Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
T he peach trees were finally starting to bloom again. The palace had been cleaned and polished so that you could run a finger over any of its walls or lanes and find not even a single speck of dirt. The winds became gentle, and the grass that had withered in winter grew back again, lush and green as new jade. More lanterns were strung from the curved roofs, their pearl-white light illuminating the ponds and the paths between chambers. Mornings were announced by birdsong, the sun rising earlier and earlier. Spring had come, and the air was fragrant, carrying the heady scent of flowers from Lady Yu’s gardens and spices from the royal kitchens.
Inside the great hall, everything had been transformed as well. Gold and silver hangings shimmered from the walls; all the goblets were freshly washed. Two large banquet tables extended from one end to the other, leaving space in between for the dancers and flutists.
“What do you think?” Fuchai asked me with the shy, excited tones of a student showing his final work to his master. “Is it to your liking?”
I stared around the vast room. The banquet was already in motion, guests beginning to stream in through the doors. We had worked on the guest list together, inviting princes and princesses from distant lands, noblemen and distinguished scholars from the most prestigious families, kings and ministers from neighboring kingdoms. The public purpose of the banquet was to celebrate the completion of the new canal; the private purpose, to lift my spirits. But of course Fuchai did not know the true purpose of what he had helped arrange.
“Everything is wonderful,” I said, smiling to hide my nerves.
It was impressive; even I could admit it. The food alone was mouthwatering. Fuchai had demanded the very best cooks be brought in to prepare for this evening, the raw materials gathered from the highest mountains and widest plains, where the soil was tender and the water tasted sweet. There were plates upon plates of dessert: steamed fermented rice cake, the sticky layers rich with the aroma of wine; gaotuan of every shade mixed with red bean paste and salted nuts and sesame, shaped to resemble gold ingots, magnolia leaves, flowers blooming; oil-glazed mooncakes engraved with floral patterns and the characters for peace and prosperity. They were all so beautiful and intricately made it seemed almost a pity to eat them. But the real dishes were only just arriving. Servants came bearing clay pots of braised pork, cooked until every slice was golden brown, the lean and fat meat perfectly proportioned, dripping with soy sauce. Eggs had been added to the dish as well, with four clean slices down the sides to let the flavor in.
As the guests took their seats, a bell chimed. The servant stationed at the gates called out, “King Goujian and Minister Fanli of the Yue Kingdom have arrived.”
I felt a sudden tightness in my chest, like somebody had gripped my heart. With great effort, I tried to ward off the shaky sensation threatening my body, all rising emotion, hope and panic and fear woven together. I rubbed my arms, faced the gates.
They entered according to their respective roles: Goujian first, dressed in kingly finery for once, and Fanli just behind him. My eyes went only to Fanli. He seemed to have recovered from the sword wound. His movements were fluid, light, his head up. He was dressed in dark navy robes that rippled when he walked, like the surface of a river in a breeze.
He met my eyes, expressionless save for the slight pull of his lips. My pulse throbbed.
“Thank you for the kind invitation, Your Majesty.” He and Goujian took their turns greeting Fuchai. Reluctantly, I pulled my attention away from Fanli and focused on the king of Yue instead. He was smiling at Fuchai like they were old friends, but he smiled only with the skin of his face; beneath it, there was a chilling look in his gaze.
“Of course, of course.” Fuchai laughed, not noticing. “It has been so long—how good it is to see your face again.”
Goujian’s smile sharpened. “The sentiment is mutual.”
“We had fun, didn’t we? Ah, I recall you were quite the helpful stable boy.” It was a testament to Fuchai’s arrogance—and perhaps his misplaced sense of immortality, believing himself immune to any harm—that he could make such jests without worry of being stabbed in his sleep.
Even I, watching this exchange silently, felt my palms sweating.
“I could never forget,” Goujian murmured.
“Well, do sit.” Fuchai pulled them over to the seats across his—and mine. I was facing Fanli directly from the opposite end of the table. “We should all have a drink together, for old times’ sake.” He snapped his fingers, and like magic, a servant appeared with a jug of sloshing wine. Goujian seemed to take note of this. Of everything. His black eyes raked over the halls, every blatant sign of wealth and opulence and comfort.
Then he brought his eyes back to the king standing before him, generously offering a goblet of wine like a gesture of peace. Something flickered in his expression. He took it, downing the liquor in one swig, and flipped his goblet over to show it was empty. “May the king live ten thousand years, and ten thousand years more.”
