Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T he training grounds lay flat and serene in the winter chill. The dirt was bright red, the sky behind it a deep blue; together, it looked as if the horizon had been sliced in two. The palace's best soldiers were lined up from one end of the open arena to another, their faces pink from the cold, hands gripping their swords. All stared straight ahead. They must have been freezing, yet they did not shiver, did not even waver from their positions.

But up high in the raised wooden stands, next to the king and the other concubines and palace ladies, I was warm. We were provided refreshments at five-minute intervals, and we were all dressed in the thickest coats. A hearty fire blazed below, its heat rising up to us in waves.

"This is always the most entertaining event of the year," Fuchai was explaining as he absently stroked the back of my hand. We sat at the very front, with the best view of the soldiers. Even our seats were well cushioned. "There are prizes on the line: gold, promotions, better equipment. But of course, the real thing everyone is fighting for is honor. Watch."

A gong sounded.

The soldiers broke formation and moved into a wide circle as two men stepped forward into the center. The air seemed to change, to tighten, crackling with tension. The contestants were both young, their chins still smooth, and the way they moved reminded me of the yearlings raised in the palace stables, all that raw energy and rippling muscle.

I barely managed to catch the moment when the first soldier drew his sword. It was just the rushing of silver, a blade of light. The sword clashed with the other in midair. There was a violent scraping sound before both stepped back, panting.

Yet mere seconds later, the soldier attacked again, charging forward this time with his sword raised. Dust flew from his heels, picking up in billowing red clouds. His body was a blur; light flashed off his armor. With a grunt, he swung all his weight into his next strike, his sword streaking through the air. Metal clanged. The second soldier caught the blow in his shoulder. He staggered, his sword arm shaking.

Cheers rose from the crowd.

"Is… that all?" I asked. "Has he won?"

Fuchai just smiled. "Keep watching."

The injured soldier seemed to sense the king's attention on him. His face burned crimson. Then he gritted his teeth and ran—tackling the other man to the ground. The thud of their bodies was so loud I could feel it in my own bones, but neither slowed. Their swords lay discarded in the dust. Now they were simply exchanging brutal punches, fists slamming repeatedly into flesh. One of them turned and spat out something thick and red with a white fragment mixed inside it. It looked like a tooth.

"Ah, see?" Fuchai tilted his head. "It's only just begun."

The cheers grew louder, but there was a cold churning in my belly, a sickness crawling up the back of my throat. It was difficult to forget that these were likely the very same soldiers who had invaded our lands, killed our men. The fight was so—violent. Ruthless. The first soldier was straddling the other, driving his fist again and again into the man's jaw while he squirmed, fighting for release. Seconds later, I heard the distinct crack of bone.

The concubines and palace ladies gasped in unison, but no matter where I looked, everyone was watching with glee. Everyone except Zhengdan, who was seated just behind us. Her face was tense, her brows pinched together.

She was not staring at the fight, but at General Ma in the corner.

A hoarse cry pulled my attention back to the soldiers. The current victor was grinding the heel of his boot into the other man's stomach, his expression one of cold satisfaction. For a moment, in the shifting light and shadow, he looked exactly like the man who had stormed into our house. Who had cut Susu open, left her to bleed out on the floor—

Fuchai's touch on my hand suddenly felt like ice. But I couldn't pull away on my own, not without reason. I turned around and spotted Lady Yu sitting in the back, sheltered under a painted umbrella. Despite the dust swirling around the training grounds, she was wearing a set of pristine peach-pink robes, her makeup as impeccable as ever, highlighting the fullness of her lips and the round goose-egg curve of her face.

We were trained to sense other people's attention. At once, she returned my gaze, her expression more curious than venomous. It posed a question: Do you remember our agreement?

Of course I did. Lady Yu's family was a crucial part of my plan.

"Fuchai," I murmured, dropping my voice close to his ear. Below us, the soldiers' cries and grunts continued, like that of animals in pain. "Fuchai, doesn't Lady Yu look beautiful today?"

"Hm?" Fuchai said distractedly, staring ahead at the training ground.

"Is that a new hairstyle?" I persisted. "It really frames her face and her figure, don't you agree?"

At last, Fuchai yanked his attention away from the bloody fight and glanced back too. Lady Yu was cooperative; she chose that exact instance to rearrange her coat, opening it up at the front so all that milky, supple skin below her collarbones was on display. Her hair was luminous, her eyes lit up like the sun on the great Lake Tai. You certainly had to give her some credit; all those years before I came, she had not enjoyed the king's affections for nothing.

