Chapter 16

XIAN

Dull red glowed behind his closed lids. His fingers curled in sandy dirt. A breeze tickled his nostrils, filling them with

the odor of dead fish and rotting algae.

His lids fluttered open. Sunlight hit his eyes. A bitter fountain of bile and water bubbled up his throat. He tried to roll

over to throw up, but something was wrapped around his torso, restricting his movement.

A large white snake was coiled around his body in three full loops. Its pale, gleaming scales were like a thousand tiny plates

of armor. On its left side was a deep, pitted scar several inches long.

He froze. His fingers reflexively unfurled, revealing the pearl in his palm. The snake opened its mouth wide; its forked tongue

flicked out, and he braced for the death bite—

But the stab of fangs didn't come. The snake began to unwind, its scaly underside sliding over his arms. He'd thought its skin would feel like a corpse's, but it was cool, dry, leathery, like the weathered cover of an old book.

The snake raised its head, meeting his gaze. Its inhuman eyes were emerald voids, holding him in a trance. He tried to move

his limbs, but they were numb, as if his body was trapped in some kind of paralysis.

Finally the snake turned away and slithered into the lapping waters of the lake.

A gleam of bone white, then it was gone.

And so was the pearl.

Xian's eyes sprang open.

He sat up, his heart still beating fast. He hadn't dreamed of the white snake for some time, and its recurrence while he was

in Changle had to be significant—another reminder of his purpose there.

He parted the drawn curtains in front of his platform bed. Zhen was still in the infirmary, and the cot in the corner was

empty. Through the latticed window, he could see the faintest streaks of dawn lightening the sky outside. The vestiges of

the dream still lingered, and the panic his ten-year-old self had felt was still all too real. No point trying to get back

to sleep.

Xian shrugged on an outer robe; the guards outside his chamber saluted as he exited.

When he walked into the dining room, one of the carved wooden seats was occupied by a familiar figure. Several scrolls were

spread out in front of him, and he was reading them by candlelight.

Xian cracked a smile. On the journey to Changle, in true scholarly fashion, Fahai had spent his free time at way stations with his nose buried in a scroll instead of drinking wine with the rest of the delegation.

"You're up early." Xian slid into the seat next to the court adviser. "What are you reading?"

"Good morning, Prince," Fahai replied. "I went by the Hall of Knowledge. The Min court has a decent library, and I borrowed

a few ancient texts on alchemy and taxonomy." He closed the scroll in front of him. "I hear you caused quite a stir at the

infirmary yesterday evening. You seem intent on eschewing the courtesans offered by the Min court and choosing someone entirely

untrained for the job."

"I like keeping them on their toes," Xian replied. "Besides, their courtesans might have been trained to eavesdrop on our

private discussions. We certainly wouldn't want that."

Fahai's tone was dry. "So choosing the stable hand as your attendant was entirely... strategic."

"Zhen is familiar with the forests around Changle," Xian said. "I intend to arrange a hunting expedition as soon as he recovers.

He shall be our guide."

He was closer than ever to finding the white snake. He could sense it, as if what had happened that fateful day seven years ago had forged some kind of connection between himself and the cursed

creature—one that Xian would use to his advantage to capture the white snake and bring it back alive to Wuyue.

"You care about the boy," Fahai observed.

Xian met the court adviser's gaze. "I care about finding the white snake."

The diplomacy—the pretext of his visit to Changle—was frustratingly time-consuming. Instead of searching for the cure his mother urgently needed, Xian had to keep up appearances by attending the seemingly endless meetings and meals arranged by Governor Gao. He had spent the entire day touring the Changle armory and two nearby garrisons, accompanied by Feng and Fahai.

When Xian returned to his chamber late that night after an evening meal with Gao and the most senior court officials, Zhen

was already there. His hair was freshly washed and combed, the top half tied back in a braided ponytail instead of a bun.

