go out and told her mother-in-law? She hurried forward, tripped on a root, almost fell, but recovered herself. If she could get to the meeting place before the older woman caught her, she might be able to hide with Nio in the fog. She listened again. Silence. Either Mother had stopped or she must be on the track.

The path rose up a short incline. At the top it met the dirt road by the entrance to the hamlet. As she reached the road, she could make out the tiny stone shrine, which contained a little wooden figure of a man—though she always thought he looked more like a shriveled old monkey. The ancestral founder of the hamlet was there to protect his clan, and the hamlet in general. She asked for his blessing, though she wasn’t sure she’d get it.

This was where she’d told Nio to meet her. She called his name, softly.

The fog here was more like a thick low mist. It covered the rice fields behind her and the stream where the ducks lived, just ahead on the left; but she could make out the roofs of the huts higher up the road ahead, the modest hill beyond, and the encircling arms of the two small ridges—Blue Dragon and White Tiger, the villagers called them—that protected the hamlet on each side.

Normally the village was a pleasant place. Cool summer breezes came up from the sea in summer; the low sun gave its gentle warmth in winter. The wind and waters—the feng shui—of the hamlet were good. But it would be like one of the eighteen layers of hell if Mother caught her now. She stared into the mist anxiously. She couldn’t wait here.

She called Nio’s name again. Nothing. There was only one thing to do. If he came out to meet her, even in this mist, she surely couldn’t miss him on the narrow road. Muttering a curse, she hurried into the hamlet.

Her parents’ house was nothing much to look at. There was no little courtyard in front with a gate onto the street, like the houses on either side. An assortment of wooden boards formed the front of the dwelling, into which an old door, taken years ago from a neighbor’s house when it was being pulled down, had been inserted, not quite vertically, so that it seemed to fall rather than swing into the dark interior that was the main room. There was no upper floor to speak of, but an inside ladder allowed her parents to creep up to a low loft space where they could sleep.

As soon as she reached the rickety wooden door, she shoved it open.

“Nio!” she whispered urgently. “Nio.”

There was a rustling sound from the shadows, then his voice. “Big Sister. It’s you.”

“Of course it’s me. Where were you?”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I said I would.”

“Daughter.” Her father’s head appeared now, upside down, from the top of the ladder. “Go home. Go home. You shouldn’t be here.” Then her mother’s voice from the same place: “You must go back. Quick, quick.” That was all she needed.

She pushed the door closed behind her. “If anyone comes,