by Julie C. Dao
“In time, my dear,” Lady Sun said patronizingly. “We must not rush matters of the heart. Besides, I am not the one who would slip into the Crown Prince’s bed at the first chance.” She angled a sly glance at Xifeng, lips curving upward.
Lady Meng rocked back and forth on her heels, her eyes wet, frantic. Surely, Xifeng thought, she had been driven to despair; surely her hopeless situation had brought it upon her.
“She lies, as you said yourself,” Xifeng told Lady Meng in a gentle voice. “I would never do such a thing, not when the prince isn’t mine to take. Believe me.” But the girl only stared back, hopeless tears streaming down her face, and then fled without another word.
“Since when do you care about men who aren’t yours to take?” Lady Sun lazily arched an eyebrow. “Noble of you, being kind to that little lunatic. I did promise to influence the Emperor to help her win the Crown Prince. But she never thought that through, did she? She belongs to His Majesty, so why would he help her win another man’s love? You and I should be thankful we’re cleverer than that.”
Xifeng bristled at the use of the word we. She had nothing in common with this conniving woman. “Tell me what you want. If you’re hoping to plant something on me and have me whipped, I’m afraid you already tried that.”
“Oh, no, my beautiful one. I have other plans for you. And for Wei, too.” A feline grin crossed her face at Xifeng’s shock. “You think that drunken idiot Meng is my only informant? I’ve known for some time now that Wei isn’t so much your friend as your lover. It won’t take more than a twitch of my finger to exile you both to whatever hovel you came from.”
A steady hum sounded in Xifeng’s ears.
The concubine continued smiling, but her eyes were burning metal. Whatever hatred she had felt, making Xifeng clean up after her dog, had gone far beyond that. “You’re new here, so I’ll tell you. Unmarried girls in the city of women are never to associate with men without permission. It makes my head spin to think how quickly your precious Empress will throw you into the streets when she finds out.”
The hum grew louder in Xifeng’s ears, pulsating to the speeding rhythm of her heart.
“You’re a good liar.” The concubine put her head to one side, shining waves of hair tumbling over her shoulder. “I commend you for that. I enjoyed your little story about the dwarf being your guardian. Imagine that tiny man protecting anyone from anything.” She tipped her long, elegant throat back and laughed.
The blood rushed to Xifeng’s face. “Do not speak about my friends. You have no right.”
Lady Sun’s eyes widened as though an idea had occurred to her. “You know, Wei is quite handsome. Didn’t I tell you I met him the other day?” she asked, twirling her hair around her slim fingers. “He looked at me like I was a delicacy he’d very much like to try. But he had to restrain himself, as the Emperor was with me. It wouldn’t do to covet something belonging to His Majesty, now, would it?”
The hum intensified. Flashes of red sparked into Xifeng’s vision—the beginning of that familiar anger, slow burning and steady. It’s a lie, she told herself, struggling to stay calm. She’s trying to make me jealous of her the way she is of me. But she could easily imagine Lady Sun flickering her tilting eyes at Wei—imagine her escaping His Majesty and pulling Wei into the gardens where he’d been with Xifeng . . .
“I’m sure the Empress would love to know what you’ve been up to with that gallant soldier.” The concubine’s playful tone hardened. “You didn’t think you could play the daughter always, did you? If by some miracle she carries that parasite to birth and it’s a princess, she won’t even remember you exist.”
Kang had given her the same warning, but from Lady Sun, it was a flaming arrow aimed at her heart. Xifeng reeled at the harsh truth in her statement, the splinters of the woman’s hatred embedding themselves under her skin.
“You may be clever,” Lady Sun said softly. “You may know how to win them over, including the Emperor, who can’t seem to see you’re nothing but a little drudge. But I’ve given my life to them. I’ve given them a prince. They’ll remember that when tomorrow comes.”
Xifeng wanted to cut the smug, knowing expression right off her face. “Tomorrow?”
“You and your lover will be thrown out of the gates. Your time at court has come to an end.”
It was Xifeng’s turn to laugh. “I’m sure that’s what you hope . . .”
