Guest of Honour

"What are you doing here, young man?" demanded the doorkeeper as he noticed Yuanzheng standing indecisively in front of the entrance to the House of Falling Petals.

Yuanzheng flushed. "I'm here for an appointment with Miss--Miss Yao Manting," he said lamely, feeling himself cringe under the sneering gaze of the doorkeeper.

The man burst out laughing. "My good fellow, you can't imagine how many times I have to listen to this in a day. Why, every lovesick youth thinks he can aspire to having dinner with Miss Yao. Miss Yao is the fairest flower of the House of Falling Petals. How could it be so easy for you to have an appointment with her? Go home, boy, stop dreaming."

Jaw stiffening, Yuanzheng drew up his shoulders and said curtly, "I guess she asked me here to make fun of me, then. I'll be off, then. I did not mean to waste your time, or make a fool of myself."

He turned to go, as the doorkeeper chuckled.

Before he could cross the street, however, he heard heavy footsteps thudding after him, and the doorkeeper caught him by the sleeve. "I say," the man panted, looking uncomfortably at him. "Your name doesn't happen to be Master Yuanzheng, does it?"

With a groan as Yuanzheng nodded, the man slapped his forehead. "Ah, the ass I am. Come in, good sir, come in, and forgive your muddleheaded servant! Miss Yao had left special instructions for you, I just--I just didn't expect that--"

His gaze wandered over Yuanzheng's homely face and plain clothes, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence with a gulp as if it were a rather large fishball. Yuanzheng said nothing, but he let the man pull him back.

"Master Yuan, watch your step. This way please. Just up those stairs to the fourth floor, tell the waiters you're Miss Yao's special guest!"

Hesitantly, Yuanzheng stepped forward as the gatekeeper ushered him in over the threshold. He remembered this place from when Qingqing had brought him; but now he felt keenly out of place without her by his side, and in his own clothes. As he moved forward slowly he was acutely conscious of the glances being thrown in his direction, the pretty women whose gazes flitted hurriedly over his face, the well-dressed men whose nostrils flared slightly as they noted his dull homespun clothes.

How different this was from the last time he had been here, even though this time he was actually a legitimate guest! And not for the first time--oh, how he missed Qingqing.

Making his way up the steps and averting his eyes awkwardly from the noisy revellers and the tipsy men staggering about leaning on the arms of their graceful companions, he was shown to a chamber with the sounds of gentle music coming out of it.

Pausing at the threshold, Yuanzheng peered in nervously and saw a round table spread with food, and a low dias where a girl was playing the guzheng, pale fingers lingering daintily over the strings. The sounds that she plucked from them hung in the air like pearls, or drops of water, clear and sweet with a startling purity.

As he hesitated, wishing that he hadn't come after all, there was a rustling sound and a figure emerged from behind one of the embroidered screens in the room.

"Master Yuan! I am honoured that you kept your word. Please, be seated."

Yao Manting swept forward with a brilliant smile. With a feeling almost like panic, Yuanzheng stepped back involuntarily, only to realize the maids had shut the doors behind him. He could barely recognize her. Draped in the finest red silk, with glittering jewellery hanging from her throat and ears, Yao Manting looked like something from a dream. Her lips were touched with vermilion, like the delicate lotus flower traced between her brows, and her eyebrows had been drawn, in two sweeping lines that reminded one of the tails of swallows. As she moved, a wave of exquisitely sweet perfume wafted from her clothes.

She caught his arm. "Why, Master Yuan, do you not recognize me? You are staring at me with such an alarmed expression, am I then so plain without these fine feathers?"

Pushing him down onto the chair, she motioned to the maids to serve the dishes. "Come, Master Yuan," she said in a sweet voice that was like a caress. "Don't be ill at ease. Tonight, you are the guest of honour."

"I thought you said it was just a humble token," Yuanzheng said unhappily. "I had no idea--"

She laughed. "And so it is. I am the House of Falling Petals' star courtesan, Master Yuan. This is the least I can do for you to show my gratitude. I am a person of feeling, who always pays my debts. Come, let me pour you some wine."

Drawing back her red sleeve, she reached for his cup. The candlelight gleamed on the fair arm exposed, the skin as smooth and fair as tofu. Averting his eyes with a gulp, Yuanzheng took the teapot quickly from her. "I will serve myself, Miss Yao. No need for you to serve me."

He eyed the food before them, too nervous to really notice what they were, except for a plate of sliced abalone that struck a chord in his memory. Raising his head, he saw the maids watching him curiously from under their eyelids as they stood quietly at the side, waiting to be called on. His heart sank as he thought how they assumed he was just another customer, and he felt as guilty as if Qingqing were standing outside the chamber.

Composing himself, he thought rapidly as he poured the wine into his cup. "This is too fine for me," he said at last, with a quiet dignity. "You may be the star courtesan of the House of Falling Petals, but I am just a poor woodcutter. Let me toast you with this cup of wine, and we will consider the debt paid."

Yao Manting arrested his hand as he was about to drink. "Are you sure, Master Yuan?" she said softly, eyes glinting with amusement. "There are many men who would give much to be where you are right now."

He withdrew his hand, feeling his heart pound uncomfortably as she leaned towards him. "Miss Yao is too generous. I could not possibly accept your--your favour. And besides--" desperately, though the red burned in his cheeks, "I--I have someone I love."