Chapter 3

Spring rain whispered over the town, leaving the stall unusually quiet.

The flatbread woman and I crowded beneath one oilcloth awning. Every few moments, she sighed.

I cooked myself a bowl of wontons. When the hot broth released its fragrance, I caught her staring and almost laughed.

“Eight coppers for meat, six for vegetarian. Want a bowl?”

She swallowed audibly, clutched her purse, and turned away. “No. I still haven’t saved enough for my son’s academy fees.”

Now it was my turn to sigh.

By then I knew most of her story. Her husband had died young. For ten years she had managed the household alone, raised their son, and sold flatbreads through every season to pay for his studies and examinations.

People called her Granny because her temples were white, but she was only in her early forties.

When she spoke of the son who had failed the examinations twice, her smile held sorrow, but even more tenderness. She always said studying was hard on him.

I remembered her pushing that heavy cart from her village every day, rain or shine, and found nothing to say. I drank my broth and watched her gather wood, split kindling, heat the stove, knead dough, roll it, and slap breads against the oven wall.

Each flatbread sold for two coppers. If she had not earned enough for his fees by sunset, she refused to go home.

On impulse, I asked when she meant to rest.

She polished the cart until it shone. “Soon. Once my son becomes a scholar, I won’t need to come anymore.”

I blew steam from my bowl, my feelings tangled.

By evening the rain had weakened. I stirred my nearly untouched stock and decided to close.

The old woman suddenly shouted, “Where did this little beggar come from? Don’t touch that!”

A tiny, filthy figure in rags stood before the flatbread stall, searching for something. The woman waved a cloth as though driving off a fly.

I looked away and continued cleaning.

The child came to my cart and stood there silently, watching every movement. Wherever my skimmer went, her black eyes followed. When I lifted a pork bone, her pupils seemed to expand until they contained two shining words: Want it.

“No.”

Her dirty little face crumpled.

Only then did I notice the streaks of blood beneath the mud. She obediently raised her chin for my inspection.

“Were you fighting?”

She forced out a few halting words. “Won. Came.”

With a sigh, I put the bone back, relit the fire, and cooked pork and shepherd’s purse wontons.

The old woman could never resist a barb. “She has no money.”

I ignored her. The child whipped around and bared her teeth so fiercely that the woman jumped.

“What a vicious little thing!”

After growling, the child turned to me and attempted an awkward grin, though her bright eyes never left the pot.

She seized the bowl and tried to pour it into her mouth.

I knocked her forehead. “Use a spoon.”

Ferocity flashed in her eyes. She nearly bared her teeth again, thought better of it, and lowered her head. I pretended not to notice.

When I finished clearing the ashes, the stall was empty except for a porcelain bowl licked spotless.

“I warned you about wasting kindness,” the old woman gloated.

A clear male voice interrupted her.

“Miss, may I have the same wontons as that child?” The newcomer took something from his robe.

The old woman’s face darkened—then she saw the gleaming golden leaf in his hand and gasped.

I was surprised too.

He wore a bamboo hat and rain cape. Beneath the brim, I could see only a clean, elegant jaw. Rain ran from his broad shoulders and occasionally splashed the silver-white sword at his waist.

Tall and straight-backed, he made the cramped space beneath the awning feel smaller.

I collected the empty bowl. “I’m sorry. I’ve put out the fire.”

The old woman shot me frantic looks. “I still have coals! I haven’t raked them out!”

She looked ready to empty her stove for him.

I counted the wontons left in my boxes. “I could pack some uncooked ones for you.”

After a moment, he nodded.

I wrapped them quickly and handed over the bundle. He walked several steps, then returned.

“May I ask your name?”

My hand froze over the table.

He waited with patient stillness. Irritation rose inexplicably inside me.

At last I lowered my eyes. “Chongxiu. My name is Chongxiu.”

He inclined his head. “Jing Tongzhou.”

Then he disappeared into the rain with a light step.