Zhi Hao gave his greeting, speaking his name in a strong voice.
“I am Ko Zhi Hao. It is a great honor to meet you, Earl Song. You are the first I have ever met who has passed the imperial exam.”
Her father snorted. “And I am likely the last.” He turned to Master Gao. “What say you, Master? Is he smarter than my sons?”
And here Master Gao had a problem, because her two brothers and their wives had arrived as well. They flanked her father on either side and would not appreciate being insulted in favor of a young student.
“Not smarter. Not by any measure.”
“Then he has no hope—” her father said, but Master Gao hedged.
“But Ko Zhi Hao studies diligently. Indeed, I believe him to be especially favored.”
“Really?” Doubt was heavy in her father’s voice. “How so?”
“Because he and his mother—on the very same night—dreamed an angel showed them the star above his head.”
That would not sway her father. Dreams meant nothing to him, those made at night or during the day. Fortunately, Master Gao did not pause to give her father time to comment.
“Dreams of a mother and a boy can be dismissed. I thought nothing of it myself until I saw the proof myself.”
At this, everyone lifted their heads to hear better, Ling Xin included.
“What proof?” her father demanded.
“A fox spirit, honored earl. A fox spirit has tempted him twice now. It tries to steal his chi so that he will fail. But I have counseled him to refuse it, and he haslistened.” There was extra emphasis on that last word. Enough that it made her brothers shift where they stood. How many times had Master Gao complained that her brothers never paid attention to what he was telling them?
“A fox spirit?” her father scoffed. “You have seen it?”
“I have seen red fur and angry eyes. And I have seen its power over Ko Zhi Hao.” His voice dropped a note. “He confessed to me that he released his chi to the demon.”
Demon! Was that what he thought of her?
It was all Ling Xin could do to keep still. It was absolutely ridiculous for anyone to think she was the vixen who had seduced him. He was the one with all the knowledge. But as ridiculous as it sounded, her father seemed intrigued. He even tossed an arch look at his sons as he commented.
“No fox spirit went after my sons.”
“Father,” her eldest brother snorted. “You cannot believe he is blessed simply because Master Gao has seen a fox.”
Her father straightened to his full height as he took the coarse brush from Zhi Hao’s hand. “What I believe is that I must do my duty to the ancestors.” So saying, he bent to scrub the stone. But rather than finish the task, he cleaned one small portion. Then he straightened and held the brush out to his first son.
“As must you,” he said.
Jian Hong took the tool and did his part, as did her second brother. There was nothing left to scrub then, though her young nephew toddled over and, with his father’s help, did his best. With the tomb cleaned, the entire group bowed three times before the women began offering their gifts.
All went in order, save for herself. She watched behind her jade beads as her mother, sisters-in-law, and cousin all presented gifts of food, flowers, and incense. She was saved for last because her offering would be the most auspicious.
While she stood there, her feet aching from the awkward shoes, she was aware of Zhi Hao’s gaze on her. Certainly, he kept his head lowered in respect. In this gathering, he was the lowestperson, even lower than the retainers, since they were part of the Song household.
But still, she was excruciatingly aware of the way he peered at her at despite his lowered head. Did he look to see if she was in truth a demon? Or was he remembering their nights together? How she had released her chi around his hand, and he, in turn, gave up his own.
Just the memory made her flush with desire. And that was completely inappropriate for the chaste Song daughter who was meant for the emperor. Which meant she had to redouble her efforts to appear demure in every way.
She kept her head down, she performed her kowtows, and she never, ever looked directly at Zhi Hao. She carried her gifts of food to the tomb. She burned the joss sticks and paper. She even recited her best poetry for the ancestors and prayed diligently for success in the Feast of Fertility.
She had just finished her last kowtow when disaster struck.
Chapter Twelve