Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W inter crept in slowly.

The flowers in the gardens wilted and withered, their rose blushes fading into dry browns. Sheets of ice hardened over the palace's curving artificial creeks. Flimsy gauze dresses were swapped for thick, luxurious coats made of silver-white fox fur and wolfskin. The maids busied themselves filling and refilling buckets of boiling water and wheeling in carts of fresh firewood. Whenever I went outside, my breath trembled in the cold, pale air, and my fingertips quickly lost all feeling. My shoulder healed, but the pain in my chest sharpened, though I could not tell if it was from the bone-deep chill or my old illness or something else. Throughout everything, I could feel time trickling away from me. Back in the Yue Kingdom, they would already be preparing for the next step of the plan, training their soldiers, forging new swords, mapping out the lines of battle with what information they had… and waiting for me to do my part too.

It was snowing when I arrived outside the king's court. The white shone starkly against the dark emerald roofs and crimson ledges, the frost glistening like fine crystals. The palace looked more remote than ever in the falling snow, a place made for ghosts instead of mortals, its cold stillness like the silence between breaths. All the marble steps had been swept clean by maids at hourly intervals, with salt spread over them to melt the ice and prevent anyone from slipping. From both sides, a silent row of guards waited, their halberds raised to head height, their eyes staring straight ahead. I tightened my grip on the tray of wine and made my way carefully up, my cheeks pink from the cold.

The court was empty, with only Fuchai spread out on his throne, head dipped back, one leg dangling over the gilded armrest. Locks of crow-black hair tumbled past his brows, and the black fox fur draped around his neck made him resemble a deity of devastation and destruction.

Then he saw me, and he snapped instantly into a sitting position, a smile blooming at the corners of his lips. There were times when he gazed at me with such pure sincerity, such boyish eagerness, that I almost forgot how much I loathed him.

But I always remembered again.

"I brought wine," I said, crossing the distance between us.

He surveyed the tray in my hands, his eyes bright with a rapid quickening of interest. Then he glanced up at the windows, where fat squares of daylight streamed in. "At this hour?" he asked. "I'm meeting with a few ministers soon—it's important, according to them anyway."

I know , I thought to myself as I smiled at him with utmost indulgence. That was why I'd come. Yesterday, Xiaomin had overheard Wu Zixu preparing for the meeting. "It's only a few sips," I said, pouring the yellow wine out into a deep goblet. "It'll help you relax. And besides, I've already warmed it for you."

"It seems quite unwise," he said, but he was already reaching for the goblet, as though his mouth and body were divorced. He swished the liquid around a few times, took a careful sip, then a long swig. I quickly refilled it again and held it up for him. "You are my weakness, you know that?" he murmured, but drank obediently, eyes fluttering closed.

I watched the rolling movement in his throat and felt a flicker of anticipation. He was always more pliant when he was drunk, easier to manipulate, eager to agree to anything. But all those years of drinking meant he'd built up a considerable tolerance for alcohol; it would take more than a few cups to achieve the intended effect.

"I was wondering," I began slowly, filling the goblet until the wine was close to overbrimming, "whether I might join you in your meeting today. Just to watch."

He turned to me, his brows raised in surprise, though there was no trace of suspicion in his expression. "Why? It's terribly boring; I have trouble staying awake half the time, and the ministers are always busy yapping among themselves like dogs over the most ridiculous things. Most of their requests could be answered in a few simple words: Yes , or Absolutely not, you utter buffoon , or Call the executioner. " He made an exasperated sound, as if it pained him just thinking of it, and downed the goblet in two gulps. "I wouldn't want to subject you to that kind of torture."

Spoken like a truly great king , I mused dryly to myself. But I met his gaze and lifted my lips into a coy smile. "I know very well how boring it is for you—that is why I'm here. To keep you entertained."

He tilted his head up, studying me over the polished edge of his cup.

"After all," I went on, "it would be cruel to leave you to such tedious affairs by yourself."

He wrapped an arm around my waist, drawing me close to him in one swift movement, the action so abrupt his wine threatened to spill over. He barely seemed to notice. "Entertained, you say," he repeated. "How so?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek. Steeled myself. If I wanted to sit in on this meeting, I would need more than just wine to soften his mind. "Like this." Then I pressed one hand slowly to the flat planes of his chest, lifted my head, and kissed him.

