Page 22 of A Song to Drown Rivers
How strange that seconds ago I felt so powerful, a serpent with flashing eyes and cutting fangs, and now I felt like a rabbit caught in a trap. I struggled to pull myself free, my panic rising to my throat. “Let go,” I said.
“I don’t see anyone else around here,” the man insisted. His eyes glinted like black beetle shells. “You’re alone, aren’t you? Come with me instead—”
“No.”
The man was still leering down at me like I was a meal. “Behave, now—”
“I told you tolet go.” In my peripheral vision, I saw Fanli rise, but I was faster. My heart beating wildly, I did the only thing I could think of: I bit his wrist as hard as I could.
My teeth sank into flesh. I tasted blood.
With a yelp, the man dropped his hand. “You—”
But I wasn’t done yet. I grabbed the tea from the table and splashed it in his face. He stood frozen to the spot, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth half-open in horror or protest. The liquid ran in rivulets down his nose and neck, soaking through the collar of his robes.
“Next time you refuse to listen,” I said, letting all my contempt seep into my voice, “I will make sure the tea is hot enough to burn.”
As the man wiped his face with his sleeve, Fanli appeared beside me. He did not make any move to strike, but there was a cold violence to his gaze, like the silent swish of a blade right before it drew blood. Yet instead of terror, I felt only warmth, safety, an anchoring. My whole body relaxed in his presence. By instinct, I leaned toward him, and was surprised when his hand came to rest against the small of my back, even as he kept his eyes ahead. We had passed many full moons together, and it was the first time he’d ever touched me willingly.
And what a difference it makes, I wondered dimly. Where the man had grabbed my wrist earlier, it had felt as though my skin were crawling with centipedes. But with Fanli, I did not mind the coolness of his palm, the long, elegant shape of his fingers, their protective curve against my spine, his touch just light enough to let me know he was there.
I did not mind it at all.
“Are you hurt?” he asked me, his voice low. There was something in it that foretold of bloodshed, so long as the answer wasyes.
I managed to shake my head.
“Let us go, then.”
I expected him to simply lead me back to our table, but we passed right by Luyi and Zhengdan, who were both watching with open concern, and descended the steps. We did not stop until we were outside the teahouse, standing in the cool gray air, sheltered by the roof’s overhanging eaves. The rain was pouring harder than ever. I watched the water slap the wet tiles behind Fanli, turning every color darker. I could feel the cool spray of it against my cheeks.
“Are you sure you’re unharmed?” Fanli asked again. Something about the rain changed him too. Lent an ethereal quality to his features, his dark hair shining with all the luster of a pearl. Involuntarily, I remembered afresh how it had trailed over his strong shoulders after his bath, the water dripping from the ends.
I stared up at him, confused. “You’ve already asked me that.”
“Yes, but—” He stopped himself. I had never seen him quite so unsettled, so agitated. “I’m sorry, Xishi.”
My confusion grew. “Sorry for what? You did nothing to me.”
“I can do nothing for you,” he said. He seemed to be talking more to himself now than to me; all his emotions were turned inward to some unreachable place, his expression bleak, his eyes dark as a gathering storm. “In the future… When you are gone—I cannot. I will not be there. Even if he—” He drew in a sharp breath. His hands stretched out before me, empty, the tendons straining in his flute-thin fingers. “I won’t be able to make it stop. No matter how… And I—I am sending you straight into the thick of it.”
I could hardly make sense of what he was saying. I only wished to clear the furrow between his brows, to still his hands.
“You must hate me,” he said abruptly, looking me in the eye.
“What?”
“You should,” he said in a strange, cold tone, tempered with self-loathing, but this time it sounded almost like a question. Like he wanted me to tell him. Like he was offering me the whip, and turning his scarred back to me.
“I…”I don’t hate you at all.The scent of the rain filled my nose. “You are only doing your job,” I said in the end. “And I am doing mine. This is how the story goes; these are the roles we have chosen for ourselves.”
He did not look satisfied, but he nodded once. Drew back.
“In any case,” I said, hoping to ease this knot between us, whatever it was, “did I pass?”
“Pass?”
“The test.” I tried for a smile. “Proof that I can make any man want me.”
