When two mysterious travelers walk into Min's inn, he has no idea that welcoming them will cost him everything he's been hiding from—and give him everything he never knew he wanted.
Who is the pale woman? Why are soldiers hunting her? And why can't Chang, who has spent years perfecting the art of caring about no one, bring himself to turn her away?
Some guests arrive to stay a night. Others arrive to change everything.
Story #2 in an eight-part series of standalone tales about innkeepers—each set in a different place, a different era, and a different kind of world.
When two mysterious travelers walk into Min's inn, he has no idea that welcoming them will cost him everything he's been hiding from—and give him everything he never knew he wanted.
Who is the pale woman? Why are soldiers hunting her? And why can't Chang, who has spent years perfecting the art of caring about no one, bring himself to turn her away?
Some guests arrive to stay a night. Others arrive to change everything.
Story #2 in an eight-part series of standalone tales about innkeepers—each set in a different place, a different era, and a different kind of world.
I am now an old man, but I’m happier than I was in my younger years. Love has changed me. And the sort of love I was given to find in this life arrived late, and arrived in disguise, and I almost turned it away at the door.
So forgive an old innkeeper if he begins his story with a confession: I was, on the morning this all began, a man who had not yet known how to love or be loved. I tell it now because I have learned, and because I would be a poor steward of that lesson if I did not pass it along.
On the morning my life turned, I was rather relieved that my tenants had left me alone all night. I had spent the small hours pacing through the inn, drinking tea, reflecting on a dreary past I refused to face.
Just after the fifth watch, as the sun was coming up, I boiled some more brick tea. I boiled it too long; it bit the tongue; and I did not mind that at all.
“What can I do without you, sweetie?” I said that to my dear kettle—for only the kettle was dear to me in those days. It was the same kettle my younger cousin had used when this place still belonged to him, before it passed to me by death and stamped paper.
Outside, the dirt road lay empty… safely so… smelling of dead leaves and fresh dew. The wind, too, was beginning to warm with summer, which added to the magical feel of the early day.
I had spent six summers in Shawan by then. I was not planning on staying for the rest of my life, but I was grateful that this small town existed. It was boring, and too windy in winter, but any place was better than the dungeons.
Or the pit!
(I had—ahem—legal problems that could place me in either.)
So I was drinking my tea, happy with the warmth of the wind and my obscurity, when I saw them.
Two travelers, walking side by side, coming up from the bend by the river. Their gait was easy, as if they were out for morning exercise rather than crossing a forlorn road that ran twenty miles to the next town. One was a man, narrow-faced and deep-eyed, his hair pulled into a ponytail. His jacket rode high on his ribs, which was a funny thing to behold. His heavy-looking pack was strapped too tightly for long travel. His whole appearance made me think of a man faking being fake.
The other was a woman, wrapped in a gray silk cloak, with a pleated dress barely visible beneath.
I did not see her face until I had received them inside.
She was very fair, that girl, though not with the softness one expects from a sheltered woman. Her eyes were wide and clear, the color of honey. Her skin was whiter than the river fog. When she lowered her hood, the fledgling rays of the sun caught her hair and made it glow.
In my life, I had seen only one blonde woman. She had been a Taiwanese general’s concubine, and her blondness had been no more genuine than her cackles. This girl, however, was a true blonde. I had heard that European women sometimes had that trait. But what would a European be doing under my roof?
She was too enticing to keep staring at, especially in front of her companion. I felt genuinely glad for the man.
The man bowed, too low for his stature. “May the sun of day bring you fortune, innkeeper. We are looking for a room.”
“You’re too early, traveler.”
“That is because the road was generous to us.”
“No. It is because you’re simply too early,” I snapped, and gestured toward the benches near the brazier. “Sit there for now. We aren’t open yet. Tea?”
They said yes, and sat down opposite one another, the man dropping his pack on the ground, the woman removing her cloak and folding it over her lap. Her simple cotton dress bore straight and round imprints, which I assumed was some kind of European script.
But then she began talking to her partner, and I was astonished to hear the mountain speech of Fujian. No sane foreigner would ever bother to learn that.
So this girl was native? But why was her complexion so wrong?
