Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

I n the cottage, the days flew away from us like au tumn leaves snatched by a violent wind. I learned how to pluck the sweetest melodies from the guqin; how to win and lose deliberately at a game of chess; how to drink my wine in silent, delicate sips, with my face hidden behind my sleeve. I memorized the names of the Five Hegemons, and could recite in my sleep the series of conflicts between the Yue and the Wu, the attempts of King Helü to invade our kingdom, only to lose the Battle of Suli and eventually die from his battle wounds. I trained my facial features into obedience and learned to turn my mind to beautiful fantasies when I wished to fake smiles and laughter. When I tired of the training, I picked a deep-ripened plum from the tree and relished it alone, the cool juice dribbling down my wrist.

At times, I would stray to the courtyard, where Fanli and Zhengdan were practicing. It seemed a privilege to simply stand there and watch Fanli fight. In his hands the sword became fluid, moving silver. His blade would pierce the air, his hand following in a silent line, and the plum blossom petals would shower down on him like spring rain. But when he stopped, and looked up, his breathing just slightly uneven from exertion, I was always quick to avert my eyes.

Throughout those final weeks, I could feel myself changing; in the mirror, or the reflection of the still pond, the face that stared back was lovelier yet more cunning, with a new sharpness to the gaze. Sometimes, if I pretended that time could slow and the rest of my days would pass just like this, I could even be happy.

But I was always reminded yet again that there was a point to what I learned, and that was my life, my destiny, not this calm interlude among the plum blossoms and windfall fruit.

And my destiny was rapidly approaching.

"In a week, you will be meeting King Fuchai," Fanli told us. The weather had started to cool, and we were indoors, a controlled fire blazing close by. I held my fingers closer to the flames, watching the red-orange light flicker over my skin. "From your very first encounter, you must make him desire you. But what is desire?"

"Greed," Zhengdan replied at once, with a curl of contempt in her voice. I wondered if she was thinking of the village men throwing themselves at her door, how their eyes lingered on her figure, how they called after her whenever she walked the streets. "Possession."

"Absence," I said, after some thought.

Fanli looked at me and made a silent gesture for me to continue.

"We are most tempted by what we cannot have. Men will dream of the mountains they have yet to scale, the rivers they have yet to set sail upon, the plains they have yet to conquer. They are told from birth everything belongs to them, and so when something does not, they view it as a personal challenge." I thought about it longer. "But also, from a distance, everything looks more beautiful; we are better able to conjure our own fantasies about them. Sometimes the fragrance of a feast is better than the taste itself."

"Absence," Fanli repeated, and nodded. He stood, began to walk in slow circles. "That is true enough. And that is what you must keep in the back of your mind when you are with King Fuchai. More than any man, he believes he owns the world. Do not fall straight into his arms. It is too easy; he will grow bored within days. He is more likely to be intrigued if you keep him reaching for you. And every time he believes he is close, close enough to touch"—he held his hand out toward me, and for one foolish moment, I wondered if he would do something like brush my hair from my cheeks—"you pull away. Again and again." His voice was low. For the first time, I noticed there was a faintly hoarse quality to it. "Until he is consumed by thoughts of you." He withdrew his hand, a snap of the sleeve, and resumed walking.

I swallowed. My skin was hot from the flames, yet there was another, more potent heat rising behind my ribs. Absence. The forbidden object, the thing you cannot have. Why had I said it, and said it so easily? Where had the answer even come from?

Zhengdan nudged me. I startled, a strange, guilty flush spreading through my skin, though I had not done or thought anything wrong.

"What's wrong?" she whispered while Fanli's back was to us. "You have an odd look on your face."

"Nothing," I whispered back.

She squinted, then pointed at me. "You're turning red—"

"I'm not —"

"What's the issue?" Fanli asked, whirling around.

I quickly shook my head, remembering everything he had ever taught me about controlling my emotions. I imagined my face as a frozen lake, hard stone, blank and impenetrable. Perhaps it worked, for he asked nothing more.

