by Cutter, Leah
Bei Xi noticed Xiao Yen's hesitance. “Please don't be concerned about us. We will follow you on the shortest wind.”
Xiao Yen didn't move. It wasn't right for Bei Xi to be alone with one of the foreigners, far from camp and from her guard. Bei Xi laughed. Xiao Yen felt wrapped from head to toe by the warm, comforting sound.
“I am responsible for my actions. We don't need a chaperone,” Bei Xi said, still trying to reassure Xiao Yen.
Ehran asked a question, and whatever Bei Xi said made him turn and smile patronizingly at Xiao Yen. He rested his right hand on the haft of a knife hanging from his belt. Was that the knife he'd used to kill that man?
Xiao Yen said, “I wish you both a good night.” Then she turned and walked back toward the camp. She stopped again next to the horses to look back. Ehran and Bei Xi seemed deep in conversation.
Xiao Yen's anger flared through her. The two stood too close together. It wasn't proper. No wonder Bei Xi's lord had accused her of being unfaithful, if this was how she acted.
As quickly as Xiao Yen's anger sprang into life, it drained out of her. What could she do about it? Gi Tang, the barbarian guard wouldn't understand her if she tried to tell him about it. Udo didn't like her, so he wouldn't believe her. Besides, maybe nothing improper was going on.
Xiao Yen looked at the knot in her hand, then at the two in the clearing. Ehran's shadow flowed out behind him like a black river on a moonless night.
Bei Xi's shadow held hints and sparkles of blue.
Xiao Yen resolutely turned back toward the camp. She couldn't trust her luck to keep her from jumping to the wrong conclusion just then. It was just the moonlight and Xiao Yen's exhaustion that had turned the concubine's shadow blue. Bei Xi couldn't be magical. Xiao Yen didn't want to be any more embarrassed than she already had been that night by believing anything else.
Chapter Four
Bao Fang
Xiao Yen checked the incense clock again then sighed. The coin resting on top of the burning stick had only slipped down the width of her finger since the last time she'd looked. It would be a long time before the incense finished burning and the coin fell to the bottom of the brass bowl, signaling with a ting the end of the hour of the Monkey. Even that wouldn't be the end of Xiao Yen's torment. She'd have to wait until the end of the following hour, the hour of the Rooster, before she'd be allowed to leave the Garden of Sweet Scents.
Xiao Yen heard her cousins and her sister playing in the family courtyard, yelling as they chased a rolling hoop, trying to get it between one of two goals. Wang Tie-Tie forbade Xiao Yen to play with her cousins, to listen with the other children to stories told by Ama, or even to go to the White Temple. Instead, she banished Xiao Yen to the garden, away from everyone. Xiao Yen only saw her sister and mother in the morning and at night. She took all her midday meals alone.
The only person Xiao Yen saw during the day was Wang Tie-Tie, who visited Xiao Yen two or three times a day. Seeing her aunt was almost as bad as being alone. Wang Tie-Tie made Xiao Yen tell stories. Not the traditional ones Ama told, but ones Xiao Yen made up. Wang Tie-Tie never seemed satisfied with Xiao Yen's stories, either.
Xiao Yen sat on a raised platform at the end of the garden. A large oiled umbrella with bamboo leaves painted on it protected her from the sun. The garden was full of summer flowers: shaggy pink and red petunias, black-spotted tiger lilies, purple dragon-nose flowers with petals as long as Xiao Yen's hand.
On the west side of the platform was the fox altar. It stood about as high as Xiao Yen's knee, made of white stone with pillars supporting a domed roof. The stone on the top and sides was pitted and flaking from age. Wang Tie-Tie said fox fairies helped people in trouble and brought them luck. Fu Be Be said they acted mischievously and added to a person's problems. Gan Ou said they stole life from men during sex. Xiao Yen didn't know who was right, but she sometimes burned incense at the altar anyway.
Xiao Yen studied the altar, tracing the spiderwebs that ran from its back to the plants behind it. She sighed again. She had a story ready for Wang Tie-Tie, but she was sure her aunt wouldn't like it.
“To spend your life dreaming is the same as spending your life asleep,” said a voice from behind her. Xiao Yen jumped and turned around, her heart racing. Maybe a fox fairy had come to rescue her. But no, it was Wang Tie-Tie, standing as still as if she'd been planted.
