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

  “Do you think he will like it?”

  “Of course he will, Your Highness. He’d be a fool not to,” Governess Pan chirped, her smile the kind that always felt a little too pasted-on, a little too permanent, like the crackling glaze on an antique vase that everyone keeps admiring but never dares to touch.

  She had been visiting more often lately. Bringing me things. Sitting with me. Sometimes even brushing my hair when she thought I was too lost to notice. Today, she brought a new sewing kit. Gold-threaded peony blossoms, bone-carved scissors, imported silk thread. Always just enough affection to keep me afloat.

  Never enough to make me whole.

  I ran my thumb over the pair of mandarin ducks I had embroidered into the silk pouch; the two little birds stitched to stay side-by-side forever, whether they liked it or not.

  I did not know what fragrance I would put inside. Not sandalwood because that reminded me of the palace too much. And the world would have to collapse first before I used anything remotely similar to jasmine and gardenia.

  The scissors made a soft clink as I dropped them into the sewing basket. My hand brushed a needle tucked into the thread holder, and a sharp sting flared across my finger. A fine red line bloomed across my skin, bright and pathetic.

  I said nothing.

  Pain was easy. You could package it into blood and call it a mistake. It was so much simpler than abandonment.

  I pressed my finger against the side of the pouch, letting the thread absorb the blood. A part of me wondered if she’d notice and offer me that tender-loving-care that I craved.

  “Try these samples, xiǎojie,” Li Jing said, her voice quiet and controlled. She presented a black lacquer tray with an offering of ceramic pots, delicate as funerary urns.

  I dipped the tweezers into the first jar and brought the dried petals to my nose. A layered fragrance emerged: delicate rose clashing gently with clove. Raspberry and peach curled into something too rich, too aware of its own sweetness. And there, hovering like a ghost, Chinese geranium. It reminded me of those early days when he still smiled at me like I was a person and not a shadow following him around the palace corridors.

  But this scent was…romantic. A passionate yearning. A love that we no longer had.

  I set the jar back down. That wasn’t what I needed him to feel. I wasn’t some court lady twirling in spring mist, hoping to be swept into someone’s arms. I was kneeling on a battlefield, blood on my palms, desperate to be forgiven.

  The second jar sent citrus rushing through me like a summer storm. Tangerine, lime, sharp-edged mandarin—all singing in my nose, clearing the clutter in my head for a few cruel seconds. I clutched the jar greedily, inhaling again.

  It was too cheerful.

  Joy wasn’t something I could wear, not without it becoming costume. I put it down, harder than I meant to.

  The third jar was gentler. Lavender, yes, but not just lavender. Something darker simmered underneath: burnt cloves, crushed leaves, the bitterness of grapefruit pith. A perfume that was beautiful but complicated. Sweet, but sad. It smelled like secrets kept under silk. Like things I should never have said and now couldn’t take back.

  Like love that had turned rotten with time and silence.

  I generously scooped it into the pouch and pulled the silver tassel drawstring tight.

  “Are you sure, Your Highness?” Governess Pan asked, too gentle, too careful. “It’s unusual for a lover’s gift.”

  “Isn’t he unusual?” I replied, too quickly. Too brightly.

  I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I might say something stupid. Like: Will he forgive me? Can he? Will he come back if I just prove I’m sorry enough? If I bleed enough, will that buy me his attention again? Yours? Anyone’s?

  I looked at the door instead.

  “He’s waiting,” I said. And I stood, clinging to the little pouch like it might anchor me to this earth.

  ***

  Gan Yuanxiao was standing under the magnolia tree.

  The bare branches, encased in a glaze of winter frost, shuddered in the wind that swept through the courtyard like an omen. Everything looked like it had been frozen mid-sigh. Even the cobblestone path wore a fine coat of snow, thin but concealing.

  Just like me.