His cheeks were still pale, which accented the ivory white of his silk robe. He would probably look good in other colors too,

but white just seemed perfect for him.

Xian walked toward him. "The physician said you're well enough to be discharged?"

"No, I sneaked out without his permission," Zhen deadpanned.

Xian couldn't suppress a grin. A sense of humor was a good sign. "In that case, you're forbidden to do any kind of work in

my chamber."

"Too late." Zhen gestured at a teapot with steam rising from the spout on a tray close by. "I thought you might enjoy a cup

of pu'er tea after your evening meal."

Zhen poured some tea into a small porcelain cup and then offered it to Xian with both hands.

"Your Highness," he said.

He spoke the honorific that Xian had expressly told him not to use, but he did so with a twinkle in his eyes and a small curl

playing on the edges of his mouth. It made something twinge inside Xian's chest, a sudden, sharp yearning.

Their fingers touched as he took the cup from Zhen. The tea was certainly not the best Xian had ever tasted, but that didn't

matter. Far more satisfying was the expectant look on Zhen's face as he watched Xian sip the tea he had brewed.

"This is good," Xian said. "Although if you call me Your Highness again when we're alone, I'll have to send you back to the

infirmary so the physician can determine if your injuries have resulted in some form of memory loss."

Zhen gave a furtive smile, which Xian relished far more than he should.

"By the way, I've spoken to Governor Gao," Xian told him. "Starting tomorrow, Qing has been assigned to serve us our meals,

so you'll get to see each other more often."

Surprise lit Zhen's face. "Thank you."

"Qing isn't your real sister, is she?" Xian kept his tone even, without the slightest accusation. He wondered if the other

boy would lie again, but Zhen nodded.

"Last year, I rescued her from a man who wanted to kill her," he replied. "Neither of us had anyone else, and she became like

a sister to me. That's why it's my duty to take care of her the best I can."

Zhen's words struck a chord within Xian. He thought of his mother—a commoner concubine, often derided by other noble ladies behind her back or sometimes less discreetly. His father loved her, but his loyalties were split between his kingdom, his wife and consorts, and his children. He was divided—which was why Xian could not be.

Xian removed the outer garment he'd worn to dinner—not his lóng páo , but still a formal robe. As he reached for his undershirt on the clothes rack, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed

Zhen looking in his direction. But when he turned his head, the other boy quickly averted his gaze and busied himself with

snuffing out the candles and dimming the lights.

Was that stolen glance just out of curiosity... or something more?

Xian put on his sleeping robe, and as he walked past the table that held the wéi qí board, the single white stone in the bowl of black stones drew his attention. He wondered how that white stone had ended

up there. It reminded him of the small dot of the opposite color in each half of the yin-yang circle.

As Zhen started toward his cot in the corner of the chamber, Xian spoke.

"Wait," he said, and Zhen stopped. "I want you to sleep in my bed tonight."

A flicker crossed Zhen's face, which made Xian realize how the other boy must have interpreted his words.

"Your cot is too cramped, and sleeping in a bad position can slow the healing of your internal injuries," Xian quickly added. He put a rolled-up blanket in the middle of the platform bed, separating them like a rampart. "I'll sleep on this side. You can sleep over there."

Xian climbed onto the bed; a moment passed before Zhen went to the opposite side. He released the cords that tied back the

gauze curtains, and they enveloped the bed like a cocoon. Xian lay on the silk pillow, which was long enough for them both

to share. On his half of the bed, Zhen unfolded his limbs with effortless, almost sinuous grace. The silence settled on them,

a shadowy blanket.

Xian shut his eyes. With Zhen lying just inches away, he was now more awake than ever. He tried to distract himself by thinking

about an advanced wéi qí strategy Fahai had taught him before they left for Changle. But all he could conjure was the memory of his first game with

Zhen, the way the other boy absently turned a white stone between his fingers as he mulled over his next move. Xian couldn't

stop himself from imagining how Zhen's fingertips would feel against his own skin. In his mind, Zhen dropped the white stone

into the bowl of black ones and leaned over the wéi qí board, his hands sliding up Xian's shoulders and linking behind his neck—then Xian swept all the stones off the table and

pulled Zhen forward into an open-mouthed kiss...

