Chapter 4 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Xī’lín Village, Central Province, Kingdom of Rivers
I leave my mother in the kitchen with Hào’yáng and two steaming mugs of tea.
I make sure to tuck her into her bamboo chair just right, wrapping the old cotton blanket she sewed with peonies around her shoulders and placing another over her knees.
She doesn’t like to spend her waking hours on the couch; perhaps her body remembers the years she lay there, prone and half-alive, a shell of a person.
I blink the memories away and glance back one more time. I, too, love seeing my mother upright and alert, seated at the kitchen table where she and my father once made meals for Méi’zi and me.
Sunlight streams through our paper shutters, bathing Mā and Hào’yáng in a lambent light.
The sight of them should warm my heart—my future husband and my mother, taking tea together.
But as I slide the wooden door closed behind me and make for Fú’yí’s to find Méi’zi, the only thing I feel is cold disappointment.
A hand darts out of nowhere, and before I know it, I’m yanked behind our plum blossom tree, facing a set of large, stern-looking brown eyes.
Méi’zi presses her index finger to her lips. I clamp my mouth shut and run a narrow gaze over her. I recognize that look. “You’re up to something,” I whisper. “You should be packing.”
She rolls her eyes and swats me. “I’m here to help you take charge of your own cherry blossom destiny,” she replies. “Jiě’jie, you can’t just walk away from one of the most important discussions pertaining to your life.”
I sigh. “Méi’zi—”
“Listen to me! What harm does it do? It won’t change the fact that you’re marrying him.” Méi’zi tucks a hand beneath her chin in the manner of a scheming philosopher. “The heir to our kingdom is restrained, careful, and noble. I have good instincts, but even I can’t tell his true intentions.”
“His intentions are to win this war and take back our realm,” I say firmly. “He’s noble, pure, and selfless above all—”
“He’s a man,” my sister says with another roll of her eyes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, jiě’jie, when you’re not paying attention.”
I cross my arms, even as my stomach does a small flip. “It’s not like that,” I begin, but I’m swept away by a memory from the morning.
How do you think of me?
The answer had always been straightforward but twofold.
My boy in the jade—gentle, kind, and caring—was my confidant, the guardian I came to think of as a part of my heart.
And then there was Hào’yáng: captain of the immortal guard, my trainer, teacher, and now political ally.
Stoic and cold and distant—but with glimpses of warmth that are worth all the light in this world.
Now he is both.
I do not know how to reconcile the two. So I lied to him this morning. I took the easy way out rather than try to decipher the complicated feelings inside me.
Méi’zi takes my hands in hers. “Jiě’jie, you deserve a love of a lifetime and more happiness than anyone else I can think of.
You’ve lived your life making choices that benefit others, protecting me and Mā and chasing after the shadows of Bà’s wishes.
But Mā is safe now, and I’ve grown up.” Her gaze holds mine, and I realize my baby sister and I stand nearly eye to eye.
“You can let go of us now, àn’yīng. You can let go and start living for yourself.
I want you to step away from the path Bà carved for you and to choose your own destiny.
Don’t be afraid to ask yourself what it is you really want. ”
I hate the way my eyes are warm and my throat aches. Méi’zi wears her heart on her sleeve, but I’ve always held mine close.
My sister’s eyes soften as she seems to read this all on my face. “Go back there, àn’yīng. This is one of the most important decisions of your life, and I refuse to believe it should be made without you present.” She gives me a little shove. “Go.”
Then she’s gone, scampering down the path to Fú’yí’s cottage, where she was meant to be making congee.
I turn, glancing at my house, gilded by the slanted autumn sun. A few plum blossoms drift off in an errant breeze.
One of the most important conversations of my life is taking place inside—without me.
Méi’zi’s right.
Before I can think twice, I round the plum blossom tree and make my way back to the house. The shutters to my bedroom are open, and voices drift out as I draw near.
“…tried to seek you and your family out in the mortal realm.” It’s Hào’yáng. His tone is quiet, like the clear surface of a stream—yet beneath, I sense undercurrents of emotion. “Lady Shī’yǎ caught me and gave me a talking-to.”
I hesitate, slowing my steps. I’d fully intended to walk to the front door and knock. But something in Hào’yáng’s words, in the vulnerability threaded through his voice, tells me that the conversation would flow very differently with me there.
