family story that’s passed down for generations to come. In order to create Ai Li’s story of rebellion and impossible love, I always had Mei Lin’s adventure in my head.
I was thrilled to be able to bring that story to life. The Taming of Mei Lin explores the humble beginnings of the Shen family, a line of warriors steeped in duty and honour and, most importantly, love. Writing Mei Lin’s tale allowed me to explore the delicate ways that the past affects the future. It was also an opportunity to tie two love stories near and dear to my heart together.
Contents
Tang Dynasty China, 710 AD
Mei Lin could feel the strands of hair slipping from her knot, tickling against her neck. Uncle made her stand outside during the hottest part of the afternoon, even when there were no customers. She wiped her brow and looked over at Chang’s tofu stand at the end of the street with envy. He at least had the shade of a tree to duck under.
If she planted a seed today, she reckoned she’d still be here selling noodles by the time the tree grew tall enough to provide shelter. And Uncle would still be growing fat, napping in the shade.
A tingle of awareness pricked against her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone had stopped just beyond the line of the wooden benches. The stranger wore a gray robe, but that was the only thing plain about him. He had the high cheekbones of the people of the north and stood with his shoulders back, lean and tall. Unfortunately the town riffraff stood just behind him, grinning and poking at each other over some boyish joke only they found humorous. Mei Lin ignored them as she always did.
“Little Cho.”
The boy came eagerly running at her call. Her little cousin was not yet corrupted by his father’s laziness.
“Fetch the tea,” she said and he went running to the stove.
She turned back to the intriguing man. He remained at the perimeter watching her. He had a pleasant expression and seemed particularly still, as if supremely comfortable in this heat and in this world. She stood there with sweat pouring down her back wishing her hair wouldn’t keep falling over her face like it did. It was so rare that strangers came to their village.
He bowed. “Wu Mei Lin,” he greeted formally.
Even rarer that strangers came who knew her name. The smile she was about to give him faded into a frown.
“Little Cho.”
He had just returned with the teapot.
She blew a strand of hair away from her face impatiently. “Fetch my swords.”
The boy scrambled away, nearly tripping over his feet in his excitement. She turned back to the stranger.
“This is why you came, isn’t it?”
“When I learned of Lady Wu’s skill, I couldn’t help but come to pay my respects.”
He insisted on using her family name in an overly polite fashion. The onlookers chortled. The hated Chen Wang was at the head of the pack. Wang tended to stay away from her after she’d given him a black eye that lasted for a week, but he couldn’t resist the show.
“Well, then. Let’s get started,” she said.
Little Cho returned and handed over her short swords. She fixed her gaze onto the man before her. He had his weapons strapped to his side. She’d missed it in her initial fascination.
“I don’t mean to presume,” he began. “If the lady would like time to prepare—”
“There’s no better time. Besides, the rabble will be expecting a performance.”
She scowled at Wang and his lot as she brushed past. It kept her from having to look at him. Why did he have to be so tall and his manners so impeccable? And why was she so taken with this swordsman when it was obvious he was here to humiliate her, just like all the others?
“Little Cho, watch the shop,” she called over her shoulder.
“But, Mei Lin!”
She ignored the boy’s protest and kept walking. He shouldn’t be watching street fights at his age, impressionable as he was. Uncle and Auntie Yin had enough to complain about without her being a bad influence on her little cousin.
The swordsman caught up with her easily, keeping an arm’s length between them while they walked together down the dusty street. There was none of the posturing and swagger she’d come to expect from Zhou’s lackeys. From outward appearances, they could have been joining one another for an afternoon stroll.
“Those are exquisite.”
He was talking about the swords. Twin blades—short, light and quick. Many called them butterfly swords, but there was nothing delicate about them. They were ideal weapons for a woman fighting a larger opponent. Heaven forbid he’d look at her with the same interest.
She sniffed, but a thread of doubt worked loose inside her. He was the first to be interested in her skill rather than the novelty of this odd girl who dared to challenge men.
“You don’t seem like one of Zhou’s thugs,” she said.
“Who is Zhou?”
He sounded earnest; she wanted to believe that he wasn’t just another bragging oaf, here to put this stubborn woman in her place. She stole another glance at him. His black hair was pulled back and tied, highlighting his distinct features.
And he was handsome. She might as well admit it. Looking at him left her with the disturbing sense that she had lost something—something she desperately needed to find.
“You are not what I expected from what they told me.”
He was looking at her face now. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “What did they say?”
“That you were the meanest shrew in the empire.”
He
