After leading them into a room, Lang Junxia seemed to relax a little. “Sit. Are you hungry?”
Duan Ling shook his head. Lang Junxia settled him on the low table in front of the stove, then dropped to one knee. He removed Duan Ling’s fur-lined coat and the cap with its muffling ear flaps, dusted the snow from his boots, and sat down cross-legged before him. He looked up at Duan Ling with a hint of gentleness in his eyes, hidden so deeply it was there and gone again in a flash.
“Is this your home?” Duan Ling asked.
“This place is called Qionghua House,” Lang Junxia explained. “We’ll stay here for a few days before I take you to your new home.”
Duan Ling had taken Lang Junxia’s earlier Don’t ask me anything to heart, and rarely questioned the man during their journey. He kept his doubts hidden, like an alert, uneasy rabbit that appeared calm from the outside. Yet even without questions, Lang Junxia often explained things to him at his own pace.
“Are you cold?” Lang Junxia asked. He took Duan Ling’s chilled feet into his large, warm hands and rubbed them briefly before frowning. “Your body’s too weak.”
From behind Lang Junxia, a girl’s crisp voice called out, “I thought you were never coming back.”
Duan Ling raised his head. A beautiful girl in an embroidered jacket stood at the door, two serving girls trailing behind her.
“I had business to attend to,” Lang Junxia said without turning toward her. He untied Duan Ling’s belt, then turned and opened his travel pack, retrieving a dry change of outer robes for the boy and helping him into them. Only once he was shaking out the damp robe did he finally glance over at the girl, who took it as an invitation, stepping into the room and peering down at Duan Ling.
Her intense regard made Duan Ling uncomfortable, and his brows drew together. Before he could speak, she asked, “And who is this?”
Duan Ling sat up straighter, and his practiced litany flashed through his mind: My name is Duan Ling, and my father is Duan Sheng…
But before the words left his mouth, Lang Junxia answered for him. “This is Duan Ling.” He turned to Duan Ling and said, “This is Miss Ding.”
Remembering the manners Lang Junxia had taught him, Duan Ling cupped his hands toward her and looked her up and down. The girl Ding Zhi—who was as lovely as the angelica flower of her namesake—smiled and bowed to Duan Ling. “Hello, Duan-gongzi.”4
“Has the one from the Northern Court arrived yet?” Lang Junxia asked offhandedly.
“The military report from the border said the general hasn’t returned in three months due to continued fighting below Jiangjun Ridge,” Ding Zhi said as she took her seat beside them. She said over her shoulder to the serving girls, “Bring some snacks for Duan-gongzi.”
Ding Zhi picked up the teapot, poured a cup, and handed it to Lang Junxia. He accepted the offering and took a sip, then said, “Ginger tea—it’ll drive away the cold,” before handing the cup to Duan Ling.
Throughout their journey, Lang Junxia would always taste any food or drink first to confirm it was good before giving it to Duan Ling; the boy had become used to it. But as he drank his tea, he caught a strange look in Ding Zhi’s eyes, which had narrowed slightly as her stare intensified.
The maid returned with a selection of pastries Duan Ling had never seen—or even heard of—before. Lang Junxia seemed to anticipate his excitement and reminded him, “Eat slowly. There’ll be dinner later.”
Over the course of their journey, Lang Junxia had admonished Duan Ling repeatedly that no matter what he was eating, he shouldn’t cram his meals down as fast as possible. This went against all Duan Ling’s instincts, but he had to listen to Lang Junxia—and slowly, he realized that no one was going to snatch his food away anymore. He chose a pastry, held it gently in his hands, and nibbled without rushing. Ding Zhi sat quietly, as if nothing happening in the room had anything to do with her. This continued until the maids brought two food boxes and laid them on the low table. Lang Junxia urged Duan Ling to take a seat, indicating that he should eat, and only then did Ding Zhi kneel down beside Lang Junxia with the pot of warmed wine to pour for him.
Lang Junxia blocked the cup with his fingers. “Drinking will cause trouble.”
“This is the Liangnan Daqu liquor sent as tribute last month,” Ding Zhi said. “You don’t want to try it? Madam set it aside just for you, whenever you came back.”
Lang Junxia didn’t reject the liquor a second time; Ding Zhi poured him a cup, and he drank. She poured another, and he drank again. She poured a third cup—after Lang Junxia finished that one, he turned the cup over and placed it rim-down on the table.
Duan Ling watched attentively the whole time.
Ding Zhi moved to pour a cup for him as well, but Lang Junxia reached two fingers out and caught her sleeve. “He’s not allowed to drink,” Lang Junxia said.
