Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I closed the doors behind him, careful to keep them unlocked.

Then I stood with my back pressed against the cool wood, gazing up at the sky. The moon was especially clear tonight; scraps of gray clouds blew over it, outlined against its pearlescent glow. You could see every dark impression, every hollow. I remembered the myth Mother used to tell me before bedtime, about the girl who became a goddess, separated from her lover and forced to live on the moon with only her jade rabbit for company. I thought I could make out her silhouette in that play of light and shadow. I thought I could understand her loneliness.

But no point dwelling now. I shook my head, breathed slowly out.

It would be starting soon.

Instead of returning to the banquet, I followed the secret passageway Xiaomin had shown me, taking the shortcut to Lady Yu's chambers. She was in the courtyard this time, sitting alone on the swing, rocking gently back and forth. She lifted her head at the sound of my footsteps; she did not look surprised to see me.

"Remember our agreement?" I asked, not bothering with greetings.

"Unfortunately," she said, her voice weary. She continued swinging, letting the wind do most of the work. "What do you want?"

"Call upon your father first," I told her. "It's time."

Most of the guests had already retired when I finally went back to the king's side. There were men passed out on the table, heads lolling, their goblets bleeding wine. A few giggling noblewomen had snuck off into the shadows with the more charming guards and scholars, the pairs wrapped in a private embrace. Silks and streamers littered the floors; two of the hangings had slid from the walls. The music had died down too. Only a single instrumentalist remained, playing a soft, stirring tune on his guqin. As expected, Goujian was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, Fuchai was undoubtedly drunk, lying back on his throne with its raised view of the hall and twirling his crown around his finger like it was a toy.

"Xishi," he slurred as I approached, his eyes focusing on me. "What took you so long?" Before I could even reply, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me onto the throne with him, reaching around my neck, his breath warm against my ear. "Doesn't matter. Just—do not leave my side again."

I wanted to be unmoved. But perhaps it was how he gazed at me, so unassuming and sincere and trusting; perhaps it was because I had just been with Fanli, while Fuchai watched the crowds and waited for me; or perhaps it was because I knew what was coming. A wild guilt tore through my chest, and I pressed my body tighter to his, letting him wrap his arms fully around me. I could hear his thundering heartbeat, that familiar rhythm, always so quick to respond to my presence, my every word.

"What do you want tonight?" I asked him. "Name it, and it is yours."

He pulled back slightly, his mouth parted in surprise. Then he laughed. "What is this? I'm usually the one to grant your wishes."

"I know," I said, feeling that odd, unwelcome pain again. My stomach felt cold. I imagined the scene unfolding outside the hall, beyond the dark city gates. The Yue army would have mobilized already, having taken the route down the just-built canal. I imagined thousands of feet marching, their spearpoints glinting in the moonlight. "I just want to—to repay you. Whatever you ask, I won't say no."

He peered down at me with interest, his eyes intensely dark. "Whatever I ask?"

A flush crept up my neck. I thought I had some idea of what he desired. Part of me was still surprised he had waited so long.

"It cannot be here," he said, rising from the throne. I had to hold his arm to keep him steady. "Come with me."

I went, my skin growing hotter by the second. In his room, surrounded by scarlet lanterns and gilded furniture and forest-green jade carvings, he lay down on the bed and patted the space next to him. I approached slowly, carefully, on tiptoe, shrugging loose the satin sash and my heavy outer robes. My every breath felt fraught.

He waited, patient. But when I took my place beside him, he made no movement to kiss me. Instead he curled his body around mine like a child, his chest pressed to my back. The warmth of his skin engulfed me, not in an unpleasant way; it was like sleeping next to a blazing fire. There was something so… peaceful about the gesture.

"What are you doing?" I asked, unable to hide my confusion.

"You asked me what I wanted," he said simply, his voice muffled by my hair. "I…" He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he sounded almost shy. "I want to hold you for a while, like this. Is that all right?"

It felt like someone had jabbed a needle through my heart. I inhaled. "Of—of course, Fuchai."

He sighed, then began to comb my hair back with his fingers. He moved ever so slowly, his fingertips scraping against my scalp, a light brush, there and then gone. "I would give up everything for you, you realize?"

It was not the first time he had said something like this, but in the deceptive quiet after the banquet, in light of everything yet to happen, it suddenly felt ominous. I tried to hide the tension in my body. "Don't say such dire things," I scolded, my tone teasing.

"Fine," he acquiesced. "Then tell me something good. A story. A memory from your childhood."

"My childhood?" If I didn't know better, I'd think he was testing me, searching for information about my background. But his tone was gentle as ever, his touch even more so. A heaviness settled in my bones. "What kind of memory?"

"Anything."