I was returning from the dining hall that evening when I saw the candlelight flicker in Fanli's room. A shadow moved.

I did not know what slowed my steps. The sky had already darkened to a heavy purple, the air sweet and cold the way it is when it approaches nightfall, and I was eager to stretch across the comfort of my own bed, to sleep my exhaustion away. But instead, I crept closer. The sliding lattice door had been left ajar just a sliver, and through the gap, I saw Fanli just as he lowered himself to the floor.

My heart skipped.

It was only him inside, his ink-black hair glistening wet from the bath and running freely over his shoulder. I had never seen him with his hair out of its usual high knot before. He was facing the other direction, and as I watched, hardly breathing, he shrugged himself free of the thin white robes he'd been wearing. A sound rose in my throat, though I quickly squashed it down. He could not know that I was here, what I had seen. The entirety of his upper back was exposed, from the shoulder to the column of his spine to the narrow curve of his waist, but that was not what made me freeze.

His back had been split into a brutal map of scars. They looked obscene against his skin, which was otherwise smooth and delicate as first snow. Each was the rough width of a whip, and all were old enough to have faded into a darker, purplish shade. There was no order to them, where they started and ended, nothing but evidence of blunt violence, pain inflicted for the sake of pain.

Then he dipped his fingers into a jar of ointment, the motion rehearsed, routine, and began the labor of rubbing it slowly into his ruined flesh. The strong scent of herbs wafted toward me where I stood, like flower fragrance but more bitter, with a biting edge. My nose stung from it, and my throat prickled. Yet for all Fanli's efforts, he could not quite reach the scars running through the center of his spine. After a few attempts, stretching his body this way and that, he gave up completely with a just-audible sigh.

I considered stepping inside and offering to help. But then I would have to explain why I had stopped here in the first place, and I would surely wound his pride.

While I weighed out my options, he suddenly stiffened, then whipped around. I tried to duck out of view, but he was too fast.

"I know you're there," he called. "Come in."

I entered, feeling like a thief who had been caught by the very master of the house they intended to rob. It felt more difficult than ever to maintain control over my facial muscles, even after so many lessons. My guilt and shock must've burned like a flame in my gaze.

"Sorry," I stammered out, unsure where to look. In the time it took me to step forward, he had already finished dressing, a black outer cloak thrown on over his robes, a broad sash tied tight around his waist. But the sight of the scars was seared into my mind. "I didn't mean to—"

"Spy on me?" He said it without accusation.

I said nothing. My mind was racing with questions: What had happened to him? Who had done it to him? Who dared to? Did the scars still hurt? Did anybody else know about them? Was I the first? A wild, dangerous impulse seized me. I imagined myself tracing those jagged lines with my fingertips, pressing my lips to the wounds. Would he flinch away from me? Or would he break his own rules and let me stay? Then I gave myself a shake; it was like being doused in cold water. These were not things I should be wondering. What was wrong with me today?

"I can hardly blame you for the spying," Fanli continued. "It's what you've been trained to do. My main complaint is that your presence was too obvious. I should not have discovered you at all."

"Next time, I will be sure to…" I paused. Spy on you more silently? That hardly seemed like the right response.

His mouth twitched. But despite his calm demeanor, I noticed that he held himself with more care than he usually did, as if he were guarding a secret. At the same moment, I noticed that we were alone. Alone, and in his room, which I had never visited before. The awareness of this struck me like flint.

"Let's both forget about it and get to the point. Was there something you came here for?" he asked, studying my face.

There wasn't, but I felt the need to say something, anything, to distract both him and myself from the forbidden sensation in my chest. I searched the room desperately for inspiration. It was messier than I had expected from someone as disciplined as he, scrolls laid about everywhere, badges of honor scattered over his desk, maps weighed under little figurines that represented navies and armies, his bed covered by so many books I wondered if he even had room to sleep, or if he slept at all. At last my eyes fell on his sword, which had been set down just beside him. He always kept it close.

