YUN SHI QI (雲诗琪)

  Day 21, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “xiǎojie, it’s not good for your health to stand in the wind,” said Li Jing. Despite her concern, she hesitated to hand me my scarf.

  “Give it to me,” I said.

  There was once a time someone would have wrapped me tightly in their coat, one that smelled of honey-tree bark and quiet safety. There was once a time someone would have pulled me against their chest and let me disappear into the warmth.

  But I had pushed that person away. I reminded myself of that. Again and again. But the memory still clung, just faint enough to make me doubt myself.

  A gust of wind slid through the courtyard. My knees buckled slightly. I yanked the scarf around my neck and buried my face into the itchy wool. It scratched my skin, but at least it made me feel something.

  “xiǎojie, I beg you. Please don’t harm your body,” my maidservant cried, now daring to tug gently on my sleeve.

  I swatted her away. It wasn’t forceful, but it was enough. She was right, and that made it worse. I was the one who stopped speaking to him. I was the one who said we needed distance. I made that decision, didn’t I?

  Then why did it feel like he was the one who left me?

  Maybe the cold would jolt some clarity into my skull. Maybe freezing was the only way to thaw the knots behind my ribs.

  I refused to go back inside. I leaned against the railing of the bridge and stared down into the pond. The Emperor had designed this garden for me. My birthday gift, he called it. I had believed him, once. Until two days later, when he signed that agreement with Xuanji Province to establish a trading route.

  Frost crept along the edges of the water, lacing it with geometric ice. Soon, the whole pond would be solid rock. Cold and icy; a perfect match for me. Or how I imagined I must seem to him now.

  The bridge creaked under my steps as I made my way toward the pavilion doors. The thick oak stood ajar, letting the winter air rush through the entrance like an uninvited guest. Grey light, heavy with cloud-filtered sunlight, settled on the carved magnolias and coiled dragons along the frame. The carvings had somehow endured without maintenance. I couldn’t say the same for myself.

  I brushed my fingers across the dragons, then reached for the iron handle.

  “xiǎojie, if you wish to close the door, please allow me,” Li Jing said quickly, moving ahead of me. I let go. My palm left a faint print on the rusted metal, which I wiped absently onto my skirts.

  The whispers of a conversation, carried by the breeze, caressed my ears. For a second, I wondered if I had imagined it. Maybe I longed for company so much that my mind was playing tricks. But three figures, consisting of two females and an elder gentleman, passed by.

  One of the women turned, just briefly, toward my pavilion. I recognised her. Blossom Chief Ju. She had two hand-crafted gold dahlia combs with a lean frame. And that little alchemist girl pressed to her side like a shadow. I’d seen them both during the Emperor’s birthday preparations. A memory best forgotten.

  The Blossom Chief saw me too. She paused, then turned fully toward me. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

  I wished I was more discreet, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

  I sent Li Jing over with a polite inquiry. She approached them, bowed her head, and relayed my question about what they were doing in the cold. The Blossom Chief curtsied as she stroked the back of the girl who was paler than the grey skies. Ju Ying quietly replied and gesturing wildly with her hands. The old man beside them rocked back and forth anxiously, eyes darting between sky, ground, and the path ahead. He looked like he was late for something. Or running from something.

  “Li Jing, never mind. Let them go,” I called. The moment was losing its flavour.

  She nodded and turned back toward me. I was about to do the same—until I heard a dull thud.

  The girl was on the ground, curled in on herself, blood trickling from her lips.

  For one breathless moment, no one moved.

  Then the Blossom Chief dropped to her knees, trying to lift the girl’s head and shake her body as panic spilling through the lines of her posture.

  I raised my hand, but Li Jing was already calling out, summoning the nearby attendants. I ran down the steps, the cold instantly cutting through my layers. The wind pressed hard against my sides. I nearly stumbled.

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  She was wearing even less than I was. I took off my coat and placed it gently over her body.

  “Your Highness, please take it back. She doesn’t need your coat,” the Blossom Chief said. Her voice trembled, but it was careful.

  She didn’t mean what she said. Not exactly. What she meant was: You’re royalty. Your kindness will cost us more than we can afford.

  I shook my head. “Don’t mind it. She’s unwell.”

  What else could I do?

  I had never been good at pulling rank. I wasn’t even good at being close to people. But somewhere between those two failings, I thought, there might still be a trace of a person worth keeping warm.

  ***

  “How is she?” the Blossom Chief asked, wringing her hands.

  When I’d brought the girl into my quarters, I finally saw her face properly. Her face was bloodless, her skin a sheet of pale grey, and far worse than she looked when she was outside under the sun. A thick, dark line marred her forearm. It looked like rot.