I had seen a man without color once during the War. The artillerymen had assigned him to the guns, in cruel mockery. Yet even when he was washed clean, he had looked nothing like that pretty girl.
I stole glances at her again as I prepared the tea.
When I finally presented them with the tea bowls, I said, “One room, eh?”
The man hummed and nodded.
“Just one?”
Silence. He glanced at her and nodded again. The steam from the brick tea rose between them like a small curtain.
“As you can see, my dears, it is really too early. At this hour, my tenants are all still dreaming. I would need to go through the rooms one by one to see if even one is clean.”
They did not comment. The woman looked around the main hall, and her gaze rested on the halberd hung above the stair beam. “Hmm. That’s a nice decoration.”
“A family heirloom.” I stepped in front of it. “My cousin used to own the inn. He was a soldier.”
“Were you a soldier too?”
“What? No. Do I look like a soldier? Ha ha ha. I’m a lover, not a fighter, as the Europeans say.”
She narrowed her eyes, amused. “You do not look like a lover, innkeeper. I doubt you know what that really is.”
She had me dead to rights and we had not been acquainted ten minutes. I would not understand, until the worst day of my life, that she was telling me the truth and offering me a cure in the same breath.
Her partner hemmed and hawed, then changed the subject. “What is the name of this inn, if I may ask? A local referred us to your door, but we did not see a sign on the road.”
“Oh, no need for a sign. Let me think. The name of this place is… err… The Blind Scorpion.”
The girl chortled, her head tilting back. (I noticed that her neck was longer than that of any woman I knew. Strange.) “Why would you call it that?”
“Because we have a lot of scorpions here, my dear.” I shook my head regretfully. “It is a serious pest problem. We’ve been working on it. We used a chemical from Taiwan once, but it left our scorpions blind as bats. Do not be troubled if a couple of them wander across your neck, especially at night. They’re blind, and old, and famished, and they walk in pairs now to support one another. Anyway,” I brightened, “how do you find the tea?”
“Ha ha.”
“My name is Shen, by the way,” her partner said.
I remained silent about my own name for a while, until I found her eyes also on me, awaiting an answer.
“Min,” I allowed.
“What?” she said. “That can’t be your name. It means door.”
I sighed heavily. “My mother named me Door, believing I would have doors open before me in life. Yet alas, a curse accompanies me instead. All sorts of wanderers come to my door thinking I have a place to shelter them. Usually, I don’t. For example, I happen not to have a room for you today. May your roads be always generous. Goodbye.”
“But that’s not what you said just a moment ago,” she said.
“Sorry. I was up all night, working. I must have been sleepwalking when I first talked to you. Did you like the tea?”
“All the rooms are taken? Really?” said Shen.
I nodded.
“How about your own room, innkeeper?” the girl said, playfully.
“I do not keep a room. I have a health condition that makes me wander all night, and sometimes I set the place on fire. My cousin sleeps in my room—”
“Aaah.” She had me. “You have a room now? And didn’t you say your cousin was dead?”
“Yes,” I affirmed. “And his ghost haunts that specific room. The innkeeper’s room, we call it. I think he possesses people, too. He’s done it to me a couple of times, when I set the curtains on fire—”
“You’re a funny man.” She waved her hand and laughed, leaning over her cloak-covered knees. “But I love your place already. Do not try to kick us out. We are not leaving.”
I sighed. “Do not say, then, that I did not warn you.”
“Ha ha.”
“Anyway—ahem—where have you come from?” I asked.
“Do you know Hangzhou?” Shen said.
“Of course I know Hangzhou. You are not as far from civilization as you might like to think.”
That gave them pause. The name Hangzhou hung in the hall like an aftertaste. Hangzhou was no longer an imperial capital, but it was still one of the richest and most cultivated cities in Zhejiang Province.
So what were two travelers from Hangzhou doing under my roof, again?
“Do not be troubled, though,” I added. “You are a long way from Hangzhou, if that is something that matters to you.”
That seemed to reassure them. “Oh, thank you so much, Min,” the girl said.
“Thank you, Master Door,” Shen attempted a joke.
Now, I would be damned if I did not know the temperament of women. At that instant, I almost expected her to glower at him. But this girl did nothing of the sort. She continued to sip her tea, slowly, then rose, took her partner’s bowl, and came to set the two empty bowls on the high table I was walking toward.