“What did she tell you?” My mother’s voice is muted but warm. I picture her leaning forward, cup of tea forgotten, as she listens to his story. While Bà was the practical one in our family, Mā was always the one who made magic out of the ordinary.
“She said that I must not behave like a child my age but like an emperor. That if I was to take back the Kingdom of Rivers, I must bide my time and grow strong. That I must view my life as not mine but the kingdom’s and the people’s, and that each of my choices must be made with them in mind.”
I smile as I imagine Hào’yáng as a child, sitting as straight as a rod, brows creased in solemn concentration as he listened to his tutors or spoke with Lady Shī’yǎ.
My hand goes to the jade pendant at my neck.
Strange to think that though we existed in different realms, our lives were always intertwined.
“Lady Shī’yǎ is wise,” my mother says.
“Was.” Hào’yáng’s tone grows smooth, flat, diplomatic—the tone of the heir, of the guard. Of the mold I imagine he has shaped himself into over the years.
A pause. My heart aches for him; I should be there, next to him. This is a choice we made together, and he should not have to discuss our strategy alone with my mother.
I draw a deep breath and step out of my hiding spot. Through my window, I catch sight of them in our kitchen. My mother is leaning forward, her back to me as she covers Hào’yáng’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry,” she says.
Hào’yáng’s face might have been carved of stone, but I have come to learn that this is when he is most vulnerable. When he needs the full strength of his armor. He parts his lips to respond—and that is when he sees me. His eyes widen nearly imperceptibly with shock.
Then my mother asks him, “Does àn’yīng know the true story of her birth…and her blood?”
I freeze. This is a subject I have not yet broached with Mā: the fact that I am not her child but Lady Shī’yǎ’s.
Quickly, I press a finger to my lips. Hào’yáng blinks, then his features smooth seamlessly as he pulls his hand back. I give him a slight nod.
“She knows. She knows everything, Lady Hé.” Hào’yáng’s gaze slides back to my mother.
Clearly, he is trying very hard not to look at me.
“That is why I’ve come to ask for àn’yīng’s hand in marriage.
She is Yī’lín Shī’yǎ’s blood; she alone can claim Lady Shī’yǎ’s title, her position, and the army that comes with it.
” He exhales sharply. “I need your daughter in order to take back the Kingdom of Rivers, Lady Hé. I can’t win this war without her. ”
I lean against the wall so Hào’yáng can see me through my open bedroom door.
He doesn’t look at me, but the corners of his lips curve slightly.
My mother is silent, her outline glowing in the morning light. Though her hair remains white, the sun brings color to her cheeks. “Is that all, Your Highness?”
Hào’yáng’s brows crease. “Pardon?”
My mother does not relent. “Is that all you’d ask? For my daughter’s hand in marriage in order to win this war?”
Hào’yáng blinks, and I have the strangest impression that he and my mother are engaged in a silent game.
One I am not privy to. “I would promise her the freedom to love as she wishes throughout our marriage,” he says quietly, and I have the sense that though he gazes at my mother, he speaks directly to me.
“I would not hold her to anything she doesn’t wish for.
And once the war is won, she is free to annul the marriage, and I will see to it that she and your family want for nothing for the rest of your lives. ”
“You are generous, Your Highness. Is there no part of you that wishes to keep my daughter for yourself?”
Something in my chest clenches; the encouraging smile I’d been wearing for Hào’yáng slips.
I pull myself back from the window frame, my heart pounding.
Though I can no longer see them, I can still hear them—the pause, the strain in Hào’yáng’s voice when he replies.
“Even if I did, I would not deserve her, Lady Hé. Your family has been through the Ten Hells and back because of me. I could spend the rest of my life atoning for that and still, it would not be enough.”
“You are harsh on yourself, Your Highness.”
“I am truthful, Lady Hé.”
“Truthful,” Mā echoes. “Very well, Your Highness. I have only three questions. Answer them truthfully, and I will grant you my daughter’s hand.”
“Anything, Lady.” Hào’yáng’s voice is warm with sincerity.
Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken Shadow in my hand and activated the blade’s talisman. Now hidden from sight to most mortal eyes, I peer back through the window just as my mother asks a question that tips my world.
“Do you love my daughter?”
I inhale so quickly, I’m afraid they might hear me. Hào’yáng freezes, yet there is a bewilderment to his gaze that has replaced his regular steady calculation, the cleverness and cunning of his court-taught negotiation skills.