"What does it mean?" I blurted.

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"The inscription on your sword. I've been wanting to ask for a while now. Is there a special meaning to it?"

What a foolish question , I chided myself. Do you really expect him to answer?

But to my surprise, he picked up his sword and drew it out, the blade whispering from the sheath. In the warm candlelight, the metal gleamed as if freshly forged from flame. And there were those words again: The mind destroys; the heart devours. "I had it engraved to remind myself," he said mildly.

"Of?"

He hesitated. "The heart is a fickle thing; it takes and takes. It is easily swayed, and tempted, and made weak. Too many have fallen victims to their own irrational desires. But the mind—the mind is dependable, accurate, deadly. It destroys the enemy, not the self, and ensures that we do what we need to, not what we want."

My pulse beat faster in my veins. Somehow, it felt like a warning.

My final test took place inside a teahouse.

When the doors swung open, light and noise instantly rose to greet us, so overwhelming I did not know where to look first: the customers squeezed into the square stools, their money pouches rattling; the servers scuttling up and down the steep steps with boiling pots of tea; or the performers gathered on the first level, plucking an upbeat melody that reminded me of wild horses galloping on an open plain. The teahouse itself was vast, with bright wooden beams crisscrossing over the high ceiling. In the air hung the rich, green scent of wet earth and moss from the drizzle earlier, and beneath that, a cloying fragrance.

I hurried in after Fanli, who strode forward in the same manner he did anywhere: with grace and with purpose. Ever since he'd informed me that there would be an assessment to mark the end of our training, my stomach had been a tight coil of nerves. I could not even enjoy my surroundings—unlike Luyi, who was clearly in good spirits.

"Finally, I can stretch my limbs out," he said, grinning as he surveyed the area and raised both arms above his head with an open-mouthed yawn. A server had to duck around him last minute to avoid being punched. "And meet real people. Do you know what a waste it is, for someone with my looks and charm to be cooped up in a cottage all day? Not that I personally mind it, but it's a shame for the others: Can you imagine living your whole life without the chance to witness one of Heaven's greatest masterpieces?" He gestured to his own face.

Fanli had not stopped walking up ahead, but he turned his head a fraction. "Luyi," he said.

Luyi snapped to attention at once. "Yes?"

"I see you are making good use of your tongue."

Confusion flickered over one of Heaven's greatest masterpieces before he smiled slyly like a cat. "Well, yes, I suppose. Though if I'm being honest, if we were able to travel around more, I could always make better use of it—"

"Careful that I don't cut it off."

Luyi clapped a hand to his mouth, as if Fanli had already unsheathed his sword, and obediently fell into step behind me. I shared a half-amused look with Zhengdan. We were both used to their exchanges now and had witnessed Fanli threaten Luyi enough times to know he would not follow through with it. Though I wasn't so sure that'd be the case if it were someone else.

On the second level, we settled in at one of the corner tables, with Fanli and me sitting directly across each other and Luyi and Zhengdan seated beside us. Immediately, a server hurried over with menus and a stack of teacups.

"Esteemed guest," he said, speaking only to Fanli. Perhaps it was obvious who would be paying for our visit. "Is there anything you would like—"

"Just green tea is fine," Fanli said.

Luyi opened his mouth as if to add something, then closed it again in a pout.

Fanli saw, and sighed. "And red bean rice balls for the gentleman over there."

Luyi perked up at once. "How did you know?"

"One need not be a fortune teller to guess," Fanli said, tone dry. "You always choose the sweetest possible item, do you not?"

"So you do care," Luyi said, lifting a dramatic hand to his breastbone. "And here I was thinking that all your attention went only to state affairs—"

Fanli spoke over him, cutting the server a look. "That is all. And be quick, please."

