Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I t was the morning after we'd reached the base of the mountain and rested in a nearby inn. I'd gone to sleep thinking of Fuchai's expression as I drove the blade in. I woke up drenched in sweat and shaking. After I changed into a fresh set of robes and stepped down for breakfast, a familiar face rose to greet me by the front doors. It was not the face I most wanted to see, but my heart leaped all the same. Time seemed to bend, and for one sacred moment, I was just the girl in Riversong Cottage again, reliving those warm, bloodless days spent in the haze of the mountain mist, playing the guqin and reciting pretty poetry.

"Luyi," I cried, forgetting all propriety and running forward to throw my arms around him. He smelled like rust and sea salt, and his skin was warm as summer sand under the sun.

He grinned, hardly caring for how the surrounding soldiers and guests eyed us with faint disapproval. He had grown even taller in the days since we'd parted, his shoulders stronger, his skin a little darker. I'd never had a brother before, but as he patted my back and laughed into my hair, I wondered if this was how it felt. "I hear you've been pretty busy. Changing the course of history and all."

I managed to roll my eyes as I pulled back. "How are you?"

"The same as usual. Subject to Fanli's irrational requests. He's been in a dark mood ever since…" He trailed off, hastily covered it up with a smile. "Well, you will see for yourself."

My gaze flickered to the open door behind him. I could not help myself—even though I already knew he was with Goujian, that during a critical time like this, with the kingdom changing hands between rulers, he would not simply abandon his duties and come find me. Disappointment pinched my gut.

Luyi noticed. "He wishes he were here; you have no idea how badly he does. And he personally asked me to bring you back to Yue. He trusts your safety with nobody else."

I had been concealing my true feelings for what felt like an eon. I could muster a convincing enough smile in return. "Thank you. Really."

"No, thank you." He looked like he meant it. In fact, the raw emotion in his face was almost too much for me to bear.

I cleared my throat, and tugged my cloak higher over my shoulders. "Well, then. When do we depart?"

I did not know what I was expecting when I finally returned to my village. Perhaps that everything would be unrecognizable. Perhaps that nothing would have changed at all.

But the scene that greeted me was beyond anything I could have imagined. Every single house was lit up with bright colored lanterns, like strings of candies. Streamers fluttered from the trees. The paths had been evened out, redesigned and straightened completely; there were no more loose pebbles and mud, just perfect, flat stone. The architecture as a whole looked better, the windows repaired, the doors perfectly fitted on their hinges, the roof tiles new and gleaming.

All the villagers were gathered at the entrance. Dozens of faces crowded together, eyes bright and smiling. A feast had been conjured—seemingly from thin air—with roasted lamb and glazed duck and sweet congee sprinkled with golden osmanthus flakes and goji berries.

"What's the day? Is there a festival happening?" I wondered aloud to Luyi.

He laughed. "No. It is all for you."

I stared at the spectacle, the lavish meals, the elaborate decorations, the joyous faces. The village bathed in a warm orange glow. It was beautiful and utterly overwhelming. "For—for me? Why?"

" Why? Incredible. You really haven't grown much of an ego in the Wu Kingdom, have you?" Luyi said, amused. Then, in a more serious tone, he went on, "The stories have traveled far and wide. They know what you have done, what you have sacrificed. You stopped a war and saved our kingdom. You're a hero, Xishi."

A hero. The word sounded strange, like it had nothing to do with me. I did not feel heroic at all. I barely even felt human. I remembered again the sticky heat of Fuchai's blood on my palms, the weight of Zhengdan's limp body on my legs, every night passed alone in the dark palace chambers. How long until the memories dimmed? Or would this be another of my sacrifices—that I would carry these ghosts with me for as long as I lived?

Then the crowds surged forward, one by one, reaching out to grab my hand, to seize my arm, just to touch me, as if I had returned transformed into a living legend. I did not so much walk forward as let myself be pushed along by the bodies, passed from one family to the next.

