Chapter 550 — Under the Pear Tree

CHAPTER 550

Under the Pear Tree

Ling Qingzhu opened the gate of Number Seven before he could knock.

“You came alone,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Good. I'd have been disappointed if you brought a ledger.”

“I brought myself,” Shi Feng said.

“It will have to do,” Ling Qingzhu said.

The courtyard had been swept, and the well had a new rope. The pear tree stood bare in the middle of the yard, black against a pale winter sky. Under it she had set a low table, a teapot and a covered basket.

Through the open door he could see the folding screen, and the old painter's portrait of two young people who hadn't yet learned to talk to each other.

“Sit,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Eat. Sitting down, with both feet under the table. Elder Shufeng's orders.”

He sat. She poured tea, hot, the way she always insisted, then sat across from him with her chin on her hand and looked at him for so long that the tea began to cool.

“What?” Shi Feng asked.

“I'm looking,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“At what?” Shi Feng asked.

“At you,” Ling Qingzhu said, tilting her head. “You're very good at being looked at now. You used to go stiff like a plank.”

She was unveiled, and the wind tugged a strand of hair across her cheek. She tucked it back. He watched her do it, and what he felt was warm and steady, with none of the old catch in it.

She noticed too.

“There,” Ling Qingzhu said softly. “That's it.”

“That's what?” Shi Feng asked.

“That's what I wanted to ask about,” Ling Qingzhu said, setting down her cup. “Your thumb used to go to that violet string every time somebody said my name. At the Valley. At the border, when I walked you out.” She paused. “In the hall, when I called you husband in front of my whole clan, it stayed at your side. Not once. I watched.”

Shi Feng looked down. His right hand lay on his knee, a long way from his belt.

“I see,” Shi Feng said.

“Shi Feng,” Ling Qingzhu said lightly, though her thumb pressed hard against the cup. “Did something change? In there?” She tapped her own chest. “I'm not accusing you. I want to know.”

Shi Feng considered hiding it. No. She'd asked him honestly, and she deserved an honest answer.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

She did not look away.

“Tell me,” Ling Qingzhu said.

So he told her. He told her about the rain on the road, and the carriage that came down out of it with a jade lotus on its door. A servant had wanted to leave him in the mud. A voice from behind the curtain stopped her. He told her about the pill, and the old woman in grey on the driver's bench, and the village at dusk. He told her he had never seen the speaker's face.

“Her name was Nangong Xiuyi,” Shi Feng said. “She saved my life. I owe her.”

“And?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“And I've heard her voice in my head ever since,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Qingzhu said nothing.

Her lips pressed together, and a small sound escaped.

It was a giggle.

“Ling Qingzhu,” Shi Feng said.

“I'm sorry!” Ling Qingzhu said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I'm listening, I am! It's just, you lost your heart to a voice?”

“I didn't say heart,” Shi Feng said.

“You said it was the most pleasant thing you'd ever heard. Twice,” Ling Qingzhu said, her shoulders shaking. “Shi Feng! You've never seen her! She could be eighty!”

“She isn't,” Shi Feng said.

“How do you know?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“I don't,” Shi Feng said.

That did it. Ling Qingzhu bent over the table and laughed until she had to catch the trunk. A dry twig fell on her hair.

“She cured everything except your face!” Ling Qingzhu cried.

“The face healed later,” Shi Feng said.

“You met her looking like a scorched dumpling,” Ling Qingzhu said, wiping her eyes. “And the princess? Do I have to worry about her too?”

“She charges by the hour,” Shi Feng said.

“That's worse,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Is it?” Shi Feng asked.

“Much worse,” Ling Qingzhu said, her laughter fading. She picked the twig out of her hair and turned it in her fingers. “I'm not angry.”

“You're not?” Shi Feng asked.

“I was angry at myself for a very long time. I'm all out,” Ling Qingzhu said. She fell quiet for a moment. “You didn't answer my letter for twenty months, and you read it every month. I didn't earn the right to be the only woman in your heart. I know that.”

“Ling Qingzhu...” Shi Feng said.

“Let me finish. I'm brave for exactly one speech,” Ling Qingzhu said, gripping the twig. “I've seen it now. There's a person there I've never met, and some of the room is hers. Fine. I'll live next door to her. I don't need all of it. I need a place.” She lifted her chin. “As long as I have a place in there, I'll stay. Even a small room. I've slept on worse floors.”

“Which floors?” Shi Feng asked.

“The ones I deserved,” Ling Qingzhu said.

He had expected to be asked to choose. He hadn't expected her to simply ask for the smallest thing. He was relieved, and ashamed that he'd expected less of her.

“You have a place,” Shi Feng said.

“A good one?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“It faces the sun,” Shi Feng said.

“Liar,” Ling Qingzhu said, smiling without looking away. “Is there a fee?”

“No fee,” Shi Feng said.

“I checked the contract anyway,” Ling Qingzhu said, flipping the basket's cloth back and pushing a steaming dumpling toward him. “Eat. They're from He Shun's stall by the river. His sign now says, THE CHAMPION ATE HERE.”

“I did eat there once,” Shi Feng said.

“He's charging double,” Ling Qingzhu said, biting into her own dumpling. “Sit properly.”