Ma took the pulse in Zhu’s left wrist. “You know, it’s a wonder only Jiao Yu knows,” she scolded. “Anyone who knows how to read a pulse can tell you have a woman’s body.”
It was funny, Zhu thought, to owe her survival to the same body that had been the source of so much terror. She remembered the relentlessness of its adolescent changes, and the sick, desperate feeling of being dragged towards a fate that would destroy her. She’d longed so intensely for a perfect male body that she’d dreamed of it, and woken up crushed with disappointment. And yet—in the end, she’d survived destruction precisely because hers wasn’t a perfect male body that its owner would think worthless the minute it was no longer perfect.
Zhu didn’t have a male body—but she wasn’t convinced Ma was right. How could her body be a woman’s body, if it didn’t house a woman? Zhu wasn’t the grown-up version of that girl with the nothing fate. They’d parted the moment Zhu became Zhu Chongba, and there was no going back. But now Zhu wasn’t Zhu Chongba, either. I’m me, she thought wonderingly. But who am I?
Bent over Zhu’s wrist, Ma’s face radiated care and concentration. Despite everything that had happened, her cheeks still bore a trace of childhood roundness. The grain of her eyebrows was as perfect as if a lover’s finger had traced them; her soft lips were so full their outline was almost a circle. Zhu remembered kissing those lips. The memory came with a scatter of sense-echoes: tenderness, and yielding, and the reverent gentleness with which one touches the warm curve of a bird’s egg in the nest. She was surprised by the uncharacteristic desire to feel them again, for real.
“But Yingzi,” she said, pretending seriousness, “there are so many more direct ways to know that than secretly measuring my pulse.”
Zhu only saw it because she was looking for it: Ma’s eyes dropped to the slight curve of her unbound chest. It wouldn’t have meant anything had Ma not blushed brightly at the same time. She likes this body, Zhu thought, with an odd mixture of amusement and ambivalence. She had breasts; she knew that; and yet in a way they had never really existed to her because they couldn’t. It was peculiar to have someone look at them—to let someone look at them—and know they weren’t feeling horror, but attraction. Desire. It pinned Zhu into her body in a way she’d never felt before. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling—but neither was it completely unbearable, as it would have been before General Ouyang’s intervention. It seemed like something she could get used to, though she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to try.
As if suddenly realizing her own lechery, Ma dropped Zhu’s wrist and snatched up the nearest book.
“Is that one of the classics again?” Zhu moaned. “Usually when someone’s lover is bed-bound, doesn’t the other read love poetry instead of moral lecturings?”
“You could do with some morals,” Ma said, flushing even more charmingly at the word “lover.” Bodily qualms notwithstanding, Zhu could barely resist the temptation to kiss her again just to see how pink she could go. “And where do you expect me to find love poetry in Anfeng? If there’d even been any to start with, by now it’s all armor linings. And which is the better use: arrow-proof armor, or sweet words whispered in your ear?”
“Without sweet words to believe in, who’s going to go out into a rain of arrows?” Zhu pointed out. “Anyway, all the paper in the world wouldn’t have saved me from our friend General Ouyang.”
She realized belatedly that she’d spoiled the mood. Ma said with a sick look, “At least he left you alive.”
“It wasn’t mercy,” Zhu said, gasping slightly as the pain of her arm slammed into her awareness. “He thinks the shame of being mutilated is worse than death. I suppose he was a cherished son, the kind brought up believing he should bring honor to his ancestral line. But then he was cut, and made to serve the very ones who did it, and he knows his ancestors would spit at him rather than receive his offerings.” Then, slowly, because talking about her girlhood still felt wrong, she added, “But that’s the difference between us. Nobody expected anything of me. Nobody ever cherished me.”
To Zhu’s surprise, the acknowledgment left her feeling lightened. It had never occurred to her how much strength she was expending on the effort to believe herself someone else. She realized: He’s made my path harder, but without knowing it he’s made me stronger—
After a long pause Ma said, low, “I cherish you.”