“Oh, it’s more than a hope.” The concubine rose and crossed her arms, the yards of peony satin catching the light. “I’ve written to the General, you see. My eunuch left to deliver the letter just minutes ago. Wei will be dismissed for consorting with a lady-in-waiting, and the Empress will denounce you.”
Xifeng’s stomach dropped. “You can’t prove anything.”
“My dear girl, you underestimate me. I know everything. When you went to see him, what you said, what you did. My eyes and ears are everywhere. Soon, the General will know . . . and Their Majesties will too. Don’t worry,” Lady Sun added. “My letter was very . . . poetic.”
The anger built and turned to ice, and Xifeng shivered as though someone had upturned a bucket of water over her. The sensation tingled down from her head to her toes, freezing her blood. This woman—the Fool—had succeeded in her mission to single-handedly destroy Xifeng’s destiny. She had outwitted, outmaneuvered Xifeng at every turn.
Wei would lose his position, and Xifeng would never see the Empress again, never hear her gentle words or earn her loving smile. And the Emperor, with his warm, handsome eyes and the unspoken promise within them, would never be hers. The Fool had won.
The taut strings of her fury had been strummed, and there was no stopping her anger now. Images flashed before Xifeng’s eyes: Kang and his raised white scars, Empress Lihua weeping over her belly, Master Yu lifting the whip. She pictured Wei, with his brutal beauty and savage pride, turned away from court. Both of them, exiled in shame to return home to Guma’s wrath.
She saw it so clearly, it was almost like it had happened: the point of her dagger biting into the concubine’s chest, her moon-white skin vomiting a crimson river. It spilled down her breasts as her heart was laid bare, ready for the taking. Xifeng wrapped her lips around the muscle, slippery with gore, and the woman’s essence filled her like air. Lady Sun’s lifeblood was as intoxicating as wine, heady and powerful, and Xifeng felt herself stand taller—she saw the eyes of the Emperor’s court on her, adoring and worshipful . . .
Lady Sun suddenly fell backward in one swift movement, tripping over the leg of the chair in her hurry to get away from Xifeng. Her sneer had vanished, and in its place was horror at whatever she had seen on Xifeng’s face. “Wh-what are you?” she choked out.
The beautiful vision of the concubine’s heartless corpse had disappeared, but Xifeng didn’t mind. “What’s the matter, my lady?” she asked softly, relishing the tang of the woman’s fear. It was almost as delicious as slick heart muscle, sliding down her throat smooth as silk. She took a step forward, taunting her, burning with exhilaration as the concubine pressed herself against a mother-of-pearl folding screen, shoulders shaking.
“Stay where you are,” Lady Sun cried. “Don’t come any closer.”
Xifeng pressed her fists beneath her breast, where the creature slithered and basked. It fed on the woman’s terror and grew stronger. She is nothing, and you are everything. And then it opened Xifeng’s mouth and poured its voice from her throat. “Do not threaten me, girl,” she rasped in a harsh, guttural voice. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Lady Sun fell to her knees, her confident, seductive demeanor forgotten. “What are you?” she repeated.
“I am the moon and the darkness around it,” Xifeng hissed in that ancient, ageless voice. “I am the wind and the rain and the ceaseless sea. I am time itself, and yours is running out.” Her chest felt like it would explode from the sheer immensi
ty of her power. She never knew it could feel like this, the creature’s shifting like a mother’s touch.
This woman and her petty lies were nothing more than beetles she would crush beneath her feet. Everything would come to pass as she had hoped—as they had planned.
Lady Sun fixed her eyes on Xifeng’s face and screamed and screamed, clawing at the folding screen. It toppled and collapsed to the floor with a crash.
The door flew open and eunuch guards appeared, bringing a rush of wind with them. Xifeng came back to herself, feeling the tension release like trapped air. She let out a great gasp as she clutched her raw, aching throat. Everything was still—the guards, the room, the creature in her chest. Lady Sun sobbed and curled up against the wall.