Pleased, Fuchai quickly motioned for the servant to refill the goblet, then clinked his own cup against it. Then he repeated it with Fanli.
“No hard feelings?” Fuchai asked, glancing briefly at Fanli’s chest, the place where Zixu’s sword had drawn blood.
Fanli smiled, toasting him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stood, my eyes darting between them. It felt like some nightmare playing out in real life, everything about it wrong, every world of mine, every side of me—all my greatest wants and fears—colliding. I fought another swell of hysteria, controlled my breathing. This was necessary. And soon it would be over.
When they had each downed at least four full goblets of wine, Fuchai came over, laughing, his face framed by the black of his hair, and laced his fingers through mine. In my peripheral vision, I saw a tightening in Fanli’s features. “Come,” Fuchai said, tugging me toward the other guests.
As I followed him from table to table, faking smiles and uttering false niceties, I couldn’t help snatching glimpses of Fanli. He remained in his seat, composed and polite, the perfect representative from a foreign kingdom. Occasionally he would turn and speak to Goujian in low tones, impossible for a third person to make out. He refilled his wine on his own, drinking goblet after goblet.
I tried not to let my surprise show. I had never seen Fanli drink before; for someone who prided themself on their self-discipline, I’d always assumed it was a vice he avoided.
The banquet was soon in full swing. The dancers moved from sequence to sequence, swishing their long sleeves, the bracelets on their wrists and ankles jangling. The air grew warmer with noise and activity and food, the dishes cleared away and immediately replaced by well-trained maids. There seemed no limit to the wine and lavish food that flowed within the halls.
And everywhere I went, my fingers intertwined with Fuchai’s, my crimson sash flowing over my slender arms, the whispers fluttered after us like petals in the wind:
“She is as beautiful as all the rumors say…”
“No wonder His Majesty cannot bear to part from her…”
“They are a fitting pair, don’t you think? The beauty and the king. I’m willing to bet there will be many poems and plays written about them.”
But the tones with which they gossiped were not always adoring or admiring. There were darker sentiments too, ones I wished I hadn’t heard.
“… did you hear what the servants said, about that time they walked in on…”
“I hear he visits her chambers thrice a day—sometimes early in the morning…”
“She looks so innocent. It’s hard to imagine…”
“… that night, in the middle of the court, with everyone watching—”
“Your Majesty.” The chair creaked as Fanli stood, swaying slightly. There was a misted look to his dark eyes, and streaks of color stained his cheeks. “Please forgive me, but I’ll have to retire early…”
Fuchai took one long look at him, then burst out laughing. “Drunk already? Do you have such low alcohol tolerance?”
Fanli said nothing, just bowed his head in a subservient gesture. Unfailingly courteous, even with all that alcohol in his blood.
“All right, all right,” Fuchai said. Then he swiveled around to me. “Xishi—how about you show him to the guest chambers? He can rest there until the others are ready to depart.”
A shock went through me. I could hardly dare to believe it. “Me?” I asked, half wondering if this was some sick joke, another cruel test of his to see whether I felt more for Fanli than I revealed.
But there was no suspicion in Fuchai’s gaze. He waved his long sleeve good-naturedly. “Yes, you. I trust that you’ll show him how beautiful the palace is.”
So that’s why he’s asking me. He could be so childish sometimes. He wanted to show off, to impress Fanli, rub in the fact that he had the most stunning women and rooms in all the lands.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course,” I said, standing. I swallowed, tried to suppress the giddy tremor in my hands. The king of Wu had constructed the Palace of Beautiful Women just for me, built a promenade with thousands of earthenware jars that chimed whenever I walked on it, changed the very course of the rivers and commanded that a new waterway be created simply because I’d suggested it to him. He had been nothing but generous, given me his heart and time and affections again and again, spoiled me with the finest silks and sweetest cakes and warmest chambers. But I’d never felt so much gratitude toward him as I did in this very moment. And he didn’t even realize what he’d gifted me: time alone with Fanli. Time to speak, to drop our pretenses, to ask how he was. I would not have been so happy even if he’d single-handedly plucked the moon out of the sky for me, if he’d woven me a necklace made of all the stars in the heavens.