The server nodded and left. Outside, rain had started to fall again in a steady rhythm, tapping against the roof and the delicate window-paper. The lantern lights of the teahouse seemed to flare brighter in contrast, and the natural flow of conversation picked up to be heard over the background noise. I examined the other customers more carefully. There were not many women here at all, and the few I could see were stuck performing down below, playing the flute or dancing as they sang. Before, I would've easily been impressed by their movements, the sweetness of their voices, the nimbleness of their steps. But now I saw the mistakes, too, signs that their training had been less than perfect. In the palace, mistakes would not be tolerated.

"You've both made observable progress in your training," Fanli said, sitting up straight in his seat. "But for you, Xishi, the real test comes here."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"The task is simple. Find the most difficult-to-please man here, and preoccupy him for the amount of time it takes for his tea to go completely cold."

I contemplated this for a moment. "Just that?"

The faint ghost of a smile. "You are so confident?"

Admittedly, I had my own doubts. All this time we'd been training in the cottage, I had yet to try to charm a real flesh-and-blood man, to observe their reaction. But Fanli could not know this. "All the customers here look fairly easy to distract," I said, shrugging.

"What about that man over there?" Zhengdan nodded subtly to the customer sitting alone two tables away. Aside from Fanli, he was easily the most attractive man here; so young his face was smooth, with a pleasant-shaped nose and full lips. He had not glanced up once the entire time we observed him.

But Fanli shook his head. "I said difficult to please, not handsome. The two are not always the same."

We were interrupted when the server came back with our orders, then disappeared again just as fast. The tea leaves were pressed smooth and flat, a beautiful jade-green color, with a warm, mellow aroma. I watched them sink slowly inside my teacup, my hands braced around the porcelain. Beyond the windows, the rain poured harder, intensified into a loud beating.

"Who do you propose, then?" I asked Fanli.

He tipped his head toward another man. This customer sat closest to the railings, with the best view of the performers below. Everything about him was plain, nondescript. If Fanli had not pointed him out, I never would've even noticed him.

" Him? " Zhengdan said with a frown, not hiding her incredulity. "I've seen plenty of men just like him in my village."

"Don't be fooled by appearances. Notice how the servers did not even ask him for his order before bringing him his meal? It means that he must come here often enough to be a regular, and that he sticks to the same order every time. So he enjoys his routine. Not only that, but the tea here is horribly overpriced; so he must not be lacking in fortune. And the rich are always picky, with higher standards for everything." Fanli's voice remained calm, muted, yet here he was, dissecting a complete stranger from head to toe. "Notice also that he has been pretending to read the same scroll for the length of an incense now. His eyes have not so much as moved. It means he cares for appearances, but lacks the patience or culture to actually study. And finally—see what's hanging from his belt?"

I squinted. There was a pink pouch attached to his belt with an image of two mandarin ducks sewn into it. The embroidery was clumsy, done by an untrained hand.

"A gift from another woman. Perhaps a lover. He is not afraid to display it in clear view, even if it means potentially turning off those who might take an interest to him. There is already someone else who has his heart," Fanli concluded. "It will not be easy to hold his attention."

"Well, let me try," I said, rising.

My pulse began thrumming as I approached the man. I could feel keenly the eyes trained on the back of my head, imagine the assessing look on Fanli's face even without turning. My steps quickened, my spine righting itself. I wanted to prove to him—what? That I had learned even more than he'd thought? That others desired me? That I was no longer the girl he first found by the riverbank, so new and tender to the world, so defenseless I could not even use the weapon I'd been born with?

I slowed deliberately beside the man's table.

He glanced up. He really was plain, so plain as to be forgettable. My eyes kept slipping past his face, that broad jaw and bulbous nose, but I forced myself to gaze straight at him, calm and level.

"Is… there something you want, miss?" he asked after a beat, frowning. He spoke with a polished accent, his vowels smooth.

I feigned a blush. "Sorry. I don't mean to intrude—I was just…" My words felt incredibly clumsy and too sweet, like my lips were swollen with pollen. He was barely looking at me. "The music," I tried. "It's lovely, don't you agree?"

Now he did look at me, but it was with an irritable expression. "I don't know. I can't hear it very well, what with you talking."