  I’d immediately called for An Lingqi. It was the only thing to do.

  What I hadn’t expected was for that person to come with her.

  An Lingqi stood from her place beside the bed. Her tone was professional, distant. “She’s stable. She needs rest. That’s all.”

  “Her—it’s just her old sickness acting up, isn’t it?” said the Blossom Chief in that tone reserved for lying.

  An Lingqi inclined her head. She patted the Blossom Chief’s trembling hands and pressed a porcelain phial into her palm. Then she faced me with her gorgeous countenance.

  “Your Highness,” she said warmly, “I’ll take my leave.”

  I smiled reflexively and gestured for Li Jing to escort her out.

  Then that person tried to follow.

  I stepped in front of him. Blocked him. He didn’t push past me. He never did. He just looked down at me with those soft, unreadable eyes—brown, not black, like I always imagined them when I wasn’t near him—and folded his arms across his chest. As though he was protecting himself. From me.

  “Your Highness,” the Blossom Chief stammered, “we didn’t mean to disturb your rest. We’ll take our leave.”

  I glanced at her briefly, but quickly returned to Yuanxiao—no, Gan Yuanxiao—as he tried to move around me. Gan Yuanxiao, the one who was mine and yet not mine at all.

  “It’s no bother,” I replied coolly. “Su Tang can remain. I have other matters to attend to.”

  I started walking. I didn’t look to see if he followed. He would. He always did, eventually.

  He trailed behind me like a reluctant shadow as we exited through the corridor and stepped into the open air. I turned, finally facing him. He looked…the same. Of course he did. The heavenly beauty always had a perfectly shaped face and glowing skin. Whilst I looked like a ghost dragged backward through time.

  And the more I looked at him, the more I hated how only I looked as if this relationship meant anything to us. Bags circled my eyes. Double eyelids complete with long lashes framed his. Perfect.

  I took a breath. And he sighed. The chasm between us seemed to be growing larger every day. He laid his hands by his side and made a small smile. But I knew him too well—I could see the struggle behind it. And it made my chest burn.

  Was it so hard to be with me?

  “Clearly you’ve been spending a lot of time with An Lingqi,” I snapped. “Tell me—what’s going on with that sick girl in my room?”

  I didn’t exactly care to know, but I couldn’t think of a better topic of discussion. Right now, I just needed him to say something. Anything. Preferably something that reminded me I wasn’t as irrelevant as I felt.

  His smile vanished. “That ‘sick girl’ is named Su Tang. And no. I haven’t been spending time with An Lingqi.”

  “Of course you’d know her name,” I shot back. I could feel my own words twisting inside me as they came out. Jealousy, revulsion, desperation—they all clung to each syllable. I should’ve known he was a playboy. He was the heavenly beauty, the nymph blessed with looks that sent young ladies into blushing messes, and a voice sweeter than ambrosia.

  He had ditched me to woo the prettily perfect An Lingqi. Ditched me once he knew that I was going to get married to that idiot Sui Zhuxin. Abandoned me the moment things became inconvenient. Never mind our years together. He was going to throw that all away.

  He tilted his head in that way he always did when confused.

  It used to be endearing.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, softly.

  You are a liar. “You know exactly what I mean. I waited for you. I stood in the courtyard. All alone. In the cold. And you—where were you? With her.”

  The lie came easily. I hadn’t waited. I hadn’t even meant to see him. I’d just been stewing, avoiding, running. It was my fault, and I knew it. It had been my decision to ignore him.

  But anger is so easily replaced with regret. Especially once I saw the expression on his face.

  He didn’t fight back. He never did. And that only made me feel worse.

  I hated how he wouldn’t hate me. How he never said the words I deserved to hear: You pushed me away. You made this happen. You’re impossible to love.

  He didn’t say any of it. He never would.

  His hands were loose at his sides now. The tension had drained from him. The wind caught the hem of his robe and the edge of his hair. He looked serene. Like he was already somewhere far away.

  I reached out. “Yuanxiao, I—”

  But from the pits of my self-pity, I noticed a third presence: a eunuch standing just behind him.

  Eunuch Sun.

  He bowed low. “Gan gōngzǐ, His Majesty requests your presence. Immediately.”

  I stepped forward, trying to bridge the gap, maybe to make a pathetic attempt to touch Yuanxiao’s arm. But he was already turning, already walking away.

  I watched him go. Watched his retreating back vanish into the grey hallway.

  And then I was left on the porch. Again.

  Cold and alone; a perfect match for me.