I walked over to Fanli, my eyes lowered to the ground. I kept my voice even, mildly polite, the way one would speak to a stranger. “Please follow me.”
His voice was equally neutral. “Thank you, Lady Xishi.”
Gusts of heat swept over the back of my neck as I led him to the main doors. I could sense his gaze on me, the distance that pushed and tugged between us, the space humming between our bodies. The door swung open under my touch, and the cool night air blew toward me, sweet with the faint perfume of begonias. I breathed in.
We were both outside now. Alone. All the noise from the banquet faded away, muffled by the walls. Crimson lanterns glowed softly down the corridors, illuminating every round, latticed window and carved pillar we passed. Bright-painted murals unrolled on either side of us: immortals dancing in rolling clouds and temples suspended on mountains and lovers sailing together down a river on a bamboo raft.
I scanned the empty, narrow paths around us before speaking. “Are you well?” The sound of my own voice startled me; it was not the sweet tone I used around the king to get what I wanted, nor the commanding tone I adopted to intimidate others into obedience. I had almost forgotten what I really sounded like.
“As well as I could be,” he replied. His steps were slower than usual, and his brows were slightly furrowed, as though he was concentrating hard just on walking in a straight line. Surprise coursed through me. I had wondered if perhaps he was faking his drunkenness to get away from the banquet quickly, but now I was certain that it was no act. “No, that’s not true,” he said suddenly with a soft huff of laughter, as if he could not quite restrain himself. I stared. I’d never seen him like this before. “The truth is… and you cannot repeat this to anybody—though of course, of course I know you won’t…” He paused, leaning against one of the polished pillars, his eyes black as midnight, and made a beckoning motion.
My heartbeat picked up. I stepped toward him, close enough to feel his warm breath grazing my skin as he whispered, “I’ve missed you, Xishi.”
A sharp emotion sliced through me: joy so deep it resembled grief; grief so keen it resembled joy. The two were inseparable. I felt my breathing hitch.
Then, just as abruptly, he was walking ahead again, his head turned back toward me, a half-bitter smile on his lips. “Isn’t it ironic?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the wind in the leaves, the silver splashing of water from the garden fountains. “I only have myself to blame. What is that old saying… cleverness overreaches itself? Cleverness outwits itself? All these years, I’ve prided myself on my intelligence, but—”
I held up a hand before he could say anything else, even though all I wanted was for him to continue. My heart was still beating much too fast, my blood rushing through my veins. “Not here,” I said quickly, checking around us again. Emptiness, nothing but the shadows of the trees. Still, paranoia clung to me. “Come with me.”
My footsteps quickened. We were walking side by side. I kept my eyes straight ahead on the path to the guest chambers, but I felt his cool fingers brush against mine. So quick it might have been an accident. My own imagination. Yet seconds later, his fingertips ran down the line of my palm. Another quick brush, the barest sliver of skin against skin. A small gasp rose to my throat.
I couldn’t help sneaking a glance at him. His expression was controlled too, save for the faintest pink brushing the curve of his ears, creeping up the side of his neck, illuminated by the lantern lights. Yet his hand touched mine again; each time it was the barest, subtlest motion, concealed by the darkness and the flowing sleeves of our robes. It felt like a secret, a quiet rebellion. A stealing from fate, or perhaps a reclamation of what had been taken from us. My skin burned with the private knowledge, tingling in every place his long fingers skimmed over my own.
The guest chambers were tucked away in a remote courtyard. The lights were dimmer here, the grass neatly trimmed, but with no flowers growing. No maids positioned outside the gates.
I tugged the doors firmly shut behind us once we entered. The air possessed the stagnant, dusty quality of an unused room, the scent of old incense lingering over the rosewood furniture. I lit all the candles in the room one by one: by the single canopy bed, the drawers, the bronze mirror. Soon, light danced over every corner, suffusing the place in a faint orange glow.
Then I spun around and faced Fanli fully.
It had been so long since I’d seen him, even longer since I’d let myself just look at him this way. His face was as beautiful as ever, fine-boned and sharp-angled; it was what the sculptors modeled their greatest statues after, what poets wrote sonnets about, what artists tried and failed to capture in their paintings. Nothing on earth could replicate it. But all his remaining softness had diminished. Where there’d once been at least a brightness to his eyes, a curve of amusement to his lips, the natural charms of a boy, there was only black ice and cold jade.