My face stung. It did not help that I knew Fanli was observing me. "Sorry," I said again. "I—I only—"

"What is your point here, miss?" he cut in. Even the word miss was tacked on with great insincerity, his tone increasingly impatient. "Are you trying to sell me something?"

"No. Nothing." The heat in my cheeks rose. "You just seemed so captivated by the performance—"

"Which you are still interrupting. If there's really nothing else, then please stop bothering me. I'm busy." With that, he snapped his head back to the show below, denying me even his side profile. The dismissal could not have been more clear.

I backed up a step, humiliation burning down my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Fanli and the others. Zhengdan looked concerned, and Luyi greatly amused. Only Fanli's expression revealed little outward emotion, his eyes pitch-black in the dim light. Yet, after so many sessions together, I could almost hear him: Have you learned nothing? Are you going to give up after a single attempt? Think about what he wants, Xishi. Appeal to his ego, not his heart.

Steeling myself, I studied the man more closely, taking in every detail. So he did not wish to talk about the music, and he would not be charmed by another's attention alone. What else? My eyes trailed finally to the scroll in his hands. This whole time, he had not let it go.

"Why are you back?" the man asked.

Because the king's famous military advisor sent me over here with a task, and he is even more difficult to please than you. "I was just… curious about what you were reading."

"This?" He held up the scroll, his brows raised. At least he was not shooing me away.

"That's the real reason I came here earlier," I said, a half lie. Hopefully it would help heal his first impression of me. "It looks very important, like—like something only the scholars or noblemen would read. May I see what it is?"

His expression cleared, all the impatience in his features melting away. "Aiya, you should've said so earlier." He held the scroll out to me. "Can you read?"

I leaned closer, pretending to study the scroll, when really I was offering him a better view of my face. I recognized the moment he was made truly aware of me, my physical presence. His breath drew in, a soft quickening, and in my peripheral vision, I could sense how his eyes lingered on the arch of my brows, the slope of my nose. Good. This was a beginning, at least.

"These are poems," I mused, lowering my voice to offer the illusion of intimacy. Admittedly such tactics made me embarrassed, so basic and shameless they were, but perhaps it worked. The man's gaze drew closer. "I've always loved poetry, though I don't know many myself." A lie. I had now memorized every poem there was worth knowing. I could have spent a day speaking in nothing but couplets, and I was certain that I knew more about poetry than the man sitting before me. "Do you… have a favorite among these?"

"I see you are quite well-read," he said admiringly, though of course the emphasis was on quite. Well-read enough to make him feel smart and cultured, but not so well-read as to challenge his views on anything. "Well, sit down, sit down. Let me show you this ode—isn't it beautiful, the imagery of the trilling geese?"

I sat, taking care to smooth my skirt, to tuck my ankles, my movements slowed so he could take in the full length of my figure. He was pretending not to watch, but when I looked over at him, our gazes collided. I shaped my lips into a small, demure smile, then averted my eyes again. "The imagery is beautiful indeed," I said softly. "What does it all mean?"

"Oh, yes, well. It is perhaps too depressing for a young lady like you," he said, his tone changing. It was deeper, deliberate, affecting the airs of a wise scholar. "See the repetition of the sinking sun, and the—the rising river? Everything is thrown into a state of despair. One can only watch, powerless to change anything. A tragedy through and through."

I raised my sleeve to my lips with a muted gasp. "How terrible. And you can tell all that just from so few lines?"

He smiled, his chest puffing out. One of his front teeth was crooked. I tried not to stare at it. "It is nothing for someone like me. When you've read as many poems as I, you start to sense a pattern in the imagery, and all the motifs."

The urge to roll my eyes was overwhelming. I knew this poem already, and to read it as a tragedy was to misunderstand the poet's intention entirely. The very heart of it lay in finding power in small and beautiful things. But of course I did not correct him. When men say they want a lover, what they often mean is they want a mirror; they wish to see themselves reflected back at them in the best light. "Why, I could never imagine being able to do that," I marveled. "Still. Don't you think there is something inherently romantic about tragedy?"