He made a small, surprised sound with the back of his throat; perhaps he had not expected me to be so forward. But soon he was kissing me back without restraint, his hand curving against the nape of my neck, fingers tangled in my hair. He smelled like sweet wine and cold smoke; he tasted like treachery. I could feel his heart drumming under my palm, hard and fast as a sparrow's wings. His every sharply exhaled breath echoed in that vast, empty, ancient hall.

I closed my eyes and pretended it was someone else. Someone with skin as cold as ice, hair as dark as a river at midnight. His lips would be soft, his touch light. He would be controlled and careful and precise, no matter how hard his heart hammered, and I would do everything in my power to test if I could make his heart beat even faster.

When enough time had lapsed and I broke free, Fuchai's eyes were shining, his crooked smile barely suppressed, his crown tilting precariously on his head. Bright streaks of color painted his cheeks and neck. He looked already drunk. Perhaps he was. "So this is what they meant, in all the poems," he murmured under his breath, half to himself, then laughed. "And I'd thought they were just over-sentimental fools, exaggerating. Now I understand. It has never been this way, before."

With difficulty, I pushed all thoughts of Fanli from my mind, and stared up at the king of Wu. I had not withdrawn my hand yet; my fingers curled around the front of his robes. "Don't you agree that things are more fun when I'm around?"

He took another swig of his wine and dabbed absently at his lips. "Yes. Yes, indeed."

When the ministers filed into the hall, in all their stiff court finery and somber silence, they found me curled up next to Fuchai, sharing the seat of his throne. I was serving him another drink; he had drank more goblets than I could count by now, and the flushed color in his face had spread to the tips of his ears. When he spoke, his speech was slurred. "Don't just mill about; take your places."

The ministers were well trained enough to control their expressions, but I'd been trained better to read the most subtle flicker of emotions. In their eyes I saw the unspoken passages of shock, exasperation, resentment, contempt. There were ten of them in total, and I recognized the men standing at the front: Wu Zixu, with his cold eyes and lifted chin; Bo Pi, with his beefy neck and stout frame, who'd long ago started accepting bribes from Fanli and had provided us with valuable intelligence. And General Ma. I felt a sharp lurch of resentment on Zhengdan's behalf. Now that his face was no longer obscured by a heavy helmet, and he was not charging down the streets on his steed, I saw that he was good-looking, but hardly good-looking enough to carry himself with the smugness he did.

"Your Majesty." Zixu stepped forward, then hesitated. "Are you… drunk?" There was the faintest, upward curl of distaste to his words, the question more like an accusation, but Fuchai did not seem to notice it.

"No, not at all," he slurred, the redness in his cheeks rising. "Just having some refreshments. Surely I am allowed to keep such simple pleasures for myself? Or must every court meeting be so dull as to leave me with a headache?"

A muscle twitched in Zixu's jaw, but he dipped his head low. "Of course, of course, Your Majesty. And as for Lady Xishi…"

"Is there a problem? I wish for her to be here," Fuchai said with a dark, steely look that threatened death to anyone who disobeyed. Yet his hands were still gentle around my waist.

General Ma shifted forward too. Even though the meeting was indoors, he was still dressed in armor, the bronze plates on his chest and shoulders creaking and clanking together when he moved. It was not for necessity, I observed, but a mark of honor, to remind others of his position. "Your Majesty. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but… do you really believe it's appropriate to have Lady Xishi listen in on this meeting? For one, she is a woman—"

"Yes, believe it or not, I'm very well aware of the fact," Fuchai said dryly, his goblet dangling between his thumb and forefinger, the wine swirling within it.

General Ma looked wildly uncomfortable, but pressed on. "Still, the topics are—highly sensitive, not for just anyone to be involved in, and should any information fall upon a foreigner's ears…" He had said too much. He seemed to realize this even before Fuchai glowered down at him from the raised throne, the air around them deadly still with the king's power.

"Xishi is no foreigner," Fuchai snapped. "And she's certainly not just anyone. "

I remained strategically silent, my face blank as I resumed pouring out wine.

The ministers exchanged a few uneasy looks, but after a silence, Bo Pi cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Majesty is right. Any concubine of the king's is a valued and trusted member of the Wu Kingdom. Let us proceed with today's agenda, regarding our current military stance toward the Yue Kingdom…"

As he ran through a few introductory points, I studied the minister with quiet approval. So Fanli had not bribed him for nothing.

