The Shadow Behind the Screen

Ruffled, Song Gongzi continued, "I would have died that night if she had gotten her way, but thankfully she was frightened off. Women aren't to be trusted, the little vixens. No matter how beautiful they are, they're not innocent. They'll get their claws in you, once you turn your back on them."

He shook his finger ominously. "Never again. I, Song Weiming, have learnt my lesson."

"Does this mean you're vowing celibacy?" Mao Jin said, looking interested for the first time. That would be a rich irony he would enjoy.

Song Weiming made an exasperated sound. "Of course not. What fun would life be without any women at all? But I'm going to be very careful now, who I play with. Those little bitches won't be able to trick me so easily again. I'll let them know who's boss."

Mao Jin sighed. "There are more holes in your story than in my little maid's shoes. I hope to goodness you never decide to become a murderer, Weiming, because you'll never manage to cook up a convincing story. I would advise you to stay out of trouble, you'll have an angry husband coming after you one day if you can't keep your hands off other people's wives. But then, when did you ever take advice from me?"

Leaning back, Song Weiming sniffed. "You're so dull and stiff, Monk Mao," he said darkly, glaring at him. "Not a word of sympathy for me, but a lecture instead. Who are you to lecture me, anyway? Idiot."

Mao Jin had been reaching for the teapot, but his hand froze. He was recalling a memory from long ago, the feeling of Song Weiming's heel being ground into his foot, and a voice hissing in his ear, "Don't forget for a moment that though neither of us may be firstborn sons, at least I'm legitimate, and you're just a concubine's child. We're not on the same level, you and I. So I would advise you to show me more respect."

He closed his eyes. It had happened often enough, with the other boys, and he had forgotten it; he had not particularly hated Song Weiming because of it, not like the way he hated Yuan ZhiMeng even to this day, yet suddenly the memory hit him so vividly now that he felt his gut twisting with antipathy towards this man. He knew that Song Weiming was just a petty creature--him dropping by to visit just showed that he wanted some company, wanted someone to listen to him--but for a moment Mao Jin did not care. He had been quiet all these years, obliging their whims. Surely for once he could say his mind.

Wresting back his little bamboo ladle, he looked Song Weiming directly in the eyes. "Well, Teacher always taught us to give what one deserved. And though I may indeed just be a concubine's son," his words dripped with bitterness, "at least I don't resort to glamourizing my failings. You do know how pathetic it sounds? Just admit you're a womanizer and an alcoholic, and stop trying to glamourize yourself. That's the best advice I can give you."

Pale with anger, Song Weiming sprang to his feet, knocking over his teacup, which shattered on the floor. He pointed a trembling finger at Mao Jin. "You've gone too far. You should know that."

"I was nice to you back then, though I didn't need to be. I could have been worse if I wanted to. Looks like you didn't deserve it."

The words tumbled from his lips. He was so angry he hardly knew what he was saying.

"And, and you, act like you're so morally superior, but you're just afraid. Am I right? You've lived your whole life cowed and you don't know how else to live it so you withdraw like a coward and turn your nose up at everyone because you're too proud to admit it. Isn't that so?"

He stopped to catch his breath.

"So don't go preaching to me. I know you're just jealous because I'm not afraid to take what I want. You're just hopelessly inadequate at any sort of relationship, and you know it, you know you don't have the guts to go after anything you want. Concubine's son!"

He spat the last words, vindictively, and strode out of the room, banging the door open so roughly Wanwan and the attendants jumped.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted angrily. "We're leaving. This mannerless brat isn't worth my time."

Fearfully, Wanwan peered inside, half expecting Mao Gongzi to be lying dead on the floor. These rich folks were as temperamental and scary as Mother had warned her! She decided she was glad Mao Gongzi didn't have many visitors, if they were all going to be as hot-tempered as this one. Seeing the broken teacup on the floor, she hurried forward quickly to sweep them up, marvelling at how Mao Gongzi could look so calm.

Mao Jin remained where he was sitting, motionless. Slowly he turned the bamboo ladle in his hand, examining it. He was conscious of conflicting emotions burning within him with an intensity he had not felt for a long time. Anger, a hard satisfaction, an inkling of uneasiness as he wondered if he had been rash, and something else...

But even as his attendants scrambled to obey Song Weiming stopped short, attention caught. He had seen a woman's figure whisk by behind the screen door of a chamber at the end of the walkway like a ghost, and the edge of a fluttering white robe disappear as rapidly as if it were milk lapped up by a cat's tongue.

Holding up a hand, he frowned. "Who's that?" he said slowly.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a sliver of shadow shrink back against the wall.

Was it possible that Mao Jin was hiding a woman here? His lips twisted in a hard smile. Who would have thought, the little wretch was not as pure as he seemed to be after all.

He took a step towards the screen door.