By now I knew of my worth to Fuchai, but I was not arrogant enough to assume I had changed him completely from that wine-loving, women-seeking, debauched king in the stories. His eyes clung to her. "Hm," he said again, in a considering way. "I suppose you're right."

"I hear there are countless soldiers who secretly pine after her," I told him. It was a dramatic statement, but not a lie. "You see the ones who are fighting?"

Fuchai frowned. By now one of the soldiers had his arm twisted at a grotesque angle, his face white with pain as he scrabbled and writhed against the dust like a fish on land. "Yes?"

"It may be honor that they're fighting for. But… don't you think they might also be trying to impress?" I said no more, letting him figure it out for himself.

Soon, a dark cloud moved over Fuchai's face. There was nothing more tempting than someone others wanted, nothing more thrilling than the possibility of competition. It was like my mother used to say: The food in another's bowl is always more appealing than the food in your own.

I expected him to go to Lady Yu's side right away, but he hesitated, squeezing my hand. "Will you be lonely, if I leave?"

I will be nothing but thankful. "A little," I lied. "But I've been selfish, keeping you all to myself. And as long as you are satisfied, I'm satisfied also."

He gave my hand another light squeeze and left, moving up through the stands. There was a loud commotion. Immediately all the concubines and ladies stood and bowed low, their necks bared to him. The show was still going on in the arena, but the real show was up here now. As Fuchai took his seat next to Lady Yu, I watched how all the spectators took this detail in, their eyes flickering and mouths moving quietly. Lady Yu straightened and smiled. She was gloating.

The gong clanged again, a rich, reverberating sound. The victor staggered from the circle to wild cheers. The other soldier was dragged out. Those who had been watching from the sidelines regrouped, and new competitors entered to take their place. And so it began again: the slash of swords, singing metal, weeping wounds. One step forward, one step back. Again and again, the dirt beneath the soldiers darkened, running a deeper red with their blood, while the concubines sank comfortably into their seats, ensconced by shiny furs, and the servants came to us bearing fresh grapes on platters.

I picked at the fruits but ate very little. The sick feeling inside me grew as the rust scent of violence wafted toward us from the arena.

The sun rose higher in the cold blue sky. The circle had dwindled as more and more soldiers stepped up, only to be beaten down again. Losers were immediately eliminated. Winners then warred against winners until the strongest remained. To nobody's surprise, the only person left in the victor's circle—the one with the longest winning streak—was General Ma. A curious incident happened in every single duel he was involved in: The opponents who initially seemed both faster and stronger than he and were making notable progress would all tire dramatically near the end of the match. After all, power mattered more than competence. Those who could defeat General Ma didn't for fear of repercussion, of embarrassing someone of higher rank than them. The whole performance reeked of fragile egos and flattery.

One soldier had even tripped over his own feet and thrown himself flat to the ground before the general, begging for mercy.

A thin rivulet of blood trickled from General Ma's cut lip. He let it drip, then stared around him, a challenge in his eyes. "Is there anyone left to fight me?" he boomed. "Anyone at all?"

A silence. Everyone seemed quite determined to avoid his gaze.

The general smirked. "Really? Nobody dares to try their hand?"

"I will."

There was a confused pause, a rustling of fabric and metal as heads turned this way and that, trying to find the source. The voice had not come from one of the soldiers in the arena, but from the stands.

My heart seized.

Zhengdan stood up, her chin held high. She was already rolling back her sleeves, as if this moment in time was predetermined, as if she had been training for years just for this opportunity. Perhaps she had. There was a terrible sense of inevitability to it all, the cold sky and heavy silence. Years had passed since the official had appeared with her father's helmet, but she was still the same girl who had stood outside every winter morning, waiting for him to come home.

"Well?" she said. Her tone was light, almost in jest, but a dangerous note slid beneath it, like a snake through grass, prepared to strike.

It took a moment before General Ma recovered. "You?" He frowned.

"Yes, me. Is there a problem?"

General Ma spun to face the king, passing the question along silently: Is there a problem?

I couldn't imagine there being any specific rules that prevented palace ladies from participating in a mock duel, but I also couldn't imagine that there had been many, if any, predecessors.

