Page 49 of A Song to Drown Rivers
“Hm?” Fuchai said distractedly, staring ahead at the training ground.
“Is that a new hairstyle?” I persisted. “It really frames her face and her figure, don’t you agree?”
At last, Fuchai yanked his attention away from the bloody fight and glanced back too. Lady Yu was cooperative; she chose that exact instance to rearrange her coat, opening it up at the front so all that milky, supple skin below her collarbones was on display. Her hair was luminous, her eyes lit up like the sun on the great Lake Tai. You certainly had to give her some credit; all those years before I came, she had not enjoyed the king’s affections for nothing.
By now I knew of my worth to Fuchai, but I was not arrogant enough to assume I had changed him completely from that wine-loving, women-seeking, debauched king in the stories. His eyes clung to her. “Hm,” he said again, in a considering way. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I hear there are countless soldiers who secretly pine after her,” I told him. It was a dramatic statement, but not a lie. “You see the ones who are fighting?”
Fuchai frowned. By now one of the soldiers had his arm twisted at a grotesque angle, his face white with pain as he scrabbled and writhed against the dust like a fish on land. “Yes?”
“It may be honor that they’re fighting for. But… don’t you think they might also be trying to impress?” I said no more, letting him figure it out for himself.
Soon, a dark cloud moved over Fuchai’s face. There was nothing more tempting than someone others wanted, nothing more thrilling than the possibility of competition. It was like my mother used to say: The food in another’s bowl is always more appealing than the food in your own.
I expected him to go to Lady Yu’s side right away, but he hesitated, squeezing my hand. “Will you be lonely, if I leave?”
I will be nothing but thankful.“A little,” I lied. “But I’ve been selfish, keeping you all to myself. And as long as you are satisfied, I’m satisfied also.”
He gave my hand another light squeeze and left, moving up through the stands. There was a loud commotion. Immediately all the concubines and ladies stood and bowed low, their necks bared to him. The show was still going on in the arena, but the real show was up here now. As Fuchai took his seat next to Lady Yu, I watched how all the spectators took this detail in, their eyes flickering and mouths moving quietly. Lady Yu straightened and smiled. She was gloating.
The gong clanged again, a rich, reverberating sound. The victor staggered from the circle to wild cheers. The other soldier was dragged out. Those who had been watching from the sidelines regrouped, and new competitors entered to take their place. And so it began again: the slash of swords, singing metal, weeping wounds. One step forward, one step back. Again and again, the dirt beneath the soldiers darkened, running a deeper red with their blood, while the concubines sank comfortably into their seats, ensconced by shiny furs, and the servants came to us bearing fresh grapes on platters.
I picked at the fruits but ate very little. The sick feeling inside me grew as the rust scent of violence wafted toward us from the arena.
The sun rose higher in the cold blue sky. The circle had dwindled as more and more soldiers stepped up, only to be beaten down again. Losers were immediately eliminated. Winners then warred against winners until the strongest remained. To nobody’s surprise, the only person left in the victor’s circle—the one with the longest winning streak—was General Ma. A curious incident happened in every single duel he was involved in: The opponents who initially seemed both faster and stronger than he and weremaking notable progress would all tire dramatically near the end of the match. After all, power mattered more than competence. Those whocoulddefeat General Ma didn’t for fear of repercussion, of embarrassing someone of higher rank than them. The whole performance reeked of fragile egos and flattery.
One soldier had even tripped over his own feet and thrown himself flat to the ground before the general, begging for mercy.
A thin rivulet of blood trickled from General Ma’s cut lip. He let it drip, then stared around him, a challenge in his eyes. “Is there anyone left to fight me?” he boomed. “Anyone at all?”
A silence. Everyone seemed quite determined to avoid his gaze.
The general smirked. “Really? Nobody dares to try their hand?”
“I will.”
There was a confused pause, a rustling of fabric and metal as heads turned this way and that, trying to find the source. The voice had not come from one of the soldiers in the arena, but from the stands.
My heart seized.
Zhengdan stood up, her chin held high. She was already rolling back her sleeves, as if this moment in time was predetermined, as if she had been training for years just for this opportunity. Perhaps she had. There was a terrible sense of inevitability to it all, the cold sky and heavy silence. Years had passed since the official had appeared with her father’s helmet, but she was still the same girl who had stood outside every winter morning, waiting for him to come home.
“Well?” she said. Her tone was light, almost in jest, but a dangerous note slid beneath it, like a snake through grass, prepared to strike.
It took a moment before General Ma recovered. “You?” He frowned.
“Yes, me. Is there a problem?”
General Ma spun to face the king, passing the question along silently: Isthere a problem?
I couldn’t imagine there being any specific rules that prevented palace ladies from participating in a mock duel, but I also couldn’t imagine that there had been many, if any, predecessors.
Fuchai looked between the general and Zhengdan, his expression ambivalent. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. I observed that the servants had already bent their knees, ready to throw themselves to the ground in a moment’s notice if the king lost his temper. But after a beat, a smile flashed over his face like lightning. He leaned forward. “Well, this is even more entertaining than I’d anticipated,” he purred. “Why not?”
Zhengdan’s gaze sharpened into knives. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, curtsying even lower than normal.
“Are you sure you can handle him?” Fuchai asked, eyeing Zhengdan’s frame. She was even smaller than I was, with arms so slender that even if you were to wrap your entire hand around her wrist, there would still be extra space left. “He will not go easy on you.”