“She’s not human,” the woman howled. “She’s not normal! Get her out this instant.”
Two of them grasped Xifeng’s arms and steered her out like a limp rag doll. She felt weak and bone tired, as though the open air were leaching away the strength she had experienced. Several of Lady Sun’s maids, who had been scrubbing the railing, turned to stare as she leaned heavily against the wall, closing her eyes against the light of the lantern dangling nearby. She couldn’t go anywhere without seeing those wretched lanterns.
Kang was by her side, patting her dazed face. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
But she could not find it in herself to answer him. Away from her visions of might and power, reality came back to her in a devastating rush. She might frighten the wits out of Lady Sun, but it still didn’t change the fact that the General would receive the woman’s letter. Even now, he could be reading it and preparing to throw Wei out of the gates.
Wei’s dream had come to an end . . . and so had hers.
It was over. It was done. She had let the Fool defeat her.
Xifeng raised her head and let out a scream of fury, ignoring Kang and the maids as they all fell back in fright. What would Guma say if she knew how Xifeng had failed? She pictured Lady Sun sitting on a throne and the Emperor placing a crown on her head.
Xifeng’s crown. Xifeng’s throne. They belonged to her; the cards had promised.
You know what to do, the creature had told her. There is only one choice.
In the hot springs, the mirror-water had shown Lady Sun’s heart glittering in her chest. But Xifeng had turned away in horror, believing it to be too cruel and herself too weak. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps it had been the perfect solution all along. If Lady Sun lived, it would mean the Fool had triumphed.
Xifeng clenched her fists. She had let this go much too far.
The wounds came back.
Xifeng had climbed into bed to wait for the Empress’s household to fall silent. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she woke with both of her cheeks burning. It felt as though Guma had just struck her with the cane, as though Lady Sun’s nails had raked across her jaw moments ago. Blood soaked her pillow, and she stumbled out of bed, one hand over her face as she shakily lit a candle. The cuts and gashes were hot trails against her palm. She screamed, nearly fainting at the mutilated face that stared back at her in the mirror from a mess of shredded skin.
“What’s wrong with you?” demanded the lady-in-waiting who shared her chamber. “Do you know how late it is?”
“My face,” Xifeng sobbed, her bloody hands trembling so hard her whole body shook. “How could it be?”
Lifeblood had a permanent healing effect. Guma had taught her that, promised her that. The scars had never, never returned before.
“Why?” she moaned as blood dampened her tunic. “Why am I being punished like this?”
Rough hands grabbed her shoulders as the woman turned her. “There is nothing on your face,” she said in a flat voice.
Xifeng tugged at her tunic and thrust out her hand. “Look at the blood!”
But the woman looked, instead, into her eyes. “You’ve had a bad dream, child,” she told her slowly. “Go back to sleep now and you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Xifeng stared at her in disbelief, then glanced down at her clean palm and clothing. Her face in the mirror was as smooth and unblemished as it had always been, but her eyes were wild.
“How could it be?” she repeated in a whisper.
She had felt the hot blood on her hand and touched the edges of the gaping wounds. She had seen the injuries with her own eyes.
The woman returned to bed, grunting, and Xifeng went to her own, embarrassed.
Her pillow was covered with blood.
“What is it now?” the woman snapped, hearing Xifeng’s choked scream.
“N-nothing. I’m sorry to have woken you.” She stared at the dark red smears, her heart pounding so fast she thought she might collapse. She sat on the edge of the bed farthest away from the pillow, breathing in and out slowly for a full minute before turning her eyes back to it. The white cotton was now as clean as if it had been freshly laundered.
Xifeng bit her knuckles to keep from crying out again, finding relief in the sharp edges of her teeth. That had been no dream—the bloodstains had been real, as had the torn flesh on her face. A vicious cut where Guma’s cane had bitten into her cheek, and five trails of ripped skin where Lady Sun’s fingers had scratched her. What could this mean?