"We should launch another attack," Zixu spoke up first, his expression hard. "Strike while they're still weak. Their economy has yet to recover from the last war, and their soldiers are either injured or dead; last I heard, there were only a few thousand left in their command. It's the perfect opportunity to eradicate one of the biggest threats to our borders."

My heart struck my throat. Another attack. Faces and places flashed through my mind: my mother's, my father's, the frustrating but defenseless aunties down the road from our house, the morning market and riverbanks, all burned to rubble. The Yue Kingdom would not be able to withstand it.

Fuchai sipped his wine in silence, then jerked his goblet in General Ma's direction. "You," he said. "What do you think of this strategy?"

General Ma bowed. "I believe it wise, Your Majesty. The Yue may not have bothered us much in recent times, but they are like cockroaches, draining resources and scuttling about everywhere." He wrinkled his nose. "We should crush them under the heel of our boot when we can, lest they duplicate and infest our kingdom."

Remain calm , I willed myself, fighting against my rising rage. Don't give them reason to suspect you have the Yue's interests at heart. So instead of breaking General Ma's face with my fist, I ran my fingers down Fuchai's arm and angled my chin up at him. I felt him shiver under my touch.

"That… seems slightly exaggerated, don't you think?" Fuchai said, his eyes on me. "And Goujian promised he would not harm our kingdom."

The ministers exchanged another dark look among themselves.

"Can we really trust him to keep his promise?" Zixu asked. "He could be speaking with their war committee right now, readying their forces for invasion."

Before Fuchai could reply, I leaned forward. "War committee?" I repeated, frowning like a puzzled student in class. "But I thought the Yue's war committee had been disbanded after they lost, and most of the ministers were either killed or dismissed. Is there a new one I don't know about?"

Wu Zixu glowered at me. "Your Majesty, again, I must ask whether it's appropriate for Lady Xishi to be present—"

"She's only curious," Fuchai said, while I made a show of looking chastened, my gaze turned down. "And didn't you hear her? The Yue have already gotten rid of their war committee. How can they be preparing for war?"

Wu Zixu did not falter. "You don't think it possible that Goujian holds a grudge?"

"I'm so sorry to ask," I said, blinking with feigned confusion, "but… I don't understand. Why would he hold a grudge? Everyone knows how much Goujian looks up to His Majesty. They're friends, aren't they?"

"Yes, yes indeed," Bo Pi put in. "And he's sent many offerings of friendship: the one hundred thousand bolts of hemp cloth, the nine wooden containers of honey, the ten boats and fox pelts…"

Fuchai nodded, drunk and content. "He has been good to me, hasn't he? He's a humble man. Harmless."

I'd barely breathed a sigh of relief when, below us, I saw a shadow move over Wu Zixu's face. "Even if Goujian is harmless," he said, in a tone that suggested he highly doubted it, "one cannot underestimate his military advisor, Fanli."

The sound of Fanli's name—spoken out loud, in these cold halls—sent a piercing pain through my chest. I almost gasped, a tangle of emotions surfacing inside me. Nostalgia and loss and a kind of… possessiveness. It felt wrong, to have the enemy discuss him so casually right in front of me.

"Ah, yes, Fanli," Fuchai said. "He was the one who insisted on accompanying Goujian to our kingdom, wasn't he? That statue of ice and jade? I do remember him clearly; even in rags, he had a fine face. Lovelier than a woman's, they say."

Wu Zixu clenched his jaw. Likely, he had not expected his king's first key impression of the military advisor to be how pretty he looked. "I'm afraid you are forgetting the complete saying, Your Majesty: a face lovelier than a woman's, with a mind deadlier than a snake's . If he retaliates—"

"But wouldn't he have retaliated already?" Bo Pi cut in quickly. "After all the humiliation he endured at our hands?"

My heart spasmed.

"That's right," Fuchai said, as if reminiscing a distant but fond memory. I felt a frisson of panic. Whatever came next, I did not want to hear it. I could not bear to. "I remember it too. He had some pride. Even when I made him kneel on all fours, he refused to bend his spine. Not when we used the bamboos, nor when I used my boot. So much blood spilled—yet he wouldn't even beg for mercy."