  I stepped forward, before nearly slipping on an icy pebble snagged beneath my heel. So much for grace. So much for dignity. My heart buzzed beneath my ribs, already threadbare from nerves, and the stumble made it worse. I swayed, like the bell of some half-forgotten shrine. Useless and ringing only for attention. Li Jing came to steady me, and I grabbed her arm like it was the last thing tethering me to earth. My other hand stayed buried deep in my pocket, fingers curled tightly around the silk pouch.

  The gift. His gift.

  Gan Yuanxiao turned.

  A cloud of breath misted in the air as he exhaled. His lips—soft and pink—looked touched by cold but not cracked. He was dressed beautifully. He was always beautiful. A fox-fur hat, a coat to match, and long dark robes layered and padded beneath. He wore his dignity like armour. I had lost mine long ago.

  “I pay my respects to Your Highness, Princess Changping,” he said stiffly.

  That voice. Sweet like ambrosia, melodious and alluring. Yet somehow, as cold and sharp as shattered glass.

  “At ease,” I murmured, though what I wanted to say was longer, messier, more desperate. But the air had turned colder.

  He stood at a respectful distance. No. It was distant, period. Not out of politeness. Out of purpose. I could tell. I always could. After last time...well. If I were him, I wouldn’t want me near either.

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  “What does Your Highness require of me?” he asked.

  I moved forward but stopped when he tilted his body just slightly away. Not obviously. Not cruelly. But enough. Enough to gut me.

  There was a line. One I could no longer cross. I had been allowed in once. I had burned the bridge.

  I gripped the pouch tighter.

  “Nothing, really,” I said, voice too thin. “I just wanted to—”

  I faltered. Like a child mid-apology, stuck between wanting and shame. I looked down at the pouch in my pocket, crushed slightly now from how tightly I had been holding it. My throat burned.

  His hand, warm and steady, reached through the folds of my sleeve to take mine.

  I looked up, startled. His dark eyes were on mine.

  “It’s getting cold,” he said, motioning toward the pavilion. “Shall we sit?”

  I nodded too quickly.

  Maybe...maybe it wasn’t over. Maybe he didn’t hate me yet.

  He guided me toward the pavilion, but the moment his fingers slipped from mine, I almost whimpered. He had always been so considerate. Too considerate for someone like me. I didn’t deserve it, not after what I’d said last time. But maybe if I could give him this...maybe I could fix it.

  He glanced around. “Is there no one to light the braziers? No one to serve the young lady?”

  My face flushed with embarrassment.

  No one. Of course, there was no one. The halls of my residence were as empty as they deserved to be.

  His eyes scanned the garden, taking in the untouched tea service, the cold metal braziers, the ghosts of servants who used to be mine.

  Li Jing set down two cups of tea, the steam barely curling.

  He turned back to me. “Would you like to repeat what you were saying? The cold weather was burning off my ears—I didn’t catch any of it.”

  Was that a joke? And all this time I thought he was ignoring me.

  “I—well...” I shrank. Everything about my request had turned from feeling to childish to becoming ridiculous. The words had tasted foolish before, but now they were fully rotten. I couldn’t possibly say it was just to give him the pouch. That I’d dreamed of his expression when he held it. That I’d imagined his hands on the embroidery like they used to be on mine.

  “I wanted to ask if you were okay,” I managed. If we were okay. I immediately grabbed my teacup and buried my face into the tea.

  Silence.

  I thought I had ruined it again. I always did.

  But then he said, “Yes. Everything is fine.” He pinched his temples. “I’m just tired.”

  I nodded like I understood. But I didn’t. I never did. All I knew was that I wanted to crawl inside his chest and sit there until I could be sure he still remembered me.

  “How’s the investigation going?” I tried. Tried to sound normal. Tried to show interest, as if that counted for something now.

  He looked at me. Long. Quiet.

  Then he turned away, leaning back against the stone bench. His fingers rubbed at each other, over and over, like trying to erase something invisible.

  Something he didn’t want me to see. Fair enough.

  This conversation was going nowhere. I scrunched at the inner lining of my pockets. I should just get this apology over and done. That’s probably why he didn’t want to tell me anything. I wouldn’t want to tell me anything, especially if I’d be blamed for something I didn’t do and also get ignored.

