Chapter Eight
LIM ENTERED the shrine, his fingers digging into the wood of the shoebox. He was neither reserved nor shy. But now, as he entered the warm room, with the looming presence of the Goddess of Mercy watching his every move, Lim thought he’d never been so overtaken with nerves.
Not because of any goddess’s judgement — he was no man of faith — but because he feared the prince would not share his enthusiasm for the gift he brought.
What if Xian thought them garish? He sensed that the prince, despite the wondrous gown he wore now, did not fit well into his spectacular clothes; wearing them through duty and not preference.
That was simply Lim making assumptions, of course; he barely knew the man after half a day in his company…
but it did not feel like such a short time.
Lim could have stayed there in Heng’s kitchen for hours in the presence of the softly spoken man.
Which made no sense at all. Lim was not one for conversations, unless they centred on his craft, or talk of a new town to visit where his shoes may be appreciated, or perhaps seductive words to use on a lover who’d not yet fallen into his bed.
That last one was not as frequent as it had been.
Now, at thirty-two years, his desire for brief interludes had faded.
Lim spied a pile of cushions in a corner, intended for worshippers’ knees. He grabbed them with his free hand and piled them near the kang; where the heat coming from the platform was most pleasant, and the light of the butter lamps would be favourable.
‘Have a seat, your highness.’ He patted the cushions, whose short tower swayed beneath his touch. ‘Is it warm enough here? Or too warm?’
‘I think it is quite perfect.’
The prince seated himself, Lim itching to offer his hand, but he’d seen how touch affected the man. Xian had made it clear he preferred a distance to be kept.
‘Would you lift your gown, only a little. I need your feet.’ Lim groaned inwardly. ‘I mean, I need to lift your feet.’
Superb as they were. This scarring people spoke of, that kept Xian covered so heavily, certainly did not hinder his fine, narrow feet, with their perfectly graduated toes, and carefully trimmed nails; his heels smooth and rounded as peaches, his slender ankles like the neck of a gazelle.
‘Is this enough?’ Xian asked.
Lim coughed, embarrassed at the lofty internal praise he was heaping on the poor man’s feet. But, the crux of it was Prince Xian had a pair of the loveliest feet Lim had ever seen. And what sort of shoemaker did not have an unhealthy fascination with feet?
‘That is exactly the right amount.’ He glimpsed a hint of white makeup, a shade too bright against Xian’s natural paleness, where the yellow-grey bruise had marked his shin.
Lim’s grip on the box was tight now for far different reasons than before.
It was enough the prince had a violent mistress to contend with; now there was that pig of a man from Manhao to bother him. ‘Now, just hold that a moment.’
He slipped the latch on the box.
‘What do you have there, Master Song?’
‘Lim. I’d prefer you call me Lim.’
‘Alright,’ Xian paused. ‘What do you have there, Lim?’
The name sounded rather nice, coming from the prince’s tongue.
‘Can I tell you their story, before I show them to you?’
‘Of course.’
Lim licked his lips, wondering why he felt so compelled to speak of an event long since past. The only other time he’d spoken of how he’d found the material for these slippers, he’d been laughed at, and told to throw out his opium pipe.
‘I’ll make it quick…,’ Lim began. ‘Many moons ago, I met a pedlar on my travels to the far western reaches of the Middle Kingdom. He had come from a place called Bhutan. At least, that is what he told me, but anything can be said on the road.’ Lim frowned into the memory.
‘Strange man. Stranger hair. I could swear to you it was silver, like…actual silver strands. Worn long, because he was not made to wear a queue, as we are here for our Imperial Majesty.’ He glanced at Xian, hoping he’d not sounded too disapproving of the royally mandated hairstyle.
The prince watched him; those unusual violet eyes like a field of lavender in the light of the butter lamps. So exquisite.
‘Go on, Master…Lim.’
Lim cleared his throat, reluctantly breaking their shared gaze.
‘Well, his cart had overturned, I stopped to help, of course.’ Now was the part he’d sworn never to tell another because that first fellow had been right to laugh at him.
The tale was ridiculous…but here it was, wishing to spill from his lips.
‘I said he was a strange man, well, when we were reloading his wares, I glimpsed his ears…now I hadn’t had a lick of rice wine, nor baijiu, so I know what I saw.
