Page 5 of Song of the Crimson Flower

Minister Vu smiled. “That’s a good idea. She won’t be coming, but Tam might, and I’m sure Master Huynh would enjoy some refreshment.”

“Why are these Huynhs taking so long to choose a wedding date?”Second Uncle asked. “Lan and Tam have been intended for each other since birth. What are they waiting for?”

“Perhaps they’ve changed their minds,” Third Uncle said darkly. “Did they ever truly mean to make a proposal, brother? Or were they just trying to win your favor?”

“Huynh is just as high in His Majesty’s esteem as I am and has no need to win my favor,” Minister Vu said. “It’s Tam who is being picky about the fortune-teller’s chosen dates.”

Third Uncle snorted. “What does a boy of twenty care about the right date? Most of them like to hurry things along when they have an intended bride.”

Lan averted her eyes, her cheeks hot at their implication. Tam played her music every night, and if that wasn’t a sign of devotion, she didn’t know what was. But her uncle had a point: if Tam wanted so much to marry her, why put off choosing a date? She loved being treated like a princess, but she wanted somethingreal.

She excused herself to order the tea, and as soon as she had done so, she heard her father’s voice raised in greeting and Master Huynh’s gravelly response.Today has to be the day, she thought, straining her ears for Tam’s voice.He has come to tell me when we will be wed.She longed to go back out, but decided to let him come to her. Setting her sunshade in the corridor, she went into the sitting room, an elegant chamber filled with ornate woodwork and painted scrolls Lady Vu had inherited from her parents. Lan sat on a rosewood chair and listened as Tam’s footsteps approached. She smoothed the skirt of her dusty pink silk overdress and tried to slow her breathing. She wished she’d had time to check her appearance first.

A young man appeared in the doorway, so tall that he had to duck his head as he came in. “Good afternoon,” he said, bowing, and it was allLan could do to return the greeting politely, for it was not a passionate, shining-eyed Tam after all. It was only Bao, Master Huynh’s apprentice, dressed in a plain gray tunic and dark pants with his work-roughened hands folded before him.

Lan struggled to hide her disappointment. “What a surprise,” she said. She couldn’t recall the last time Bao had spoken to her of his own volition. “Won’t you sit down? I’ve ordered tea.”

“Thank you.” Bao nearly overturned a chair in his haste to take it, and as he sat, his long limbs knocked the table askew. He attempted to pull it back into position, but did so a bit too hard, and Lan’s needlework slid off the polished surface, tumbling in an untidy heap. “I’m so sorry,” he said, banging his head soundly on the table while retrieving her needlework.

“That’s quite all right,” Lan said, amused. “I hope you’ve been well?”

“Yes, thank you.” His fingers tapped an embarrassed rhythm on the table as he stared at the wall behind her head. “And... and you, Miss Vu?”

“I am well, thank you.” The silence dragged on and Lan searched for something to say, but she knew they hadn’t anything in common, except for having played together a few times as children. Her mother had always had aches and pains of an uncertain nature, and when Master Huynh came to attend to her, he would often bring Bao and Tam. Tam, who was light on his feet and quick with a smile, would easily join in on the fun with Lan and her brothers. But Bao, she remembered, had always been shy and retiring and had to be encouraged to join in.

Now, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking like an overgrown colt with his gangly arms and legs, Lan was surprised to find how much he had grown up. She still saw him from time to time, but had never bothered to look closely, not with bright, careless, handsome Tam around. It was a shame Bao was so quiet and uninteresting, she thought,for he had a face she rather liked and supposed many girls would find attractive, with a long nose, a thoughtful, thin-lipped mouth, and deep-set eyes that always looked a bit sad.

Lan opened her mouth to say something about the weather, out of desperation, when the tea tray came in. Gladly, she poured Bao a cup, hoping he wouldn’t break the fragile porcelain. Their fingers touched when he took it, and he jerked backward, wincing as the hot tea splashed onto his leg. She hid a smile, wondering what on earth her father saw in Bao to praise him so.

“It’s a hot day. It must have been an uncomfortable carriage ride for the three of you. You, Master Huynh, and Tam,” she added, when Bao gave her a puzzled look.

“Unfortunately, Tam couldn’t come today,” he answered, and Lan felt the now-familiar swoop of disappointment in her belly. “He left this morning to go to his uncle and won’t return until tonight. But he asked me to send you his apologies and regards.”

His apologies and regards.Lan’s fingers clenched on her teacup, her chest tight with anxiety. Perhaps Bao would not be the one to break her mother’s porcelain after all.All of these excuses. All of this putting off the wedding and coming to me only under cover of night.

“He also sends you this.” Bao gave her a folded message, which she tucked away to read later—or throw to the mercy of the river, whichever she felt like doing at the time.

Lan took a deep breath. “Tell me,” she said, grasping for something,anythingto distract her from this sinking feeling, “how has work been for you?”

At once, Bao’s whole demeanor changed. He sat up straight, his eyes bright and alert, and began to talk very fast about what he was studying and someone named Khoa who had died the other day. Lan triedher best to listen and to keep her eyes on his face, but her mind had already drifted back to the mystery of Tam. Bao must have sensed her disinterest, for he fell silent.

“I’m sorry to hear about Khoa,” she said quickly. “Did he have any family?”

“Yes. A sister, who is now alone in the world.” Bao set his teacup on the table and put his hands gently around it, like cradling a baby bird. “It’s just like you to think about that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, startled.

“You’re kind. You worry about other people.” His eyes met hers at last, so earnest that Lan felt a stab of guilt for not listening more carefully about Khoa. “I remember years ago, when Tam and your brothers tried to leave me out of their games, you would insist that I play, too.”

She chuckled. “I was always frustrated with you for hanging back. I’m surprised you still remember that.”

“Of course. I always will.” He looked down at his cup, the tips of his ears bright pink.

“Do you remember,” Lan said suddenly, “how my grandmother goaded us to climb that tree in the courtyard? Tam and my brothers were already in the highest branches, but you and I hesitated. Bà n?i asked if we were going to let them tease us like that—”

“Or show them that we were just as brave. She promised not to tell your mother if we did.” Bao’s smile lit up his whole face like sunshine, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Lan found herself wanting to see it again.

“I don’t think we’ve spoken in years, you and I,” she said slowly. “You’re often here with Master Huynh, tending to my mother, but you’ve never so much as looked at me. Why did you come in here today? It couldn’t have been just to deliver Tam’s note.”

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