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expected his ear to twitch. “I s’pose. See you tomorrow, miss.”
    She bowed. “At dawn.”
    She climbed below deck and returned to the galley. Only Peng and Chen Yong, both engrossed in books, remained at the large table. Peng barely glanced up when she entered. “Done? Lao Lu was kind enough to wash up for you today. So we can begin our lesson.”
    She turned to the cook and smiled gratefully. He gave a curt nod. Ai Ling tried to catch Chen Yong’s eye, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He had not spoken to her since their brief exchange that morning.
    Peng asked Lao Lu to bring a pot of hot tea. “Chen Yong is advanced in his knowledge of the language. We can converse during our free time. It’s important you understand elementary phrases at least.” He unbuttoned the silver clasps on his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.
    Lao Lu returned with tea, along with a small tray holding a long white feather, a corked ceramic pot, and sheaths of thick parchment. Captain Peng picked up the feather and uncorked the ceramic pot. “The Jiang don’t use calligraphy brushes to write. They use quills.” He dipped the feather into the ink. “Their language is formed by twenty-eight letters, strung together to make words.”
    He scratched in a neat hand on the thick parchment. “This means a peaceful morning.”
    Ai Ling stared at the small scribbles stacked next to one another and furrowed her brow.
    Peng pronounced the phrase for her, enunciating slowly. “You say it,” he told her. He spoke the phrase again, and she watched his lips purse together, heard the strange rolling sound of his tongue.
    She tried to repeat it.
    A smile flitted across his mouth; then he cleared his throat. “The roll of the tongue is the hardest to learn. We don’t speak like this in Xian.”
    And so they spent the next hour. Peng proved to be a good and patient tutor, and soon she had the twenty-eight letters and their sounds memorized. Chen Yong’s head was bent over a text the entire time. They ended their first lesson with a conversation in Jiang. Amazed by Chen Yong’s knowledge of the language, Ai Ling couldn’t help staring at him.
    Even the captain nodded in admiration. “I know you’ve been learning for six months, but your pronunciation is truly impressive. Well done.” He rose from his chair as Yen entered to whisper in his ear.
    Peng bowed to them. “I’ll see you this afternoon for our lesson in shuen, Chen Yong? You’ll be joining us as you promised?” He slanted a look her way, and Ai Ling recited the Jiang phrase for “thank you” over and over in her mind. She managed a small nod of her head.
    “I think you’ll also make great improvements in the language over the next months, Ai Ling,” Peng said.
    “Thank you for teaching us,” Chen Yong replied.
    “Of course. It helps me to practice as well.” He smiled and left them.
    He must be wed. But if so, where was his wife? She shook her head slightly when she realized where her thoughts ran.
     
    They converged near the bow an hour after the midday meal. Ai Ling had thought it would just be the three of them, but the pilot, Yen, was also there, along with five other crew members.
    “There are many interested in learning shuen, Chen Yong,” said Peng. “And your family’s reputation has traveled far.”
    Chen Yong bowed low to everyone. “It’s an honor.”
    He began by showing them the basic Horse Riding stance. He had pulled a thin bamboo rod from nowhere and tapped each person on the thigh as he walked past. “Wider stance. Drop lower.” He strolled the deck with confident ease, the dazzling sunlight catching the hints of deep bronze in his black hair.
    Chen Yong paused in front of her. He tucked the bamboo beneath his arm and assessed her in silence. Sheforced herself to remain steady. Her thighs began to burn. “What is it?” she asked through gritted teeth.
    To her annoyance, he didn’t reply. Instead, he walked a slow circle around her. She clutched