Chapter One: Three Thousand Favors (Part Two)

The night was as cool and clear as water. Wei Qin had left at some point, but Xiang Bao did not know when. She sat alone on the ground, clutching a wine flask she had found from who-knows-where, tilting her head back, staring blankly at the moon overhead.

Who could understand the terror she had felt when she awoke to find herself in the Wu Palace? A strange place, unfamiliar faces... and a capricious king. No matter how she struggled, she could not escape her fate of entering Wu. Out of fear and helplessness, she instinctively chose to feign amnesia. After all, someone who remembers nothing is far happier than one burdened with too much. She had never been a hero—just a coward—so she unwittingly chose the easiest path. Thus, she pretended to forget everything...

She wasn’t Xiang Bao, nor was she Xishi, nor anyone at all. She carried no mission, shed no tears for anyone. Yet she forgot that she was not alone—she was Wei Qin’s elder sister. How could she selfishly pretend to forget it all?

Truly, retribution had come...

She took a swig of wine, coughing until tears streamed from her eyes. After a long fit of coughing, she drank again, and coughed yet more, as if her very heart would be expelled.

“What a huge piece of silver...” she muttered, head lolling, staring at the silver-white moon above, belching drunkenly.

“Lost some money?” came a voice, teasing.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, her little mouth quivering as she choked out, eyes brimming with tears, “Sister...”

“How much did you lose?” the person asked, eyes smiling.

Xiang Bao wobbled, gripped the railing, and tried to rise, but her foot slipped, and she fell headlong toward the ground. Strong hands caught her just in time, and she landed in a warm, fragrant embrace.

She buried her face in “Sister’s” arms, sobbing her grievances.

“What’s wrong?” The voice was gentle, with a coaxing undertone.

“Wuu... Sister... I feel so awful...” Xiang Bao sniffled, wiping her tears and nose on the golden robe of the person holding her.

“Don’t be afraid, I am here,” the person whispered in her ear.

“I am here?” Xiang Bao echoed hazily.

He helped her sit, gently cupping her face, meeting her gaze.

Her drunken eyes were misty.

Perfect.

“Tell me, what’s wrong?” King Fuchai reached out and tapped her lips lightly.

“Wuu... Sister...” Xiang Bao sniffled again, pouting, full of grievance.

“Yes?”

“I feel so awful...” She hiccupped, her face streaked with tears, but his hands held her face still.

“Is that so...” He slowly leaned in, his nose brushing hers.

Xiang Bao’s eyes widened, sobering up slightly as she recognized her “sister.” Instinctively, she tried to shrink away, but his large hand encircled her waist, drawing her firmly into his embrace, leaving no room to escape.

“Say it—who am I?” he murmured, their breaths mingling in the heavy air.

Cool, soft lips drifted along her neck, sending shivers through her. Xiang Bao felt like punching herself—she had only just escaped his clutches last night, and now, foolishly, she’d fallen right back in...

Her head throbbed.

Suddenly, she felt a chill at her chest. Staring wide-eyed, she belatedly realized her gown had slipped to the floor, while the man in gold remained impeccably dressed.

How hateful!

To Fuchai, the moonlight was bright, and the woman in his arms had skin like creamy jade, a picture of delicate beauty.

To Xiang Bao, it was a dark, windy night, with the source of her misery grinning wickedly as he took his liberties.

Long fingers traced over her, making her tremble. Overcome by anger, Xiang Bao felt intoxication well up. Suddenly, she grabbed him in a tight embrace.

Fuchai was surprised by her sudden initiative, but then she abruptly ducked her head and vomited all over him.

He looked down in disbelief at the large, damp mess on his chest.

“Oh, it’s all dirty...” Xiang Bao muttered, pouting as she reached to undress him.

Even with such forwardness, Fuchai could only...

He stared blankly for a long moment, then sighed, removed his outer robe to clean her mouth, redressed her, and carried her back to Drunken Moon Pavilion. Had Fuchai looked down just then, he would have seen the sly smile at the corner of Xiang Bao’s lips.

A small victory—hmph!