Fuchai looked between the general and Zhengdan, his expression ambivalent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. I observed that the servants had already bent their knees, ready to throw themselves to the ground in a moment's notice if the king lost his temper. But after a beat, a smile flashed over his face like lightning. He leaned forward. "Well, this is even more entertaining than I'd anticipated," he purred. "Why not?"

Zhengdan's gaze sharpened into knives. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, curtsying even lower than normal.

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Fuchai asked, eyeing Zhengdan's frame. She was even smaller than I was, with arms so slender that even if you were to wrap your entire hand around her wrist, there would still be extra space left. "He will not go easy on you."

"I know," Zhengdan said, tossing her hair back. "I won't go easy on him either."

Fuchai's smile widened. "How… interesting. In that case, why don't you go and prepare? I'm sure we can find some spare armor for you, though it may be a bit loose."

Some of the soldiers below had started to jeer, barely suppressed snickers and side-eyed remarks fluttering among them. The concubines whispered too, though some looked genuinely impressed, while others were gazing at Zhengdan with worry, as if certain this was the last time they'd see her in one piece.

I felt a dark spike of dread. As Zhengdan made her way past me, her spine straight as any trained soldier's, I tried to summon her attention. Stop , I willed inside my head, clutching the edge of my seat and praying she could somehow hear me. You're not thinking this through.

When our eyes met, she only winked and mouthed: Don't worry. I can win this.

But that was exactly what I feared.

Zhengdan entered the ring transformed. Gone were the pretty butterfly hairpins, the pearls clutching her delicate throat. Her raven hair had been tucked neatly inside a bronze helmet just like the one her father had worn, her shoulders bolstered by thick padding, her body covered with shining plates that glowed like dragon scales beneath the sun. Even the lines of her face looked sharper as she took her place opposite General Ma, shifting into a fighting stance. She held a heavy sword in one hand, while her other hand was raised up, two fingers pointing to the general in a perfect straight line.

And in response, General Ma changed also. This whole time he had worn the somewhat bemused expression of one forced to fight a match that was barely worth winning. But now he must have recognized the certainty in Zhengdan's movements, the familiar way she readied her weapon.

My palms were clammy in my lap. I could scarcely breathe.

No sooner than the gong sounded, Zhengdan charged. Her sword speared through the air, shooting toward the general's throat. He swerved just in time, but it seemed more from muscle memory than strategy. His feet stumbled slightly, his heels digging into the dirt. There was a bewildered look on his face, a kind of stunned disbelief. That same look unfolded over many of the spectators sitting around me. The whispers died down; the only sound that could be heard throughout the whole training ground was the sharp hiss of Zhengdan's blade.

In action, she was so elegant. Beautiful. Her movements were fluid, like how water flows over rocks or how wind shifts through the trees. One strike bled into another, with no pauses or fumbles in between. I could have pictured her calling down red lightning with a flick of her wrist, leading a battalion of thousands into a war at the end of the world. This was her in her most natural state, doing what she truly wanted. Her footwork was unerringly certain, adjusting to the general's blunt, broad swings with ease.

One blow. Another. She advanced across the dirt, pushing him farther and farther back, her sword a blur.

All eyes were on her. Even the heavens seemed to be watching.

The girl against the general. The Yue against the Wu.

"Who trained you?" General Ma called out, barely dodging her next swing.

"Nobody," Zhengdan said. "I taught myself."

Despite my apprehension, some part of me felt a great swell of pride. If she had never left our village, if she had listened to her mother and married one of those old, lifeless, drooping-eyed men, she would have been trapped there forever, a bird caught in a cage. Everything within her would have wilted until only her beauty remained.

But here, she was radiant. She glowed with every thrust of the sword, every twist of her torso. And she was merciless.

At the next opening, she lunged, her blade stopping a bare inch from the general's throat. He froze. His sword clattered to the dust.

It was a reversal of the popular stories passed among the villagers. The beautiful girl with blood under her nails, who did not need saving from danger but was instead the danger itself.

She pressed the sword closer, close enough to slice skin if she wanted. And I knew how badly she wanted to. In my mind, I heard her voice like an echo: One day, I will raise a sword to his neck… I saw that violent impulse ride over her features now.

Before her, the general stood completely still, the tendons in his throat strained from the effort of resistance. His fear was palpable in the space between them.

"I won," Zhengdan said loudly, firmly, and let her sword arm drop.