I mulled it over. He wanted something good, but so many of my memories from our village were tinged with some shade of sadness, or fear, or worry. I could not tell him about the days when our grain stores were depleted, when we forced ourselves to go to sleep earlier just to escape the pinch of hunger in our stomachs, the rationing of a single yellow millet bun into thirds, and then fourths, and then fifths. I could not tell him about the plague that had swept through our kingdom, the terrifying and uncertain months where everyone stayed huddled in their houses and covered their faces with scraps of fabric when they went out; how a small scratching sensation in the back of the throat, a faint rash, felt like a death sentence. I could not tell him either about the times the skin on my hands split open, from soaking in the river too long and scrubbing raw silk too hard.

But were there good things? Of course. Even when life was terrible, there was still my mother's comfort, my father's presence, Zhengdan's ringing laughter, the budding peonies and the flowing river.

"We used to play a game," I began. "My parents and I. One would be designated the role of wolf, and the other two were sheep—but you only knew your own role, and not the others. You would close your eyes, and the wolf would choose its victim, and when you opened your eyes again, you had to guess who the wolf was. You only had one chance to get it right."

He nodded at me to go on. He was still playing with my hair. It was surprisingly pleasant, surprisingly soothing—almost too soothing. I could feel my eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

"My mother and I would often team up in secret," I said, ignoring the pang inside me. It cannot hurt to share this much with him , I reasoned to myself. Not now. Or perhaps I wanted to give him something honest, something real; perhaps I thought he deserved that much. "It was an ongoing joke between us. No matter who the wolf was, we would always accuse my father. But of course we could tell when it really was him; he was a terrible liar, and he would always ramble when he was nervous, and rap his knuckles on the table. If he suspected that I was the wolf, though, he would try to act like he didn't know. He didn't want to accuse me of anything, even if I was in the wrong—" A lump formed in my throat. I pushed on. "Even if it was only a game."

"They sound lovely," Fuchai murmured.

"What about you?" I asked, eager to shift the focus away from me. "What games did you play as a child?"

"I don't remember much," he said. "Once I was declared the crown prince… I stopped playing."

"You weren't allowed to?"

"No." He hesitated. "Well, I wasn't encouraged to—my days were filled with classes on royal etiquette and such. But even when I had the time, the games were never any fun. The other children had been taught to fear me, and so no matter what happened, they let me win very quickly. Sometimes, for the more physical games, they refused to participate at all, for fear they might actually push me or hurt me and be executed for it. Then there were the attendants, who followed me everywhere I went, and always intervened if they thought there was the slightest risk of me getting injured."

I turned around. A mistake. His face was sweet in the dim light, his hair tousled against the sheets.

"Since they would not play with me… well, I had to invent other ways to entertain myself. If they were so careful about etiquette, so afraid of offending, then from time to time I would snap at them for the smallest thing and drag them outside to be punished. Just occasionally enough to keep them guessing and on their toes. I suppose that was fun, and a game, in a sense. One that only I could play." He spoke in an offhand manner, like it was a joke, but there was a sadness to his gaze. A touch of loneliness.

We were already so close that I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, but I inched even closer, my body pressed to his, until nothing could possibly stand between us. From the instant I entered the palace over two years ago, I had dreamed of this. I had trained for the moment when Goujian arrived, when all the guards were stationed in their respective positions, when the Yue soldiers— our soldiers—marched through the gates. But suddenly I found myself wondering if it wouldn't be quite so terrible to delay it all by another day. Just one day, to give more back to him. To allay my own guilt.

"Is there something wrong?" Fuchai asked, smiling, his long fingers running through my hair. "I'm not used to you being so… open with your affections."

"Do you mind it?"

"Never."

"Really?"

"Of course." A beat. "This is… nice," he said softly. "I wish we could stay like this forever."

The heaviness in my limbs grew. I stifled a yawn.

"Xishi," I thought I heard him say. "Xishi."

I was too exhausted to speak. "Mm?"

"No, nothing." I heard the smile in his voice. "Rest, if you need to. I'll look after you."

I don't remember closing my eyes. But even as darkness fell over me, I was aware of the warmth of his body, the evening scent of his skin; all that should have been foreign to me, now as intimate as the back of my hand. As the drums of war sounded in the distance, signaling a new age, a new dawn, there I lay, falling sound asleep in the arms of the enemy.

Somebody was shaking me.

I opened my eyes, squinting. The candles had been lit, their reddish glow casting strange, misshapen shadows over the walls, and Fuchai was standing before me. It was his expression that woke me up completely. He always had a careless look about him, like nothing was quite worth his attention. I had never seen him like this: his hands trembling, his lips pressed tight into a bloodless line. At the same moment, a horn blared in the distance; it was not the first time. Urgent footsteps thundered outside our chambers; cries and the clang of steel. Everything about it was distorting, the peace of the night erupting into violence. The horn blared again, like the shriek of a child.