She burned with the need to see Guma: her aunt would know what this meant; she would know how to deal with Lady Sun. Then, perhaps Xifeng would find a way to intercept and destroy the concubine’s letter. Surely the General had been too preoccupied to read it; the Empress’s ladies had been buzzing with news that the Emperor and Crown Prince were at odds again, this time over a military matter that had called for an emergency council. A wild hope lodged itself in her breast.
Eyeing the pristine pillow the way she would a snake, Xifeng muttered some excuse about her moon’s bleeding—though the lady-in-waiting was already snoring—and fled the royal apartments.
The tunnel felt different when she slipped into it from the gardens—charged and alive, like she had unwittingly entered the veins of some predatory animal. The slimy stone wall seemed to pulse as she trailed her fingers along it, though it might have been her own thundering heartbeat. She touched her smooth face again, cursing the day she had met Lady Sun. Her bare feet pattered a rhythm on the dirt floor: she must die, she must die . . .
There would be no going back if she harmed the woman. She would never again be the girl who had yearned and struggled, the girl Wei adored. She let her intention run through her mind, over and over, until she almost believed it, too: she would give up that former self to protect him, to save his dream. If that wasn’t love, she didn’t know what was.
And so, for love, she descended into the hot springs.
The minute Xifeng lit the lanterns and stood before her makeshift altar, with the incense and the dagger, she sensed she was not alone. There was a familiar presence here—she heard her name being whispered in the shadows, and a sound like a gentle tapping of fingers.
“Guma?” She strained her ears and caught a faint reply beneath the bubbling of the water. But it was too quiet, too low, and with a growl of frustration, she bent to light the incense, closing her eyes as the thick black fumes emerged. Still, a thin veil separated her from Guma.
The tapping came again. Xifeng froze as a thick, skulking body darted from the shadows. It approached, and she nearly laughed with relief when she saw the rat, its beady eyes flashing in the light. It paused beside her, fearless, and she could almost hear its blood drumming in her ears.
To imbibe another’s lifeblood is to strengthen your own.
Would it be enough to help her see Guma? Before she had even finished the thought, Xifeng’s fingers had snatched the rat, quick as lightning. She broke its neck cleanly, so it would feel no pain, and wondered why she had ever hesitated to kill. After all, the animals would live forever through her, in the strengthening of her vitality and magi
c.
She laid the dead rat on the ground, by the edge of the water, and sliced it open with the dagger. Dark splatters shone on her fingers as the warm fur gave way to her prodding, revealing a lump hot as the springs themselves. She placed the heart on her tongue and swallowed it whole. The rich, metallic taste scorched her throat as it went down, and she shuddered as her nerves tingled with delight and newfound strength.
“Xifeng.”
Startled, she knocked the rat’s corpse into the water. She faced Guma, seeing her as though she truly stood there, the increased magic in her veins enhancing the vision.
“I knew you were here.” She reached out, but her fingers slipped right through Guma’s shadowy form. Nothing but air, of course. Her aunt looked older than she remembered, and thin and worn, her head barely reaching Xifeng’s chin. Had she truly been capable of beating the life out of her?
Guma surveyed her, too, with pride. “You look as I hoped you would.” She listened with a dark expression as Xifeng told her of the phantom wounds.
“It was no dream. I felt the injuries with my own fingers and there was blood on my pillow.” Xifeng touched her chest, where the creature listened. “Am I losing my mind?”
The older woman did not answer right away. “There are consequences for everything we do. You know that,” she said at last, with a slow, sad smile. “You’ve come seeking answers. I’ve wanted to tell you the truth for years, and it seems the time is now. You are fulfilling what I wanted for you and more. You’ve learned well.”
Approval, after all this time. A thousand questions sat on the tip of Xifeng’s tongue, but her aunt held up a filmy hand to silence her.
“We don’t have much time, for this sort of magic will not last long. Listen well. I know the visions you’ve seen.” She turned away and the very air seemed pregnant with tension, with things left unsaid for far too long. “When I was your age, a handsome young nobleman named Long came to town. Our family fell in love with him. Our parents, because he was the means to a better life; my sister Mingzhu, because of his gentle way with her; and me.”