His ears were tapered to a fine point at their uppermost tips…
and though he was friendly, and I felt no fear of him…
his teeth were unnaturally sharp in his mouth.
I’ve met a lot of curious people on my travels, but he was by far the most curious. ’
He flicked his gaze to the prince, ready for laughter, or, considering his royal breeding, a polite nod of the head and quick change of conversation. Xian’s eyes widened with interest. ‘He sounds very strange. Were you truly not afraid, Lim?’
He should have known he’d receive no mockery from a man who knew mockery too well.
‘Not at all, and I don’t say that to boast. He had a calming presence…
’ Like yours, Lim wished to say. ‘Some would say he was a daemon, a yaoguai who’d not transformed himself properly, or something equally as stupid.
But I’m not a superstitious man. I think the world has answers for any question put to it.
He was disfigured, that was all, I’m sure. ’
Xian shifted. The move was subtle, perhaps not even consciously done, but Lim regretted speaking of deformity at once.
He’d not been able to get an honest answer regarding the prince’s injuries.
Some claimed the wounds still wept, soaking through bandages daily; others, more hysterical, declared he looked as though he’d been attacked by an aoyin; the prince half devoured by the flesh-eating monster of lore. More superstitious nonsense.
‘Never mind, I’ve taken you the long way round, and I should just get to the point.’ Lim lifted the lid. A light, silver as that of the pedlar's hair, glinted from inside the box.
‘What does your box hold, Lim?’ Xian breathed.
‘A gift that must have come from the Three Star Gods themselves.’ He was not a superstitious man, but believed in the gods more fully after working with this divine material.
‘The man offered me a fabric, in exchange for my help…I said no, that I wanted nothing in return…but then I saw what he offered…and when he told me it would make the most beautiful shoes the world had seen…I did not doubt it.’ He picked up one slipper; the shoe light as a peony in full bloom.
The odd man had said more than that, but Lim did not elaborate here.
‘I have never, in all my years, seen anything like it.’
He raised the slipper, tilting it towards the prince, whose lips parted with awe. Xian leaned forward, reaching hesitantly.
‘Go ahead,’ Lim urged, stretching his arm to bring the shoe closer to him.
‘I am fearful I shall break it.’
Lim grinned. ‘I assure you, it is sturdier than it looks.’
‘Astonishing,’ Xian whispered, fluttering his fingers around the toe, the contours of the fabric like those of a cut gem, and clear as a mountain lake. ‘It looks as though it is made of glass, but surely that cannot be? How would one wear such a shoe?’
‘No one has ever worn these.’ Lim watched his face, enjoying how the shoes made Xian’s eyes shine.
‘I had not completed them until a short time ago…the heels remained to be covered, but that was a simple task, they are low heels as you can see, and the fabric…well, it is remarkable to work with. It did not take me long.’
‘Nothing of this shoe is simple, Song Lim.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Even I, with no expertise in your valuable trade, can see that. They are…sublime.’
The prince touched his finger to the rounded tip of the left shoe. Lim tilted his hand back and forth, searching for when the angled cuts of the unusual fabric would do something remarkable.
There. The flash of sudden light against the facets.
Xian gasped, and Lim smiled.
The shoe shone as though each angled facet were a mirror, and each mirror caught the light of a full moon.
He’d seen it first in the workshop, when the material was being cut to the slippers’s shape; a sudden gleam, rare and precious.
Not the reflected glow from his candles, but a light more unique; a diamond gleam and sparkle, created by the shoe itself.
He sat silently, watching Xian trace his finger along the length of the shoe, tracing its impossibly translucent angles.
The slippers appeared as though made of glass, but a glass more pure and clear than he’d ever seen; not opaque or with any colour added intentionally to resemble jade, the more valuable precious element.
The facets that made up this fabric were crystal clear.
In fact, Lim had decided it was some kind of crystal, polished to an astonishingly fine thinness, then cut to resemble gemstones; made pliable through some technique he could only dream at.
He tilted his hand back and forth, drawing another endearing gasp from Xian.
‘Try them on.’
Xian pulled his hand back as though stung. ‘I fear my feet would break them.’
‘No. They won’t. They will fit you perfectly.’ Lim knew enough feet and enough shoes to match a customer’s size by sight. But his certainty here came from an unusual source.
He drew the other slipper from the box; equally brilliant as its pair.