Zhu smiled at her. “I don’t even know who I am. General Ouyang killed Zhu Chongba, but I’m not the person I was born as, either. How can you know who you’re cherishing?”
Rain drummed on the thatched roof. The mushroom smell of wet straw pressed around them with the intimacy of another’s warm body under the blankets.
“I might not know your name,” Ma said, taking Zhu’s hand. “But I know who you are.”
ANFENG, THE NEW YEAR, 1356
“Wah, it’s so hot,” Zhu complained, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. She was naked save for her bandages, and her sweat itched as it dripped out from under her arms and down her torso. “In the entire history of our people, do you think there’s ever been a wounded warrior who died because he had a bath without being surrounded by enough braziers to roast a piece of pork? Tell me the truth, Yingzi. Is this just an excuse to get my clothes off?”
Ma looked up crossly from where she was peeling the rice-paper plasters off Zhu’s stab wounds. “Oh, so I’m doing this for my benefit?”
“I’d wondered why you chose me instead of Sun Meng, since I’m so much uglier than he was, but now I know the truth: it’s because I have breasts,” Zhu said. She’d found that the more she said such things, the easier they were to say. “You took one look and knew I was the man for you.”
“Now you’re laughing about it. You lose a body part, and all of a sudden you’re so eager to show off what extras you have?” Ma said, flushing, and yanked the plaster off.
Zhu howled obligingly, though it was all show. After nearly two months of recovery the only thing under the plasters were angry pink scars, the one on the front slightly larger than the back. It was as good an outcome as could have been expected. Even her stump was progressing. Not that it would have time to finish healing, Zhu thought ruefully. The New Year and Lantern Festival had both already passed, and she hardly expected the Yuan to wait much longer before trying to retake Bianliang.
While Ma tidied up, Zhu sat on the stool by the basin to wash. The once-familiar routine still felt strange. Not just using her left hand to do what she’d done a thousand times with her right, but for the newness of noticing herself. Her skin; her shape. For the first time since her adolescence she looked down at her body and didn’t feel aversion, but simply the fact of herself.
These days she wasn’t the only person looking at her body, either. Ma’s embarrassed, sideways interest in her nakedness felt as intimate as a touch. For all that Zhu had never taken much of an interest in the business of rain and clouds, she liked the warm frisson of power that came from knowing another’s private desire. It made her feel protective. A little mischievous.
She called with maximum piteousness, “Yingzi—”
“What?”
“Can you wash my left elbow?”
“As if an elbow needs special cleaning!” Ma said, pretending vexation, but came over and took the washcloth. Zhu sprawled as obnoxiously as possible so that Ma was forced to stand between her legs to reach. Ma’s cheeks were flushed: she was very obviously aware of where she was standing and what she was doing. Her downcast eyelashes fluttered every now and then as she let out a breath she’d been holding.
Zhu’s fond feeling intensified. Without thinking too much about what she was doing, she plucked the washcloth from Ma’s hand and let it drop. Took Ma’s right hand and placed it on her chest.
Ma’s mouth opened silently. If it hadn’t been for the brightness of her eyes, she might have looked stricken. Zhu followed her fixed gaze and saw Ma’s hand resting on her own small left breast, the brown nipple just under Ma’s thumb. Su
rprisingly, she did feel something at the sight. It wasn’t her own feeling, but a vibration: the vicarious thrill of Ma’s interest and excitement. But somehow it made sense that she would feel Ma’s pleasure as she felt her suffering, because their hearts beat as one.
Smiling, she hooked her left hand behind Ma’s neck and drew her down until she was sitting on Zhu’s naked wet lap, and kissed her. As she felt the softness of Ma’s lips against her own, and the shy slide of her tongue, Zhu felt that vicarious thrill strengthen until she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t something she wanted for herself. Desire, but another’s desire running through her body, until she was as breathless as if it’d been her own.
After a while she pulled back, feeling slightly dizzy. Ma gazed at her, stunned. Her lips fascinated Zhu more than ever: slightly parted, with a wet shine that must have come from Zhu’s own mouth. Despite all the pain Zhu had wrought on other bodies, it seemed the most personal thing she’d ever done.