And as I stared at him, I was aware of him taking me in too, his eyes trailing slowly from my head all the way down to my feet. It was not that hungry, possessive look I’d come to expect from Fuchai; it was more one of concern, as if assessing me for any signs of hunger or hardship, injury or abuse.
“How… have you been?” he asked at last, his eyes moving back up to meet mine. “Tell me everything.”
I wanted to. All those days we’d been apart, every time the sun slipped from the sky and the moon rose to take its place, every meal I’d taken alone or with the king while he waited in another kingdom. Everything I’d endured flashed through my mind, but I did not know where to start, how to put it into words. So I just smiled. Shook my head. “I’ve done everything we agreed on. I received your note. The plan should go smoothly—”
“I’m not asking about the plan.”
I looked at him in surprise. The plan was always his primary concern; the kingdom always came first.
“Xishi,” he said, his words softly slurred, his voice throttled with some emotion I could not identify. “I’m sorry—”
He was sorry ?
“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” I cut in. “Or feel indebted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He stilled, then frowned, almost like a chastised child. “You’re angry.”
“I’m not.” At least, I hadn’t thought I was. But there was a new tightness in my chest, a tension building in the back of my throat. I thought of the poem again—a confession, or so I’d mistaken it for, only to discover it was another set of instructions. And now we were alone, finally alone, and he was apologizing for something we had both agreed to.
“You forget that I was the one who helped hone that mask of yours,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were angry with me—”
“I’m not angry at all,” I said, deliberately sweetening my tone. “What is there to be angry about? I’ve had a wonderful time in the palace, didn’t you know?”
“Xishi—”
“The king is an excellent kisser,” I went on. I am not entirely sure what compelled me to say such a thing, but my eyes searched his face, hungry for a reaction. And I was rewarded. His jaw clenched, his whole expression flinching. “Don’t imagine that I was suffering within these walls—I’ve never had so much fun. He will do anything to make me happy, and he is every bit as experienced as they say—”
Now his body recoiled too.
“You should see the way he looks at me,” I said, every word cutting across the space between us like little blades, designed to hurt, “when we are lying together. Or how he—”
“What is your point?” He spoke like he was in pain, his eyes black-lashed and blazing. It hit me in a rush that he was even drunker than I’d thought. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
I didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
“Because I am—a man too, you know,” he said slowly, his voice husky and dark as the air around us. “I also feel… I have imagined it. I’ve tormented myself with these thoughts night after night, made myself sick with envy…”
I stepped closer. I could feel all the heat in the room rushing through my body. My nerves sang with the thrill of it, the unabashed boldness of my own movements. “So you really were jealous?”
He released a sigh through clenched teeth, his hands curled into fists. Around us, the candles lashed. “Xishi—”
It was as if the air between us had been dowsed with hot oil, lit up in flames. I blew out all the nearby candles in a few quick huffs, and darkness fell over the room like a veil, covering us inside it. I could just make out the soft line of his lips, the lump in his throat as he swallowed. Perhaps I should have stopped there, but it was the first time in forever that I felt so powerful. In control.
“Would you like me to show you, then, how I act around him?” I asked innocently, pressing closer, until I could feel his rapid heartbeat through my own robes. “There is a place, just around the neck—a weakness for him. Or is it that way for you as well?” My fingertips traced the hollow of his collarbone. A shudder ran through him. “I believe it was here.” I lifted my hand higher, ran my fingers over the bare nape of his neck. His skin was so hot it burned under my touch.
“Xishi,” he repeated again, strained. “Please.”
I felt a small jolt of shock. He was begging. And here I’d thought he would never lower himself so as to beg anyone for anything, even if his own life was on the line. Yet my anger was a hard knot inside me; it could not be dissolved so easily. I needed more from him. I needed more for myself. So I continued, my fingers following the fine threads woven into his collar down to the hard planes of his chest. “Or was it here?” I mused. “Or lower, perhaps. Like—”
In the space of a heartbeat, he grabbed my wrist, pinning it to the wall behind me. He had such a scholarly air to him, with his refined beauty and slender fingers, perfect for gripping a brush, that sometimes I forgot how strong he was. How he was as much a soldier as he was an advisor. In another swift, solid movement, he had my whole body pressed against the wall, his other hand firm around my arm.
Then he stopped inches away from me, breathing hard.
