A Bride for Wen Hui Read online

  A BRIDE FOR WEN HUI

  The Proxy Brides #20

  By: Parker J. Cole

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 2019 Parker J. Cole

  Cover Art by Black Widow Books

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: July 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

  CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS/CONTEXT OF USAGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JOIN PARKER’S BODACIOUS READERS

  WORKS BY PARKER J COLE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing a book can be a lonely endeavor but I’ve learned you’re never really alone. Undertaking the incredible opportunity to show a sliver of life in a culture richly textured as the Chinese would not have been possible without a myriad of online resources in the form of blogs, articles, encyclopedic works, and other literature.

  Even more incredible is the fact that I had practical help from the following:

  David J., fluent in Mandarin Chinese and with a degree in Chinese history spent an inordinate amount of time helping me. From names to the best location for the story to take place.

  Liwen and David Ho and Daniel Chang who provided assistance with historical aspects of the book.

  Jiangnan Huang translated the poem, Lotus Flower Breaking the Surface, by Yun Shouping, a work written during the Qing Dynasty. As it was explained to me, in Chinese, the characters of the poem rhyme but it wouldn’t translate well in English. In A Bride for Wen Hui, the meaning of the piece is in the context of the story and not a word for word translation. I should tell you—it’s no easy feat to translate high literature like this.

  Carole McDonnell, a master storyteller as well as a wonderful author, sat for hours helping me flush out this story. Thank you so much for your help.

  I’m sure I made some mistakes. Every single one of them are mine alone.

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS/CONTEXT OF USAGE

  Shao ye—lit. ‘young master’ since Li Fuhai is under the age of fifty. But in the context I use it, I see it as ‘my husband’ or ‘husband’. Many Asians cultures (from I’ve seen anyway) tend to address people by their titles as opposed to their names. It was very rare in the era of A Bride for Wen Hui for a woman to call her husband by his name or for a husband to do the same. However, I am a Westerner so allow me some creative license. ??

  Fuqin – Father (spoken by a daughter)

  Dage – Big Brother (the eldest son)

  In a polygamous household like the house of Li, the first wife is the legal and principal wife. You may sometime the other wives refer to Li Fuhai as husband even though he isn’t. The way I understand it, the second wives were concubines or little more that mistresses. Their children did not have the same legal protection the children from the first wife. The children of these polygamous houses often were torn between two loyalties—loyalties to the first or legal mother and loyalty to their birth mother.

  Da niang – Big Mother. For the ease of my writing and for the reader, I referred to Da Niang as first mother

  Er niang – 2nd Mother. For the ease of my writing and for the reader, I referred to Er niang as Yuping’s birth mother

  San niang—3rd Mother. For the ease of my writing and for the reader, I refer to San niang as third mother.

  Gongshi – this is a title for ‘Civil Servant’. As Li Fuhai is an Ambassador, it came to my understanding that this was how he would be addressed.

  Ānjìng – be quiet; silence

  Li Fuhai’s garden carries an important role in the story. The Chinese garden differs from the well-manicured lawns of Europe. There, the Western tendency leans toward precision, distinct designs, and manipulating the garden to bring about a desired aesthetic. In contrast, the Chinese garden was meant to reflect nature and aspects of nature all around utilizing fengshui. “Fengshui, or wind-and-water, also known as geomancy, is an ancient practice that uses almanacs, charms, and complex compasses to coordinate the interactions of people, their living spaces, and the natural environment.” (https://depts.washington.edu/chinaciv/home/3fengshu.htm)

  I enjoyed pouring over hundreds of images of Chinese gardens and learning the basics of the structure and came to appreciate how they worked the gardens to be a part of nature.

  CHAPTER ONE

  March 1869

  Chinatown

  San Francisco, California

  Hidden Sun Brothel

  The stars embedded in the night sky twinkled like the playful winks of mischievous children. Devoid of both cloud and moon, the purity of the night presented a clear picture of nature’s slumberous beauty.

  But the two men below this backdrop of loveliness failed to recognize the heavenly black gem. Instead, they entered a house of ill-repute. The tall, broad man swept through the open door with eager feet while the other man, tall and lean, dragged behind his associate. In an instant, they were fawned over and led to a table.

  The tall, lean man sat across from his keen companion and took in his surroundings. The smoky interior of the brothel displeased Chen Wen Hui. Men, affluent and not, lounged about on great big cushions, attended to by Chinese women, dressed in silken robes draped in a seemingly precarious fashion off of their bodies. Wispy tendrils of smoke swirled like ghosts. The clink of glasses sounded bell-like in the semi-darkness.

  With effort, Wen Hui forced his face to reflect none of his distaste but when a woman came gliding toward him with an open invitation in her eyes, he turned away from the sight.

  A great laugh erupted from the big man who sat across from him at the table. “You have a good, pure heart, Chen Wen Hui,” Peng Jinwei guffawed, puffing at the lighted cheroot as the rejected woman moved away. “I have never seen you partake of the fruit that is so ripe in this place.”