Xian inhaled sharply as his eyes sprang open. A familiar tightness dragged through his abdomen, funneling lower.

Next to him, Zhen lay with his eyes closed. Quiet, even breaths escaped his slightly parted lips, and Xian wanted nothing

more than to press his own mouth to them...

No. He had assured Zhen they would be doing nothing else but sharing a bed. Anything more would be a betrayal of Zhen's trust.

Xian got up, careful not to disturb him, and slipped out of the chamber and into the courtyard.

The absence of the moon was a reminder that the fifth lunar month had just begun. The Duanwu Festival was a few days away.

He lifted his chin and inhaled deeply. The cool rush of night air had the same effect as a cold bath, dispelling images of

Zhen that were both unwanted and wanted.

An unmoving figure sat under a fig tree at the other end of the courtyard: Feng. His back was ramrod straight, palms and feet

facing upward, fingers interlaced and thumbs touching. He opened his eyes as Xian walked toward him.

"Sorry," Xian said. "Didn't mean to interrupt your meditation."

Feng unfolded his legs. "Can't sleep?"

Xian sat next to him, rested his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers. "Do you know how it feels when you can't stop

thinking about someone but you can't do anything without messing everything up?"

Feng made a sardonic sound. "This has to be a first. The prince who can have, and has had, anyone he wants suddenly can't

bring himself to make a move on a boy whose job description includes sleeping with him?"

"That's the problem. How do I know if he actually wants to sleep with me or if he's only doing it because he thinks he has

to?"

"When did that ever matter to you?" Feng replied. "I'm still getting letters asking about you from that fellow student you seduced that summer you came to visit me at Shaolin."

"I did catch Zhen sneaking a glance at me when I was changing into my undershirt," Xian mused. "Do you think that means anything?

You don't feel the urge to watch me when I take my clothes off, do you?"

"No, because I've seen you since you were a scrawny five-year-old with twigs for arms."

Xian absently twirled a blade of grass. "Do you think he has ever been with another boy?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you." Feng rolled his eyes. "I came out here to meditate because I was sure you and him would

be going at it tonight like a pair of rabbits."

Xian shot him a narrow-eyed look. "He's still recovering. I'm not an animal, you know." He reclined on his elbows. "I can't

figure out why Zhen is different from other boys. He just is."

The way Zhen had faltered when Xian asked him to sleep in his bed was still vivid in his mind. Like Feng said, he could have

anyone he pleased—that was the good part about pretending not to be a prince with his other conquests. He never had to second-guess

their motives for being with him. If only he had been able to keep his fake identity after his first meeting with Zhen in

the stable. At least he'd know that whatever unfolded between them would be because Zhen wanted it to, not because he thought

he had no choice.

Feng spoke. "I heard what Zhen said to you in the infirmary. It was shrewd of him not to tell on Deng. And very decent of him to forgive him."

That was probably the closest thing to Feng's approval that Zhen could earn.

Feng folded his legs again, gracefully putting each foot facing up on the opposite thigh. Xian tried to imitate him, but the

position was a lot harder than it looked. "How do you do that?"

"This is the full lotus pose. Perfectly symmetrical and grounded, with all five energy points facing the sky, which concentrates

the qi in the dān tián . It takes practice, along with a lot of flexibility in the hips."

Xian smirked. "Maybe you can teach Zhen."

Feng swatted at him. "Don't disgrace the sacred Daoist traditions, you heretic."

Xian chuckled. He crossed his legs and nestled his palms close to his navel, knuckles overlapping. "I think I need to learn

one or two of your Shaolin meditation methods after all."