Chapter 5 #2
She looked up. Ting-zhi was watching her with an expression that was half amusement, half something softer. The one that said I caught you again.
“Yun-hai asked you a question,” he said mildly.
“Did he?” She turned to her brother, who was staring at her with the long-suffering patience of someone accustomed to this. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said the DRAGON—”
“Ah. Yes. The dragon.” She nodded seriously, as if she had been listening the entire time.
Ting-zhi’s mouth twitched. She pointedly did not look at him.
A passing boat vendor called out, his singsong voice cutting through the children’s chatter. “Autumn lingjiao! Fresh lingjiao! Steamed lingjiao!”
Ting-zhi’s eyes lit up. “Pond nuts!” He twisted around, already digging for his coin pouch. “I haven’t had those for a long time!”
Yun-jia, Yun-hai and Wen-xin all stared suspiciously at the leaf basket holding a heaped pile of steamed lingjiao before them. The hard spiky shells of the nuts glistened with moisture, looking like tiny, armored warriors huddled together.
Yun-jia poked at one cautiously. “How do we eat these?”
Ting-zhi picked up a nut, rolling it between his fingers. “You crack the shell. Like this.” He squeezed, the shell splitting with a sharp crack. He peeled it away, revealing the soft, white flesh inside.
Yun-hai grabbed one and squeezed, trying to mimic Ting-zhi’s movements. The wet shell flew straight out of his hands, arcing through the air and striking Yun-jia’s forehead like a misfired arrow.
“Yun-hai!”
Yun-jia’s shriek split the air as she clutched her forehead. Her face twisted with pain and anger.
“You little demon!” She lunged straight at Yun-hai, who dodged backward with a yelp. “I’m sorry! I’m SORRY!!!”
Wen-xin carefully protected his basket of pastries behind him, watching their chaotic fight warily.
Yun-si laughed helplessly at the chaos while Ting-zhi calmly continued to peel the nuts.
Once the nuts were peeled into a tempting mound, he waved the children over.
“Come and eat before your sister and I devour them all.” That was enough to halt their squabbling—both siblings scrambled back to the table, eagerly reaching for the tender lingjiao.
As they ate, the conversation flowed easily. Ting-zhi regaled them with tales from his travels, each story more outlandish than the last. Yun-hai listened with wide-eyed wonder, while Yun-jia interjected with dramatic gasps and excited questions.
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the water in shades of pinks, the children’s energy began to flag.
It happened gradually. Yun-hai’s questions came slower, further apart, his eyelids drooping between each one.
Yun-jia stopped splashing the water and curled up on the blanket, knees drawn to her chest, watching the sunset with heavy-lidded contentment.
“I’m not tired,” she announced, and yawned so wide her jaw cracked.
“Of course not,” Yun-si said gently.
Yun-jia’s eyes closed. Within minutes, her breathing evened out, and she slumped sideways against a pile of cushions, one hand still trailing near the water’s edge.
Yun-hai lasted a little longer. He was fighting it the way children do, as if sleep were an enemy to be conquered. His head kept nodding forward, then jerking back up.
“Tell me...” he mumbled. “About the dragon...”
“The dragon is sleeping now,” Ting-zhi said, voice dropping low and even. “It’s curled at the bottom of the deepest lake, waiting for spring. Very still. Very quiet.”
Yun-hai’s eyes fluttered. “Like... like this?”
“Exactly like this.”
A pause. Then, barely a whisper: “...Oh.”
His head drooped against Yun-si’s shoulder, and he was gone.
Wen-xin had fallen asleep sometime after his third pastry, his small body curling up like a cat in the corner of the boat, one hand still loosely wrapped around his basket. As if even in sleep, he wasn’t taking chances.
Yun-si carefully extracted Yun-hai from her shoulder and settled him against the cushions beside Yun-jia, pulling a blanket over both of them.
Yun-si turned slowly, as if moving too quickly might shatter the quiet, and settled beside Ting-zhi. They sat, sleeves brushing, watching the gentle sunset together in comfortable silence.
“You’ve heard the legend of the Lake of Fallen Stars, haven’t you? They say the water reflects the stars so perfectly at night that it’s as if there is another world beneath.”
Her breath caught. “That sounds... magical. But I’ll never be allowed to come here at night.”
A sigh slipped from her lips. “I wish I could travel too,” Yun-si said wistfully, “see the world, have adventures like yours.”
“Wouldn’t you miss Shangjing? The familiarity of home?”
She nodded slowly. “I would. But Zhi-zhi, if I could only see more of this world, the seas, the mountains, the people. And not be bound here.” she stared at the shimmering horizon before them, “If I could only see the real thing, and not just through books.”
Ting-zhi looked at her with an expression so tender it melted her heart and made her want to cry inexplicably. “Perhaps a wish will make this come true,” he said, reaching into his sleeves to take out a coin. “Be a good girl, toss this into the lake with a sincere wish.”
A small, surprised laugh escaped her. She remembered this—he’d always coaxed her to make wishes this way when they were young, and somehow, the wishes had always come true.
She rose, stepping to the boat’s edge, the wood creaking faintly beneath her.
Ting-zhi followed, close enough that his warmth and scent wrapped around her like an embrace.
Too close. Too warm. Her heart hammered so hard she had to close her eyes shut tightly.
Focus. I wish... I wish... Since when is he so much taller than me?
I wish... what? Focus... I wish I could see the world.
See the world... with him. When she finally let the coin fly, she could’ve sworn something soft brushed by the back of her head.