Everything felt suspended. Time itself seemed to freeze, to still. But it was the look in his eyes that speared through my lungs. There was longing, but also such deep, incalculable sorrow, as though he understood my rage, my resentment, all that I’d overcome alone. And in response, I let myself deflate. Let my fa?ade fall away from me, my posture slip from its dancer’s frame. I gazed back at him without having to smile, to parade my beauty. In the darkness, he seemed to see me more clearly than anybody.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know this has been unfair to you. I know you want to go home.”
“I want more than that,” I said.
He cast me a pained look. “What else, then?”
“You.” The crude simplicity of my own words surprised me. In the palace, I had grown accustomed to polishing them into something unrecognizable, alluding to the moon’s reflection in the water when I meant the moon itself.
Fanli had gone very quiet, his expression so strained, so close to fearful, that I laughed out loud at him. It was my real laugh, deep and a little hoarse at the edges, rattling free from my lungs. “You act like you’re afraid of me,” I remarked.
“I am afraid of you,” he said, the truth tumbling fast from his lips. His body was trembling, even as he held his spine rigid. “I’m afraid of what comes over me when I’m around you. I’m afraid of how tempting it is, to ignore my own rationale, of how many excuses I can invent just to be closer to you. I’m afraid of how much—how much I want. Of what I want. I’m afraid of how easily my self-discipline slips. How quickly my judgment falters. Wherever you’re concerned, I have to question myself constantly, evaluate and compartmentalize my own feelings, pick them apart and prod them for weaknesses. Did you know,” he said on a broken breath, “that Zixu had sent his men to try to capture me, to bring me to the palace?”
I shook my head, stunned.
“There must have been fifty of them. Multiple attempts on my life. It was quite the nuisance, but I escaped them without much trouble.”
“Then… how did he—” How did he bring you here? How did he overpower you in the end? I had questioned it often in the days after he left, wished we had more time together just so I could ask him, but no matter what scenarios I conjured, I could not produce a viable answer.
“He didn’t.” The corner of his mouth curled. “He sent a message, saying that you had been gravely wounded, and I came on my own accord. Even though I knew it was a trap. Even though I knew you were most likely fine, that my appearance in this kingdom would only bring trouble to us all. But just the thought—just the possibility, however slim and irrational, that something really had happened to you… It threatened to undo my sanity.”
“So you came for me.” It didn’t seem real. I reached out across the tight space, my fingertips grazing the place where the sword had pierced his flesh. Where I had bandaged his wound.
This time, he didn’t try to stop me. “Do you understand now?” he asked softly, with a tenderness that felt like death. “My discipline—my intellect—my judgment. Those are all the things I’ve come to depend on in life. They’re what pulled me out of poverty, what lifted me through the ranks, what led me to the king. But now, I cannot trust any of that.” His jaw clenched. “I cannot even trust myself.”
Distantly, as if from another kingdom, another life, I thought of King Fuchai in that great, cold hall of his, the lantern light cascading over the golden walls, everything shining and bright and false, wine sloshing over goblets and plates heaped with food passing from table to table. I wished to never return.
“You have to go back to him soon,” Fanli said, swallowing. How easily he read my mind. How well he knew me. “Go, before I lose the little control I have left.”
“Then promise me you will come back,” I urged, knowing it was childish, unreasonable, not the request of someone who had already left everything behind, entered the Wu palace as King Fuchai’s concubine, a girl forged into a blade.
It was not like Fanli to make such promises either. He was too practical for that. I waited for him to tell me so. At the end of the day our lives were not so dissimilar; we were both weapons to be picked up and put down at King Goujian’s will. We didn’t have the power to decide these things for ourselves.
But to my surprise, he nodded. “I promise,” he said softly, three fingers lifted to the dim air in a vow. “As soon as this ends, I’ll come find you, and we’ll sail the world together and live somewhere far from here, someplace we can be truly alone. And if my promise breaks… then let me suffer for as long as I live.”
I stared at him. Then, after a stunned beat, I hit his shoulder.
He made a small noise of protest, though there was amusement laced within it too. “I see you’ve grown violent in our time apart.”
“Why did you… I was only asking for a promise—I wasn’t asking you to curse yourself—”
“I thought it would show sincerity,” he said mildly, gazing at me in the dark. “And besides,” he added under his breath, as though speaking to himself, “if for some reason I cannot see you again, then I shall suffer either way.”