I was suddenly sick. My imagination ran free with those terrible words, and I saw a vivid image of Fanli, the esteemed military and political advisor of Yue, the young prodigy, forced onto his knees before a jeering crowd of Wu noblemen and soldiers. His head would still be raised at that cool, arrogant angle, his eyes intensely black, even as the bamboo sticks whipped his back open into bloodied cuts. Soon his pristine white robes were stained red, his breaths coming out short and fast. And Fuchai loomed over him. Cruel, haughty, careless Fuchai, his leather boot coming to rest first under Fanli's chin, forcing him to meet his gloating smirk. The crowd roared in anticipation, their faces dripping with glee…

Wave after wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. The place where my skin still grazed against Fuchai's robes prickled.

Yet he drank on, completely oblivious. It was the easy arrogance of one who had emerged the victor of a long battle, who had seen the best men from another kingdom brought down before him. This is why I must succeed. My resolve curled around that one crucial line like a tightening fist.

"I still don't understand," I said timidly, my eyes wide. "Why are we spending so much time debating whether or not to defeat a kingdom that's already been defeated?"

"You make a good point," Fuchai murmured, leaning into the palm of my hand.

" Your Majesty. " Wu Zixu stalked forward until he was standing right under the throne, then spoke with barely controlled fierceness. "Your Majesty, please. Don't lower your guard against the Yue. Have you already forgotten your father's dying wish?"

At this, Fuchai's eyes, which were close to falling shut, opened again. "Of course I haven't," he said brusquely. "I am reminded of it every day." He squinted around the court. "Reminder! Where are you?"

Immediately, a scrawny servant ran into the hall and fell to his knees with a loud thump . "Your Majesty, you must remember your grudge against the Yue king for causing the death of your father!" Then, as soon as he'd finished this dramatic little declaration, he got up and exited the room.

"See?" Fuchai said to the speechless court, swishing his sleeve in an irritable gesture as he sat back. "It's rather hard to forget."

"But—" Wu Zixu tried again, his fingers quivering.

"This meeting is over," Fuchai decided, speaking over him. "I've made up my mind: We will not attack the Yue Kingdom, and focus instead on strengthening our kingdom from within. Goujian is not my enemy, nor a threat."

There was no opening left for protests. As my heart lightened, all the ministers in the room sank into a deep bow and spoke in unison: "Yes, Your Majesty."

But when Wu Zixu rose again, his glittering black eyes snapped to me, and the odd look in them made a chill snake down my spine.

"Do you know what they're all saying about you?"

I raised my eyebrows at Zhengdan and shook my head silently. We were sitting together by the palace lake, warmed by fox furs and boiled ginger tea. Above us, the bare tree branches spread themselves out silently, dusted with white snow.

Zhengdan shot me a conspiratorial smile over her teacup. "They say you're a nine-tailed fox spirit."

I laughed. "A fox spirit ? Really?"

"Well, that's the most popular explanation. Everyone's convinced you've cast some sort of spell on the king. Or else why would he keep returning to your chambers again and again?"

"What else do they say?" I asked, curious.

Zhengdan turned to Xiaomin, who was standing behind us. Ever since the incident with the poison, she'd proved just as loyal as she'd promised, coming early every morning to greet me with both fresh gossip and an ever-changing assortment of sweets from the kitchens. Don't tell me you've poisoned these too , I'd said the first time she brought them. She had immediately fallen to her knees, babbling madly and swearing her innocence, until she realized I was joking.

"Xiaomin, come sit with us," Zhengdan said, beckoning the young girl over.

She startled, as if unsure whether we were really talking to her. In the palace, maids were only summoned and spoken to when there was something that needed to be done. Then she approached us with small, hesitant steps, and lowered herself slowly onto the stone bench next to us.

"What have you heard from the maids?" Zhengdan asked.

She cleared her throat. "I— Well… Please don't take offense, but—"

"Don't worry, Lady Xishi is very hard to offend," Zhengdan said, grinning at me. I rolled my eyes. "Just tell the truth."

Xiaomin checked the area to make sure nobody was around, then lowered her voice. "In that case… the ministers—not all of them, but many… they're concerned that Lady Xishi is too— involved —"

"Please don't bother phrasing it delicately," I told her, propping my chin up on my hands. "And don't sacrifice accuracy for niceties. Not when you're with me, at least."

"All right… They think you're meddling in affairs you shouldn't be, and you'll bring the whole kingdom to ruin," Xiaomin blurted. "And—and that all the foolish decisions the king has made can be traced back to you." As soon as the words left her lips, she flushed and looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, as if afraid I would suddenly spring down from the bench and strike her.

