Page 47 of A Song to Drown Rivers
“A wish,” I said, prepared. “Any wish.”
His eyes glittered. “All right. You go first.”
I found another pebble half buried in the damp soil and flung it out wide at the waters, watching it hop only once, then sink somewhere far from the shore. I whirled around to find Fuchai laughing at me, clutching his side as if he’d just witnessed the world’s most amusing play.
When it was his turn, his pebble skipped twice—barely more than mine, yet he cheered like a child. “Did you see that?” he asked, gloating.
“I did. And I win,” I informed him.
He paused. “What?”
“I never specified the rules of the competition,” I said slyly, dusting my hands. “The goal was to see who threw their pebble the farthest.”
“You tricked me,” he said, but without any anger. Compared to winning, he would prefer novelty; compared to a wish, he would prefer the unexpected. Still, the truth buzzed like a wasp in my stomach: this was the least of my tricks. “So,” he said, arms folded, his gaze warm on me, “what do you wish for?”
“How about… somewhere to dance in private for you?” I replied, like it was an idea I had thought of just then. “Somewhere beautiful. Our own palace, up in the hills.” Of course, I did not truly care for such a place. But I needed to drain the national treasury, divert all the funds for the military elsewhere, and a palace was the most expensive option I could think of. It was better than prized jewels, better than rare paintings, for the scale of construction involved would require extensive labor too, and resources. And once the coffers slowly bled out, every time the maids and guards and ministers walked past that new, gleaming palace, they would be reminded of their king’s indulgence, his reckless, excessive spending. Even those who originally sided with him would run out of excuses to defend him, until all he had left was the illusion of me.
“I heard from the other maids that construction is already underway,” Xiaomin said, snatching my thoughts away from the memory. “And he’s calling it the Palace of Beautiful Women. After you.”
I made myself smile. “It’s sweet of him.”
Xiaomin took my words with utmost sincerity. “Oh, itissweet. It’s so romantic. Like something from the old ballads. So many girls would be jealous—imagine having thekingbuild a palace just for you.” Then she caught herself and added hastily, “Not—not thatI’mjealous—I’m not saying—I just think it’s nice, is what I mean. This lowly maid would never dare develop any affections for the king…”
Luckily, Zhengdan turned away from the lake and spoke up before the poor girl could give herself a heart attack. “Is there anybody youdohave affections for?” Her tone was playful, teasing. It was how you spoke to a friend.
Xiaomin lowered her head, but I could see the color creeping up her cheeks.
“There is,” I said. “Clearly.”
“It’s nobody,” she mumbled, but the color deepened, and her lips twitched into a shy smile, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Just—just one of the guards—”
“Oh, so he works in the palace?” Zhengdan asked with interest.
I was suddenly interested, too, though for different reasons. Already I was imagining all the ways this relationship could play out to our advantage. If there was a guard we could distract, one we could lure to our side, then it would be so much easier to slip in and out. And guards were the key to communicating with the world outside the palace. For the longest time, this had been my dilemma: I’d gathered plenty of information but had no way of sending it to Fanli. Until now.
“He does,” she said, blushing more furiously. “The first time we met—I walked by while he was training, and he was just… beautiful, you know? I’ve never seen anybody move like him.”
“Does he like you back?” I wanted to know.
She didn’t reply, but touched her neck. A small painted bead dangled from her necklace. It was answer enough.
“You should introduce him to us sometime,” I said, keeping my voice casual. Beside me, Zhengdan flung another pebble, the motion of her wrist quick as a whip. Seventeen times. A new record. “Point him out the next time we’re walking through the palace grounds.”
“He’s being sent off to guard the borders soon,” Xiaomin told me. “But… he’ll be returning next year, if you’d still like to meet him. He said… He said he’ll ask for my hand in marriage once he returns.” There was a distant look in her eyes as she spoke, and though her lips were chapped and her skin roughened by working through the severe winter winds, the smile on her face was serene. Joyous. The winter sun spilled light over her. It was the look of someone wholly, utterly in love.Be careful, I wanted to warn her, apang in my chest, that old affliction of the heart.Love is a knife; it cuts both ways.
But I remained quiet.
The following winter, the construction for the Palace of Beautiful Women was complete at last. In that time, I had nearly finished my own construction of a grand map, filled with all I’d taken note of while I was here, between countless feasts and trips to Fuchai’s private study and chess matches in the pavilions. It contained the entire interior of the palace, every entry and exit, every garden and chamber labeled, every pond and lake, every hidden passageway known only to the palace ladies, even the path to Fuchai’s summer retreat in Mount Guxu.
I had just tucked the map away when Fuchai rushed in to invite me to visit the new palace with him. He was excited, as if the gift were made for him instead of me. I looked at the boyish flush in his neck, the thrill of anticipation written all over his face, and almost took pity.
Either way we arrived together, my arm laced through his. We must have made for quite the scene: the king with his crown hanging crooked over his midnight hair, his black eyes bright, and the lovely, wicked beauty of the legends beside him, glittering in fresh jewels and casting her silent enchantments. None of the servants lined up at the entrance dared look at me directly, but I could feel their gazes trailing after me as I walked. Perhaps they were searching for my fox tail. By the next day, I was certain the rumors would reach my ears, one more exaggerated than the other.Let them spread, I thought, my chin lifted. So many rumors about me had surfaced in the past year that I’d come to find them amusing;sometimes I asked Xiaomin to recount them as bedside stories while I drifted off to sleep.
The palace rose up on the slope of Yanshi Hill. We’d timed our arrival perfectly. The sun’s slanting light touched the walls in its descent over the mountainous horizon. Everything burned white and gold. And even though I had not really wanted the palace for myself, my breath still caught in my throat. It really was beautiful. It could have been a home to the gods, their divinity illuminating those tiles until they gleamed like abalone shells, skilled fingers carving out intricate designs of clouds and constellations in the pillars. Streams and ponds flowed around it, glowing blue, and the gardens were dotted with rockeries and pavilions and thickets of osmanthus trees.
“Do you like it?” Fuchai asked. He wasn’t even looking at the palace, but watching me intently.
“Of course,” I said.