  Wen Hui said nothing as this was something Jinwei had observed before during their eight-month association. The man spent much of his free time in some sort of establishment similar to this. Some nights Jinwei sat and absorbed the atmosphere with an air of an emperor among his subjects. Other nights, he plucked ‘ripe fruit’ for himself.

  In any case, how could a man as lascivious as Jinwei understand that Wen Hui only had one dream? His dream was a pearl of magnificent value, so treasured that to possess his dream, he would do everything in his power to have it. He wouldn’t allow anything to corrupt himself and thus, corrupt that pearl he so highly valued.

  His mind traveled back to this morning, in his rooms let to him by Pastor Jones. He’d looked out at the dawn and asked, “Have you captured the dawn yet, Li Yuping?”

  The question had drifted off his lips like a prayer. For the past six years, since his eighteenth birthday, he beseeched the memory of the girl of his past as if she were a goddess to bring his petitions to.

  Pastor Jones would admonish him for what he would perceive to be Wen Hui’s idolatry. Perhaps Li Yuping was, in a way, his idol. Not a graven image of stone or wood, but one of flesh, bone, and blood. Draped in silk and embellished in light. Like a worshipper in supplication, Wen Hui’s eyes drifted shut. He lingered on the last time he saw her.

  A young girl of fiftee
n years on the cusp of womanhood with pale skin luminous as moonlight and long, silky black hair. Her face framed by her round cheeks, funny nose, and pouty mouth.

  Yet, what he missed the most was the inner flame within her revealed in the perpetual gleam that exuded from her tawny eyes.

  “You are not married, nor do you have a bride that waits for you. So why do you not indulge yourself?” Jinwei blew out smoke and peered at him through it. The man’s bushy eyebrows drew over his dark eyes.

  “It seems having two wives has no ban on your own appetite,” Wen Hui replied. Indeed, many of the men in the brothel had wives back at home. But their wages were so sparse and minimal that to send for them was an extravagance they could little afford. It was to be expected that places such as the Hidden Sun would have an overflow of clientele

  “Ha! Is it not said, ‘We should not be too familiar with the lower orders or with women’?” A disdainful smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. “What does it matter how many wives I have?”

  Wen Hui thought it prudent to switch the conversation in a different direction. “You are a man of means. You can afford to keep as many wives as you are able. I am a poor man who can barely keep himself, much less one wife.”

  Jinwei laughed again. “After this next shipment from Great Britain, you will have more money than you would know what to do with.”

  Wen Hui could only hope. Else, why would he spend his free time in a place like this, surrounded by debauchery and licentious living, as his good friend, Pastor Jones, would say? The ravenous British devoured with grasping appetites certain exports from China, not the least of which was silk. That same craving for the delicate material had started to reach here to America.

  As the second son of a silk merchant, he had a chance, unlike his father, to expand trade to the Western powers through his association with Jinwei, an exporter of goods.

  Wen Hui reflected on the argument he’d had with his father six years ago before he made the decision to come to America. Like many other rural young men, he came to seek his fortune and obtain a better life. His father refused to trade with the West, his memory not being so short as to forget the Opium Wars. China had fought and lost twice against those powers. With each loss, she lost more of herself and allowed opium free reign to destroy his people.

  “They can wear the hairs of an ass before I let them touch my silk,” his father had raged.

  “Ba,” Wen Hui tried to reason with his sire, “Opium use existed long before the Westerners had any part in it.”

  “But not like this!” His father’s eyes had born a suspicious sheen. Wen Hui looked away to give his father dignity. “Your uncle would still be here had not the British killed him with their need for greed.”

  Wen Hui had let the matter drop, not blaming his father for his attitude. He himself felt conflicted by the issue. On a broader scale, the Western powers, along with the rising sun of Japan, had gained footholds into China, carving out sections of his county for their own uses and economic benefit as one would a pie.

  On a personal level, in order to obtain his dream, he would do what he had to in order make money so his dream could become a reality. There seemed no other choice but to yield and assuage the hunger of those devastating political powers.

  “Did you hear me, Chen Wen Hui?”

  He blinked and brought his thoughts back into focus. “Forgive me. What did you say?”

  “Speaking of wives, I am marrying again.” As Jinwei said this, another woman sauntered to their table to fill their drinks once more, although Wen Hui had taken very little of his.

  “A third wife,” Jinwei murmured, eyeing the woman with lust-filled appreciation.

  Wen Hui said nothing to this, having come to an understanding about his business partner’s attitude. The more wives Jinwei obtained, the greater his status. Women were simply rungs on a ladder.

  “Where is she?” he asked dutifully. “Here or back at home?”

  “Yuezhou,” came the absent reply.

  The muscles along Wen Hui’s back tensed but then he relaxed. “Whose daughter is she?” He kept his voice devoid of any emotion. Yuezhou was a large city. There was little chance in…

  Jinwei answered distractedly, his eyes were still fastened on the woman who seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time at their table. “She is the daughter of Gōngshǐ Li Fuhai.”

