Chapter 15

XIAN

" Zuǒ xū bù liāo ," Feng said. "Swinging up the sword in the left empty stance."

Xian stood across from Feng in the Hall of Concentration, the martial arts training gallery. He wore a black sparring robe,

while Feng was dressed in his brown Shaolin robe cinched by a black belt. They both had black wraps around their bare feet

and their shins to prevent splints from long hours training on hard floors. They hadn't sparred in over a week, and jiàn shù —the skill of swordsmanship—had to be kept honed.

Xian raised his training sword, which, unlike a real one, had rounded edges and blunt steel. "Haven't we practiced this move

about a hundred and twenty-nine times already?"

"Hopefully you'll execute it flawlessly on the hundred and thirtieth," Feng replied. "Remember why it's called the empty stance. Your front leg must be empty of any pressure. Your body weight should be fully on the back leg to free up your front leg to kick your opponent."

Xian kept a steady grip on his sword hilt, not so loose that the weapon could be knocked out of his hand, but not so tight

that he wouldn't be able to quickly rotate the handle to parry an attack from an unexpected angle. The swordless hand was

a counterbalance, as important as the one that grasped the sword.

Xian attacked first, wielding his blade in a circular slashing movement as he aimed for Feng's arm. The strength behind each

sword stroke didn't come from the arm but the dān tián —the internal energy center inside his core, just below the navel.

Feng deflected his downward blow and demonstrated a perfect example of swinging up the sword in the left empty stance. Show-off.

Xian parried before counterattacking with short, percussive stabs. As Feng thrust the tip of his sword at Xian's shoulder,

Xian dodged, exposing his left side. Feng didn't miss a beat—he followed up with a powerful backhanded stroke.

Xian couldn't move away in time as Feng had expected him to. The blow caught Xian on the side of his head—he stumbled a few

steps back but managed to stay on his feet.

Feng quickly lowered his sword. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Xian grimaced. "Can't say the same about my pride."

Feng came forward, took Xian's chin, and tilted his head from side to side. "Any sharp pain in the temples? Blurred or double

vision?"

"Your jawline is as chiseled as ever, and the bridge of your nose still looks like the gods carved it from rock."

Whenever Feng performed martial arts routines during palace festivities, maidens would giggle and jostle for a better view.

Some young men would have more than admiration in their eyes as they stared at Feng's broad shoulders and toned abdomen.

But Feng was indifferent, showing no interest in boys or girls. Perhaps the monks at Shaolin had taught him to use his martial

arts training to control his impulses. Feng was definitely someone Xian could be attracted to—but he was strictly off-limits.

Xian cherished their friendship much more than a fleeting grope.

Feng stepped back.

"You're too distracted." He led Xian to a bench to rest and sat next to him. "I'm guessing that has something to do with your

attendant flat-out lying to your face back in the infirmary."

Xian hadn't missed Zhen's pained expression before he left. The lie, it seemed, had cut into both of them. "He must have his

reasons."

"You're still making excuses for him?" Feng sounded aghast. "He lied to a prince. He should be charged with irreverence—that's

punishable with eighty blows of the heavy stick. I might even ask to flog him myself."

Xian's mouth quirked. "Didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

"I'm not joking. You shouldn't tolerate such insolence. The sixth of the ten abominations includes disrespecting a member

of the royal family."

"Under the nine levels of kinship, his sister would have to be punished in the same way," Xian pointed out. "Sure you can bring yourself to flog her too?"

Feng looked mutinous. He pointed at Xian's sword lying by his side. "Let's try again."

Xian's brow furrowed as he got to his feet. He couldn't shake the feeling there was something Zhen wasn't telling him—exactly

what, he didn't know. He didn't blame Zhen for being cautious; he and his sister had been in the palace for only a short time,

and the inherent power imbalance between him and Xian made everything more complicated.

But Xian was convinced their paths had crossed for a reason—and the more Zhen seemed to want to hide the truth, the more he

wasn't going to let it go.

When Xian entered his chamber later that evening, a slender figure dressed in a teal robe was waiting for him.

"Your Highness, I am your new attendant." The boy gracefully dropped to his knees. "My name is—"

"Deng." Xian closed the doors behind him. "I know who you are."

The surprise in Deng's eyes quickly gave way to a pleased expression.

"You remembered." He rose, walked to Xian, and brushed his fingers over Xian's collar. "May I help you remove your outer robe,

Your Highness?"

Xian's gaze flitted down to Deng's hand. "That won't be necessary. I'm heading out to visit Zhen in the infirmary. I understand you were one of the courtesans who found him?"

Deng stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Yes. Poor Zhen. All of us were horrified when we saw him lying in the storeroom unconscious

with blood flowing from his mouth. He must have passed out and hit his head."

"That's what he said too." Xian lifted his chin. "But I believe you might have left out a few crucial details."

