Free The Lotus Palace by Jeannie Lin Page B

the sight of the bed. He couldn’t forget the image of Huilan stretched lifelessly across it.
    “They were muffled,” Madame Lui called out. She was still hovering outside the door. “They moved quickly and then suddenly stopped.”
    Huang paused at the window. The shutters were closed and he took the trouble of opening them to peer down into the lane below. He pulled them shut before returning to Madame Lui.
    “I have a request. I know it may be too much to ask.”
    “Anything,” Madame Lui insisted. “Lord Bai has been so kind to us.”
    “May I stay here tonight?”
    The headmistress looked startled. “Of course, my lord, but—”
    She must have thought better of whatever question she wanted to ask. It was an odd request, but not too outrageous. And he was known for indulging in whimsical pursuits.
    He shared the evening meal with Madame Lui downstairs. They were joined by the lovely Mei, who was the leading lady of the Hundred Songs now that her courtesan-sister was gone. Though the mourning period was hardly a time for flirtation, Mei took pains to be charmingly attentive while Madame Lui prodded her to refill his wine cup and place choice morsels onto his plate.
    Quite early in the evening, Huang excused himself, claiming he’d had a tiring day. The entire household gathered to watch him go up the stairs. It was eerie; all the ladies dressed in white mourning robes, their dark eyes wide and fixed onto him.
    He took only a single lantern with him. Once inside, he closed the doors and looked about the parlor. It remained a mausoleum to Huilan. Her writing was still on the walls alongside verses from her admirers.
    Moving to the inner chamber, Huang looked briefly through what was left of Huilan’s personal belongings for any hint to what had happened to her. He found only womanly things: hairpins, jars of cosmetics and articles of clothing packed away in a dresser.
    There was one change from the last time he’d been in the room. Her writing box lay on top of the desk now instead of out in the sitting room and the brush had been cleaned. A few sheets of colored paper remained inside. The brush had been damp with ink the night of Huilan’s death. She must have been writing a letter of some sort, but all of the papers in the box were blank. Anything of interest had probably been confiscated by the constable during his investigation.
    With his brief search completed, Huang extinguished the lantern and lay back on the bed to wait. The room was left in darkness, without even the glimmer of the moon to accompany him. In the stillness, he could indeed sense Huilan’s spirit. Not her ghost. Not the chill of the air or any pale, wispy visions. Rather, he felt the brief and tenuous way she’d affected him. His resolve strengthened as he lay in the same place where she took her last breath. As eerie as it was, it grounded him.
    Yue-ying and likely the entire Pingkang li now suspected him of being Huilan’s lover, but he’d only spoken with her a few times. She had asked for his help, but had been reluctant to give him details. She didn’t yet know if she could trust him. When someone went looking for someone to rely on, they certainly didn’t think of Bai Huang.
    “I’ll find who did this to you,” he said to the darkness. “I swear it.”
    The moment he finished speaking, he heard the scraping sound of nails against wood. He wasn’t one to be afraid of ghosts, but his heart hurtled against his chest and he shot up into a sitting position.
    The sound came from outside. The shutters creaked as they swung open and a sliver of moonlight spilled into the chamber. He held himself still, holding his breath, as a hand appeared, then an arm. Soon the entire silhouette of a person stepped from the window onto the floor.
    He launched himself at the black figure, colliding with arms and legs and something very definitely corporeal.
    “On my mother!” the intruder cried before Huang clamped a hand over his mouth.
    The