It's happening , I thought, my blood flashing hot and cold.

Fuchai lifted his hand from my shoulder and rested it deliberately on the hilt of his sword. Then he drew it from its sheath, throwing off a streak of cold, silver light, half blinding me.

I felt the air escape my lungs. He had found out. He knew I was the one who had planned it all, and now he would kill me for my treachery. My thoughts raced with my heartbeat. Perhaps I could beg him for forgiveness, just to buy myself time—perhaps I could weaponize whatever affections he still felt for me, at least until the Yue came—

"Xishi," he said, his tone grave, his eyes black as flint. He lifted his sword.

"I—wait, Fuchai." My voice was still croaky from sleep. I shook my head wildly. "Wait—let me—"

He moved toward me. My entire body froze, dreading the pain, the end of everything. But the blade didn't so much as touch me. Instead he pulled me to him, locking me in a firm embrace, his head bent over the curve of my neck. "Don't be afraid," he murmured. "I'll protect you. Whatever happens—I won't let them touch you."

Relief engulfed me, but it was followed by a wave of guilt. So he didn't know, not yet.

"What's going on?" I asked, letting all my remaining fear seep into my voice. "What's wrong?"

The doors slammed open before he could reply. A guard rushed inside, his cheek smeared with blood and soot. He fell onto his knees halfway across the room and bowed low, the thud so loud it echoed. "Your Majesty, the palace has been surrounded—they're coming through the northern gates—"

"What?" Fuchai was still holding me. I could feel the muscles in his shoulders contract. "What happened to General Yu?"

Lady Yu's father. I held my breath.

"There was apparently a—a skirmish near the southern gates." The guard's teeth knocked together. It was a miracle he didn't bite off his own tongue. "He was called down to investigate—we're still unclear what happened. All we know is that half the guards had vacated their usual posts—"

"This doesn't make sense," Fuchai said. Even without seeing him, I imagined the disbelief etched into his features, the slight downward tug of his lips. "How did they get here so fast?"

"They came by—by boat. Through the canal."

Silence. The commotion outside only seemed to grow louder by contrast, screams cutting through the night, orders shouted down the open courtyards and narrow corridors. Torches flashed past the windows, guards sent out one after the other, their armor rattling. The air felt too hot, too sticky, closing in. I could smell something burned.

Without meaning to, my fingers tightened over Fuchai's arm, digging into his robes.

"We have to escape," Fuchai said, as if coming out of a daze. He spoke clearly, with forced calm. "It isn't safe here anymore—"

There's nowhere to hide , I thought in my head, though of course I couldn't say it. Fanli would have every exit covered. Even if we leave, he'll send his men after you and track you down in days.

"Your carriage has already been prepared," the guard said in a rush. His eyes kept darting to the doors. The footsteps were getting louder, approaching from both sides. I heard the scrape of sword against sword, frantic yells—then the thud of bodies hitting the ground. "Leave now and—"

"Your Majesty!" The doors burst open again, but this time it was a servant that came stumbling in. There was something off about him, not quite in proportion. My stomach gave an awful lurch when I realized what it was. His left hand had been severed. Reduced to a mangled stump. Blood gushed from it, soaking the floors. When he knelt and bowed, it was only with one arm. He wobbled, fought to maintain his balance, his face bleached white.

Even from here, the sharp scent of rust filled my nose. I thought I might be sick.

"Please—do not forget," he gasped, each word pained, blood gurgling in his throat. I finally recognized him. He was the reminder Fuchai had appointed. "Do not forget… your father's… dying wish. Do not forget… the Yue—"

And then he crumpled. I watched, a new dread blooming inside me, like a flowering wound. I had caused this. I was the harbinger of death, of everyone's demise within these walls.

Fuchai was tugging at my arm. His voice in my ear. "Leave him. Let's go."

Numbly, I gathered my robes around myself, my cloak pulled up over my hair, and followed him out the side door, flanked by a group of guards. The points of their halberds gleamed around us like gathered stars. I refused to look at their faces; soon they would be gone too. Someone barked out orders, words of warning. Head straight to… Whatever you do, do not stop… You'll be safe… I nodded along, my mind buzzing. But at the exit, I faltered. I could still hear the maids screaming from within the palace walls. Would our soldiers spare them? Or kill them all?

It chilled me to realize that I had not given it much thought.

"Wait," I said. "Bring Xiaomin with us."

Fuchai frowned at me, uncomprehending. "Xiaomin?"

"We must go, my lady," one of the guards urged me. The screams grew louder, sharper, whittling into pleas. "There's not enough time—"

"The maid," I insisted. "Please. Make sure she comes too."

"Just do as she says," Fuchai told them, and only when the guards nodded did I let him guide me outside.

