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Jing Fei is lucky to survive the fall of Xianyang.
All around her is death. Soldiers dead, certainly, and politicians, but that is hardly all. The Khan’s army sweeps over the city. They will blame any citizen for keeping it standing against them for this long, for the cost their war has had on their people. Jing Fei knows her womanhood will not save her from slaughter; more likely it will bring her to greater grief. She moves from one hiding place to another. Her makeup and fine clothes she has removed for subtler garments—it’s no good being a concubine in a sacked city. She hides and runs, and she makes it out.
It would be wise for her to seek shelter somewhere in the countryside and lay low for a while, or perhaps in one of the quieter areas of the city, one of the less damages corners. But Jing Fei is not interested in self preservation. Were she, she never would have schemed against Jia Sidao on the behalf of the Queen Mother and on the behalf of Ling-Ling and poor Mei Lin. There is something she wants more than a quiet life, and it sends her into the enemy camp.
For this task, she does wear the clothes of a concubine, though she hopes it is not obvious she ever had a high station. In a victorious camp, settled now after a few days of sacking, it is not such an out of place costume. Men have pillaged riches now; they want something to spend it on. She avoids those who call out to her, saying she was summoned by the Latin. She proves it by knowing his name: Marco Polo. They let her pass.
She was not summoned by the Latin but she hopes he will help her. After all, she helped him.
He has been injured, but the men outside his tent willingly admit her. At first he mistakes her for a run-of-the-mill prostitute and tells her she should leave, as he is not looking for amusement. She waits for him to recognize her and she asks for his help.
“You helped with our efforts,” the Latin admits. “Though that plan went badly. The Khan was displeased.” He touches his wrists uncomfortably, though they are not wounded. “I can probably get you amnesty.”
“I need to see Mei Lin.”
“Mei Lin was well when I left Khanbaliq. She has an agreement with the Empress. No one will harm her.”
“Bring me to her,” Jing Fei says.
It is not as simple as all that, of course. But the Latin agrees he will try his best. They leave for Khanbaliq soon after that, and she rides with the troops. She travels with them as a concubine—doubtless it would be possible to obtain a better position with the Latin’s help, but she won’t risk it. And this is what she is used to, after all. The men she abandoned earlier are grateful when she tells them she does not limit her services to the Latin, as long as they can pay. She may need money in Khanbaliq, after all. Everything she owned was in Xianyang, and she is certain it is lost, though after the fall of the city she never even went back to her room to check on it.
(Apart from the basics, everything she owned in Xianyang she got from Jia Sidao. She does not want any of it anymore.)
Khanbaliq is a city of size and grandeur unparalleled. The architecture is different, the clothes are different, the people are different—it is no wonder, Jing Fei thinks, that it took Mei Lin a while to find a place here when it is so overwhelming. Her place is already decided; the Latin tells her to stay in an inn with a few army men until they can appeal to the Empress.
Chabi, Jing Fei thinks. She knows about the empress well enough. Jia Sidao had talked through his plan to have Chabi assassinated, about the effect it would have on Kublai mostly but a little about Chabi herself. Her hold on the court is not light, nor is she a woman to be underestimated. Mei Lin herself had been worried at the prospect of killing her. At the very least she had not expected to long survive the attempt.
Jing Fei never expected to meet Chabi herself. She knows little of what might please Chabi—manners at court will be different here, and she has no suitable clothes, and she is not noble enough to impress anyone. She remembers Mei Lin musing about a possible strategy before leaving, of kissing Chabi with poisoned lips. She told Jing Fei Chabi liked to kiss the girls of the harem, particularly liked to kiss Mei Lin.