But I wasn't angry at all. In fact, I wasn't even surprised. How many women throughout history were blamed for the weaknesses of men? We made such convenient scapegoats. We were raised to be small, to be silent, to take whatever we were given and no more.

"Is this because of the palace?" Zhengdan asked. She absently picked up a pebble from the yellowed grass and threw it. It bounced once, twice, thrice before disappearing into the lake's icy depths with a faint splash. She frowned, unsatisfied, and tried again, her face tight with concentration. This time, it bounced seven times.

I bit back a snort. Only Zhengdan could be competitive about something like skipping pebbles when there wasn't even anybody around to compete with.

"Partly because of the palace," Xiaomin agreed. She looked sidelong at me, chewing her lower lip. The longer we spent together, the more conscious I became of just how young she was. Sometimes I was tempted to call her xiaohai , for little kid, but we weren't supposed to use such familiar language with the servants. And for all I joked with her, I would be lying if I said I trusted her completely.

"Whatever it is, just say it," I told her, amused.

"Is it true?" she asked. "That you asked the king to build a palace just—just for you?"

"It's true enough," I said, watching Zhengdan as she flicked another flat pebble out. It skimmed the lake thirteen times, barely glancing the water surface. "Though it'd perhaps be more accurate to say that I won a palace."

A week ago, I had brought Fuchai to this very spot and pressed a pebble into his hand, much like the one I'd given him for his birthday. "How about a competition?" I had challenged, grinning. "To make things more interesting."

"What will the winner get?" Fuchai asked.

"A wish," I said, prepared. "Any wish."

His eyes glittered. "All right. You go first."

I found another pebble half buried in the damp soil and flung it out wide at the waters, watching it hop only once, then sink somewhere far from the shore. I whirled around to find Fuchai laughing at me, clutching his side as if he'd just witnessed the world's most amusing play.

When it was his turn, his pebble skipped twice—barely more than mine, yet he cheered like a child. "Did you see that?" he asked, gloating.

"I did. And I win," I informed him.

He paused. "What?"

"I never specified the rules of the competition," I said slyly, dusting my hands. "The goal was to see who threw their pebble the farthest."

"You tricked me," he said, but without any anger. Compared to winning, he would prefer novelty; compared to a wish, he would prefer the unexpected. Still, the truth buzzed like a wasp in my stomach: this was the least of my tricks. "So," he said, arms folded, his gaze warm on me, "what do you wish for?"

"How about… somewhere to dance in private for you?" I replied, like it was an idea I had thought of just then. "Somewhere beautiful. Our own palace, up in the hills." Of course, I did not truly care for such a place. But I needed to drain the national treasury, divert all the funds for the military elsewhere, and a palace was the most expensive option I could think of. It was better than prized jewels, better than rare paintings, for the scale of construction involved would require extensive labor too, and resources. And once the coffers slowly bled out, every time the maids and guards and ministers walked past that new, gleaming palace, they would be reminded of their king's indulgence, his reckless, excessive spending. Even those who originally sided with him would run out of excuses to defend him, until all he had left was the illusion of me.

"I heard from the other maids that construction is already underway," Xiaomin said, snatching my thoughts away from the memory. "And he's calling it the Palace of Beautiful Women. After you."

I made myself smile. "It's sweet of him."

Xiaomin took my words with utmost sincerity. "Oh, it is sweet. It's so romantic. Like something from the old ballads. So many girls would be jealous—imagine having the king build a palace just for you." Then she caught herself and added hastily, "Not—not that I'm jealous—I'm not saying—I just think it's nice, is what I mean. This lowly maid would never dare develop any affections for the king…"

Luckily, Zhengdan turned away from the lake and spoke up before the poor girl could give herself a heart attack. "Is there anybody you do have affections for?" Her tone was playful, teasing. It was how you spoke to a friend.

Xiaomin lowered her head, but I could see the color creeping up her cheeks.

"There is," I said. "Clearly."

"It's nobody," she mumbled, but the color deepened, and her lips twitched into a shy smile, as if she couldn't help herself. "Just—just one of the guards—"

"Oh, so he works in the palace?" Zhengdan asked with interest.

I was suddenly interested, too, though for different reasons. Already I was imagining all the ways this relationship could play out to our advantage. If there was a guard we could distract, one we could lure to our side, then it would be so much easier to slip in and out. And guards were the key to communicating with the world outside the palace. For the longest time, this had been my dilemma: I'd gathered plenty of information but had no way of sending it to Fanli. Until now.