He blinked. "Romantic?"

I slid closer to him so my forearm was brushing against his. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his cup of tea. He had not tried to refill it yet, and the steam had stopped rising. Only a little longer now. "Yes, romantic," I said, rolling the word on my tongue like honey. His breathing was unsteady. "All those lost opportunities; everything gone and wilted and buried. Divided loves and shattered hearts. Devastating, but beautiful. Memorable. How deeply it stirs the soul."

He did not say anything for a long while; he was too busy staring at me. A feeling expanded in my chest then, like an eagle spreading its wings for the first time. Power. I knew in that moment, with a cool, solid certainty, that if I were to rise, his eyes would follow. If I were to go home, he would trail after me. If I were to touch his neck, he would let me. I had him enraptured, the way a snake has its tail coiled around its prey. And yet a strange thought slithered into my mind: Would any of this work on Fanli? I remembered him from last night, standing with his back bared to me. If I ever used these tricks on him, would some part of him weaken too? Or would he remain as stony-faced as ever, remote and utterly unmoved?

Stop. I willed myself to pay attention to the person who actually mattered in this instance.

"Beautiful," the man repeated in a murmur.

I smiled, still that faint, guarded smile, without revealing any teeth, and turned to face him fully. I saw my own reflection swimming in his widened eyes, his dark, dilated pupils. It was true: I was beautiful, but it was less how I looked, and more what I felt.

"Would you mind me asking—what is your name, miss?" the man said. "And where are you from? I don't believe I've ever seen you around before. Trust me, I would remember."

"Guess," I said coyly, gazing up at him from under my lashes.

He laughed, the sound too eager, too strained. "Are you trying to make me curious? Because I must say you've already succeeded."

No, I am simply trying to delay the time. I checked the tea again, touching the cup with the back of my hand in a quick movement. It was ice cold. A heady rush of triumph and relief swept through me. I had succeeded. Passed the test. Yet as soon as the thought crossed my mind, another realization settled into my skin like frostbite. This was it, then—the end of everything. My training was complete. From here, what awaited me was the Wu palace.

"Excuse me," I said, with a shallow dip of my head. "There's somewhere else I must be."

"No, don't go yet." The words spilled from his lips. He pressed them together, as if to stop himself, then blurted out: "Is this because I was rude to you before? I apologize—I'm not usually very accepting of strangers; one must have standards, after all. But I can't remember the last time I connected to someone so quickly…"

Perhaps because nobody has ever been so quick to flatter your mediocre literacy. "Consider it forgiven. Still, I really do have to go."

I pushed my chair back, but he held up a hand. "Surely it's nothing important. Not as important as me. What urgent matters do women really have anyway, other than the cooking and washing? Stay," he said, with emphasis. "I insist."

I let the smile melt off my face. Thank the heavens; my muscles were starting to ache. "I would really rather not," I told him, no longer bothering to sweeten my tone. I rose just as abruptly, and saw the bewilderment flashing over his features. He looked as if someone had jolted him out of a pleasant dream.

"Wait—" The chair squeaked. He scrambled out of his seat. "You— You're just leaving?"

"There are people waiting for me," I said. "Thank you for your time."

"No, wait." He caught me by the arm. His hand was giant and callous, his grip hard. And tightening. I felt a frisson of panic through my pride. "What was that just now? A joke? You were—you're interested in me, are you not?"

My heart pounded. Still, I tried to remain calm, to keep my voice down. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now, please, excuse me—"

He didn't loosen his grip. "You are interested," he insisted, splotchy color rising in his face. He leaned closer, uncomfortably close. "You must be. I saw the way you were looking at me earlier. Don't pretend otherwise."

How strange that seconds ago I felt so powerful, a serpent with flashing eyes and cutting fangs, and now I felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. I struggled to pull myself free, my panic rising to my throat. "Let go," I said.