Jing Fei is not Mei Lin, but she can still try her best. When the Latin returns and tells her of her appointment, she puts on her best dress. It is still plain, bought with the coin she has earned from the army men. She twines her hair in the style of Xianyang because she does not know how to emulate the styles here, and doing something a little wrong is worse than not doing it at all in situations like this. She paints her face carefully, applies the lipstick with particular precision. It makes her think of Jia Sidao’s fingers inches from her lips, and she deliberately pushes that thought aside and thinks of Mei Lin instead, who used to paint her lips before she headed out to meet with an official or a noble, paint her lips and tell her to go and break the men between her thighs. She could never ensnare people like Mei Lin could, but Mei Lin believed in her. Mei Lin would believe Jing Fei could ensnare Chabi too.
(She must stop thinking about Mei Lin in the past tense. Xianyang is gone and Jing Fei never intends to return to what remains of it, but Mei Lin is alive and well and Jing Fei will see her soon. This she has sworn to herself.)
The Latin goes with her to see Chabi. He chats with her on the way. He is a friendly man, and he seems to believe this will go well. But he is dismissed before she can enter Chabi’s chamber, which does not surprise Jing Fei much. This is a meeting between women.
Chabi waits for her. There are two women standing on either side of her, and there are men outside the door. Jing Fei is outnumbered and she knows she is meant to feel it. She kneels and bows to Chabi, as low as she can. She has never put herself so low.
“You may rise,” Chabi says.
Jing Fei straightens and begins to stand. Chabi puts out a hand. “Not that far.” So she remains kneeling.
“You say you are a friend of Mei Lin,” Chabi says.
“Yes, empress.”
“Mei Lin has not mentioned you to me.”
Jing Fei does not know how to respond to that. She was unaware Mei Lin and Chabi had held many conversations—it seemed unlikely, between a concubine and an empress, an assassin and her victim. Yet Chabi speaks as though they have a long familiarity. Jing Fei fights the urge to wet her lips and ruin the paint on them. “If you ask her about me, she will recognize my name, empress.”
Chabi tilts her head. She has not moved much since Jing Fei entered. She is seated on a finely cushioned chair, leaned far back, looking down her nose. It is hard to tell her height but she seems tall from the ground. “Are you a woman like Mei Lin, then?”
“I am a whore,” Jing Fei says blandly, “Empress.”
Chabi smiles lightly, for the first time in the conversation. “It is an old and honored profession. But you are not as acclaimed as Mei Lin. You have never slept with a king.”
Jing Fei bows slightly. “No, empress.” She is used to her sex life being one of the first things she is asked to talk about. It is hardly uncomfortable now, though she suspects Chabi wants to humiliate her a little and she isn’t sure why.
“I am sure you have great skills,” Chabi says comfortingly. “You say you want to be reunited with your friend.”
“I would like to see Mei Lin again, if it is possible. She and I have known each other for a long time.”
Chabi is silent for a moment. Of course Jing Fei does not rush her. A fast answer, especially from a noble, is always no.
“I am surprised to see Mei Lin has a friend,” Chabi says. “But she could use the company.” She gestures a hand, and Jing Fei rises, hesitant. “Very well. For now you will stay with your friend at Ahmad’s house. Do you know who Ahmad is?”
“No, empress.”
“You will get to know him, I am sure.” Chabi gives Jing Fei a long, considering look. “I may summon you soon. When I summon you, you will come to me. Mei Lin is alive at my will and if you wish to be her comrade then you will obey me from now on.”
Jing Fei bows again, though she does not kneel. “I am your servant, empress.”
She is led away, first by a woman and then by a guard.
She is led to the house of Ahmad, which is not as grand as the castle of the Khan, but still imposing enough.
She is introduced to Ahmad. She is shown to a room that is to be hers, and given a brief tour of where she is allowed to go. Finally, after the longest time, she is brought to Mei Lin’s room, and there Mei Lin is waiting for her.
“I thought you dead,” Mei Lin says.
She has been holding Jing Fei for a while now. Still Jing Fei feels unreal, even in her arms. Surely this crumpled heap of silk and flesh and skin must be some other woman, or else a work of Mei Lin’s imagination. But Jing Fei murmurs something encouraging and clings to her, and yes, it is her, just as she has always been.