Xiao Yen jumped to her feet, bowed and said, “Please, dear aunt, take this unworthy cushion and come out of the sun.”
Wang Tie-Tie inclined her head slightly, then sat. She indicated with her hand that Xiao Yen should sit next to her. Wang Tie-Tie surveyed the garden, like a matriarch overlooking undeserving descendants. Xiao Yen couldn't help but be impressed. Wang Tie-Tie looked beautiful and regal, like an empress. She wore a coat made of creamy ivory, close in color to the yellow of royalty, with a pattern of tiny, pale green maple leaves woven into it.
Xiao Yen tugged at the hem of her own jacket. Wang Tie-Tie had had it made for her after Master Wei had come to visit. It was as finely made as Wang Tie-Tie's, of silk dyed a green so dark it was almost black, with only the simplest pattern of white willow leaves edging the hems and sleeves. Ling-Ling, her cousin, had made fun of it, calling it servant's clothing because of the dark color and lack of design. Xiao Yen tugged on it again, wishing for her old clothes, ones she could play and fall on the ground in without making someone angry.
When Xiao Yen looked up, she started at Wang Tie-Tie's stare. For all the soft paint on her face, Wang Tie-Tie's eyes burned. Xiao Yen grew still, like a rabbit sitting before a snake, afraid to twitch her nose.
Abruptly, Wang Tie-Tie broke the gaze and looked out over the garden again. “Tell me a story,” she commanded. She picked up her fan and began to fan herself with a steady, slow beat. The fan had been a gift from Wang Tie-Tie's youngest son. An elegant butterfly was painted on the face of the fan, floating up near the top edge of it.
Xiao Yen had a story about a butterfly prepared. She didn't know if it was a good omen or not that her aunt had decided to use the butterfly fan, so she hesitated until Wang Tie-Tie turned and stared at her.
“Once, in the country north of here, there lived a lonely butterfly. He had a beautiful garden to play in, with many colorful flowers, but no friends. So one day he flew over the garden walls—”
Wang Tie-Tie interrupted her. “What did the butterfly look like? What color was it?” She laid her fan on the platform and pointed to the one painted there. “See? A butterfly's wings are separated into two parts. Was the top part colored the same as the bottom part? Were the two parts the same size? Was the edge of the wing scalloped? How big was the butterfly?”
Wang Tie-Tie reached across the empty space between them. “Was it as big as your hand?” Wang Tie-Tie held Xiao Yen's hand in front of her face. “As long as your arm?” she said, pulling Xiao Yen's arm toward her, then dropping it. “You have to see these things, every detail. Use your imagination. Master Wei told me you had a good one. Use it.” With that, Wang Tie-Tie looked out over the garden again, as still as a stone.
Xiao Yen took a deep breath. She thought a moment, then started again. “Once, in the country north of here, there lived a butterfly. Every morning as he dried his wings in the new sun, he felt lonely. The garden he lived in had many beautiful flowers—yellow mums, white fox glove, blue morning glories—but there weren't any other butterflies.
“The butterfly's wings were black and white, striped like a tiger, with sharp edges. He had two black tails, shaped like teardrops, hanging off the ends of his wings. He was about the size of Old Gardener's palm. The two tails were about the size of the top of your little finger.” Xiao Yen held up her hand to demonstrate.
Wang Tie-Tie gestured for her to continue.
“One day he flew above the garden walls.” Xiao Yen paused for a moment.
“What did he see?” Wang Tie-Tie asked.
“There were fields all around, stretching to the horizon, long and flat, fi
lled with bright green summer wheat. When the wind blew, the grass rippled, like water on a pond. The butterfly flew over the sea of grass. It took him three days to cross.”
Wang Tie-Tie raised her eyebrows at Xiao Yen.
Hastily she explained, “It's because butterflies fly slowly. It would have taken you or me only a day walking. The butterfly had to stop often. When he came out of the thick blue sky, he'd rest on a stem. It would bend under his weight.”
“What did the butterfly eat?” prompted Wang Tie-Tie, more gently this time.
Xiao Yen thought a moment. “There wasn't anything for the butterfly to eat as he crossed the plain of grass. But maybe, he could suck dew out of the folds of grass stems in the early morning.”