The night air stung my skin. It smelled strange, unnatural, like metal and leather and horsehide. Like war. The scene was too dark to be distinct—a relief for my conscience—just black shadows tangled together. It was impossible to tell enemy from ally. But every now and then the torchlight would flash, and the horrors would be thrown into sharp relief: a young face, twisted in pain; a torso with an arrow pierced through it, carrying flesh through to the other side; hair and armor matted with patches of dark blood; a mouth ripped open in a soundless scream. Suffering , no matter how or where you looked, no matter who these people fought for.

My stomach churned. And who did they fight for? Goujian. Fuchai. Two kings, born into power, twin sides of a knife. One who was awaiting news of his victory from a safe distance, the other who was fleeing.

The soldiers flowed in from the gates, their bronze plates and helmets gleaming together like a dark, unwinding river, one that extended from the beginning to the end of the world. I saw the banner of Yue fluttering from one soldier's hand, the Wu flag trampled under countless feet. A cold sweat sprang up over my skin.

This is how kingdoms fall , I thought, but I didn't feel as victorious as I'd imagined. My heart was too heavy, a solid stone in my chest.

We were closer to the conflict than ever, and a familiar face burned in my view. General Ma. He was fighting five men at the same time, his sword lashing out. For a few seconds, he appeared to be winning; he thrust the blade into one man's stomach, then sent another crashing down with one blunt kick to the knee.

He was freeing his sword when an arrow shot through his chest.

It was that quick: a blink, a rush of shape and sound. He didn't seem to believe it himself. When he looked down at the shaft protruding from his heart, he wore the same expression of incredulity he'd worn when Zhengdan had beaten him in that duel.

As his body fell silently in the crowd, all I could think was: Zhengdan should've been here to witness it.

"Be careful, Lady Xishi," a guard whispered, his shield raised above my head, urging me along as if I had not just watched someone die. He had a kind face, his cheeks full, his eyes round and long-lashed. "Watch your step. We're almost there."

I could barely hear him over all the screaming, the scraping metal. The sounds of splintered bone. It felt like I was moving underwater in a dream sequence, like nothing was real. I had only been trained for the prelude to this, for the catalyst, not the consequences.

Then the guard inhaled sharply. The whites of his eyes shone.

That was all I saw before he collapsed right beside me, a spear twisted into his side. I didn't even have time to react, to grieve. Another guard immediately stepped in to take his place, his back bared to the incoming soldiers.

"Don't be scared." Fuchai had grabbed my hand and didn't let go until we were escorted through the cover of a corridor, and then inside the prepared carriage. The horses were already pawing the ground, their nostrils flaring, uneasiness rippling through their muscles.

I yanked the door shut behind me just as an arrow shot toward us, embedding itself in the carriage wood. The metal tip of it protruded, glinting through the red paintwork. I couldn't stop staring at it with a kind of revulsed fascination, as if it were rising from my own flesh.

" Go ," Fuchai commanded the driver, and the carriage jumped into motion, the horses' hooves drumming the ground.

Like this we fled into the night. Mount Guxu awaited us in the southwest; everything had already been arranged. I watched from the window as the palace disappeared behind us, ash-black smoke billowing from all the beautiful chambers and halls, the vermilion walls made redder with blood, soldiers pouring in one wave after another, creating an endless flood of knives and arrows. If you had asked me to describe it, I might have called it beautiful. Beautiful not in the way of a painting or poetry, but a natural disaster: a storm, or a falling comet. The intensity of it drew your eyes in and held you there, the sheer scale of it breathtaking. How many were able to witness history as it unfurled? Already I could imagine the books composed for this very day, the tales told by the fireplace. But I could also hear the dying men's howls and their curses as if they were right beside my ear, addressing me.

I was shaking. I didn't realize it until Fuchai reached over from across the carriage seat and stilled my fingers with his. They were smooth, warm, not a single scar or callus on them. They had likely never touched blood before, not directly. All those men in court, in the training grounds, primed to handle those ugly tasks for him.

"It's going to be okay," he told me, his voice pressed low and soothing.

It wouldn't be, and my knowledge of it strangled me. I couldn't help it. "I'm sorry," I blurted.

"Sorry?" A faint furrow of his brows. He leaned back in that dim, cramped space, surrounded by embroidered cushions. "For what?"

I swallowed. "Because—because the Yue are attacking and… and I'm Yue." It was the closest to the truth I could give him.

He studied me for a long time. Long enough to make me nervous. Then he smiled, completely sincere. "You know, if you hadn't said so, I would've forgotten. The truth is," he murmured, "you've long become a Wu person in my eyes. What is home, if not you?"

I smiled back at him, but ducked my head in the shadows, so he could not see my lips trembling.