The girl gave him an apologetic smile.
Duan Ling did want to drink—but his desire to be obedient for Lang Junxia superseded his desire for alcohol. While he patiently ate his dinner, Duan Ling continued to wonder where he’d been brought and what the relationship was between Lang Junxia and the girl. He snuck peek after peek at them, his uncertainty flickering across his face. He wished they would talk a little more, just so he could listen.
Lang Junxia still hadn’t told Duan Ling why he’d brought him here. Did Miss Ding know—was that why she didn’t ask where he was from?
Miss Ding, too, stole glances at Duan Ling from time to time, as if doing calculations in her head. When Duan Ling set down his chopsticks, she finally spoke, and his heart jumped into his throat even though all she asked was, “Did those dishes suit your taste?”
“I’ve never had them before, but they were good,” Duan Ling answered.
Ding Zhi laughed. As a servant girl cleared the food boxes away, she said, “I should take my leave.”
“Go, then,” Lang Junxia said.
“How long are you in Shangjing for this time?” Ding Zhi asked.
“I’ll be staying permanently,” he replied.
Ding Zhi’s eyes seemed to brighten. With a slight smile, she said to the serving girl, “Accompany my lord and Duan-gongzi to the side courtyard.”
The maid led the way with a lamp; Lang Junxia wrapped Duan Ling in his own fur-lined cloak, scooped him into his arms, and carried him through the corridors until they arrived at another courtyard—this one filled with rustling bamboo. Duan Ling heard a cup shatter across the courtyard in a different building, followed by a man’s drunken tirade.
“Don’t look around,” Lang Junxia cautioned Duan Ling. He carried him into the room and glanced back at the maid who’d followed them inside. “There’s no need to wait on us.”
She bowed and left. The room held a gentle fragrance, and though there was no brazier, the air was warm. A furnace under the floors provided heat, and smoke billowed through the underground spaces.
Lang Junxia had Duan Ling rinse his mouth as he prepared for sleep. Lying on the bed in his underrobes, Duan Ling felt awfully drowsy. Lang Junxia settled on the bed beside him. “Tomorrow I’ll take you to look around.”
“Really?” Duan Ling exclaimed with a brief burst of energy.
“Yes,” Lang Junxia said. “I’m going to sleep now. I’ll be in the next room.”
At this, Duan Ling grasped forlornly at his sleeve. Lang Junxia gave him a confused look, but with a moment of thought, he understood—Duan Ling wanted him to sleep here.
Since they’d left Runan, Duan Ling hadn’t been separated from Lang Junxia for a moment. They ate together in the morning and they slept together at night. Now that Lang Junxia planned to leave him by himself, of course Duan Ling would be frightened.
“Then…” Lang Junxia hesitated. “Never mind. I’ll stay with you.”
Lang Junxia shrugged off his underrobe, baring his sturdy, muscular torso, and lay down beside Duan Ling, draping an arm over the boy. Duan Ling nestled his head in the crook of Lang Junxia’s strong arm and chest; as soon as he did so, his eyelids grew heavier, and he fell easily into sleep. Lang Junxia’s skin carried the pleasant scent of a man, and Duan Ling had already become accustomed to smelling it on his outer robe and his body. He felt he would no longer suffer any nightmares, so long as Lang Junxia held him.
But the day had been so full that his mind was overcrowded with new, complicated information; his dreams leapt and spun, too numerous for the span of a single night. During the second half of the night, the snow stopped falling and the world settled into an unusual silence. Duan Ling somehow found himself awake, disoriented from the countless dreams flooding over him, but when he turned over, he found only a still-warm cover.
Lang Junxia had disappeared, but his body temperature lingered. The absence made Duan Ling nervous. Unsure of what to do, he tiptoed out of bed and opened the door. Lights glowed from the next room over. Duan Ling padded barefoot down the corridor, then raised himself onto his toes to peek through the window.
The room was open and bright, with curtains draped across one side. Lang Junxia was in the midst of undressing, his back turned to the window.
His collar was fastened at the jut of his throat, and he undid it slowly before hanging his brocade robe on a nearby clothing rack. As his clothes slid down his body, a broad back, defined waistline, and well-formed buttocks were revealed, inch by inch. His naked male body was on full display, as lean and strong as a warhorse, and when he turned to the side, Duan Ling saw his virile erection.
Duan Ling’s breath caught, his heart pounding wildly. He took an involuntary step backward and knocked over a flower stand.
“Who’s there?” Lang Junxia called as he turned toward the door.