Inside the pavilion, Zi Ruo was anxiously pacing, worried because Xiang Bao had not returned since nightfall. She turned around and immediately knelt when she saw Fuchai.

“Prepare hot water.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Zi Ruo looked up, surprised to see Fuchai in only a single layer of clothing. When she recognized the woman in his arms, her surprise turned instantly to venom.

Fuchai glanced down. Xiang Bao was sleeping soundly.

That night, Xiang Bao slept deeply and sweetly. She even dreamed—not a nightmare, but of herself opening a music and dance house even grander than Stay-For-the-King Tavern, with girls gathered around, sweetly calling her Madam Xiang.

She had not had that dream in a long time. Though it wasn’t a nightmare, she still wept in her sleep.

Fuchai reappeared in a change of clothes and saw the woman on the bed both laughing and crying in her dreams, like a fool. He tread softly to her side, gently wiped away her tears, his touch more careful than ever, as if afraid to disturb her good dream.

No matter how sweet the dream, it must end.

Propping her chin in her hand, Xiang Bao sat on the steps outside, watching ants carry crumbs. Her head ached dully from the hangover, her thoughts muddled.

A tiny ant was hauling a crumb several times its size. Xiang Bao watched it for a long time, then drew a circle around the ant with her finger. The small ring confused the ant, sending it into a frantic search for escape. Watching it spin in circles, Xiang Bao grew irritated, picked up the crumb and flung it far away, leaving the ant to struggle within the circle.

After much struggle, the ant finally escaped the ring. Xiang Bao bit her lip and drew another, bigger circle around it, trapping the ant again.

Again and again: the ant escaped, she drew a larger circle. Escape, another circle. On and on.

Watching the ant’s bitter struggle, Xiang Bao felt as if she were watching herself. She too was an ant; the Wu Palace was her circle. Each time she thought she had escaped, she would realize with horror she was still trapped within.

Her life was in others’ hands, never her own.

Suddenly, a small hand pressed down on the struggling ant. Xiang Bao started, looking up into a pair of narrow eyes.

Those were... Fuchai’s eyes.

But the child before her was only eight or nine, a strikingly handsome boy. Xiang Bao stared at him blankly for a moment, then remembered the ant trapped beneath his palm. She hurriedly brushed his hand aside, but the poor ant had already curled into a tiny black dot, unmoving.

Xiang Bao glared at him, but the boy only looked back, his expression an exact replica of Fuchai’s—half mocking, half smiling. His gaze made her uneasy. She turned away, gripping the railing to stand up.

“You’re the woman who lives in Drunken Moon Pavilion?” he piped up suddenly, in a crisp child’s voice, but with the airs of an old man.

Still upset over the ant, Xiang Bao ignored him and hurried away, walking fast as if to escape something. When she finally stopped, she realized she had wandered somewhere entirely unfamiliar.

“Yun’er! Yun’er!” A suppressed voice called from across a corridor.

Curious, Xiang Bao looked up and saw a richly dressed man on the opposite walkway, his expression tinged with sorrow. The woman hurrying away before him was none other than... Lady Yun.

“Who’s there?” The man’s alertness was keen; he immediately noticed Xiang Bao.

She frowned slightly. His panic—was there some secret between him and Lady Yun? But it was too late to escape. If he drew his sword, she’d surely die. Thinking quickly, Xiang Bao stepped slowly from behind the pillar.

The man started at the sight of her, then raised his sword, pointing it at her. “What did you see?”

Feeling the cold blade at her throat, Xiang Bao shivered. Was he going to kill her to silence her? She shook her head frantically, waving her hands and letting tears fall in a desperate display.

The man paused, surprised. “Are you mute?”

Xiang Bao nodded vigorously.

“Stop crying.” Perhaps unnerved by her torrent of tears, he sheathed his sword and handed her a handkerchief from his belt. “Wipe your face.” With that, he turned and left.

Watching his retreating figure, Xiang Bao wiped away her tears and looked at the handkerchief in her hand. It was fragrant, clearly a woman’s, with a tiny character embroidered in the corner.

But she could not read.

