Jade Fire Gold(69)

Willow trees bow their heads like graceful maidens gently dipping their mantis-green hair into the waters beside white and gray stone buildings with terracotta roofs, sitting along the riverbanks. The streets bustle with activity. Shopkeepers, street musicians, and other performers hawk their wares and talents along the riverwalk and on colorful gondolas skimming the canals.

As with Shi tradition, lanterns with painted words line each building, informing passersby of its name and purpose. Unlike other towns I have seen, the lanterns here are a vibrant vermilion, the words inked a solid black—clear signs that this town is well-kept.

With the mourning period over, the townsfolk go about their daily lives dressed in rich colors of silk, passing me in my cotton hànfú without a single glance. Lighthearted chatter fills the air, blending in with soft strains of music from reed pipes.

Hard to imagine our land is slowly dying and war is on the horizon. Or maybe, when you are so used to being in a perpetual state of conflict, you begin to treat it like something mundane. Especially when it doesn’t affect you.

It is no coincidence that the Empire recruits from the poorest villages and towns. Stealing the young and healthy, leaving the old struggling to survive. Wealthy towns like Heshi flood the Imperial coffers with their taxes, paying for their own security and stability while impoverished areas languish.

As I pass a fountain carved like a lotus flower, I see a young boy playing with his spinning top. He unfurls the string inexpertly, and the top wobbles for only a few moments before falling over. His lack of skill tempts me to go over to teach him like Father once taught me in one of the many grand halls of the Imperial Palace.

It’s all in the flick of the wrist and the control of the release.

I hear Father’s deep, patient voice, and that aching sense of loss returns. Despite his courtly duties, he always had time for me and my sister. His face appears in my mind as clearly as I see the boy. The humor and affection in his eyes whenever he was with us, his easy smile. How his jaw would tighten, and his forehead would crease whenever our childish exuberance resulted in a broken priceless vase or two. How he’d break into a smile right after we apologized.

He’d carry me on his broad shoulders to explore areas that a child could not see or reach. It never mattered to him that he looked ridiculous, clad in all his Imperial finery and jewels, walking and crawling around with a young son whose face was probably smudged with food and dirt.

Shīfù once told me the years of Father’s reign were the closest to peace he’d ever experienced. Father was an idealist. The best—and worst—trait one might hope to have in a leader, Shīfù said.

Everything would be so different if Father were alive. Peace would prevail. He would have found a way to reverse the effects of Yuan Long’s dark magic and I would not be stuck with Ahn.

To distract from my thoughts, I fleece a bunch of street gamblers playing Heaven and Nine. It is a game of chance, but when you control the dice, you control your luck. Easy enough to cheat with a few little puffs of strategically aimed air and some showmanship.

On my way back to the tavern, I pause at a fruit stall. My money bag is feeling heavy from my game of dice, might as well use it.

While I’m paying for a bag of red apples, a couple of girls browsing the shop start asking me questions about Mengu. I oblige, glad that my disguise still works.

“Gēge, is it true that you men from the north hunt with golden eagles?” asks one of the girls.

“Of course,” I say smoothly.

“Do cherry blossoms bloom all year round, and are your lakes as clear as crystal, dàgē?” asks another girl with a shy smile.

“Yes, but some sights in Shi rival even the beauty of our land.” I flash her a pointed smile and she blushes all the way to the roots of her hair.

“Yes, dàgē, do tell us more about the beautiful sights you’ve seen in Shi.”

That voice—I’d recognize it anywhere.

Ahn is standing right behind us, dressed in a man’s hànfú, hair done up in a topknot as is the common Shi way. The two girls eye her with some interest.

I put my coins on the table and grab the bag of apples. “Let’s go,” I say to Ahn.

She doesn’t budge.

“We’re leaving now.” I wrap a firm hand around her thin wrist and pull her out of the shop.

“Why? I thought we were making new friends,” she says, throwing another smile over her shoulder at the two girls who are still staring at us curiously.

“It was just a random conversation about nothing.”

“It looked like flirting to me.”

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” I mutter under my breath. I don’t stop walking, keeping my grip on her wrist.

She side-eyes me. “Oh, please. How would you like it if some girl toyed with your heart for no other reason than her own amusement?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some girl should try,” I snap before realizing what I said.

She looks me over, arching an eyebrow as she leans in much too close to me. I feel an uncomfortable heat rising up my neck.

She grins. “Maybe some girl will.”

I drop her wrist and step back.

She starts snickering. “It’s a joke, Altan. Lighten up.”

“You were supposed to stay at the tavern. It’s too dangerous for you to be out here,” I say coldly.