WHEN SPRING ARRIVED, SILVER MOVED the afternoon literature class to the folly in the garden. Each day, she assigned a girl to recite classical poetry by heart. For her turn Jade chose a poem by Hwang Jini, a sixteenth-century courtesan who made conquests of royals, monks, scholars, penniless artists, and rich philanderers alike. She was said to have had no equal in poetry, calligraphy, literature, painting, dance, and music, and her reputation for beauty spread throughout the kingdom and even reached China. But what Jade admired the most about her was that she freely chose her lovers and left them without tears.
Silver called Jade to the front of the class, and she began:
“Floating on the river, that little boat of pine tree,
How many years has it been moored by the shore?
If the next one asks who has crossed the river first,
I shall say it was a man both learned and gallant.”
When she’d first read it, the poem had jolted her with both pain and pleasure. But the other girls seemed utterly unmoved. Only Lotus’s face was distorted from suppressing a yawn.
“Very well—one of my favorites,” Silver said approvingly. “Now who can tell me what this means?”
The girls looked around at one another furtively, shifting in their seats. Lotus piped, “Is it about going boating, Mama?” and the others twittered and giggled in unison.
“No, of course not. I really despair of teaching you lot any poetry.” Silver shook her head gravely. Jade was about to raise her hand when Stoney appeared, bowed to his mistress, and rapped the wooden floor with his knuckles.
“The silk merchant is here? A new one then?” Silver asked. She could make out Stoney’s hand-tapped messages no matter how complicated they were; no one else could understand the deaf-mute servant. Silver sighed and rose to standing in one graceful movement.
“I must go look at the fabrics. You may play now,” she decreed, and the girls bowed their heads low.
“I could’ve sworn it was about boating. What do you think it means?” Lotus asked Jade as they slipped on their shoes. Jade had known what the poem meant and even the reason Silver liked it so much. That was why she’d chosen it in the first place.
“It’s about a woman who is remembering her first love,” she replied.
Among all the courtesans and apprentices, Jade felt that she was the only person who understood this secret language taught by her mistress. Regarding the things her best friend couldn’t understand, Jade spoke to books instead. She wondered if she would one day find someone who would speak it back to her.
*
IN HER BEDCHAMBER, SILVER SAT down on her silk cot and waited for the merchant, one hand mindlessly twirling the ring on her finger. Through her latticed doors decked with gemstone tassels, she could hear the girls shrieking and laughing in their play.
“Madame Silver, this is Merchant Chun, at your service,” the silk merchant announced himself outside her door.
“Please come in.”
The merchant opened the sliding door and entered, carrying his pack full of fabrics and trinkets. He bowed low at Silver, who gestured at the burden on his back.
“Do put down that heavy pack and take a seat. And please make yourself comfortable. I’ve already asked my servant to bring in some refreshments.”
“Thank you, Madame, your kindness is unwarranted,” Chun said, and then took the pack off his back and laid it down on the floor. He himself sat cross-legged on the silk cushion she’d already set out for him, as Stoney brought over a tray of clear wine and squash fritters—delicacies that only a wealthy courtesan could afford these days.
“I was truly devastated to hear about Old Man Baek,” Silver said. “You’re a member of his guild—so you must know he’s been bringing his wares to this house since even before my time.”
Instead of an answer, Chun simply bowed his head.
“Were you close with him, Master Chun?”
“Madame, he was my family. My mother’s brother.”
“So have you inherited all of his territory?” Silver asked, suddenly keen. Chun considered her face for a moment before answering quietly.
“Yes, Madame. He’d lost his sons long ago and I was his closest kin, heir, and confidant.”
“Show me your wares, then,” Silver said.
Chun unwound the white fabric that wrapped around his pack. Inside there was a wooden crate that held bolts of silk in summer colors—lightest blue, celadon gray, azalea pink, forsythia yellow, willow green, elegant navy blue for the senior women like Silver, and exuberant camellia red for young girls just beginning to bloom. He pulled out jewelry as well: the silk tassels with coral and jade that dangle provocatively from just below a woman’s cropped, unlined jacket; garakji double rings, worn stacked in pairs and made of enameled silver, amber, and green or white jade; a gold binyuh used to fix a chignon. Then there were jars of fragrant powder from England, cold cream from Japan, rouge for lips and cheeks, camellia oil for smooth and shiny hair, and a silk pouch with real musk, said to have aphrodisiac powers.