“You’re mute?” The child’s crisp voice sounded again.

Xiang Bao, still shaken, dropped the handkerchief in fright.

The same boy ambled over, picked up the cloth, glanced at the embroidery, his long eyes full of disdain and mockery.

Xiang Bao snatched the handkerchief back and stuffed it up her sleeve.

“Why grab it? I don’t want filth like that,” he sneered, turning away.

Lost in the palace, Xiang Bao could only follow this strange child. He ignored her, going his own way. She grew more and more surprised by his path, eventually following him into a rather dilapidated garden. It was hard to imagine such a place inside the Wu Palace. From the outside, it looked old and rundown, but within was a stunning flower garden where butterflies danced among the blooms.

The boy walked straight to the pond, sat down, took off his shoes, and dangled his feet in the water, occasionally tossing pebbles in.

Xiang Bao watched his small figure. Amid the riot of color, he seemed to embody only black and white.

Such loneliness.

Seeing him toss stones, Xiang Bao smiled, bent down, picked up a pebble, and tossed it sideways with her left hand. It skipped three times across the water before sinking.

The boy stared, mouth agape, then turned to look at Xiang Bao.

She smiled triumphantly.

“Teach me.” He fidgeted with his fingers, then looked up at her, speaking stiffly, as if issuing a command.

Xiang Bao blinked in surprise—so domineering. She placed a stone in his little hand, took his hand in hers. He squirmed, but when she glared down at him, he sat obediently still. Smiling, she helped him flick the stone, which danced five times across the water.

“Heh heh...” He grinned foolishly at his accomplishment.

Xiang Bao couldn’t help but smile. He was still just a child. When he noticed her watching, he quickly straightened his face and stood up with forced dignity.

“Scented Si,” he said, glancing at her.

She raised her brows, puzzled.

“My name,” he muttered, looking a little uncomfortable.

Xiang Bao smiled and nodded, not intending to offer her own name.

“Never mind, you’re just a mute,” Si Xiang said to himself, then turned away, ignoring her.

Such a proud, awkward child.

Still suffering the effects of last night’s wine, Xiang Bao stifled a yawn, unable to resist the overwhelming drowsiness, and turned to leave.

“My mother... is in there,” came a tiny voice behind her.

Xiang Bao paused, confused, and looked back at the little figure. He was staring at the shimmering pond.

“Today is my mother’s memorial,” Si Xiang murmured, almost to himself, his eyes dry.

Xiang Bao looked at him, and it was as though she saw her younger self. She walked over, knelt beside him, and hugged him.

Si Xiang stiffened. “What... what are you doing?”

Xiang Bao held him wordlessly, as if pouring all her warmth into him, hoping to warm him, too. Once, her own sister had held her like this. Her nose stung, and suddenly tears poured down her cheeks. If her crying before the sword had been for survival, now it was from true sorrow.

She held him and wept in silence.

“Why... why are you crying?” Si Xiang was at a loss, rigidly trying to push her away.

But she just hugged him and cried.

“Hey... hey, stop crying...” He finally placed his small hand gently on her back, as if to comfort her.

Still, she wept.

Si Xiang blinked, his own eyes reddening. After a moment, he lowered his head and began to cry as well. It was all this strange woman’s fault—he hadn’t even cried when his mother died, yet now he was bawling disgracefully.

The two figures, one large, one small, clung together by the pond, quietly weeping.

It was dusk when Xiang Bao, eyes red, finally returned to Drunken Moon Pavilion.

“Where have you been?” Zi Ruo snapped as soon as she entered. Since coming to the pavilion, Xiang Bao had never seen Zi Ruo with a pleasant expression.

“Wandering off whenever you please—do you know what day it is today?” Zi Ruo scolded, her face as sour as ever.

“What day?” Xiang Bao shot her a sidelong glance.

“Today is Lady Mei Si’s memorial!”

Xiang Bao replied with a simple “Oh,” then went inside, ignoring the furious Zi Ruo.

She had heard that the late Lady Mei Si was a princess of the powerful northern state of Qi and had borne Fuchai a son. Could that child be...