Wang Tie-Tie didn't say anything, so Xiao Yen continued. “Beyond the grasslands lay a river. It was”—she paused—”a dark river. Darker than the wood in the Hall of Greeting. And wide. The butterfly couldn't see the far side of it. It flowed deep and fast, but silent, so he couldn't hear how dangerous it was. The butterfly walked up and down on the shore, looking at the river, wondering if he could fly, without stopping, to the far side, wondering what was on the far side, wondering if there would be someone there for him to play with.” Xiao Yen paused as she'd planned when she'd rehearsed the story. She waited until Wang Tie-Tie looked at her before she continued.
“Suddenly,” she said, holding her hands out like something big was coming at her, “there was a rumbling in the water, and the river dragon poked its head out. The head was . . . was . . . about as big as this garden,” she said, indicating the space before them.
Wang Tie-Tie smiled and said, “Continue.”
Xiao Yen said, “The dragon was beautiful and terrifying. Her, I mean, its”—Xiao Yen looked at Wang Tie-Tie, but she didn't seem to have noticed the slip—”its eyes were like two small plates. The outer part was light yellow, almost white. The inner part was so dark and black it looked like a hole, like you could fall into those eyes and drown.” Xiao Yen didn't add what she was thinking: like your eyes, Wang Tie-Tie.
“The eyebrows above the terrible eyes were soft and graceful, like willow leaves. The nose was long and black with red streaks, like lightening bolts, running along either side. Its nostrils blew water and smoke. Right behind its nostrils hung golden whiskers. They dripped water, and glittered in the sunlight. Everything else on the dragon shone with darkness.
“The dragon asked the butterfly, ‘Why have you come so far from your garden?' Its voice sounded deep and low, like the stone bell at the White Temple,” she added at Wang Tie-Tie's look.
“The butterfly said, ‘I'm lonely in my garden. Will you play with me?'
“The dragon laughed a terrible laugh. It laughed so loudly it hurt the butterfly's ears. The dragon dropped back into the water and laughed more. Huge waves splashed on the shore. The butterfly had to jump up in the air so he wouldn't drown. Finally the dragon stopped laughing and came back to talk to the butterfly.
“‘Dragons don't play with butterflies,' he said, in a mean voice, like how Ling-Ling talks to Han sometimes. ‘Go back to your garden, where you belong. Or you may be sorry.' Then the dragon lifted itself out of the river, toward the sky. Its whole body was as black as temple shadows, with red streaks running down its sides. Its belly looked like hard river crystal, white and cold.
“The butterfly turned around and flew as fast as he could back to his garden. He knew that if he didn't get away quickly, he'd be caught by the thunderstorm the dragon was making. There was no safe place for him, no blade of grass in all those fields big enough for him to hide under when the rain started.
“So he flew and he flew, not pausing at all. It took him only one day to fly back to his garden. When he got there, he was very tired. His wings shook. It felt like heavy rocks rested on them. He landed on the fox fairy altar.
“That altar looked very much like our altar,” Xiao Yen said, pointing to the altar standing at the foot of the platform. “It, too, was made of white stone. But it was newer, and was painted red on the inside.
“The butterfly looked around his garden. Maybe another butterfly had come while he'd been gone. But he was still alone. And if he left the garden again, the dragon would get him. Dragons can be mean like that,” Xiao Yen added, almost under her breath. She hastily continued before Wang Tie-Tie could say anything.
“Two tears fell from the butterfly's eyes and landed on the stage of the altar, where you put incense and flowers. Suddenly, a lovely fox fairy sprang up out of the ground. She said, ‘Why are you—'“
“What did she look like?” Wang Tie-Tie said, interrupting again.
Xiao Yen jerked her head up. She'd gotten too involved in her story. “The fox fairy had a broad forehead, like a melon. She painted her eyebrows far above her eyes, with thin, graceful strokes, like gull wings. Her nose was tiny, almost like she'd forgotten to put one on her face. But if you looked closely, you could see it was as sharp as a broken rock. Her golden eyes reminded the butterfly of warm summer afternoons. Her lips were the color of ripe plums. She wore ivory silk that had circles of bamboo embroidered in light green, and—”
Wang Tie-Tie interrupted Xiao Yen again. “What did her teeth look like?”
Xiao Yen paused, then asked, “Are a fox fairy's teeth like an immortal's teeth?”
Wang Tie-Tie replied, “It is so.”