"Thank you…"

"You are so beautiful, Lady Xishi…"

"A hero…"

"You've grown so much—my heavens, you have the air of a noblewoman—"

"A royal—"

"We owe our lives to you…"

"I will name my firstborn after you—"

"I will name my seventh-born after you—"

"You've saved us all—"

Their words rang in my ears, the display of colors swimming back and forth in my vision. I tried to thank them back, even though I could not hear my own voice over the commotion. Yet throughout it all, there was a strange prickling sensation in the back of my neck, like I was being followed. I had felt it multiple times on our journey here, but each time I spun around, I couldn't see anyone.

Fanli's message flashed through my head again, a warning chime:

You must watch out for—

Then, abruptly, the chaos died down, the people parting like waves as two figures stepped forward, and my thoughts narrowed to only them.

My throat burned.

They were both older—this should not have come as a surprise. Their skin bore the scars of the sun, the slow erosion of time. My father's hair was almost completely snow white, thinning at the temples. My mother's eyes were set deeper in her face, the creases around them like cracks running through the earth. But they were dressed in luxurious fabrics, their cheeks infused with healthy color.

Mother stopped one foot away from me and just looked. Searched my face like she could fit many moons of memories into this one moment. She was smiling and crying at the same time, and when she spoke, she did not mention anything about heroes, about beautiful legends, about sacrifices. Her hand rested on my shoulder, a restoring of the natural way of things, and she made a soft tutting sound between her teeth.

"You've gotten too skinny," she said, like this were any other day. "Come inside. Let's eat."

And so we ate all through the evening, back in the house where I grew up. I let my mother fuss over my clothes and my weight and my hair; I listened to my father brag about the work he'd done and how pleased our ancestors would be with me. They boiled old tea they'd been saving for my return and showed me around the rooms. Fanli had kept his promise, and more: Everything I'd requested when I left had been repaired even better than I'd imagined it. The villagers kept coming in at regular intervals, bringing a week's worth of food with them, piling them over the tables and craning their necks just to see me. They were hungry for stories: What was the palace like, were the other concubines pretty, was the king kind or cruel to me?

Then the door creaked open again, and the villager standing there did not share any of the radiant joy of the others. She was ashen-faced, with sunken cheekbones and white streaking her hair. Her eyes roved around the room hungrily, desperately. It took me a moment to recognize her, to reconcile this weary old woman with the one who would yell at us to go home before dark, who would at times drop by with baskets of fresh herbs and spices and jars of sweet fermented rice. When I did, my stomach sank to my feet.

Zhengdan's mother had come searching for her.

Her sharp gaze settled on me, and she hobbled over, pushing past the guests like they meant nothing. "Where is she?" she whispered. You could barely hear her over the cheers and the clinking jugs of wine and the swelling conversation. "Where's my daughter?"

My tongue weighed like a stone. I couldn't bring myself to speak the words, but she seemed to understand just from the look on my face. She staggered back, then righted herself against the nearest chair, her breathing shallow.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing it was useless.

"No." She shook her head furiously. "No, she should be sorry. She is just like her father, that bastard, thankless child. The little fool."

For a moment I thought she would throw her shoe across the room, the way she did whenever Zhengdan forgot to heat the stove or returned from the forest with wild leaves tangled in her hair. But she only stared outside the window.

"She defeated General Ma in a duel," I told her. "She helped us outsmart the Wu military. We would not have succeeded without her."

"What difference does it make?" she murmured, and I was no longer sure if she was still speaking to me. "The kingdom will soon forget about her and move on, but I will not. They have swapped one king for another, but this— this is real life." She motioned to the food, the tables, the villagers. "The men will fight for their thrones and their power and their legacies, but to them we are nothing more than crickets and ants, insignificant, expendable. We will continue to worry over the rice and soy sauce and oil, three meals a day, how to escape the cold in the winter and the heat in the high summer, the holes in the roof and the bedding and the taxes. What does it matter who wears the crown, if they will not change any of this for us?"

"But…" I was stunned. "But—Zhengdan's father… Your husband… He was killed by the Wu. Doesn't that matter?"

"He was not killed by the Wu," she said harshly. "He was killed by the war. By the will of kings."

I stared at her, shaken. It was like something fixed inside me had all of a sudden come loose. The air seemed suffocating, the bodies packed too tight within the small space. I stuttered another apology, excused myself, and slipped out through the door.

