‘Master,’ she wailed, ‘if you’re angry, just hit me. Don’t do this to me.’

  ‘I won’t compromise,’ the princess said. ‘Girl, you can’t eat heavy food right now anyway.’

  She rolled her eyes.

  The princess — this damned woman — had the torturous idea of going to a dumpling restaurant and ordering half the menu but only letting her eat congee.

  She actually wanted to cry.

  Regardless of her teary eyes and gres, the princess refused to soften, so Three could only swallow down her soupy rice and chicken with curses babbling away in her mind.

  ‘…Do you have to stare like that?’ The princess’s chopsticks neatly clipped around a yellow, orange-balls topped dumpling. It was lifted — steam wafted in its wake — then it gently dipped into a shallow bowl of vinegar and soy sauce.

  ‘Yes.’ Three bitterly swallowed down her congee. The ginger spiciness of it filled her mouth. It was pin apart from that. There wasn’t even any soy sauce. ‘Don’t you realise you’re putting a meat stew before a pauper and forbidding them to eat?’

  ‘You’re hardly a pauper.’ The princess’s chopsticks tapped hard on her ceramic pte, a touch of vexation on her lips. ‘Otherwise, who bought and ate all of that offal st time?’

  ‘I did. But I stole that money.’ She waved the spoon at the other, a fox’s smile on her face. ‘Mind you, I’m very good at that.’ Pausing, she then added, ‘I’m the best at it, too. Not even Seven could beat me, and he’d coax the money out of any rich man’s pockets.’

  Apparently, Seven was raised as a xiao-guan in the red-light districts, and he’d been old enough to remember those lessons even after selling himself to the Shadow Halls.

  Then, the smile fell from her eyes.

  Perhaps he would now regret swapping the chains of debt-sves for a shadow guard’s. Not that he had a choice.

  The princess smiled, ‘Well, you can have shaomai once you’ve recovered, little pauper.’

  She blinked.

  So that was what the yellow dumpling was called.

  That word, those two sylbles, she rolled them in her mouth with her tongue. Shaomai.

  It sounded nice.

  ‘Does it taste good?’ She thought, then added, ‘Is it very expensive?’

  Those delicate chopsticks paused. ‘You’ve never had dian xin before?’

  ‘No. I was never allowed to.’ She lifted her bowl and downed her congee in one fell swoop. Then the bowl and spoon fell back onto the table with a dry ctter. ‘I was just curious. Don’t take it to heart.’

  A dry scrape.

  The pte of yellow dumplings — those shaomai — was gently pushed to her side.

  She froze.

  ‘You can only have a few,’ the princess said with a shallow nod. ‘Just to try them. I am not going to have you vomit on me.’ As though trying to expin, she added, ‘It’s too oily for your stomach, even if your muscles seem fine.’

  She pushed the bowl away, then dragged the pte over.

  Her fingers were numb, cold in the knuckles. It was as though her muscles wrapped not around bone but rather ice.

  But still, something in her chest was swelling, growing and growing as though it might just burst, filling her core with something warm, something too good to be true.

  She reminded herself: it would take just a mere needle to make it pop.

  The princess handed her a pair of chopsticks.

  ‘Your Shadow Hall has a lot of stupid rules,’ the woman said. ‘Why in the heavens would someone wish to ban another from eating good food?’

  She cmped the chopsticks around a dumpling. Its wrinkled, cylinder skin glistened with oil. The steam rose to fill her nose, floating between her eyeshes. ‘It wasn’t the head shadow who stopped me. It was… the young miss who banned me. She wanted to share every meal with me, so I naturally had to accompany her.’ She looked up — and at the other’s confusion, she expined, ‘My lover. She was the head shadow’s daughter.’ A pause. ‘She was also my Stem.’

  And now she’s dead.

  ‘You killed her? Good riddance,’ the other spat. ‘She sounds absolutely painful.’ At her flinch the woman sighed and pushed again, ‘Forget it. Eat, just eat.’

  It was only then that she dared to pce the dumpling into her mouth.

  The first thing that hit her was the oil and heat. It was all delicious pork fat, a thick film that clung to a yellow skin like that of a wonton’s.

  Air hissed out from between her lips, blowing a cloud of steam. She bit down, a meatiness filling her mouth, and then a burst of crisp pops, exploding by her tongue.

  She had definitely burned herself but reached for another anyway.

  Having cleared away three shaomai in what seemed to be a single breath, the princess reminded, ‘Slow down. You’ll choke.’

  She swallowed and informed the other, ‘I’ll have you know I’d sooner choke on spit before I do so on food.’

  ‘Then choke.’

  ‘On the brilliance of your looks, Master?’

  The princess crossed her arms and snapped, ‘Just shut up and eat!’

  Three grinned and cleared off the pte. ‘Hey, can I have chicken feet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease —’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Don’t wanna.’

  ‘And you dare call yourself a pauper, you spoiled brat.’

  She ughed.

  They ate for a while longer; after, the princess paid for the meal and took her outside.

  Warm sun, cold breeze.

  That was her first impression of the morning air.

  She fisted her skirt in her hand and asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  The princess dragged her through the bustling crowds and smiled, ‘We’re going buy you clothes, Chicken Feet.’

  ‘Who the hell is “Chicken Feet”?’

  The princess snorted, ‘You like it so much it might as well be a title of yours. Anyway, what’s your favourite colour? Do you like silk?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Fbbergasted, she stumbled along after the princess, nearly stepping on her own skirt. ‘Wait. Wait!’

  Yanked to a stop, the princess turned around and irritably asked, ‘What is it?’ A man driving an ox cart barrelled past them — she dragged her painfully oblivious master to the side, successfully avoiding any ‘accidents’.

  Good grief, the princess really cked any sense of self-preservation.

  Holding her arms up in surrender, she gently reasoned, ‘Master, I don’t need new clothes. I can find my own ter. If you have extra cash, I’d rather you spend those taels on other things.’

  Anything she wore would become bloodstained at the minimum. It would be better if she just asked around for some old robes or went through some clothing bins.

  ‘And why don’t you need new clothes?’ The princess crossed her arms and snapped, ‘It’s my money, I’ll spend it how I wish.’ Then she schooled her expression, spping a yer of calm onto her face. ‘Unless you don’t like dressing up?’

  It was then that Three paused.

  She had never ‘dressed up’ before. She had only worn two types of clothes in her entire life — rags and shadow uniforms.

  ‘Don’t know, don’t care,’ she said. ‘Those kinds of robes wouldn’t st very long anyway. Only my uniform can suit me.’

  ‘Then buy two sets.’ The princess grabbed her arm and continued to pull her along. ‘One for your work, one for fun. Live a little, Chicken Feet.’

  Her lips, they opened. Her throat rolled. A puff of air, smothered in her lungs, her nose.

  Your Highness, why are you so nice to me?

  But the princess’s eager steps. The princess’s curious smile. The princess’s burst of energy. Those clear eyes scanning the storefront banners.

  Oh, Your Highness.

  This is new to you too, isn’t it?