  I bit my cheek. I had to do it now.

  Before the moment slipped away.

  I reached for his hand.

  “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

  His voice didn’t rise. But his eyes—those eyes that used to look at me like I was the only thing left in the world—had gone hard.

  I froze. My hand hovered in the space between us. And similar to what you’d do to a buzzing mosquito, he had flicked it away with his words. I pulled back and he did the same, clearly uncomfortable.

  “I just—” I swallowed. “Because I care. Because you matter to me. Unless—unless you think I’m a spy or something?”

  The word felt like a rock in my mouth.

  He blinked. And for a second I thought he’d soften. He had always done so. He was always patient with me.

  But no.

  “I apologise, Your Highness.” He stood, bowing. “I’ve upset you. I will take my leave.”

  No. No. No.

  I stood too quickly, the panic cracking through me like glass underfoot. “You haven’t upset me!” I lied. I’ve been thinking about all this time. I want you here. I didn’t mean it. I—all I had been thinking about was how apologise to you.

  But the tears gave me away, as always. I hated how easily I cried. How easily everything unravelled.

  Gan Yuanxiao looked down briefly, his lashes sweeping shadows on his cheeks. Not out of remorse. Not even guilt. Just...exhaustion.

  He left without another word.

  I didn’t follow. My legs wouldn't move. Instead, I watched like a statue as the snow fell, trying to goad myself into following him.

  The snow filled in his footprints, erasing him before he even reached the gate.

  I stood there. Holding the pouch like a prayer.

  And then it slipped. The silk fell from my hands and the dried herbs scattered on the floor like the last thread of a dream.

  Wind caught the scented herbs, tossing them into the dead bushes, the cobblestone path, the ice-glazed lake.

  I stared after them, hollow.

  A flicker at the lake’s edge caught my eye. A shape.

  Is that a deer in the lake?

  It must the most stupid deer in history. Even more stupid than me. It must have been thirsty, but it had decided to crouch in the middle of the lake, to drink frozen water. I stared at my hands.

  No, maybe it was just desperate.

  I stepped toward it. Slowly. If I could coax the deer from the lake, I could give it some real water.

  How come’s it’s not moving?

  At the water’s edge, reeds bowed toward the water, thin as hair, frozen in place.

  A face stared back.

  Not mine.

  A body.

  I stumbled back, clutching my stomach. I retched but nothing came out. Still, my eyes watered from the exertion. My heart thundered against my rib cage, and I rubbed my hand on it, shirking away from the sight. What…who was that in my lake?

  My mind went somewhere dark. Blank.

  Footsteps. Metal. Snippets of silvery grey and blood-red.

  I barely registered Li Jing’s voice calling for me before hands closed in. Swords whined as they were pulled from their sheaths.

  What is happening? What was happening?

  A form clothed in silvery-grey and blood-red moved towards me, and I recoiled. “Princess Changping,” they said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Chun Li, Head of the Alchemist Guild. Please come with us.”

  Murder?

  I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

  I pointed with a shaky finger, trying to give myself some direction. “Li Jing, there—there, there’s a—Li Jing? Li Jing. Someone help! Help! There’s a body. Aa body,” my voice died to a whisper.

  The Imperial Guards raised their swords. “Your Highness. Do not make this anymore troublesome then it has to be.”

  My feet felt like they were glued to the ground in the stickiest resin imaginable. I couldn’t move anymore.

  “There’s a body,” I whispered. For some reason, that was the only wit my mouth had managed to conjure.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said. “Please come with us.” The attitude in his voice sounded resigned, as if I was an idiot trying to fool people after being caught doing a misdeed.

  My body refused to move. Even as the hazy forms of clothes rushed towards my vision, I was stuck there, my head fixated on one thought alone. And that one thought grew and grew until I could not see or think clearly anymore.

  He had been standing at the lake. Facing the magnolia tree that bowed over the crystal waters. He left me.

  And now I’m being punished.