In the aftermath, nobody moved. General Ma stared down at his own fallen weapon, his empty hands, as if unsure what had happened. He was panting, blood flowing freely from the gash in his lips, his forehead drenched in sweat. At first his cheeks splotched red. Then, as the moment stretched on, some black, ugly emotion twisted through his features. It was quick—quick enough to go unnoticed. But my fingertips tingled with foreboding.

Slow claps cut through the quiet.

They came from Fuchai. He had stood up, the silky black furs of his coat billowing around him, his mouth stretched into a wolf's grin. "That was quite the riveting performance," he said. "Truly. I've never seen anything like it."

Following his lead, the other spectators burst into applause. It sounded like the furious beat of war drums after a battle, trembling through the rust-red dirt, signaling one side's downfall. And Zhengdan stood in the victor's position, her eyes turned to the heavens, as if hoping that somebody else was watching. The sun shone bright as a god's eye; light showered over her.

Still, I could not stop myself from breaking out into a cold shudder.

I was warming my hands by the fire that night when Fuchai came into my chambers, a string of maids following close behind him. Each of them carried a lacquered box.

"What is this?" I asked, rising slowly, the silk of my robes trailing over my skin. I had freshened my powder earlier and slathered rose water over my neck, knowing he would come.

Fuchai just smiled and clapped his hands. Immediately, all the boxes were set on the ground and opened. For a moment, I was almost blinded. The brightest gems spilled out of them, forest-green jades and bronze mirrors and pearls overflowing, patterned porcelains and ivory sculptures carved in the shape of phoenixes.

"Yours, of course," Fuchai said, picking up one of the studded necklaces and walking slowly up to me. He made another small gesture, and all the maids curtsied, retreating. They had been trained well, shutting the doors behind them when they left to offer us privacy. "What do you think?"

I offered the back of my neck to him. "Is it some special occasion? Are they handing out free jewelry at the morning market?"

Behind me, I could feel him smiling. His fingers were surprisingly nimble, locking the clasp in one try. "Consider it… compensation. For making you sit through the rest of the duels alone." There was a sheepish note to his voice, like a child apologizing after playing when they shouldn't have, and I realized with a start that he felt guilty. This was very… unusual. Throughout all of recorded history, it was taken for granted that a king should have countless concubines. If he paid them the slightest attention, they ought to weep with gratitude. And if he neglected their existence, left them for dead—well, that was a natural part of the deal too. Had I managed to soften him so completely?

"That was an interesting match," I said, sidestepping the topic. Of course I wasn't really angry; I'd wanted him to go to Lady Yu. But it couldn't hurt to have him feel indebted to me.

"Oh, yes, wasn't it? I don't believe I've ever seen the general's face quite so red, even after seven jugs of wine. It should be a humbling experience for him."

I spun around to find him laughing.

"You're not upset?" I wondered aloud, turning back again.

"Why would I be?" His hands lingered in the place he'd clasped the necklace, the heat of his fingers brushing against my skin. "It was a competition between my palace lady and my general. Both are mine. No matter the outcome, I still win."

Sometimes he surprised me with the way his mind worked. "I doubt the general thinks of it that way," I said, feigning lightness.

"Probably not." He shrugged. "Zixu believes I should appeal to his ego a little, help him recover his pride."

Wu Zixu again. "And how does he propose you do that?"

But he was already bored of the topic. "Doesn't matter. Let's stop talking about it now," he murmured, his hand sliding down to the small of my waist. I could smell the day's blood on him, mixed with some kind of cold fragrance. "Hm?"

"It seems rather important," I tried.

He said nothing, just pressed his lips to my shoulder.

"Fuchai," I said. A mistake. I'd wanted to get his attention, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"I don't think I will ever tire of hearing you call me by my name." He wrapped his arm tighter around me. Pressed another kiss to my neck, his mouth grazing over the cool beads of the necklace. "Sometimes I swear—I only feel like a person when I'm around you. Does that make sense?"

"I—I think so—"

"Good."

"But Fuchai…"

He made a small, soft sound with the back of his throat, almost like a sigh, and in a flash, he stepped around to face me, his hand cupping my cheek. His eyes were black and dilated, his lashes so long they cast shadows in the lantern light. "You know, I used to believe," he began, his lips skimming my throat in a long, languorous line, "the heavens were especially cruel to me. They forced me onto the throne when I never wished to be king. They took my father away from me." Between every couple of words, he kissed me again, desperate and hungry and eager, like he'd been poisoned and I was the only thing that could save him. It was not unpleasant. That was the terrible thing. Physically speaking, it was… far from unpleasant. Even though deep in my heart of hearts I despised him, wanted him dead—my body could not help responding. "They took my friends away the instant this wretched crown was placed on my head. All those people I grew up with, studied beside; it was as if I had become a stranger to them. I had nobody to speak to, nobody to trust." He tugged at his crown as he spoke, and it slid free, his hair mussed and curling loosely in ink-black locks over his forehead. Another tug, and the crown fell onto the bed beside us, the polished gold glinting over the white sheets.

