Chapter 14

ZHEN

The first time Zhen saw a dead snake was on a small islet on the West Lake. The snake had bitten a fishhook and torn his jaw

trying to get free. The fisherman had taken the rest of his catch and left him behind. A blue heron descended and stabbed

the mangled carcass. But it didn't eat the snake, just flew off with a blood-smeared beak.

Outrage washed over Zhen. He had been snared in a trap before—he knew the terror and desperation that the poor snake must

have suffered before succumbing to a slow, painful death. He had to do something, even though the snake was already dead.

Maybe he could bury him. He'd seen a girl putting a squirrel's body into a hole in the sand. He could use his tail to dig.

As Zhen slithered toward the carcass, a raspy voice spoke. "Don't."

Zhen stopped. A large tortoise, craggy and wizened, lumbered forward.

"Why not?" Zhen replied. "You rescued me when I was caught in that trap."

"You were lucky. He was not. There's nothing more you can do for him."

Zhen's tongue flicked out. "All creatures have to die, but he didn't deserve such a terrible end."

The tortoise picked up a stick in his mouth. He drew a circle on the sand, added a wavy line down the middle, and put in two

dots, one in each half.

"What does this mean?" Zhen asked.

"Yin and yang—opposites in balance, connected and flowing into each other," the tortoise replied. "I've lived for hundreds

of years, but you are young and mortal, Little White One. Maybe one day you will understand the unchangeable law of the universe—the

equilibrium always finds itself."

Zhen opened his eyes.

His surroundings were airy and spacious, filled with a clean, medicinal scent. He raised his head. He was in the infirmary,

lying in a corner bed of an empty row. Deng was nowhere to be seen. A metallic tang of blood lingered in Zhen's throat, a

reminder of the blistering moments before he blacked out.

He tried to move and winced. He wasn't used to having so many body parts that hurt.

A distance away, a physician was talking to a familiar figure: the prince, accompanied by his bodyguard.

A jolt of panic went through Zhen. He didn't want Xian seeing him like this. He wasn't supposed to meet Xian again. He and Qing should've been miles from the palace by now.

Before Zhen could shut his eyes and pretend to be asleep, Feng looked in his direction and nudged Xian.

Too late.

Xian sidestepped the physician and walked swiftly to Zhen's bed.

Zhen put on a brave face and struggled to sit up. "Your Highness—"

"Don't move." Xian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He touched Zhen's forehead. "What happened? Does it have anything

to do with your nosebleed last night?"

If Zhen breathed as shallowly as he could, the pain on his left side wasn't so bad. He could get through this. "Your Highness,

I—"

Xian put a finger to Zhen's lips.

"Remember what I said? Don't call me that when we're by ourselves. Or with Feng. You can speak freely in front of him." He

leaned forward, his eyes dark and intense. "I want you to tell me who did this to you."

Before Zhen could respond, Qing burst into the infirmary. She caught sight of Zhen lying in bed and rushed over to his side.

"Zhen, are you all right?" she exclaimed, her face flushed, breathless from running. "They said you were ill and that I should

come immediately—"

She broke off, suddenly noticing the two people on the other side of the bed.

Xian spoke. "You're his sister?"

She blinked, as if surprised that he knew, and bowed. "Yes, Your Highness. My name is Qing."

Xian turned back to Zhen. "Tell me the truth. Are you ill or did someone hurt you?"

Zhen dropped his gaze to his hands. They were unmarked. No defensive injuries. Deng hadn't given him a chance to fight back.

The other boy might not have caught him off guard if he hadn't been so distracted figuring out how to get away from the palace

as quickly as possible.

"I've had this blood condition since childhood," Zhen lied. Fortunately he had learned a little bit about traditional medicine

over the past seven years. "The summer heat disrupts my qi and makes my blood flow backward. I must have fainted and hit my head."

The equilibrium always finds itself.

The old tortoise was right. Deng had trained long and hard to be the perfect courtesan. Zhen had appeared out of nowhere and

won a place that wasn't meant to be his—and Deng would do anything to take it back.

Xian spoke. "The physician has prescribed dāng guī bǔ xuè tāng , which will nourish your qi and help with any internal pain. I've taken the concoction on a couple of occasions when my sparring

partner here"—he nodded at Feng—"Decided to show me that his skills are far superior to mine."

Feng's cheeks colored as he looked at Qing—the first time Zhen had seen him blush.

"You will rest here until the physician is satisfied that your condition has improved," Xian continued. "Your sister can stay and keep you company."

He walked to the door without a backward glance. Feng gave Zhen a pointed stare before he followed. As soon as they disappeared

from the infirmary, Qing leaned forward.

"Who hurt you?" she whispered, wrapping both hands around Zhen's. "No one can hear us. Was it the prince's bodyguard? Is that

why you were afraid to say anything just now?"

Zhen shook his head, thoroughly miserable. "It was Deng."

"The courtesan who came looking for you when we were talking? He hurt you because he was jealous the prince chose you instead

of him?"

"He wasn't just jealous. He wanted my place." Zhen's chest felt like lead. "Steward Chu said he was the obvious choice from

the start. Now that I'm in the infirmary, guess who will be my replacement?"

"Why didn't you tell the prince all of this when he asked you earlier instead of saying you have a blood condition?" Qing

demanded.

"And end up looking like the liar?" Zhen let out a humorless sound. "If I accuse Deng, the other courtesans will surely take

his side. We're outsiders here, Qing. We don't belong. We never will."

Qing's brow creased. "Is that why you wanted to leave all of a sudden?"

"We came here to blend in but ended up drawing more attention. It's too dangerous." That wasn't the most important reason, but it would have to do for now. "I'm sorry. I know you like working in the palace kitchen, and Madam Hua treats you well—"

Qing cut him off. "When you saved my life, I swore I would always stay by your side. You may have forgotten, but I haven't."

Zhen smiled in spite of himself. "Don't be silly. I won't hold you to that promise."

"I'm not going—or staying—anywhere without you." Qing's tone was resolute. "But you need to rest and recover before we leave.

Hopefully we'll have gotten our wages by then." She pursed her lips. "Hate to break it to you, but you're the worst liar I've

ever met. I don't think the prince believed you for a second."

Zhen's heart sagged. Last night, the way Xian had carefully wiped the blood from his nose and comforted him... he wanted

more than anything to feel that tenderness again. To touch Xian back, to pull him close until their lips met...

But he wouldn't be returning to serve the prince. Tonight, Deng would be in the cot where Zhen had slept. Or maybe the cot

would be empty, and Deng would spend the night in Xian's bed.

Jealousy lanced through Zhen—startling, thorny, a barbed wire that coiled and twisted around his insides. Maybe this was how

it felt to be slowly crushed. What an irony, considering he was a python.

Deng had made it clear the prince was to be his conquest. And the only thing worse than thinking about Deng's satisfaction

as he enjoyed his prize was imagining Xian's pleasure as he did the same.