She groped at Ma’s waist for the tie that held her dress closed. It would only take a tug to undo, even for an awkwardly left-handed person. “You know, Yingzi,” she said huskily. “I know how the business of rain and clouds works well enough, but I’ve never actually done it. I suppose we could figure it out together, if you wanted.”
In answer Ma put her hand over Zhu’s and pulled, and her dress fell open. Underneath she was gorgeous and glowing and sweating, and as she helped Zhu work her dress over her shoulders she said, smiling, “I want it.”
* * *
“It can’t have been true, that he meant to let Bianliang fall,” Xu Da said, as a waiter came up the stairs of the drinking house and laid out bowls of snacks in front of Zhu and her gathered captains. “How could the Yuan possibly let us make Bianliang our permanent capital? It would be the next thing to admitting their empire is doomed. After he finished with you, he did immediately withdraw and go to Bianliang, even if Chen Youliang was already inside by the time he got there. Don’t you think he said it because he was embarrassed at having been tricked?”
It was their first meeting in public instead of inside the temple. With no other Red Turban leaders in Anfeng, Zhu saw no point continuing her pretense of being an ambitionless monk—and it gave the useful impression that Anfeng was hers. In the days since resuming her leadership role, she had noticed a new tension between herself and her captains. They loved her for her sacrifice for them. And they were disgusted by and afraid of her new incapacity. For the moment their faith in her prevailed. They would follow her one more time. If she won, they might stay loyal. But if she lost—
They’ll turn their faces from me.
And that was if Jiao and his knowledge of Zhu’s other difference didn’t upset this delicate balance before she even made it to the next battle. She shot him a glance, but his face was opaque as he hovered his chopsticks over the snacks before carefully selecting a cube of red-braised pork. Meanwhile, I can’t eat in public, because I can’t even hold my bowl and chopsticks at the same time.
“He said what he wants has nothing to do with which side wins,” she reminded Xu Da. “But what that means for Bianliang is anyone’s guess. There could be any number of reasons why he let it fall. For all we know, he wanted to pin the loss on a political enemy and now plans to retake it and cover himself in glory.” But even as she said it, she remembered the way he had spoken about his fate. You started something I have no choice but to finish. His anger had been startling. Whatever his fate was, he wasn’t happy about it.
“Commander Zhu!” A man ran up the stairs, saluted, and presented one of the tiny scrolls used for pigeon messages. “This just came in from the Chancellor of State.”
Zhu nearly reached for Chen’s message before remembering she had no way of holding open a curled-up scroll. Conscious of her watching captains, she said mildly, “Second Commander Xu, please read it.”
Xu Da scanned the message. His face froze. After a beat he said, “The Chancellor of State writes of his concerns regarding the eunuch general’s likely attempt to retake Bianliang in the window before summer. He requests Commander Zhu’s assistance in defending the city until such time the Yuan withdraw for the season.”
Zhu said, “And?”
“And if he’s successful in holding Bianliang until summer—” Xu Da looked up at her. “He’ll move against the Prime Minister, take the Prince of Radiance, and make Bianliang his own. He’s inviting you to help him.”
There was an intake of breath around the table. “Ah,” Zhu said. The moment had the excitement of seeing the last portion of a map unrolled, revealing in exquisite detail what had been withheld. She smiled. “So our pain and suffering at the Grand Canal did earn us his trust. A rare and precious gift indeed!” That was why Chen had led the assault on Bianliang himself, instead of remaining in Anfeng. He had wanted to keep the Prince of Radiance within reach. Everything up until now had been part of one long game, and Chen had just made his first move to finish it. Zhu felt the white spark crackling within her: her future greatness that would happen, as long as her desire for it never wavered.