Everything will make sense again , I thought as I hurried down the path. There was a feeling growing inside me, a knowing. Fanli had said that he would meet me by the riverbanks where we met. If I went now, he would be there. I was certain of it. And when we were reunited, he would tell me about Goujian's plans for the future, now that he had secured the throne. I would be reminded again of why it was vital that we conquered the Wu. Why our kings were different. Why life would be better from this point on.

The stars cut through the sky, those silver needle points bright against the darkness. I followed the familiar song of the river, my heart a bird, its wings beating harder. Shadows shifted around me. A twig snapped. Feathers fluttered against the leaves. I had not been in the countryside for a long time. I'd forgotten how the wild filled the trees, how the night could feel like a living thing, breathing and breathing. Watching me.

A chill crept down my back.

I ignored it, continuing down to the banks. The cold, white moonlight fell over the river like fresh snow, the water lapping against the speckled-egg pebbles. The place was empty.

I should have turned around then. But something compelled me to step closer to the very edge of the river. Fanli would come. This was what I kept telling myself. Now. Any moment now. My mind was already rushing forward beyond the present to ten days later, a month, a year: He would show up under the moonlight and I would run to him, feel the softness of his lips part against mine. I would tell him about everything I had seen and heard in the palace until my heart was lighter, the pain dulled, and he would listen intently, never losing patience or interrupting. Then we would sail around Lake Tai together, and anywhere beyond that. All wars would cease. All would be at peace. Perhaps when we tired of traveling, we could start a business together, distribute wealth to those in need. I would never have to hide my emotions, never again watch my speech. I would only dance and sing when I wanted, for the pure pleasure of the music—

Something moved behind me.

It happened too fast. I twisted around just as they shoved me with such blunt force my feet gave out. I hit the ground, gasping, my palms splitting open on impact. My head was spinning. It's not meant to be like this was all I could conjure. It was the end. It was meant to be over. So why—

I heard a sharp swish through the air. Pain exploded in the back of my skull, stars bursting across my vision. I struggled to turn my head, my eyes blurring. An unrecognizable man loomed over me. His face did not register, but the symbol sewn into his tunic did. It was the mark of King Goujian.

The world seemed to collapse.

Panic clawed up my throat like a frenzied animal. I thrashed, trying desperately to pull myself up, but I couldn't find my balance. There was only the cold air around me, the river, and this stranger. He had some piece of fabric in his hands—a bag—

No.

No, no, no—

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. And then the fabric was yanked over my head, covering everything in black. Rough hands gripped my ankles. I knew what was coming before it happened. Every nerve in me burned, recoiling from the very thought. My breaths came out fast and rapid, strained. My thoughts were sensation only: pain and panic. I was running out—of oxygen, of time, of strength. I felt the ropes tighten, the rough cords slicing through my skin, weighed down by something hard and heavy like stone. They were going to drown me. They were going to drown me . I was going to die. It didn't seem quite real, even as it was happening. Then: the terrible sensation of falling, gravity giving out beneath me.

The water was ice cold.

It poured into my mouth, my lungs. I was sinking, my limbs dead and useless as wood, tied down on either side of me. My chest felt like it would burst at any second. I was stunned—almost too stunned for fear. That came later, when the darkness seeped in fully. There was no way out. No way to live.

Help , I shrieked in my head. Bubbles broke from my mouth. Somebody help.

Please.

Help me.

But no hero emerged to save me. The hero was meant to be me—and now I was utterly powerless, a spirit trapped in a frail, mortal body. The cold was unbearable.

Yet already I could feel myself fading, my skin numbing. In those last moments, as the water rose over me, I saw only one image:

It wasn't even a notable memory. Just another morning in Riversong Cottage, one of many. Fanli and I were sitting by the pond together, gazing out at the still waters, the lotus flowers floating over the surface. He had bought a pomegranate from the market and was peeling it for me, picking out the pink, gemlike seeds. We had been talking—about what, I don't remember anymore. Something small, something trivial. But I had laughed and spoken his name, casually, carelessly, and he'd looked over at me with a softness that took my breath away. Again and again, it played over in my mind, until it was the first and last thing I knew. Before the journey down the rivers, before the king's blood stained my hands, before the kingdom fell. When everything still felt like a story, a romantic myth. When we were together and the air was warm and nothing hurt.