Deng's lips flattened, but he kept his composure. "Your Highness, the other courtesans were also there. If you ask them, they'll

tell you the same—"

"I don't have to. You just told me everything I need to know." Xian caught Deng's hand and twisted it to reveal his reddened

knuckles. "You know how to hit someone without leaving marks on them, but you forgot about yourself. After the other courtesans

saw what you did to Zhen, do you think they would dare to contradict your story?"

Deng's expression faltered. "Please, it's not what you think—"

"Save it. I have an older half brother who despises me, so I know exactly what it's like to be the victim of someone's fists

and try to hide it." Xian's tone was deadly. "If you think I can't figure out who benefits from putting Zhen in the infirmary,

then you're guilty of another crime—insulting my intelligence."

Deng's face blanched. He fell at Xian's feet.

"Your Highness, forgive me!" Unlike in the throne chamber, no mud jars had been placed underneath the floorboards, so there was only a dull thud each time Deng's forehead made contact with the wood. "I have been training all my life for this, and I so badly wanted to serve you. Please don't dismiss me, or I'll lose everything—"

"Despite what you did to him, Zhen still lied to keep your secret." Xian grabbed a fistful of Deng's robe and yanked him to

his feet. "My forgiveness isn't as important as his, and you'd better pray that he is in the mood for mercy, because you sure

as hell don't deserve any."

When they stepped into the infirmary, Xian looked so grim and Deng so tearful that the physicians bowed and hurried away to

tend to their duties.

Xian strode to Zhen's bedside, dragging Deng behind him.

Zhen pushed himself upright, eyes wide. "Your Highness?"

Xian released his grip on Deng's arm. "He has something to say to you."

Deng collapsed to his knees in front of a bewildered Zhen. "I hurt you because I was jealous. I deserve to be punished. But

this life in the palace is all I have—I'm begging you, please forgive me..."

As Deng sobbed, Zhen's expression changed from astonishment to empathy. A kind of empathy Xian hadn't seen—or felt—in a very

long time.

Zhen spoke. "I forgive him."

Xian could tell he meant it. Deng gazed at Xian beseechingly.

The infirmary doors opened and Feng entered, accompanied by Governor Gao, Steward Chu, and a pair of guards. Deng looked horrified as they came toward them and bowed to Xian, who did not acknowledge their greeting.

"This vile person has confessed to assaulting my attendant out of spite and malice." Xian's tone was terse. "Remove him from

my presence and deal with him accordingly."

Zhen sounded panicked. "But I for—"

Gao spoke. "Such treacherous behavior will not be tolerated in this palace. I assure you that he will be punished to the severest

degree."

Deng's face crumpled, and he began shaking and sobbing uncontrollably as the two guards hauled him to his feet. "Please, have

mercy on me!"

"Your Highness." Chu stepped forward and lowered his head. "I am deeply ashamed that you had to witness such behavior from

one of my courtesans. I seek your pardon."

Xian shot him a steely glance. "May this be a lesson to the rest of your courtesans: I do not want a replacement. Zhen will

be my attendant or I shall have none."

Deng's wails grew more hysterical as the guards dragged him out, his cries echoing in the quiet of the night until they faded

away. Zhen looked horrified.

Gao and Chu exited the infirmary, and Feng stepped away, leaving Xian alone with Zhen.

"What's going to happen to Deng?" Zhen asked.

"That's not important." Xian fixed him with a stern stare. "Why didn't you tell me he was the one who hurt you? Why did you

lie to me, Zhen?"

Zhen's lashes fanned downward. "My sister and I are strangers in this palace. Deng is the most senior courtesan and Steward Chu's favorite. I didn't imagine anyone would believe me over him."

"I would have."

Zhen blinked. "I'm sorry." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Deng was a victim himself. His father beat him, and he ran

away from home. Maybe violence was the only way he knew to survive."

Xian frowned. "That's why you hid the truth?"

Zhen was quiet for a moment.

"Someone wise once told me why each half of the yin-yang circle has a small dot of the opposite color," he said. "It means

that in every choice, we have to consider the good of the other person in some small way. Only then will things turn out well."

Doing a small thing for the good of one's enemy—would that be beyond Xian when he finally captured the white snake? Could

he find it in himself to show mercy to the merciless, as Zhen had done?

Xian didn't know if he could. The boy who had fallen off the bridge into the West Lake wasn't the same person who had been

rescued from it. He had lost more than the pearl that day. He had lost his belief in the fundamental goodness of all creatures

in the world, in the existence of fairness and justice that didn't have to be taken into one's own hands.

Xian reached out and lifted Zhen's chin so the other boy had to meet his gaze.

"Promise me one thing," Xian said, looking steadily into Zhen's eyes. "Don't lie to me again. You sleep in my room. I don't care that Feng doesn't like it, but I need to be able to trust you. And I want you to feel that you can do the same."

A glimmer of emotion passed across Zhen's face, so fleeting that Xian couldn't decipher it.

Zhen nodded and gave a tentative smile. "I promise."