Xu Da observed, “With Bianliang behind us, and all of the Red Turban forces combined, we would make a genuine challenge for the eunuch general—if he does actually come. And if we can defeat him outright—what would stop us from taking all of Henan during summer? We could control the center and everything south of the Yellow River. If Chen Youliang has Bianliang as his capital, and the Prince of Radiance to give him legitimacy in the eyes of the common people … he won’t just be the leader of a rebel movement.”
In her mind’s eye Zhu saw Chen standing bloody in the glow of the Prince of Radiance’s Mandate. She said, “He wants us to help him become a king.”
All eyes were on her. Xu Da said, “Will you?”
There was no question about going to Bianliang. That was where the Prince of Radiance was, and he was still the key to their rebellion’s legitimacy in the eyes of the people. With that in mind, the question of who to support came down to who had the better chance of keeping the Prince of Radiance: Chen, or the Prime Minister. And Chen had already made his move.
She was viscerally aware of Jiao on the other side of the table, armed with his grenade of illicit knowledge. This was the opportunity she’d done everything for, but it was full of unknowns. The last thing she needed was a loose cannon of a captain running around. She could make a single decision he disagreed with, or even hesitate, and he would change to whichever side he thought would win. She wondered whether his knowledge had already diminished his perceptions of her. Did he consider her fundamentally weaker than before? If so, then the threshold at which he’d act would be even lower. If she wanted to win this game and achieve greatness, she would have to deal with Jiao before they left.
She looked around the table, catching each of her captains’ eyes in turn and letting them see her determination. Follow me one more time. She lingered on Jiao. He returned her gaze coolly. She was disturbed to recognize an assessing quality to his look, as if he were peeling off her clothes and judging her based on something about her physical body. She had never been a target of a look like that before, and the shock of it filled her with an unfamiliar rage. She suddenly remembered the woman in Jiankang who had flown at Little Guo with the justifiable intention of murder. Zhu thought with bitter humor: Big sister, I should have let you succeed.
Breaking eye contact with Jiao, she ordered, “Make your preparations. As soon as we’re ready, we ride for Bianliang.”
20
ANYANG, FIRST MONTH
Despite its objectively vast size, the Prince of Henan’s palace could be a surprisingly small place—running into people in courtyards or corridors was a given. Worst of all, Ouyang thought, was when you saw a person you would prefer to avoid on the other side of one of the palace’s low rainbow bridges, and your meeting was inevitable. He ascended the bridge with a mental grimace; Lord Wang did the same from the other side. They met at the apex, under sprays of early-flowering ap
ricots.
“Greetings to Lord Wang,” said Ouyang, making a minimal genuflection.
The lord regarded him. He still had a bruised look about him, but there was a new sharpness to it. There seemed something in it specific to Ouyang, which disturbed him.
“So you’re returned from Yangzhou,” Lord Wang said. “I hear you successfully obtained the promise of their assistance. An unusual feat of diplomacy, for someone with not a diplomatic bone in his body.”
“I thank you for the flattery, my lord, but no powers of persuasion were needed. They are subjects of the Great Yuan; they come willingly to its defense.”
“What a lovely fantasy! While I’m sure my poor ignorant brother believes it, don’t expect the same of me. In having told yourself so often that I’m worthless, have you forgotten what my domain actually is? I’m an administrator. I know far better than you the nature of business, and merchants. And I know they need more than the promise of praise to be persuaded into action. So I’m curious, General: What was it you offered in return for that assistance?”
A few petals fell and went swirling away under the bridge. Had Ouyang not already known how all this would end—had to end—Lord Wang’s interest would have been concerning. He said tightly, “If my lord is interested, he may ask the Prince for the details of the negotiations.”
Lord Wang gave him a level look. “Perhaps I will.”
Ouyang bowed. “Then, my lord—”
Before Ouyang could brush past, Lord Wang said softly, “You think you understand me, General. But don’t forget it goes both ways. Like knows like; like is connected to like. We’ve both seen each other’s humiliations. I understand you, too.”
Ouyang froze. For all his anger at Esen for not seeing or understanding, the thought of being seen and understood by Lord Wang felt like a violation. He said, too forcefully, “We aren’t alike.”
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