Xiao Yen continued. “Her teeth were like fine white jade, strung together like impossibly perfect jewels.” She paused for a moment, forgetting where she'd stopped. She bit her lip. Was that enough description to satisfy Wang Tie-Tie? She hoped so. “The fox fairy asked the butterfly what was wrong. The butterfly told his tale of flying for days to see the dragon, only to have the dragon laugh at him and send him home. The fairy wrinkled her brow, thinking for a while, then she said, ‘I can help you.'
“The butterfly was very excited. ‘Can you make me a friend to play with?' he asked, dancing along the top of the altar.
“The fairy smiled at him, a warm, real smile, the kind you feel in your belly. ‘No,' she said, ‘but I can make you not miss them so much.'
“The butterfly was puzzled. How could she do that? He would always miss having friends, wouldn't he? But fox fairies sometimes do things their own way.” Xiao Yen paused again. Wang Tie-Tie sat fanning herself, not looking at Xiao Yen, so she went on.
“The butterfly agreed, and the fox fairy changed him into a beautiful white-and-black striped flower. His petals were as soft as swan feathers. Black stripes ran from the outside of the flower toward the center in harsh, straight lines. The edges of the petals were fluffy. In the center of the flower hung two black stems, shaped like teardrops. That was what was left of the butterfly's tail.
“He was still different. There wasn't another flower like him in the entire garden. But he was a flower, like all the other flowers, and so he wasn't alone anymore.”
“And that's the tale I heard.” Xiao Yen ended her story with the traditional ending and stared at her hands, afraid to face Wang Tie-Tie.
The silence dragged on. Xiao Yen sneaked a look at Wang Tie-Tie. A half-smile crept slowly across her aunt's lips, though the rest of her was as unmoving as a stone. Abruptly, Wang Tie-Tie snorted, then started laughing. Though her laugh was quiet, it sounded like the dragon laugh Xiao Yen had imagined. She shivered.
Wang Tie-Tie stopped laughing and turned to Xiao Yen, her eyes terrible and beautiful. “Yes, I am a horrible dragon, aren't I?” Wang Tie-Tie laughed again and shook her head. “Maybe someday you'll understand that I'm doing this because you must learn to stand by yourself. You, alone, must be taller than if you stood on the shoulders of all your family.”
How could she grow that tall? Why did she have to? Xiao Yen didn't understand.
“Family isn't always a blessing,” Wang Tie-Tie said, her gentle words carrying sorrow as they spoke themselves in Xiao Yen's ear. “And when you do your famous deeds, you may have to be far from here, far from your mother and siste
r.” Wang Tie-Tie's voice grew stern. “And why must you do famous deeds?”
“So Zhang Gua Lao will notice me.”
Wang Tie-Tie prompted. “And when he notices you . . . ?”
Xiao Yen dutifully finished Wang Tie-Tie's sentence. “Zhang Gua Lao will give me an immortal peach so I can give it to you.”
Wang Tie-Tie always responded in one of two ways at the end of this litany: either she laughed, clapped her hands and called Xiao Yen a good girl, or she tested Xiao Yen's resolve. This time, she did the latter.
“You don't have to bring the peach to me,” she said in a wheedling voice that reminded Xiao Yen of Ling-Ling.
“Oh, no, Aunt, I want to give it to you,” Xiao Yen replied. It was her duty to do whatever the head of her household told her to do, even giving up her family, if she must.
Wang Tie-Tie fanned herself a couple of times, then put the fan on the table, stretching her left arm out toward Xiao Yen. She rubbed her forearm as if it itched.
“I'm so tired of this life. I want to get off the wheel of death, rebirth and sorrow, to have some peace, and more time to pray for forgiveness,” she said in a melancholy tone. She folded her sleeve back toward her elbow, and rubbed the wrinkled, startlingly white flesh.
Xiao Yen had never seen her aunt's naked arm before. She didn't recognize what she saw at first.
Some of Wang Tie-Tie's wrinkles formed straight lines. No, not wrinkles—scars, scarred lines, whiter than her flesh. Lines that crossed each other. Lines that resolved into the character for “possession,” often branded on horses, to indicate they were owned by a lord or the Emperor.
“My father and my husband were well matched in their temperaments,” Wang Tie-Tie said, speaking under her breath, so quietly Xiao Yen could barely hear her. “They treated me like merchandise, not like a daughter or a wife. Now, I am old. I need another lifetime at least to let go of the hate I've held. I still pray, every morning, that I will be able to forgive them. And myself.”