Chapter Twenty-Four #2
With every blink, more and more of the ground drew into focus, a dank puddle there, moss at the edge of the wall there.
And within the swell of mud caused by a footstep, there was a hint of white. A lotus seed. Fallen from the bucket as it was carried, or thrown there by someone disapproving of its taste?
He studied the ground with deeper concentration and discovered another of the seeds further back down the path; caught again near the sludge raised by a footfall.
Fallen from a bucket, carried by a careless deliverer.
Xian glanced over his shoulder. The gardens were still empty. As the hour drew near for the New Year’s feast, likely they were dressing, or resting for a long evening ahead.
Whatever the reason, Xian was alone. Unnoticed.
He gathered up his robe, lifting it above his knees, and quickly straddled the low wall. Panic gripped him as his sleeve snagged on the roughness of the stonework, and he was not the least bit eloquent in his language as he worked to free himself without losing the slipper from its pocket.
The entire process was horribly inelegant, and he was certain he’d torn a section of his gown, but Xian landed both feet in the damp ground, light with excitement; feeling as daring and wild as he had at those moments when he’d fled to Mercy’s pond.
He hurried down the passage, stepping over unpleasant-looking puddles, green-tinged at their edges where the moss grew slick.
Xian paused, keeping to the last of the shadows.
He pressed the veil against his nose, the hint of Song Lim fainter now upon his fingers, as though it had clung to the bucket just long enough for him to discover.
Xian stepped out into the sunshine, and into the fervour of a vibrant, bustling hutong; this alley much wider than those he’d fled down at the Governor’s manor, after Daiyu bustled him away from Mercy’s pond.
Hopes of finding Song Lim purely by sniffing him out faded in the deluge of scents that found Xian, rocking him back on his feet.
Fresh-cut meat, the pinch of seafood, the dense waft of animals; cart horses, dogs, chickens and pigs.
A woman hunched by a cow beneath a tilted shelter, milking the animal with deft fingers and humming Mo Li Hua with equal skill.
Xian stepped into the flow of people, doubting every decision that had led him here; he was no fox, just a man unravelling.
Passersby eyed him with unabashed curiosity, but none interrupted his journey. He took in their uniqueness: a man who smelled like honey, another who clearly loved his pipe, a woman who reeked from too many days unwashed. She was hardly the only one.
He glimpsed a flower cart laden with colour; its sweet, honeyed scents a welcome relief.
Xian made his way towards it, recognising the daphnes from his window box among an untold number of other marvellous blooms. All appeared healthy, bright with vitality, which made the scattering of petals surrounding the cart seem out of place.
He frowned down at the carpet of colour that lay thick around the wheels.
‘Your Highness.’
Xian turned towards the voice raised in surprise. A woman stepped from behind the cart; kind of face, her skin sun-darkened, her hair ornaments cut to resemble her blooms.
And her body framed by the most remarkable aura. White as the sprig of jasmine she held.
‘You are…you are…’ He snapped his mouth closed. He could hardly have blurted out such a thing here.
A natural, the Englishman called it.
Astonishing is what Xian would name it.
‘As are you,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know…I didn’t see it before…how were you hidden?’
Three small children ran by, waving a red lantern around like it were a kite; their excited squeals a knife to Xian’s ears. He hunched his shoulders, unable to avoid a grimace.
‘Here, your highness, come closer.’ Mai took his elbow gently and ushered him in towards the cart. Xian’s feet set upon the petals and at once the calamity of sound and scent around him eased.
He could not help a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, thank Guanyin for her mercy.’
‘Are you in pain, your highness?’ The woman’s gaze travelled just shy of his body; following the drift of his aura. She twirled the sprig of jasmine absently between her fingertips.
‘Discomfort, I would say. My senses are…’ He sought the words. ‘So much more than they were. Is this how it is to be?’
‘I don’t know the ways of a huli jing…’ she said, extinguishing any doubts he’d held that she was a creature of his world, but disappointing him in the same stead.
Was his kind so rare that no one could offer words of advice, or comfort?
‘This is wondrous, there was no sign at all before, and now, you are…’ She glanced around them.
‘Never mind. Does the shoemaker know? Is that why he carries magick?’
Xian’s pulse stuttered. ‘The shoemaker?’
‘Song Lim.’
‘You know him?’ He could scarcely speak. His mind had not fooled him, nor his nose. Song Lim truly was here.
‘We met a short time ago, and only briefly. He found himself in some trouble, and I did what I could to aid him.’ She grinned. ‘A decent performance it was too, though Jung Ming will not forgive me if he knows it.’
Xian had little care for who Jung Ming was.
‘Where is he now? Song Lim…’
‘With Master Chen, another shoemaker. Better than being thrown in a cell, but dangerous nonetheless. Jung Ming said something of a beautiful slipper. Your shoemaker is talented, and Chen will use that to bring himself advantage.’ She paused. ‘Was it the shoe that held the magick?’
‘I don’t know of any magick. Tell me where to find Master Chen.’ Xian’s throat was so tight he could barely shape the words. ‘I must go to Song Lim at once.’
Her smile was gentle. ‘He said the same thing of you. And I know he was driven by more than enchantment to find you, as you are, too. Here, I’ll show you.’ She stepped past, brushing against him.
Mai stopped with a small gasp, staring at the drape of his sleeve.
‘What is it?’ Xian gathered the slipper against his body.
‘The other half,’ she sighed, lifting the sprig of jasmine to brush it beneath his chin. ‘How loved you were to bring forth such magick. And how loved you shall be because of it. Truly your story is one I shall tell the flowers to help them bloom.’
But Xian had no patience for vague, pretty words. He didn’t need love or enchantment or magick, nor a fairy godmother for that matter.
‘Please, I just need to find Song Lim. That is all I wish for.’