“The leaves stayed too long in the kettle,” she said.
“All my teas are bitter. The food tastes horrible here as well.”
She giggled. Her partner guffawed. “You will love each other,” he said.
Now, a seasoned man’s mind might wander at such a remark. But if love was the right word, I loved her perhaps as a niece. She was gracious in a childlike way, not yet sullied by the machinations of adults.
“I already do,” I said, “love her,” meaning exactly what I meant.
She seemed so happy, and clapped her hands. I noticed then that she was missing a couple of nails on her left hand. The rest of her fingernails were long and sharp. If she spoke Fujian, that meant she belonged to the mountain tribes of the east. Some of the women there, I imagined, grew their nails long to help them climb.
“How long do you need a room for? A day? Or a day and a night? Rates differ.”
“We plan to stay in this town for a few days,” she said. “We have come to see the hills.”
“Yes, the hills,” her partner echoed.
“The hills?” said I. “What do you mean by the hills? I have never heard of any hills around here.”
“Oh, the high forests. And the old watchtower. The hills overlook the gorge beyond the mulberries. A local told us this town is good for sightseeing.”
“Oh, I see.” I shook my head. “Someone has played a silly joke on you. There is nothing in Shawan worth seeing. It is dead, empty, ugly, and boring. And we don’t call those forests hills around here. There are no hills. Whom did you meet?”
They exchanged a look.
“Some old man,” said Shen. “Anyway, even if this town isn’t very exciting, at least it is safe?”
“Absolutely,” I assured him. “Nothing ever gets stolen for long—because we just steal it back from one another. I tell you what.” I moved toward the door. “You seem like a nice couple. Vanish from here. This is the worst town on the map. Fly away. Swim. Dig a tunnel. Just escape Shawan. I came here by chance, like you two, fifty-one years ago, and I am still stuck here.”
“Ha ha. You came to Shawan before you were born?” the girl said. “You are incredibly funny. Didn’t you say your cousin owned this inn before you?”
“My cousin was a prisoner here. This is where they tortured him. That is why he comes to torture us all night—”
“Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha.” She was all mirth and disbelief. “You seem to know a lot about your cousin, Master Min. Would you mind telling him I don’t mind him coming to torture us at all?”
When all my attempts to put them back on the road failed, I opened the register on the table and mumbled, “Full name?”
“Shen Luo.”
“And the wife?”
Shen hesitated. “She is with me.”
I looked up from the book.
Then the girl spoke, softly: “Write—Bai.”
“Only Bai?”
“Bai is my only name. Pale. Like a cloud.”
She was definitely pale. She did not lie.
When I closed the book, a small, unrelated problem announced itself. The water urn beside the door had begun leaking again, leaving a thin shining ribbon across the floor.
I knelt to adjust the stone beneath the urn.
“Your inn is very old,” the girl said. “How old was your cousin before he went to the War?”
“I don’t want to talk about dead people right now.” I was livid, more about the urn than anything else.
“Do many travelers come to your door?”
“Not if they are smart and can move on.”
“You should care more for your trade. This place is crumbling.”
I looked at her. I felt guilty for even entertaining her at all. “Your evaluation is noted, princess. You know, there is a much jollier place just a few hours east, in Fengshu.”
“This one will do. Besides, I believe you’re tired or distraught. East of here is the ocean.”
Before I could challenge her geography, the door opened.
Old Wen, the carter, stepped in. He stamped mud from his shoes.
“Not—on—my—floor!” I growled.
“Up early again, eh?” He grinned.
“Yes, the cat woke me.” I straightened and arched my back.
“You don’t have a cat. Oh—you have new guests.”
I found my two travelers nodding and bowing to this old lizard called Wen. I was certain that he had been the one who referred them to my door.
To confirm it, I turned to study Wen’s face.
Although an entire geography of wrinkles blocked me, I could swear his hidden eyes were beaming.
“You will like it here,” Wen told the strangers. “My friend may sound dry and inhospitable, but he is a dear at heart.”
“This place is like air,” the girl said. “It’s so fragile. I love it.”