This has to violate some sort of law , I thought dimly as he kissed the edge of my jaw, the corner of my mouth, his breathing unsteady.

"I know what the ministers think of me," he continued, his voice rough. "They think I'm a disappointment, a shadow of my father. They all wish my father were the one ruling—" He huffed a bitter laugh, his nails curling against my robes. "Well, so do I. Then I would not be restricted by all this— all this. But the heavens must have mercy, still, because they led you to me. My beautiful Xishi." He pulled me impossibly closer, as if every inch of distance between us hurt. "You will be the death of me."

I let him run his fingers through my hair, let him push me slowly away from the blazing fire. Even as the heat spread through my body, I fought to keep my mind sober, clear as ice. It was like a game of chess. I couldn't just succumb to the experience, couldn't forget what I was here for.

"Kiss me," he said hoarsely, earnest and foolish. "Kiss me until I forget everything."

I obliged, wrapping my arms around his neck and standing on my tiptoes. His lips were terribly soft, yet they crushed mine, deepening the kiss. I could taste something sweet like peach blossom wine on his tongue. My thoughts raced ahead of my movements, jumping erratically from place to place, some less helpful than others. The rumors about him visiting every brothel in the city must have been true. His hands were skilled, clearly well practiced.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. "Right now. I want to know."

"N-nothing."

He kissed me harder, until my mind turned to water. "Tell me."

"Nothing. Nobody, just—" You was what I meant to say. What had been poised on the tip of my tongue. But what came out was, "Fanli."

I did not even realize what I'd said until he jerked back as if he'd been slapped. He was still breathing hard, his lips swollen, but his eyes were wide, disbelieving. "What did you just say?"

"I—I didn't—" Hysteria surged inside me. Explain. I needed to explain, to make this all right again, but my head had gone completely blank. I could only hear a low buzzing sound in my ears. My heart crashed against my chest. "I—"

"You said the name Fanli," he said. There was still a raw note to his tone, like he wanted me to correct him. "Fanli. That's the military advisor of Yue."

If I didn't feel like fainting, I might have laughed. Sometimes Fuchai was so careless that he called his own ministers by the wrong name, and often addressed people directly as "you" instead of a proper title—yet this particular name, he recalled now without any difficulty.

"It was a slip of the tongue," I said, forcing my voice to remain level. I willed any trace of guilt away from my face. "I didn't mean it. It's just because…" I scrambled for some excuse. Anything. "It's only because we were talking about Wu Zixu earlier. And I—I was wondering who holds a similar position in the Yue court."

His expression was indecipherable. Even with the fire roaring, the room felt colder than ever. "While you were kissing me?"

For all my training, I could not help flushing slightly. "I… My mind wandered only for a second. That's all. It means nothing."

But his face was turned to the fire, his gaze distant, hands clasped behind his back, his whole body held rigid. It was a stupid thing to think at this time, especially when he had been so vulnerable only moments ago, his mouth grazing my throat like any excited, lovestruck boy, but he looked—like a king. Someone with the power to execute hundreds with a single command. Fear shot through me. "Perhaps Zixu was right after all," he murmured to himself.

It was as if someone had swung a heavy mallet to my lungs. My breathing stopped. Everything stopped. I was afraid I would shatter to the floor in pieces. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't have made such a terrible blunder, after all my planning and preparing. Yes, Zhengdan had been impulsive on the training grounds today, but I was meant to be the careful one. "Right… about what?"

He said nothing. His face was cold, unreachable. With a swish of his sleeves, he strode out the door. I heard the startled greetings of the maids planted outside, saw the flicker of lanterns as he passed, and felt a different kind of dread: By tomorrow, the gossip would spread about how the king had left my chambers before anything could have happened. They would all speculate over what I'd done to enrage him, but I doubted anybody would come close to the truth. That my heart had betrayed my tongue. That for just a moment, I had been greedy and imagined somebody else's lips on my own.

Trembling, I sank to my knees, alone in that hollow room of shimmering jewels.