"I don't see anyone else around here," the man insisted. His eyes glinted like black beetle shells. "You're alone, aren't you? Come with me instead—"

"No."

The man was still leering down at me like I was a meal. "Behave, now—"

"I told you to let go ." In my peripheral vision, I saw Fanli rise, but I was faster. My heart beating wildly, I did the only thing I could think of: I bit his wrist as hard as I could.

My teeth sank into flesh. I tasted blood.

With a yelp, the man dropped his hand. "You—"

But I wasn't done yet. I grabbed the tea from the table and splashed it in his face. He stood frozen to the spot, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth half-open in horror or protest. The liquid ran in rivulets down his nose and neck, soaking through the collar of his robes.

"Next time you refuse to listen," I said, letting all my contempt seep into my voice, "I will make sure the tea is hot enough to burn."

As the man wiped his face with his sleeve, Fanli appeared beside me. He did not make any move to strike, but there was a cold violence to his gaze, like the silent swish of a blade right before it drew blood. Yet instead of terror, I felt only warmth, safety, an anchoring. My whole body relaxed in his presence. By instinct, I leaned toward him, and was surprised when his hand came to rest against the small of my back, even as he kept his eyes ahead. We had passed many full moons together, and it was the first time he'd ever touched me willingly.

And what a difference it makes , I wondered dimly. Where the man had grabbed my wrist earlier, it had felt as though my skin were crawling with centipedes. But with Fanli, I did not mind the coolness of his palm, the long, elegant shape of his fingers, their protective curve against my spine, his touch just light enough to let me know he was there.

I did not mind it at all.

"Are you hurt?" he asked me, his voice low. There was something in it that foretold of bloodshed, so long as the answer was yes .

I managed to shake my head.

"Let us go, then."

I expected him to simply lead me back to our table, but we passed right by Luyi and Zhengdan, who were both watching with open concern, and descended the steps. We did not stop until we were outside the teahouse, standing in the cool gray air, sheltered by the roof's overhanging eaves. The rain was pouring harder than ever. I watched the water slap the wet tiles behind Fanli, turning every color darker. I could feel the cool spray of it against my cheeks.

"Are you sure you're unharmed?" Fanli asked again. Something about the rain changed him too. Lent an ethereal quality to his features, his dark hair shining with all the luster of a pearl. Involuntarily, I remembered afresh how it had trailed over his strong shoulders after his bath, the water dripping from the ends.

I stared up at him, confused. "You've already asked me that."

"Yes, but—" He stopped himself. I had never seen him quite so unsettled, so agitated. "I'm sorry, Xishi."

My confusion grew. "Sorry for what? You did nothing to me."

"I can do nothing for you," he said. He seemed to be talking more to himself now than to me; all his emotions were turned inward to some unreachable place, his expression bleak, his eyes dark as a gathering storm. "In the future… When you are gone—I cannot. I will not be there. Even if he—" He drew in a sharp breath. His hands stretched out before me, empty, the tendons straining in his flute-thin fingers. "I won't be able to make it stop. No matter how… And I—I am sending you straight into the thick of it."

I could hardly make sense of what he was saying. I only wished to clear the furrow between his brows, to still his hands.

"You must hate me," he said abruptly, looking me in the eye.

"What?"

"You should," he said in a strange, cold tone, tempered with self-loathing, but this time it sounded almost like a question. Like he wanted me to tell him. Like he was offering me the whip, and turning his scarred back to me.

"I…" I don't hate you at all. The scent of the rain filled my nose. "You are only doing your job," I said in the end. "And I am doing mine. This is how the story goes; these are the roles we have chosen for ourselves."

He did not look satisfied, but he nodded once. Drew back.

"In any case," I said, hoping to ease this knot between us, whatever it was, "did I pass?"

"Pass?"

"The test." I tried for a smile. "Proof that I can make any man want me."

There was a pause. The pounding of the rain quickened like a heartbeat.

"Yes, Xishi," he said at last, his voice pained, looking anywhere but at me. "You passed it perfectly."