Well. Not quite as she has always been. She has changed her perfumes, and now she smells like Khanbaliq instead of home. She has gotten thinner, and her face looks more worn, despite the fact that it has only been a couple months. But other than that, the same, and that much is understandable. Mei Lin is sure she looks nothing like the courtesan she used to be, mistress of a king. She has seen wrinkles beginning to show in mirrors, and she has not lost weight but she is sure she has lost muscle. She is probably a miserable sight to Jing Fei, who has traveled so far to be with her. But Jing Fei clings to her nonetheless.
“I thought you dead,” she says.
Jing Fei says, “I was almost dead. Jia Sidao changed his mind and had me beaten.”
Mei Lin feels at the fabric on her back. She knows she would be unable to feel a scar through the layers of cloth, but she wonders. Jing Fei will show her soon enough, she tells herself. They never conceal anything from each other.
“The city was captured,” she says. “The wall fell. Parts of it burned.”
“I hid.” Jing Fei smiles sheepishly, but there is a real shame behind the smile. Mei Lin wants to tell her that if anyone should be ashamed it is Mei Lin, who really betrayed the city and did not only save a young child from death or hide during the attack, but she does not. She cannot stand to have Jing Fei remember, now, Mei Lin’s part in the destruction.
“You lived,” she says. “And you came back to me.”
“Yes.”
She clings to Jing Fei. She will cry later, she knows she will. Better to cry in front of Jing Fei than Ahmad at least—there is something off about Ahmad’s kindness, though she has yet to pinpoint what. For now, though, there are no tears in her. Only disbelief and the smallest scrap of insane joy.
Ahmad insists that they all eat together in the evening, like a family. Through dinner he talks about the news at court—well, what news is known to the public, as internal affairs are not something he will reveal so easily within Mei Lin and Jing Fei’s hearing. He politely inquires about Jing Fei’s travels, and asks for anecdotes about her past with Mei Lin.
“I took care of Ling-Ling for a while,” Jing Fei says.
“Ah. Mei Lin’s daughter. I have not heard much about her.”
Mei Lin sends Jing Fei a look. They have taken her daughter away from her, these Mongols. She will not give them memories of her daughter as well.
“She is a good girl,” Jing Fei says, and then changes the subject. She talks about Jia Sidao instead, his mania, how it is good that someone finally ended his rule. She is light and flattering as suits a victim speaking to a conqueror, or a concubine to a man in power. Mei Lin taught her how to speak this way, and it suits her. Ahmad smiles. He will like Jing Fei. That is good.
“Jing Fei and I will share a bed tonight,” Mei Lin announces at the end of dinner. She knows they have given Jing Fei a separate room. That’s not a bad thing, but she will not be separated from her tonight. On this she will put her foot down.
Ahmad says, “The empress specified you would live separately.”
Chabi. Mei Lin is growing to hate the woman. Doubtless she has guessed at what her relationship with Jing Fei is. She wants Mei Lin to be on edge and unhappy, and thoroughly under her control. Mei Lin says, “Is there a reason for this?”
“We cannot allow two foreigners to plot together, after all,” Ahmad says. “I would trust you, but prudence is often the wiser choice.” He shrugs. “My apologies, Jing Fei.”
“You may station a man inside the room, if you wish,” Mei Lin says. “I don’t care if you see what we do.” She smiles slowly. “If you wish, you may even watch yourself—for a little while.”
(Appealing to a man’s love of voyeurism has gotten her far before.)
Ahmad shakes his head regretfully. “I cannot go against the empress’s command. Perhaps you may appeal to her. But you may see each other again in the daytime.”
And so they are parted again. But Mei Lin, refused privacy, steals a kiss from Jing Fei’s lips before leaving her, and tells her to sleep well, and that she will see her in the morning. And she lies awake all night waiting for the sun to rise, hoping Jing Fei was not after all a hopeful, delusional dream.