I looked at that strange blonde. Her foreign, honey-colored eyes were dilated to their limits, gazing up at the ceiling. As for her partner, he was so pleased with the notion that my residence was air that, by way of congratulating her, he tapped her between the shoulder blades.
That was a trick I did not know worked on women. She flinched, looked at me, then to Wen, and finally to Shen.
She gave him a smile worth more than all the inns in the world.
“Say, I met some riders on the southern road at dawn,” Wen said. “Army men by the look of them. They were about to camp in the valley.”
“Wonderful.” I looked down at the leaking urn, resisting the urge to smash it and watch the water flood the floor.
Wen’s news could drive a peaceful fugitive insane. Wen thought information was a kindness, simply because he knew my secret and assumed I was afraid. But wanting to be left alone was not the same as fear. If only Wen were capable of grasping that.
I did not turn my head toward him.
One hum here, one hum there; a silence here, a silence there; eventually, Wen gave up on me and left with a grunt. The door slammed behind him.
“Jerk,” I muttered.
“He seems like a nice man,” Bai said.
“He used to be a mage, that one. But somehow, he lost his mind and came to live here as a carter.”
“Wow. A mage? That is amazing.”
I looked back at the door Wen had just slammed. “Go tell him that. He won’t believe you. He thinks mages are losers now. Probably carting is a higher calling.”
“Interesting. But maybe that is his heart’s desire. What is yours, innkeeper?”
“Too many questions, lady. Do you want to see your room or not?”
She said yes. I was still hoping she might change her mind. What a fool I was!
China, 1793. An old innkeeper recalls when two travelers appeared at his inn, a man and a European-looking woman. There’s something about the couple that piques Min the innkeeper’s curiosity. Who are “Shen” and the girl “Bai"? Why do they want to stop at Min's inn? Why are soldiers hunting them? All this and much more in this enchanting and engaging love story with a twist by Michael Prince.
The story is told largely in flashback fashion by Min, the curmudgeonly, cranky innkeeper. He soon learns that the two travelers are from Hangzhou, “one of the richest and most cultivated cities in Zhejiang Province.” Turns out they are being pursued by the governor of that province, the ruthless Han. But why are Han’s soldiers after Shen and Bai? Why does the couple have a treasure trove of priceless gems? Why is the beautiful, elegant Bai so insistent upon resting in the sun? And why can't Min, aka: “Chang,” bring himself to turn her away? An army deserter who’s spent years perfecting the art of caring about no one, Min/Chang comes in handy in a tight spot. Especially with a halberd. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
Another interesting character is the inimitable Wen, “a failed mage who whiled away his dotage as a carter in Shawan.” Unbeknownst to Min and readers, Wen also happens to be the only character who’s ever seen dragon scales. This is key. Because we learn later that when their time has come, a dragon buries itself in the sun. It’s the only way to be destroyed at the end of a dragon’s “very long life.” Well, that and a meteor-iron blade. It’s why dragons “seek Heaven to rest” explains Wen.
But dragons don’t die unless they’re bereft of love.
Meanwhile, Han and his soldiers capture Marco, a good-for-nothing opium user. Marco spills the beans about Shen and Bai. Han wants to capture Bai (who isn’t really a girl at all) so he can use Bai’s power to destroy another ruler and reign over the whole country. His son, Shen, refuses to go along with that lousy deal. Enraged, Han turns and hurls a meteor-iron blade straight at Bai. All seems lost. But then….
Oh, wait. To find out what happens next, you’ll have to read the book yourself.
Beautifully written, this story goes straight for the heart. The pacing is brisk. The dialogue is credible. Strong writing and masterful storytelling rockets the plot forward like Golden Tempo around the final turn at the Belmont Stakes. Indeed, the writing is almost melodic in its beauty and grace. The story is peopled with colorful characters like Aunt Lin, Aunt Wu, and her beautiful daughter, Jin. Also Shen the Foulmouth. All play their roles perfectly in this delightful fantasy brimming with power and panache that draws readers in from page one and doesn’t let go until the last sentence.
A Dragon Taught Me to Love is story #2 in an eight-part series of standalone tales about innkeepers. Each story is set in a different place, a different era, and a different kind of world. I can’t wait for the next installment!