  Reaching for his near full glass, Wen Hui brought the cup up to his lips. It still didn’t mean anything. After all, Li Fuhai had two daughters.

  “Is that so?”

  The woman finally left after sending a long, penetrating gaze to Jinwei. With a sigh, the man dragged his eyes back to Wen Hui. “As I was saying, she is the daughter of Gōngshǐ Li Fuhai. A favorite of the West Empress Dowager.”

  Sweat moistened his fingers and Wen Hui tightened his grip on the glass. “Why do you wish to marry his daughter?” It was a silly thing to ask when it was obvious but he wanted to hear it straight from this man’s mouth.

  Jinwei shrugged. “Why not? She’s young, comes from a good family, and her father has influence.”

  All sound reasons for any man who climbed upon women to better his social status. Wen Hui took a sip of the drink, hesitant to ask the question that was upmost in his mind but knowing that he had to know.

  He had to know.

  “What is her name?”

  “Li Yuping.”

  The glass slipped out of his hand and fell to the table. Alcohol splashed over him.

  “A waste,” Jinwei scowled.

  Wen Hui barely noticed as the dream he’d held onto with such careful hands shattered before him like a ceramic vase. His stomach knotted and twisted inside.

  How could this happen? How could Li Fuhai give his daughter to a man like Peng Jinwei? He clamped down on his teeth and stood.

  Get away, his mind urged. Get away.

  Standing, he fought to control the slight unsteadiness of his hand. “I must go and—”

  “Before you do, stay a moment. There’s something I need you to do for me.”

  The idea of a man like him being the husband to Li Yuping. Of his mouth upon her and his hands…

  “What is it you need?” He forced himself to ask, trying to rid his mind of the horrible thoughts.

  “I want you to go and bring my bride to me.”

  An invisible fist slammed into Wen Hui’s chest, almost knocking him to the ground.

  “I am unable to go to China myself,” Jinwei stated in a nonchalant tone, unaware of the havoc he wreaked in Wen Hui’s life. “I have business interests here I must see to. You are a good man, hard worker, and trustworthy. Despite the many opportunities, you’ve rejected the few women we have so I know I can trust you with my new bride.”

  “Trust me?” Wen Hui’s eyes glanced around the room for the door. He needed to get out of here. His control over his emotions was slipping. Like a wounded dog, he wanted to go somewhere and lick his wounds.

  His dream. The dream he’d nurtured since he was a boy of ten and had beheld the most beautiful, lustrous pearl in the entire world…to be stolen away by this…this…

  “Yes, I trust you.” Jinwei swiveled the contents of his glass.

  “What is it that you trust me to do?”

  A mischievous look came in the man’s eye. “Marry her in my stead.”

  March 1869

  Yuezhou (Present-day Yue yang)

  Hunan Province, China

  Li Fuhai’s Garden of Serenity

  Self-loathing licked across her skin like a serpent’s tongue. Li Yuping barely saw anything significant as the tears trickling from her eyes obscured her vision. Thankfully her feet knew the path well as she made her way to the one place in her father’s house that gave her peace.

  The gentle winds of the twilight breeze rustled through the petals of the peach blossom trees as she meandered through the winding walkways.

  How could Da niang do this to her? She, who did everything she was told to and more
! Yuping whimpered a bit and then gasped as she stumbled on a loose rock. Her lotus feet enclosed in the tiny, floral printed shoes almost caused her to fall but she righted herself. She inhaled a shuddering breath and paused.

  Her hand shook as she wiped the moisture away from her eyes and face. Would that she could fall and break a bone or strike her head against the ground. Would she could die! It would better than to allow Da niang’s plans to come to fruition.

  Immediately, she whisked the thought away. Her very existence was punishment enough for her first mother. No, she would not give Da niang the pleasure of her death.

  Yuping ambled on her way trying to find solace in the beauty of her father’s much acclaimed garden.

  Silhouettes of structures lined her path. The tip of the triangular shaped roof of the temple rested under the waning brilliance of a single star. Archways of the pavilions she encountered on the meandering footpaths framed the ever-lightening sky. Opaque fronds of bamboos swayed in the breeze like worshipers. The jagged ridge of the rocks reflected the veneration of the mountains from ancient times.

  Many scholars, poets, and other learned men found her father’s garden to be an ideal setting to find peace and inner reflection over the years. Surely, Yuping could find that too, despite the fact that her life from this moment on would never be the same?

  Her mind traveled back to the awful event from last evening. She’d been summoned to Da niang’s apartments by one of the servants. Her scalp prickled at the unusual request and as she followed the servant, the feeling had intensified. What could her first mother want?

  For much of her life, she’d avoided any unnecessary contact with her first mother, treading the knife-thin line of harmony between them. She did nothing to disgrace the family. Nothing to disgrace her father. She remained obedient as a daughter of an ambassador should be.