"He does," she said, blushing more furiously. "The first time we met—I walked by while he was training, and he was just… beautiful, you know? I've never seen anybody move like him."

"Does he like you back?" I wanted to know.

She didn't reply, but touched her neck. A small painted bead dangled from her necklace. It was answer enough.

"You should introduce him to us sometime," I said, keeping my voice casual. Beside me, Zhengdan flung another pebble, the motion of her wrist quick as a whip. Seventeen times. A new record. "Point him out the next time we're walking through the palace grounds."

"He's being sent off to guard the borders soon," Xiaomin told me. "But… he'll be returning next year, if you'd still like to meet him. He said… He said he'll ask for my hand in marriage once he returns." There was a distant look in her eyes as she spoke, and though her lips were chapped and her skin roughened by working through the severe winter winds, the smile on her face was serene. Joyous. The winter sun spilled light over her. It was the look of someone wholly, utterly in love. Be careful , I wanted to warn her, a pang in my chest, that old affliction of the heart. Love is a knife; it cuts both ways.

But I remained quiet.

The following winter, the construction for the Palace of Beautiful Women was complete at last. In that time, I had nearly finished my own construction of a grand map, filled with all I'd taken note of while I was here, between countless feasts and trips to Fuchai's private study and chess matches in the pavilions. It contained the entire interior of the palace, every entry and exit, every garden and chamber labeled, every pond and lake, every hidden passageway known only to the palace ladies, even the path to Fuchai's summer retreat in Mount Guxu.

I had just tucked the map away when Fuchai rushed in to invite me to visit the new palace with him. He was excited, as if the gift were made for him instead of me. I looked at the boyish flush in his neck, the thrill of anticipation written all over his face, and almost took pity.

Either way we arrived together, my arm laced through his. We must have made for quite the scene: the king with his crown hanging crooked over his midnight hair, his black eyes bright, and the lovely, wicked beauty of the legends beside him, glittering in fresh jewels and casting her silent enchantments. None of the servants lined up at the entrance dared look at me directly, but I could feel their gazes trailing after me as I walked. Perhaps they were searching for my fox tail. By the next day, I was certain the rumors would reach my ears, one more exaggerated than the other. Let them spread , I thought, my chin lifted. So many rumors about me had surfaced in the past year that I'd come to find them amusing; sometimes I asked Xiaomin to recount them as bedside stories while I drifted off to sleep.

The palace rose up on the slope of Yanshi Hill. We'd timed our arrival perfectly. The sun's slanting light touched the walls in its descent over the mountainous horizon. Everything burned white and gold. And even though I had not really wanted the palace for myself, my breath still caught in my throat. It really was beautiful. It could have been a home to the gods, their divinity illuminating those tiles until they gleamed like abalone shells, skilled fingers carving out intricate designs of clouds and constellations in the pillars. Streams and ponds flowed around it, glowing blue, and the gardens were dotted with rockeries and pavilions and thickets of osmanthus trees.

"Do you like it?" Fuchai asked. He wasn't even looking at the palace, but watching me intently.

"Of course," I said.

"Truly?"

"It's even better than what I'd imagined. It's a place of dreams."

A wide smile flashed over his lips, and he led me forward by the hand. Everywhere I turned was some new wonder, some great marvel: marbled chambers and precious stones and mother-of-pearl columns and the most ornate bronze wares forged from new flame, flocks of white swans and peacocks drifting over the neatly cut lawns. Their feathers fell like snow.

"Since you like it, can you do me a favor?" Fuchai said. The chambers were so vast that his voice echoed.

I played coy, as usual. "Depends on what it is."

"Will you dance for me right now?" He made the request almost shyly.

"But there is no music," I said, laughing.

"There is. I had it prepared." He gestured to a corner I had not paid attention to yet, and indeed there were already instrumentalists setting up, guqins gleaming in the light, flutes and drums all ready.

And so I danced. My slender arms moved in graceful circles, like the swans taking flight around me, my feet soundless and nimble over the stone. I was in perfect control of my body, every limb and muscle, and as the music swelled, I felt—not happy, never quite that. But accomplished. The sun shone down on my face and Fuchai gazed on, as if everything in the world had dissolved and he would gladly relinquish anything, except me.